Echo in Time

by C. J. Hill

  Chapter 5

  Taylor stormed into the apartment, accusations tumbling through her mind. She didn’t yell at Joseph. Not yet.

  Her father had been a minister. He hadn’t been the kind of preacher who held a crowd’s attention by raising his voice or pronouncing dooms of fiery torment. His voice always stayed calm, but he could pin you with a look. Taylor fixed one of those looks on Joseph.

  “Project Misdirect,” she said, and held up her comlink so he could see the code displayed on it. “Aptly named, I suppose, since the whole purpose of the exercise was to misdirect me, wasn’t it?”

  Sheridan and Joseph had both come to the door to let Taylor in, and they all stood in the entryway staring at one another.

  Joseph didn’t answer Taylor. He just sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy blue hair. He looked tired, drained. And why wouldn’t he? He’d been busy. Taylor didn’t spare him any pity.

  “You meant to keep me so focused on creating a rank virus, I wouldn’t check on what you were doing.”

  “No,” Joseph said, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I actually want to bring the rank program down. It will make our job easier.”

  Sheridan’s gaze bounced between Joseph and Taylor. “What’s wrong?”

  Taylor didn’t answer her sister. Instead she squeezed her comlink so hard, several buttons beeped in protest. “These are the protocols for creating a time vector protection field!”

  Joseph’s expression hardened. His whole body seemed to go rigid. “How did you access that file? I didn’t give you permission to snoop around on my computer.”

  “That isn’t the issue,” Taylor said, her hand still gripping her comlink. “The issue is that you’re planning on tampering with the past.”

  Joseph narrowed his eyes. “I had a DNA block on that file. How did you get around it?”

  Taylor ignored the question. “You’re doing something that’s illegal and dangerous.”

  “Illegal?” Joseph let out a scoff. “By whose standards? There aren’t any laws about time travel.”

  Sheridan broke into the conversation, taking a step so she stood between Joseph and Taylor. “What are you talking about? What’s a time vector protection field?”

  Taylor wanted to wave Joseph’s program at her sister and say, “This!” But few people understood that sort of code. So Taylor explained it the long way—all the while slicing glares in Joseph’s direction. “Any time you strain someone out of the past, you risk changing history’s timestream to a point that you might not exist in the present. Even if you’re not a direct descendant of the person you strained, there’s no way to measure the effect one person has on a society. What would happen if you took the person who introduced Einstein’s parents to each other? Or Hitler’s?”

  Taylor held up a hand to emphasize her words. “You might think you were doing the world a favor by preventing Hitler’s birth and saving tens of millions of people who died in World War Two, but by adding those people back into the timestream, you would change the world so much that none of us would exist in the same way. If World War Two hadn’t happened, how many men and women would have ended up marrying someone different? What mark would all of those new descendants leave on the world? One decision, right or wrong, could change everything.”

  “Okay, I get that part,” Sheridan said.

  “If you’re going to mess around with the timestream,” Taylor went on, “you have to find a way to keep yourself from being swept away in a rogue current. A time vector protection field protects people within its boundaries from changes in the timestream. Everything and everybody around you could change, but as long as you were in the perimeters of the field during the switch, you would remain unaffected.”

  “Which is why,” Joseph said patiently, “it’s important for us to have that technology. As long as Traventon potentially has the power to change the past, any of us are at risk.” He took a step toward Taylor and held out his hand for her comlink. Probably to delete the information. “The next time you want to know what I’m working on, ask instead of splicing into my computer files.”

  Taylor was not about to give him her comlink or let him get her off track. She scrolled through the code on her screen. “I’m impressed you came up with something this sophisticated in such a short time. Really. I would have thought this sort of thing took years to invent.”

  “It did take years,” Joseph said. “The Time Strainer scientists created it to put around the Scicenter. While we were there, I stole the information from their computer. I thought Santa Fe might want to study it and see if they could modify it for larger spaces.” Joseph crossed his arms. “Now, are you going to tell me how you got through my computer’s safeguards, or do I have to confiscate your computer and figure it out myself? We’re both busy right now.”

  Taylor let out an angry groan. “Don’t pretend you’re not up to something. I can tell from your data that you’re planning on using the Time Strainer to take someone from the past.” She held up the next set of code for Joseph to see. “Who put you up to this? Who do they want?”

  Joseph didn’t answer, just clenched his jaw.

  Sheridan looked from him to Taylor. “I thought the Time Strainer couldn’t work without a QGP. You destroyed the only working QGP—the one in the twenty-first century.”

  Taylor paced over to Sheridan. “We destroyed the QGP two months after the date it strained us into the future. That means there’s still a two-month window in the past that could be used to take people who were within the QGP’s range.”

  Taylor had first tried to destroy the QGP on the date she and Sheridan had been taken from Knoxville. It hadn’t worked. Apparently, the timestream was amenable to changes, but not paradoxes. Reilly had left the twenty-first century two months after Taylor and Sheridan had been taken. Destroying the QGP before the date of Reilly’s departure would have kept Reilly from being transported to the future, which in turn would have kept Taylor from being taken in the first place. And since she wouldn’t have been taken, she wouldn’t have destroyed the QGP, which meant Reilly would have left the twenty-first century and the paradox would have looped endlessly through time.

  Taylor had settled on destroying the QGP right after Reilly left.

  “It’s only two months,” Sheridan said, still confused. “The Time Strainer can’t pull people from a slot so small. It needs at least a year.”

  “The scientists in Traventon need at least a year,” Taylor said. “Joseph, however, has been working on that too.” She showed her sister the algorithms written on her comlink screen. “With these program amendments we’re down to a slot of minutes—seconds maybe.” She turned to Joseph again. “Who are you planning to take?”

  Joseph still didn’t answer, but Sheridan did. She was watching Joseph, reading the furrow of his brows as though he were a book. “It’s Echo, isn’t it?” she asked. “You want to save your brother.”

  Joseph’s lips remained set in a tight, defiant line. His blue eyes darkened. Taylor could tell from Sheridan’s expression, not Joseph’s, that Sheridan’s guess was right. Sheridan reached out, took Joseph’s hand, and squeezed it. Her eyes brimmed with sympathy.

  There was a crack in Joseph’s expression then, a flash of pain he couldn’t hide.

  Taylor sighed, shut off her comlink, and slipped it back into her pocket. She had never been good at consoling people and hardly tried now. She was too relieved Joseph had been trying to save his brother, not change the past at the request of one of Santa Fe’s factions.

  Taylor kept her voice soft, apologetic almost. “For the Time Strainer to work, it has to be able to contact a working QGP. The QGPs in Traventon aren’t functional now. They couldn’t have been functioning when Echo was alive.”

  “I know,” Joseph said. “I had to try anyway. If I could find a way to save Echo . . .” He looked away, unable to finish the sentence.

  Sheridan let out an “Oh” of concern and wrapped her arms around him. Joseph returned th
e hug, resting his cheek on her hair.

  It was up to Taylor to point out the painful truth. “Even if you could find a way to save your brother, you shouldn’t do it. What would have happened to us if the real Echo had been time-strained out of Traventon before he told you to switch places with him? Or what if Echo’s unexplained disappearance made the Dakine suspicious that you or your father knew things you shouldn’t? They could have started watching you closely. Maybe they would have found out about the illegal laser disrupter you built.”

  Joseph released Sheridan. “I know.” Taylor could tell he did know, but the steel in his eyes said he didn’t particularly care about the risk.

  “It isn’t just our lives we have to think about,” Taylor said more forcefully. “If the events of the past are changed, either one of us could end up being used as a tool by the Dakine or by the Traventon government.”

  “I know,” he said again, this time with resignation in his voice.

  Taylor let it go then. Certainly, Joseph realized he couldn’t tamper with the past. All of these programs he’d been working on—they must have been an exercise in grief. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Taylor turned to leave, then paused and turned back. “Oh, and I was able to download your data because your father thought I was Sheridan and let me in. Once I stole her ID badge, it was pitifully easy.”

  Sheridan put one hand on her hip. “You stole my ID badge?”

  Taylor headed toward the door. “You never even missed it.”

  “My computer doesn’t start without a DNA scan,” Joseph called after her. “How did you get around that?”

  “I didn’t have to,” Taylor said. “You left your computer logged on. Really, Joseph, you should get more sleep.”

  She was out the door before he could respond to that.

  Chapter 6

  Facing down death, Taylor thought groggily, really required a full night’s sleep. Which was why President Mason should have let the team leave at, say, nine o’clock in the morning. But no, at six a.m., Taylor and Sheridan arrived at Santa Fe’s western gate. Taylor had been up most of the night running simulations on her rank virus. It would work, she was sure about that, but it wouldn’t work as fast as she wanted.

  Her program would give dozens of users different parts of the virus that would then be uploaded from the individuals to the main system. By themselves, the virus segments were harmless. The rank filters shouldn’t even detect them. After the virus segments uploaded into the system, they would compile and change the rank data. It would take hours though, maybe even a complete day for the virus to take effect. Which was too long.

  The team would reach Traventon in two and a half days’ time. Taylor had until then to figure out a way to make the virus work faster.

  Taylor and Sheridan headed over to the group that had formed in front of the city gates. Sheridan had insisted on seeing Taylor off, although Taylor imagined her sister would have done that back at their apartment—without dressing up—if Joseph hadn’t been leaving too.

  In Traventon, the doors out of the domed city had been hard to spot. They blended in with the walls. Here the doors were decorated. A stone arch accented them, and the words Freedom Lives Here were engraved across the top. Even that sign had been vandalized. Underneath it someone had written, Unfortunately this place is so crowded, Freedom has to share an apartment with Duty, Disillusionment, and Disrepair.

  A deluge of refugees had been finding their way to Santa Fe for the last several decades, which was something the original city planners hadn’t taken into account while designing the city. The buildings in the middle of the city—those built during the founding years—were architectural artwork. An array of cathedrals, temples, shrines, and mosques glimmered, jewel-like, around the city center. The early apartment buildings looked like castles with spires, turrets, and regal towers made from curving stone.

  Apartment buildings constructed during the last two decades were tall, straight, and built close together. They ringed the city in layers like giant dominoes waiting for a good push. Refugee rows, they were called, and even those were getting crowded.

  Jeth and Elise, the other wordsmith who’d left Traventon with them, had come to see Taylor and Joseph off. They both stood near the row of airbikes, admiring the machines. The airbikes did look cool. Sort of like long motorcycles with wings. The team would ride them for the first day until they got near other cities. City scanners picked up nonbiometric signatures, and the team didn’t want to risk being shot down. They would leave the airbikes at an outpost, spend the night there, and travel the second day by horseback. The team would stay the second night in a hidden, underground med clinic not far from Traventon and then walk the last three hours to the city the next morning.

  Five days, Taylor told herself. Six if they had problems along the way. The mission wouldn’t take long.

  Taylor looked around for Joseph but didn’t see him anywhere. One of the council leaders was checking packs, while two men in camouflage stood by. Taylor was also dressed in camouflage, complete with matching skin dye and hair dye. While the team traveled through the wilderness that separated cities, they needed to stay hidden from city patrols and the gangs of criminals, called vikers, who lived in the forests.

  President Mason saw Taylor and waved for her and Sheridan to come over. Even though it was still early in the morning, he wore his business clothes, complete with black sash. Counselor Number One stood next to him, checking something on his comlink. Taylor didn’t see Counselor Number Two anywhere. The woman was probably out guilting other citizens into doing her bidding. Some people would feel a debt of gratitude toward the people who rescued them from Traventon, who took them in, who gave them clothes, food, and protection.

  Honestly.

  President Mason nodded at Taylor. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready enough.”

  While Counselor Number One tapped things on his comlink, he spared Taylor a glance. “I set up your salary payment. It will activate when you return.”

  The phrase shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. “I’m not doing this for the money,” she told him.

  “Why are you doing this?” President Mason asked. It wasn’t a challenge. She could tell he wanted to know.

  Taylor pointed to the words above the door. “Because freedom means paying off your debts. After this is over, we’re even.”

  President Mason smiled tolerantly and didn’t comment on her reasoning. The two men who were dressed in camouflage walked over, packs slung on their backs. President Mason turned to them. “Let me introduce your security team. This is Ren and Lee.”

  Taylor wasn’t surprised President Mason didn’t tell her their full names. One of the concessions he’d made to the council as he whittled down the contestants for the Olympic bodyguard competition was that the identities of the bodyguards would stay a secret. That way none of the sectors could claim favoritism.

  Ren and Lee nodded and gave perfunctory smiles as their names were spoken. It was hard to tell much about their features under the camouflage. Each man was tall, seemed to be in his twenties, and had the physique of a Marine. Lee’s hair was cropped short with spiky ends that stuck up a bit. Ren’s shoulder-length hair was tied behind his neck. Both looked her over with dark-brown eyes.

  “Ren and Lee,” President Mason went on, “are experts on travel and combat. They’ve spent the last week scouting the area and learning about Traventon from our operatives there. They can get you in and out of the Scicenter.”

  Taylor nodded at the men. “I’m glad to have you watching my back.” As soon as she said the phrase, she realized they had no idea what she meant. Ren and Lee’s eyebrows both furrowed in puzzlement.

  “That’s a saying from the twenty-first century,” Taylor explained. “It means I’m glad to have your help. You don’t really have to watch my back. Nothing exciting is happening there.”

  She was babbling. This was not the best first impression, especially since the men ha
d undoubtedly been told she was a genius. “I’m really tired,” she added.

  Joseph and another man walked up to the group, both outfitted in camouflage. This was odd, because the council had decided to give her and Joseph only one bodyguard apiece. The council was afraid a group larger than four would make it harder for them to walk around unnoticed.

  The new man was tall like most of the men here but had a leaner build than Ren and Lee. He looked older too, perhaps in his early thirties. He carried an extra-large pack on his shoulders, which shifted as he walked.

  Ren gestured to the new man. “Who’s this?”

  “This,” Joseph said, “is Xavier. He’s going with us.”

  “What?” Lee cocked his head in disbelief. “You can’t add people to the team without council approval.”

  President Mason held up his hand to stop the flow of protests. “The council approved Xavier’s addition. It became a necessity.”

  “Why?” Ren asked. The suspicion in his voice verged on hostility.

  President Mason glanced at Joseph, at a rare loss for words. No, that wasn’t it, Taylor realized. It wasn’t that President Mason didn’t know what to say; he was just waiting for Joseph to say it.

  Joseph looked at Ren and Lee, not at Taylor or Sheridan. “I requested it.”

  “Why?” Taylor asked. “What’s his specialty?”

  Joseph glanced at Taylor, then quickly returned his attention to Ren and Lee. “I thought the team could use another person, and I wanted it to be Xavier.”

  Taylor put her hands on her hips. “That’s BS.” Which, judging from everyone’s expressions, was another term that wasn’t used in the twenty-fifth century. She thought about saying the real words, but it wouldn’t make a difference. No one from this century would have any idea why she was suddenly talking about cattle poop.

  “What’s the real reason?” Taylor asked.

  “That is the real reason,” Joseph said firmly. “And it’s the only one you’re going to get.”