by DG SIDNA
The bartender sports a thick, curly mustache and suspenders. Like nearly everyone else I've seen in the future, he looks to be somewhere in his early thirties, though his eyes betray a much older spirit.
Careena scans the patrons, recognizing a few. "Hell must be empty, all the devils are here."
The bartender looks up. "Well, well. Lock up your sons, lads. Trouble just blew in."
The two exchange smiles and a handshake many years in the waiting.
"How you been, Smith?" he asks.
Careena and I take a seat at the bar.
"Good enough," the old woman answers.
"We've missed you'round here. Still doing them secret missions for the Navy?"
"That's classified."
The bartender winks at me. "That would be why they call them secret, I reckon. You on a secret mission as well, lass?"
"Something like that," I tell him.
He pours three liquors into shot glasses. "This one's on the house, ladies. To Captain Smith. For saving my arse more times than I have fingers to count."
We down the liquid together.
My nostrils flare and my eyes water, but I try my best to play it cool.
"So what's with the wrinkles, Smith?" the bartender asks. "You aging out on us?"
"Has to come sometime," she says.
"Ain't that truth," he replies. "I'll probably get the nerve one of these days. I mean running a bar forever? Your soul just gets old. You can feel it. Inside. Part of me wishes I'd never come back from that damned war. At least then there wouldn't be a choice in it. It's the choice that drives you mad."
With that, he moves down the bar to attend to another patron.
I turn to Careena. "What does he mean age out?"
"It's the 31st Century, freckles. Old age was solved long ago."
That does explain why so many people look so young. Though I still don't understand this concept of aging out. Or why anyone would want it. Since the beginning of time, hasn't humanity dreamed of the fountain of youth, of the keys to immortality? And now they just toss them away? I can't believe it.
Careena attempts to explain. "Living forever is a dreadful thought. You don't think so when you're young, you can't even imagine, but take my word. You tell yourself, that will never be me. But then at some point, you've done everything you've ever wanted to do, seen everything you've ever wanted to see, and you've accepted existence for the mystery that it will always be. You come to understand that no answers will ever be forthcoming, no matter how long you wait around for them. And you grow tired. Some before others, but eventually the feeling takes hold of everyone. It's almost like a calling."
"And then what?" I ask. "You just pull a trigger?"
"No, of course not. No one wants that. We just... turn off the magic. We give ourselves back to nature. We let ourselves grow old. And if you get second thoughts, you can always go back to how you were before. But you'd be surprised how many people stick with it, once they've decided, that is. There's a relief in it. I guess you just know when it's your time."
I let all this sink in. "So, what are you saying? The bartender isn't thirty?"
"Oh, heavens, no. He's older than me."
I'm afraid to ask. "And how old are you?"
"Hah! How old am I, she asks. Didn't anyone ever tell you it's impolite to ask a woman's age, deary? I'd give up Tegan state secrets before I ever give up that information. Now come on, it's time to get you home."
We leave the pub and head across Prospect Park to Parliament Hill. We pass children at play, couples out for walks, workers on breaks; it couldn't be a more beautiful day. Part of me wishes I could stay longer and explore this new realm, but I have to admit, I'm starting to miss my friends and my family.
I still haven't decided what I will tell everyone. Careena said a day in the past is also a day in the future, but I'm not sure if the reverse is true or if they can simply reinsert me at the moment I left Shira's rooftop. Though, if they could send me back to Oradell instead of Brooklyn, they'd be saving me three train transfers, so maybe I'll ask about that.
I want to tell my dad about everything I saw, that his stupid sci-fi shows got it all wrong, well a few things right, but mostly I just want to blow his mind. I wish I had a camera, some way to capture these memories, but I left my phone in Shira's room. Stupid. On a normal day I can't even go to the toilet without that thing.
Not that it matters, I guess. I suspect they're going to make me swear an oath to secrecy. Or, who knows, maybe even delete my memories. That would be a shame. Though not entirely. If I never have to remember that attack on the Stellar Pearl again, I won't protest. But I'd like to remember Careena and Story, my friends from this other time.
We make our way up the hillside, with it's terraced staircases, until we're in the streets of Parliament Hill, the city's centermost district. It's a stately neighborhood, with a series of stone plazas and Greek-inspired buildings facing one another at odd but interesting angles. There are fountains at busy intersections as well. I have a feeling this is not a reproduction of an ancient city, but simply the logical continuation of thousands of years of city planning evolution, the culmination of best practices discovered by centuries of trail and error.
Sadly, American planners threw most of this received wisdom out the window sometime around the 1960s. I'm unsurprised to see that little of their influence has survived into the present day. I have to say, it's remarkable just how pleasant an urban space can be when you don't need to shoehorn in space for automobiles, when the streets aren't engineered to be little more than sewers for cars, and when, even in a major city like this one, you can hear the birds singing in the trees.
We finally reach our destination, the Ministry of Temporal Affairs. It's white, of course—white marble. A grand stone staircase leads up to portico columns the size of redwood trees. I'm made to feel dwarfed and insignificant by the building, though perhaps that is by design. For what is humanity and all her endeavors compared to the oceans of time that will one day wash it all away?
No one prevents us from entering the great hall of the building. The doorways are open and seemingly made for giants.
The ministry feels even larger inside, like a cathedral cut from a block of marble, with occasional skylights above allowing in beams of light.
Lining either side of this massive hall are the marble statues of several men and women, seven in all. They must be at least twenty feet tall.
"It's like a temple," I whisper, my voice becoming lost in the mighty chamber.
Careena seems less impressed. "Wait until you meet the crackpot who runs the place."
"And who are they?" I ask of the statues.
"The original temporal agents," she tells me. "The founders of the ministry. That one there is Jonathan Baker, the pioneer of the technology. Around here he's a damned hero. Maybe I used to think that myself when I was younger. But now I think there are some corners of reality that humanity was never meant to discover."
I don't know if I agree with that entirely, but I'm willing to defer for now. I look around at the statues, one of which, a woman, is draped in a grey cloth, covered. "What's her story?" I ask.
"That's Herla Vox. She was Baker's most trusted confidante. She killed him."
"Why?"
"Because power corrupts, luv."
I wonder if maybe there's an admission in that statement.
Before I can ask any more questions, several figures come to greet us in the great hall. They are dressed in strange robes, like futuristic acolytes. They all wear tiny caps, save the lead woman, who has a silk headdress round like the rings of Saturn. She is tall and formidable, perhaps of Asian descent, and while she looks to me to be only in her late twenties, I now know not to trust my eyes. In her youthful face is great age, of that there is no doubt.
"Sister Smith, you were ordered back here years ago. Where you have been?" the woman asks with gloved hands folded at her waist.
"Doing my job. What the for
k have you been doing?"
"Your job," the woman says in a way that conveys particular cynicism. "Some would say you've been on the run. It was out of courtesy that I allowed you to finish your final assignment, sister. To allow you that dignity. To avoid hauling you back here in chains. And you made us fools. Tell me, did you ever find that jumper in Sumeria? Heaven knows you had ample time."
"I was close, but then I got shot. Because you let a mole slip right past you, Sister Soolin."
"Was that the reason?" The woman approaches and breathes in the scent of whiskey. "You used to be such a good agent. What happened to you?"
There was a biting sincerity in the question.
And Careena has no answer to give.
"I suppose it no longer matters," this woman Soolin says. "Careena Jane Smith, as portreeve of this institution, and by the power vested in me by the Republic of Tegana, under the Amended Codices of Time, I am placing you under arrest for the violation of your sacred oath to the Laws of Nature. You will be charged with temporal treason, for the willful corruption of the natural timeline for personal gain, and if found guilty, the punishment will be excommunication from this plane of existence forever."
It's only now that I realize Soolin's aids are all armed with silver pistols.
So there's that.
ELEVEN
Captain Gernsback had warned me about the lion's den. And she wasn't wrong. I have the sudden feeling of being that awkward third wheel on someone else's date, one going very poorly at the moment. This is like watching a loving relationship of many years devolve into insults and accusations, all while my presence is completely forgotten.
Though maybe it's better that way.
Careena raises a finger. "You know you can't do that, Soolin. This man Patmos, he's not just another tosspot with a jumpvest. He intends to turn this universe into Swiss cheese. Now, I could of run off. For good. I could have done that years ago when you first accused me of all this hogwash. You know I could. But I came back because you need a field agent with experience. I can stop him. You need me."
Soolin's stare is harsh. She holds out her hand. "What I need, sister, is your Quantum Distortion Device."
A battle of wills is waged. Silence fills this great hall for many long moments as everyone present watches the two women, waiting to see which side breaks first.
Perhaps to my surprise, it's Careena that relents. She slides off her QDD, the ring known as Hecate, and hands it over to Soolin. The portreeve slips the ring into a pocket of her robe.
Careena is powerless now, her status as a demigod absconded. She's been reverted back into mortal form, a mere civilian, a bystander to the passage of history. She's been defeated by Soolin, Portreeve of the Ministry of Temporal Affairs. She's been defeated by time.
Or maybe not.
I try to hide my confusion as I fold my hands behind my back as professionally as possible, like they do in all those military movies. I do this not out of any formal sense of obligation; it's simply that there was one detail about the ring exchange between the two women that has me a little baffled.
Which is that Hecate is still on my hand.
I've been wearing her ever since the rooftop on Brooklyn. Careena had never asked for her back. Indeed, she'd even suggested I wear her a little longer, that she might bring me some comfort after all I've been through. I'm wondering now if the old lady didn't have some ulterior motive for leaving the ring with me. Which does raise another question. What did she just pass off to Soolin?
I jump when the portreeve addresses me.
As much as I want to be afraid of her, there's genuine compassion in her voice. Whatever bad blood exists between her and Careena, the elegant woman is no witch.
"Dear child," she says. "I'm so sorry you had to be involved in all this. I am the portreeve of this ministry and please know that I consider your wellbeing my personal responsibility while you're here. Captain Beckett has already explained to me the series of unfortunate events that brought you here to us. I offer you my apology on behalf of the Republic of Tegana. I will see that you are returned home most immediately."
"Thank you, portreeve." I fiddle with the ring for a moment behind my back. I'm aware that if I don't mention it to her now, that makes me complicit in Careena's schemings.
And what do I really know about the old woman? Not much, other than she has an uncomfortably close relationship with whiskey and that she's apparently some sort of time criminal. What if I'm choosing the wrong side? Soolin just wants to get me home—she might actually care about my personal wellbeing. No plots. No tricks. No schemes.
I look over to Careena one last time, thinking that I'm likely about to give her up. I mean, there's that ridiculous quilted overcoat, the hair tied up in a wild mess of a bun. Even her socks are two different shades. This woman is supposed to be a protector of time and space? I can smell the fricken booze from here.
No, I should trust the professionals.
But that doesn't necessarily mean that I have to trust these professionals.
Story Beckett risked her career to help Careena. Captain Bashir held the old woman in genuine esteem, and I doubt that man gave his respect to many. A pub full of war veterans was willing to give her a deserved nod, a raised glass. If they're all willing to vouch for her, well, it's enough for me.
I keep my mouth shut.
Soolin motions to two of her aids. "Privates Grimalkin and Paddock will escort you to the Chronos Imperium. It's a chamber of this ministry, built into the very heart of Parliament Hill. This chamber has the power to send you back home."
The two privates are also dressed in strange robes, though they have sashes and sidearms. Seems the Ministry of Temporal Affairs enjoys their cosplay.
Careena butts in. "I should take her down there."
The portreeve looks impatient. "And why on Old Earth would I allow that?"
"She knows me. Hell, she saved my life. I'd like to see her off. You know and I both know this is no ordinary jump."
Something about that last part causes Soolin pause. Maybe I should have picked up on the subtext, but I don't.
"Fine, but no tricks," the woman says.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Every console in this building has been coded against your DNA. Don't think for one moment that you can escape through the Imperium."
"I got it, I got it. Sheesh."
With that, Careena grabs my arm and leads me toward the rear of the hall, while the two privates follow close behind.
Much of the ministry is built into the hillside of Parliament Hill. This main hall is only the public face of the ministry. Behind it are two wings, one to the left and one to the right, each housing the ministry's many offices and research facilities.
I'm told they both reconnect again under the hill, at a large foyer called the Ananke that leads into this mysterious Chronos Imperium. The corridor we follow to get there reminds me more of a national museum of culture, not a ministry tasked with defending the arrow of time. There are alcoves along the left wall, each stationed with different gods of antiquity, some Greek, some Roman, but many others of indigenous origins that I don't recognize.
Along the opposite wall is an inner courtyard garden, a meditative space not unlike a cave, with light coming down through skylights far above. It's peaceful, contemplative. I hear birds chirping.
"So what is this Chronos Imperium?" I ask as we make our way down the hall.
Careena answers, "You asked once why we weren't affected by paradoxes and temporal loops the same way other jumpers are. Well, it's because of the Chronos Imperium. It's a spherical chamber that generates a very unique energy field inside, a sort of osmotic tachyon well. Anyone jumping from inside becomes immune to future changes in the timeline. We call it tachyon-grounding, or more commonly, time-staying."
I think I get it.
She goes on. "Once you're time-stayed, if someone goes back in time and shoots your grandmother, it won't affect you like it would a
normal person. To use the movie analogy, it's like now you're from an entirely different film, being spliced into this one with special effects. That's what we are, luv. We're the special effects."
"I see. So why is Soolin time-staying me?"
"That's not why she's doing it this way," Careena tells me. "It's just she can't well send you back with a jumpvest, and any of the agents who could take you back with a QDD are dead. In fact, I think all the other QDDs were destroyed in the attacks. And those things take some time to build. So at the moment, she's kind of neutered. But the Chronos Imperium has been set up to send a person back without a vest or QDD. We use it on one of our computers all the time."
"A computer? Why?"
"You'll see."
The corridor ends in a large foyer, which Careena calls the Ananke. We're deep under Parliament Hill now. To our left, the other wing of the building arrives here. The entire space has an odd design and is poorly lit. Once perhaps it was a cavern, but now the walls are covered in geometric paneling that is black and uncomfortable. Opposite us is the portal into the Chronos Imperium itself, a round doorway glowing brightly with gold light, the stage to this darkened audience.
To either side of the portal are two white trees, also oddly geometric, like low resolution computer renders of real oaks. Their branches reach up into the shadows, vanishing into the cavernous darkness above us.
"What are the trees for?" I ask.
"You'll have to ask Soolin. She designed them. For aesthetics, you know. She was a sculptor before she took this job. Can you forking believe that? My God. Maybe if these nutters would just stick with art, there'd be a lot fewer genocides in the world."
The two privates take up positions outside the entrance to the chamber, each standing beside one of the white trees.
Careena leads me inside.
The room is about the size of a classroom, though perfectly spherical. There's flooring under our feet so that we're standing pretty much in the center of this strange orb. At the back of the room is a raised platform. Floating above it is what looks like an umbrella, spinning slowly, connected to nothing. My impression is it's from this platform, under the umbrella, that a jumper is sent on their way.