by Libby Drew
Opposite, a group of women sat clustered on the sofas. Reegan ran a critical eye over their attire. Just about anything would do for early 21st century, but the newer synthetics—not yet invented in 2020—would be banned on this trip. He despised attending to these kinds of details, but Maxie watched him like a hawk. The last time he’d missed a banned substance on a pre-jaunt check, the bastard had docked his expedition pay by thirty percent.
The blonde from earlier hovered at the edge of the room, picking at the hem of her suit jacket and twisting invisible rings on her fingers. She rolled her shoulders and smoothed her skirt pleats. Much more fussing and she’d be doing the cha-cha. The mismatch of demeanor to clothing was even more obvious up close. The gal carried herself like a queen. Who did she think she was fooling with her thrift-store costume?
Reegan knew a disguise when he saw one, but usually people went the other way, pretending at a higher class when they’d taken a second mortgage on their postage-stamp suburban apartment in order to jaunt. Faking wealth was harder than it looked, and so, apparently, was making like you were one of the common folk.
Her eyes shifted around the room, landing on each person in turn. Assessing. Measuring. Reegan adjusted his first impression. Not nearly as dumb as she looked. The niggle of familiarity rushed back.
“All right, everyone. Gather around.” He stepped to the center of the room and the group closed in. The four men from the bar brought their booze. Reegan counted three couples, two older and one whose joined hands and youthful exuberance screamed honeymoon. The groom glared when Reegan cast a critical eye over the leggy bride. “I’m going to go over some last-minute rules. You should have heard them all before, but indulge me. Number one,” he said, catching the blonde’s eye. “Stay with the group at all times. At all times. I can’t stress that enough. It may look like one big party, but the crowd will be full of thugs and thieves.”
“But—” The bride raised her hand. “Dr. McNamara, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Can I just ask why we have to wear these bracelets?” She lifted her arm and her bio bracelet jangled. Its silver links clashed with the thick band of gold on her finger. “If we’re not allowed to explore, what’s the point of wearing tracking devices?”
Reegan met her husband’s smug smile. “That’s in case you get murdered and dumped in the Potomac. I can track your body with the bracelet.”
Uneasy mumbling spread through the crowd. An older woman raised her hand.
Reegan clenched his teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I thought this trip wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. My Marty and I signed up for a level-one jaunt. We don’t want any trouble.”
Reegan could feel Maxie’s eyes boring into his back from behind the glass. He’d have activated audio by now. The man didn’t understand how to trust. “There won’t be any trouble. This is a level-one jaunt. The crowd will be thick and noisy, but the mood that evening was jubilant, not violent. It’ll be everything you hope for, I promise.”
That settled the rumblings. He’d catch hell for the body-in-the-river comment, but if it kept the curious from wandering, it was worth a scowl or two from Maxie.
“Conveniently, our termination point for 2020 is only a few blocks from the National Mall. We’ll be walking to the event. Again, please stay together.” He held up his wrist, and his sleeve fell back to expose his own bio bracelet. “If you somehow get separated from the group, press the call button on your bracelet and stay put. I will come to you. If your own bracelet delivers a slight sting, please check in with me immediately.”
One wide-eyed woman raised her hand. “Does it hurt when you sting us?”
Only if I want it to. He winked, dialing the charm to maximum. “No, ma’am. And I doubt I’ll have to do anything like that with such a fine group of folks.
“We’ll be departing in ten minutes. If you’re renting one of our antique cameras for the trip, please make sure you know how to use it. You may not bring your own. With the exception of your bio bracelets, no modern tech is permitted through the portal.”
The crowd broke up, and Reegan drifted from person to person, asking inane questions while he did a spot check of bio bracelets and attire. No kids on this trip, thank God. They gave him the sour sweats. He wound through the room, circling, and the blonde skittered ahead of him like a cornered mouse. He caught her between a replica roll-top desk and a potted palm. He’d been told his grin could charm babies. She went gray and started to tremble.
“Hey.” He reached for her arm, and she flinched against the wall, though her eyes flashed. Reegan frowned and pulled back. “Are you worried about the jaunt? There’s no reason to be scared. I’ve done it hundreds of times. Maybe more. It’s very safe.”
“It’s not that.” She straightened, collecting herself. Reegan waited for what exactly “it” was. Eventually she caught on he wasn’t going to leave her alone. “I really need this vacation. That’s all. Will we be leaving soon?”
“Ten minutes. Like I said.” Reegan removed his hand and shoved it in his pocket. “What’s your name?”
“Silvia.”
Reegan smiled. “Silvia?”
“Panitierre. Silvia Panitierre.”
Victor D’arco’s wife. Reegan blinked to cover his surprise. Vague, years-old memories brought to mind a very different looking Ms. Panitierre. She’d been Silvia Sunshine Panitierre back then. The main attraction at the piano bar just off campus on 35th Street. Fiery hair. Deep, raspy voice. And a devil-may-care attitude that had stuck with him longer than any of her physical attributes. He kept the recollection to himself. There wasn’t a chance in hell she remembered him. While most of his college buddies had been jockeying for a trip to her dressing room, he’d been three racks deep at the coat check, blowing the off-duty bouncer.
College felt like a century ago, Georgetown a wispy memory. But he’d known Silvia long before she’d started crooning at the Tabby Kitten. They went back, him and her, even if she didn’t remember.
Whatever her game, he’d play along for now. Reegan stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Silvia. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to put your mind at ease?”
This time his smile worked. A bit of the ice melted from her eyes as they shook hands. “You’re very kind. Thank you. I’m fine. I’m not used to all this excitement, I guess.”
“Don’t get out often enough?”
She laughed, low and throaty like he remembered. “Once in a blue moon, Dr. McNamara. I imagine that sounds naïve to someone as widely traveled as yourself.”
Reegan played along. “Not at all. We all experience life differently. Rich or poor. Singer or surgeon. We all know something the next person doesn’t. Secrets.”
“Some of us know too many.”
The wistful words didn’t match the tense tone. They put him on edge. Reegan stepped back, breaking the intimate moment. “Please let me know if you need anything. Enjoy your trip.”
He’d be keeping a close eye on Ms. Panitierre, former blues bar singer and current wife of D.C. Councilman D’arco. What the hell was she doing here? Not that her surname would mean shit to anyone outside the Southeast districts, which was probably why she hadn’t hesitated to use it.
He’d thought the blond locks hadn’t suited her pale skin, green eyes and freckles. With that combo, people expected red hair, and Silvia—the Silvia he remembered—had it in spades.
Her skirt gapped at the waist, and the way her fingers fluttered over the fabric, then shied away reminded Reegan of how Maxie acted when he found a spider in his office. She’d tried to blend in with the masses, but hadn’t quite managed the transformation. You couldn’t shed class like a fur coat. It lingered.
Funny that she played the part so well, because Silvia hadn’t come from money. She’d grown up in the same res district Reegan had, just one of thousands of children living in cold, impersonal concrete block housing or, if they were lucky, reclaimed row houses, following the public cybersch
ool curriculum. Frankly it was a miracle any of them had gone anywhere. But here was Reegan, a doctor—not the kind that helps people, as his father liked to introduce him—and Silvia, a wealthy socialite.
One who didn’t want to be recognized and thought the chances slim in this company. Reegan wouldn’t burst her bubble. Unless she burst his and did something foolish. His gut didn’t like the odds. “I’ll be calling everyone together soon. Do you have your bio bracelet on?” She held her wrist up for his inspection, and his eyes zeroed in on a mottled bruise underneath. “Good.”
Herding cats would have been easier than rounding the group up and coaxing them through the door to the portal. He barely heard the gasps of surprise and unease anymore. First-time jaunters had similar reactions to the stark white emptiness of the portal room and the particle beam collider that powered it, but it was familiar territory for Reegan. This side of the equation never changed.
The other end, in the past, would be the surprise. Due to the very nature of time, physical destination points changed. The one they were using tonight was in a church that had been torn down in early 2021. Maxie had shown Reegan pictures and schematics. In 2020, the building was abandoned, so it was perfect for incoming jaunters, and the return trip should be a cakewalk too. All Reegan would need to do is get everyone back to the church safely, herd them into the sacristy and key the return sequence on his bio bracelet.
“Time to go, folks!”
Drinks were downed in a single gulp, purses and cameras collected, and clothing straightened. Reegan smiled through it all, mentally murdering Maxie a thousand times. When all fifteen were secure inside—that was a cozy experience—Reegan keyed their destination into the control panel near the door. The lights blinked out. Travelers did better at keeping their equilibrium when they couldn’t see the world dissolve around them.
“Stay calm,” he said when the nervous twittering began. A moment later, he felt the familiar sensation of lifting. It began slowly, no more disruptive than an elevator ride, before gravity disappeared altogether and his stomach shot into his throat. The scientists said it lasted a mere three seconds. Reegan personally thought none had ever bothered to experience it for themselves. Or had never subjected themselves to a portal full of tourists prone to motion sickness.
The sense of motion slowed, then ceased. The room came into focus, as though someone had sharpened the picture with a camera lens, and his tourists gave surprised gasps of pleasure at their new surroundings. Their arrival had kicked up a layer of dust. More than one person sneezed. In the nave beyond the sacristy, birds fluttered in the rafters.
In the end, only one man got sick. Not bad odds. How the return jaunt went depended on how much food and liquor people indulged in.
Reegan thumbed the button on his bracelet that activated tracking ability for his fifteen charges. “Okay, we’re here. You’re standing inside the Church of St. Brendan. Built over two hundred years ago, it was recently deemed unsafe for the public. Not to worry, it’ll hold together long after we pass through it this evening. Please take note of the stained glass as we exit.” Reegan led the group into the nave, pausing near the altar. He pointed upward. “The windows were imported from Europe during the church’s construction. At one time, they were surrounded by delicate painted stonework, which has since been lost due to poor maintenance. The windows themselves illustrate over a hundred figures from the Bible.”
Five minutes later, after a short tour of the church, they stepped through a small side door and into an overgrown garden. Through buildings and trees, the Washington Monument glowed in the purple dusky sunset. “Ladies and Gentleman,” Reegan said, smiling wide enough to crack his jaw. “Welcome to the year 2020. The date is March 25th.” He began walking toward the Mall, gesturing the group forward. “Tonight, you’ll be witnessing President McAfee’s famous unveiling of the Jabalia Peace Accord. The treaty that he himself brokered and that has remained unbroken for over a century. Historians look to this very night, this very speech, as the dawn of enduring peace in that region.”
*
He kept half an eye on Silvia the whole time. She stayed with the group of single women throughout the short walk to the Mall, smiling politely but not offering a single word of mindless chatter. The watery smile could have been badly disguised disgust. Silvia hadn’t had much patience for frivolities back in the day. None of them had. Habits like that didn’t disappear overnight. Most times, they didn’t disappear at all.
The National Mall was lit like a football field. Brighter than noon on a summer day, he heard one man say to his wife. Garish, Reegan thought, but for once, his group had taken his warnings to heart. It was poetry the way they navigated the mass of people, changing direction in one graceful dance move as the crowd ebbed and flowed like tidewater. It probably wasn’t politically correct to compare his jaunters to a herd of antelope, but hell, it fit. Maybe he’d get a chance to soak up Crank’s speech after all. The man’s bravery and selflessness in a crisis was legendary.
No doubt Reegan hadn’t been the only schoolboy to compare himself to the famous man, but he’d be one of the only ones seeing him in the flesh. It wasn’t an experience he planned to squander.
Reegan checked his bio bracelet and was pleased to see a small glowing “15” in the upper right-hand corner, as well as a cluster of yellow dots surrounding his red leader dot on the geo-grid. All tourists present and accounted for. From the corner of his eye, he watched Silvia hug herself and stare off across the city. She took no interest whatsoever in the giant screen in front of them that showcased the podium at the crest of the Washington Monument’s knoll.
Crank had stepped to the podium. From where Reegan’s group stood at the entrance to the Air and Space Museum, the flesh-and-blood man looked like an ant, lost in the shadow of the monument behind him.
But on the screen directly in front of Reegan, he was twenty feet of Technicolor ex-Marine, a veritable giant, dressed impeccably in a dark suit and blue striped tie. His wife, a beautiful brunette with an approval rating even higher than her husband, blew kisses to the crowd. When Crank smiled and waved, a roar of applause thundered down the two-mile strip that stretched between the Lincoln Memorial and the Capital Building. Reegan’s heart picked up.
The crowd had no idea of how this night would go down in history. How the man standing before them would shape the next century, and probably the century beyond. In a way, Reegan felt sorry for them, because that knowledge made the experience all the richer. Made every small detail ring with importance. The clear, star-filled sky. The jubilance and optimism in the air. The words of a man who had once been a boy like himself, but was now so much more.
For a fourth grade assignment, Reegan had been required to list three questions he wanted to ask a famous man. Reegan had chosen President McAfee. He didn’t remember his questions. Two decades had dulled the edge of that memory. But if the chance came to meet him, to shake his hand, Reegan would count it among the most important experiences of his life.
Crank McAfee was no coward. Reegan admired that most of all.
“Good evening.” Crank’s voice roared over the speakers. “Today marks the first day of a promise. One that I trust to change the face of our world.”
Reegan cheered with the crowd, struggling to keep his heart out of the equation. This man was dead. This time was dead. Reegan’s job was a delicate balancing act of selling the experience and reminding people that these people were ghosts. Attachment would only breed heartache.
“The Jabalia Accord will open doors long closed to fair commerce. It will build business and perpetuate the successful formula of tolerance. It will remind people that different is not an ugly word. That being unique is cause for celebration. Not war.”
Another round of applause lifted on a cold wind, and Reegan pushed his sleeve back to check his bracelet. Fifteen dots.
“Let’s give our children a chance to grow up without conflict.” Crank’s voice flowed from hundreds of speakers s
ituated along the Mall, creating a Godlike reverberation. “Let’s allow them to concentrate not on news of violence and death, but on their future. Let’s allow them to reap the benefits of our groundbreaking cybereducational system so that they may perpetuate this newly adopted peace and continue to change the world for the better.”
The birth of cyberschooling. Another of this President’s legacies. Reegan had recorded cyberlessons on Crank McAfee’s magnetism. No book compared now that he’d seen the real thing. No book ever did. That was the root of Reegan’s addiction to time travel.
He stepped back, peering around the shoulders of the newlyweds to check on Silvia.
She wasn’t there.
“Fuck!” Reegan pushed through the tight ring of people, ripping back his jacket sleeve to check his bracelet.
Fifteen, the display read. What the hell?
Another three steps put him next to the pod of single women. “Where’s Silvia?” he barked into the ear of the nearest. She yelped, tipping the red plastic cup she held. Amber liquid spilled down Reegan’s pants.
She blinked at it and giggled.
Reegan took her arm in a firm grip. “What’s in the cup?”
“Oh.” She swayed in place as she peered into its depths. “I don’t know. That nice man over there gave it to me.” She waved her fingers at someone over Reegan’s shoulder. He didn’t bother looking.
“The rules state not to drink or eat anything given to you by someone outside our group. Especially something unopened like this.” He stabbed a finger at the cup before snatching it and pouring the remnants onto the gravel at their feet. The young woman pouted and gave the beer—Reegan could smell it now—a parting, finger-wiggling wave.
Holding back a low growl, Reegan gave her shoulders an ungentle shake. “Where’s Silvia?”
“Who?”
“The blonde with the secondhand wardrobe,” he clarified.
She snapped her fingers. “Right here next to me!” She spun too fast and overbalanced into a group of local college boys. Reegan retrieved her, issuing a tight apology, and flicked the “call” button on his bracelet. Scattered around him, his jaunters yelped and hissed as their bracelets delivered a mild electrical shock, but obeyed the command, moving toward him from all sides, closing ranks.