Sunder

by Kristin McTiernan

  His boiling hatred tempered when he spied Dejesus walking slowly down the hall to the ready room; she was alone, just as he had predicted. A smile cut its way across his face, but he suppressed it quickly in favor of a dramatized look of panic. Showtime.

  “Agent Dejesus!” he called, sprinting across the gleaming tile. “The transmittal time,” Etienne gasped as he came to a stop in front of her, pretending to be out of breath, “has been moved to 1100.”

  Grecia Dejesus was a good deal older than him and one of the more composed women he had met in his life. The stormy look that overtook her face was an expression Etienne had never seen on her before.

  “And why is that?” she asked frostily. The student and the professor had cautiously risen from their seats and were hanging in the doorway, listening intently.

  “The Council just decided it wasn’t worth alienating the Coronado faculty over such a small matter.” Etienne looked over his shoulder to the tourist. “You don’t have to launch at high noon.”

  The lanky young man exhaled loudly with relief. “Thank you so much!”

  “Wait a minute,” Dejesus called sharply, and the giddy laughter of the student fell silent. “That’s all well and good for the Council, Danforth, but I haven’t completed his prep yet. It is absolutely unacceptable, both professionally and legally, to send him to the past without a thorough—”

  “I can give an abbreviated prep if we start now. I know this is a pain, Dejesus. I’m sorry. But this comes directly from the Council.”

  “And where is Agent Jaramillo?”

  Etienne had not predicted the outright anger rippling like heat off the pavement across Dejesus’ body. If this went on much longer, she just might get it into her head to call the Councilman on duty. He could not allow that.

  “Izzy is in with her father and some other members of the Council. Apparently, it’s very important, and she’ll launch at noon as planned; she’ll meet you at the transmittal coordinates three minutes after you arrive.”

  Setting off briskly toward his station, he gestured at all three to follow, but the student’s advisor stood fast in the hallway, giving her student a concerned wave as he followed Etienne. Dejesus kept pace with Etienne, still visibly angry. Though Agency regulations dictated that tourists must be accompanied by no less than two Agents, there had been a few times when the travelling unit separated into two separate launches. It wasn’t favored, but it was legal.

  Passing two other launch stations, Etienne arrived at his own and steered the tourist into the adjoining prep room where he could dress for the destination time and get supplies. Luckily, Europe in the 1920s was very much about simplicity; Dejesus had only a plain green dress to put on. Her hair was already pinned back and her makeup removed. The grad student had a few layers to get into, but he also dressed in record time.

  “Okay, ” Etienne clapped his hands to get the student’s attention, and then held up a transmitter. “This pretty little crucifix is actually an emergency beacon. Keep this around your neck at all times. It serves as a pulse generator, which makes it a hell of a lot easier for the retrieval technicians to bring you back; it also emits your temporal displacement field. That’s what allows you to exist outside of time. With this device, you could stay in the past as long you liked and wouldn’t age a day.”

  The grad student looked up from his jacket buttons. “Why? What happens if I travel back in time without it?”

  “You’re scheduled for a short hop, so if you didn’t have a temporal displacement field, it wouldn’t matter for you. We’re giving you one mostly for the emergency retrieval option. But some people take a sabbatical where they spend up to two years in the past. If they weren’t wearing one of these gadgets, their bodies would be two years older when they came home.”

  Etienne looked at the kid, who seemed far more interested in skittishly popping his knuckles than in what Etienne was telling him.

  “And last but not least, your crucifix contains a chronometer. Push the feet on Jesus and it will tell you the time and date. At the designated retrieval time, it will start beeping. If you are still in 1921 when the beeping stops, the retrieval did not work.”

  He walked over to the grad student and put the chain around his neck. “If that happens, you must wait exactly two days to activate the self-retrieval function. In order to do that, you have to push the feet and the INRI simultaneously for seven seconds.”

  The student frowned slightly. “That sounds complicated.”

  “It’s really very simple. Retrievals have a ninety percent success rate and we plan for every contingency.” Etienne tried his best to sound comforting, but it was hard to elicit warmth in his voice with his jaw clenched so tight.

  Dejesus put on her own beacon, then put her cool hand onto Etienne’s shoulder. Surprised, he looked up at her to see the anger had mostly faded from her face and she was instead giving him a look of sympathy, one assuring him that she too found the time tourist irritating. He found himself smiling back at her, their moment of camaraderie distracting him from his anxiety of being caught.

  “Shall we?” He swept his hand in the direction of the hallway, and Dejesus nodded at him and walked out into the hallway toward the launch station. Etienne raced to get ahead of her, almost skipping as he came to stop in front of his console.

  With some visible trepidation, the student followed the two Agency employees into the small brightly-lit launch station; Etienne pointed to yellow footprints painted on the floor next to where Dejesus stood silently waiting.

  “Stand on top of those please.” He smiled brightly while he brought up the coordinates. They had been programmed last night, as was protocol. “You might feel a little sick when you arrive, but it’ll pass. Agent Jaramillo will meet you three minutes after you arrive.”

  Dejesus gave him a curt nod. He waited for the student to get his feet centered all the way onto the yellow footprints, then watched the student take one big breath. Etienne pressed “send.”

  There was no flash of light, no humming sound or grand effect of any kind. There was a brief moment of silence and then they just disappeared.

  With Dejesus and the tourist now safely delivered to 1921, Etienne brought up his contacts on the console and called Cody Peterson. As the only other Anglo in the Depot, Peterson was the one person at work he spent a lot of time with. After a moment, his friend’s face popped up on the console looking blonde and chipper, as usual.

  “Hey Danforth, what’s up?”

  Etienne put on an uncomfortable face. “I don’t feel so good Cody. I think I’m going to go home. Do you have time to do Izzy’s launch at noon?”

  His friend’s face turned to concern. “Sure, man. I hope you feel better. Is Dejesus still going with her?”

  Etienne morphed his face into feigned confusion. “No. She went with the student to avoid high noon. Remember, you said yesterday I should send the tourist’s group at 1100?”

  “No, I said the Council was thinking about it. Did you send the tourist with only one Agent?”

  Etienne smacked his forehead and gave a good show of being panicked and annoyed with himself. “I thought you said—”

  “Hey, it’s all right man. I’ll clear it. I know you’re sick. Go home, and I’ll tell the Councilman. It’s not exactly protocol, but Izzy’ll still arrive at the same time, so technically the rules aren’t being broken.” He gave a nervous smile. “Just go home.”

  Etienne hoped Peterson didn’t catch any heat over what was going to happen. He was a good guy.

  “Thanks Cody.” He signed off and smiled.

  Last night’s clandestine trip, though frightening, had been successful—he had entered new coordinates for Izzy’s trip; since the change occurred after midnight, all data had already been transmitted to the backup systems. There would be no record of the coordinates once the malfunction occurred. And since Peterson would be performing the launch, no one would imagine it was done on purpose; it would just look like a simple machi
ne malfunction—no blame on Cody, no blame on Etienne.

  He took a moment to reflect on the pitiful state of security at Jaramillo-Diaz. The Agency was so concerned about footage of their technology being smuggled out to a would-be competitor that they didn’t watch the most important part of the depot. But then Alfredo always did prize money above all things.

  Still shaking a bit, Etienne walked out of the launch station. It would all be over soon.

  It was 11:15 a.m.

  ***

  Isabella eyed the beautiful red dress as it hung next to the full-length mirror in the back of her office. Everything about it was perfect—the asymmetrical design, the silk and embroidered fringe of the shawl, the flowing skirts that hit at her shins. She chose this design because of its high fashion and conservative design. The dropped waistline marked it as a product of the 20s, but she did not want to be as conspicuous as a speak-easy flapper. As always she had supplied her own clothing, as the idea of using Agency-supplied clothing filled her with nausea. How other Agents tolerated wearing clothing other people had sweated in was a mystery to her.

  She heard a timid knock at the door. Of course it was Elizabeth. But since she was in her very large 1920s underwear, she decided to make sure.

  “Who is it?”

  Elizabeth mumbled her name and was allowed to enter, a look of worry marring her pale face as she stepped through the door.

  “Is something wrong?” Isabella asked, leaning back to hand her hair brush to her assistant. Elizabeth approached the desk and stood behind Isabella, immediately taking the brush from her and running it through Isabella’s hair.

  “Not really,” she managed the shadow of a confident smile. “There was a miscommunication with Agent Dejesus. She and the tourist were ordered to leave at 11. You’ll be going alone at the scheduled time.”

  Isabella raised an eyebrow in irritation. “To avoid High Noon, I’m guessing. Why would they go without me? I was right here the whole time. I could have been ready by 11.”

  Elizabeth took a comb out of her pocket and started gently arranging Isabella’s hair into a chignon. “Peterson wasn’t very specific. He just said there was a mix-up.” She tenderly swept the strays from Isabella’s olive-toned forehead and placed the final pin in her hair. “There. You look lovely, so much like your mother.”

  She rolled her eyes in irritation. “My mother was blonde, Elizabeth.” She stood up, straightening the uncomfortable brassier. Her assistant’s habit of bringing up her mother, Monica, was intolerable. Isabella was only a teenager when she hired Elizabeth to assist her and out of sympathy had made the error of condoning random comments about her mother. After all, Elizabeth had been the one to find her.

  As the daughter of the family maid, Elizabeth had grown up in a small bungalow behind the Jaramillo house. She had been only 10 years old, just coming home from school, when she found Monica in the pool that terrible day. Though Isabella understood the need to discuss the childhood trauma, she had her own issues with her mother’s death, and found any discussion if it unbearable.

  “Come help me with this.” She reached up and took the dress down from its hook on the mirror. She let Elizabeth take the dress from her, then turned toward the mirror, raising her arms above her head.

  The dress came down over her body, the fringe on the short sleeves tickling her arms as the dress came to rest on her shoulders. Elizabeth straightened it, then started fastening the buttons that went up her back. She fastened each one slowly, smoothing the material over her body as she went. After the button beneath her shoulder blades was done, she stopped. Isabella felt her assistant’s finger lightly caress the flesh beneath the base of her neck.

  “I always wanted a tattoo,” she said softly, “But Giuseppe didn’t allow it. It would probably hurt too much anyway. What does yours mean?”

  Isabella sucked in her cheeks to keep from growling at the girl. She never talked about Etienne with her, why did she think talking about her own vile ex-husband was appropriate? Elizabeth had been granted an annulment after Alfredo sent pictures of her bruised and battered body to the Arch Bishop. If only Isabella had been so lucky to get a batterer; she could have separated from Etienne earlier.

  “It’s the Chi Ro, the symbol of Christ. Don’t you remember Catechism class? Just finish up.”

  And she did, only showing her disappointment a little. The rest of the buttons were clasped in record time. She then went to get the stockings and the shoes from the closet.

  Straightening the red dress, Isabella sat back in her chair, pulling her skirt above her garter belt. Elizabeth kneeled in front of her and began sliding her employer’s foot into the stocking.

  “I was thinking for my tattoo, I would put my name in Latin over my heart.” She smoothed the stocking up her leg, clasping it onto the belt.

  “What is your name in Latin?” she asked, not really caring.

  “Isabella, actually.” She smiled shyly. “Elizabeth is just the English translation.” The second stocking was clasped, the wrinkles smoothed away.

  “Why do you have an English name? Aren’t both your parents Italian?”

  Elizabeth slid on the right shoe, a titillated smile on her face. “Mother was half Welsh. Elizabeth is my grandmother’s name.”

  Elizabeth’s mother Stefania had not only been the maid, but also the guardian for Isabella when her parents were out at one social function or another. She had been so breathtakingly beautiful and Isabella had longed to look like her. A pity her looks failed to pass down to Elizabeth.

  Isabella’s left shoe buckled, and her ensemble complete, Isabella stood from her chair and walked to the locker she kept next to the door. “What’s Welsh?”

  She took off her medal of Saint Joan and her mother’s opal ring and placed them on the top shelf of the locker. She had left her wedding ring at her father’s.

  “The Welsh are Celtic people who inhabited the British Isles before the Europeans invaded from the Continent.”

  Isabella did not bother to nod, not really interested in the little sects Anglos divided themselves into. “Who would have thought Anglos could have been spawned by Europeans?”

  “The English were a great people. If it hadn’t been for the Civil War, I think they would still dominate the global arena.”

  Isabella sighed at her assistant’s misplaced ideals. “There would never have been a Civil War if the English had not challenged the Catholic King. James II was ordained by God to lead the English back to righteousness. They chose Godlessness and got what they deserved.” She closed the locker and pressed her thumb to the front panel, sealing it until her return.

  “Time?” Her tone indicated she wanted no further discussion of England.

  “1150,” the assistant said, her mouth tight.

  Isabella gave her desk a final glance and stepped over to the door. “I’ll be back at 1401. Please have tea set out for me. Other than that, I won’t need you for the rest of the day.” She opened the door and glanced back at her assistant, who looked back sadly at her. “I just love how I look in this dress!” And she was gone.

  It was 11:51 a.m.

  ***

  The click of her oxfords echoed off the walls as she entered Peterson’s launch station. The excitement of her impending trip had set in and she was anxious to meet up with Dejesus and the tourist in 1921.

  Peterson turned to her with a grin. “Isabella! How is the prettiest woman in the world today?” Unlike Etienne, Cody had no trouble fitting in with the Spanish majority. He was a young man, fresh out of university, and it showed in his enthusiasm and fresh outlook. There was no cynicism or suspicion in his clear blue eyes, which were usually crinkled in a smile. Isabella, like everyone else at the depot, liked him very much.

  “I’m fabulous darling; how are you?” Isabella returned his greeting in English, since Cody used his native language without shame. She had hoped some of Cody’s joviality and ease with himself would rub off on her misanthropic husband, but that had
not occurred.

  “I’m just great,” Cody said. “I’m going out to dinner with Samantha Saint from processing tomorrow night.” He looked down and merrily brought up the coordinates for the machine.

  Isabella stepped onto the yellow footprints without the slightest bit of trepidation. “Is she the freckled girl with affected speech?” she asked, referring to the woman’s southern accent.

  “That’s her. You ready for a jump?”

  “Yes I am.” Then she remembered. “Oh! I need my emergency beacon.”

  He laughed at her. “How many times have we done this? And you forget that? That’s it, you’re fired.”

  She smiled winningly at him while she walked out across the hall into his prep room. After putting her thumb onto the lock box on the wall, it confirmed her fingerprint and popped open. Hanging inside was one silver crucifix.

  “Hey Cody,” she yelled across the hallway. “You’ve only got one left in here. You need to get some more before the evening launch.” She slipped the life-saving beacon over her head.

  “I had like ten of them in there,” he yelled back.

  She returned to the launch station and resumed her previous position on her yellow footprints. “Well there aren’t any in there now. I’ve got the last one.”

  A shadow of irritation passed quickly over his face, but it returned almost immediately to its standard cheerful countenance. “I guess I’ll have to requisition more. Okay, for real this time. Let’s get you going.”

  “If I don’t see you before tomorrow, good luck on your date.”

  He giggled mischievously and gave her an enthusiastic wave goodbye; then he pushed send.

  A dull buzz popped into the air.

  “What’s tha-” and she disappeared. It was High Noon, 12 p.m. exactly.

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled quietly to himself. With the smile completely gone, he bent down and peered into the console.