Laying the Music to Rest

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  Marjorie slid our drinks to us across the oak bar and we headed out the aft door of the lounge in the direction of the second-class library.

  “That’s pretty wild, all right,” Craig said after I had finished telling the basic part of my story for the third time in the last eight hours. I was getting it down real pat. A little more practice and I could take the entire show on the road.

  “I warned you,” Marjorie said. She’d heard the story the same three times and seemed to be believing it more each time.

  We had found Craig sitting alone at the same table in the library he’d been at the previous cycle. Again, as we had worked our way toward his table, I had an overwhelming desire to run my hands along the leather books and take deep breaths of the air that smelled of new shelves and new books. So I had done it. Alex had laughed and followed my example. I was beginning to really like Alex.

  Marjorie had sat down next to Craig. Alex and I had sat down across the oak table from him. It had taken me about fifteen minutes to tell him the bare-bones outline of my last few days. I hadn’t mentioned the part about the world possibly coming to an end. That was one factor I still didn’t want to believe myself.

  During the entire time, Craig sat with his hands on the smooth table, leaning forward, listening to me. I knew from his eyes that he wasn’t missing a thing. Now that I was finished he was going to fill in some holes with questions. “Does this ghost called Gretchen sound right to you?” Craig asked Alex.

  Alex nodded. “I’m afraid it does. I did get pulled here as Gretchen rejected my offer of marriage. I’ve always wondered why she did that.”

  “She didn’t think she was worthy of you,” I said, repeating what Steven had found out.

  “She didn’t?” Marjorie asked.

  Alex nodded. “I knew of her fear. I hoped to talk her past it.” His eyes seemed to be looking back into another world as he said, “I was not allowed the time.”

  Craig nodded and turned to me. “I don’t understand why you purposely triggered the mirror. Seems like a stupid thing to do to me. No offense.”

  “It was,” I said. “But I had my reasons. Partly to help my friends. I came to take this man back to what’s left of the town of Roosevelt.” I patted Alex on the shoulder.

  Craig laughed a hearty, full laugh. “If you figure out how to do that, please tell the rest of us.”

  “That’s why we came to see you,” Marjorie said.

  Craig looked at her and then at me, his eyes again intense and very serious. “You have a way?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “But I think Susan does. We need to find her. But we need to do it quietly. There seems to be no need in getting up the hopes of everyone over what may well turn out to be a wild idea.”

  Craig nodded. “I agree. But what makes you think this woman knows any more about all this than anyone else?”

  I quickly sketched in what Susan had said about this being a reseed group for after worldwide destruction. And I told him what she had said about the main transmitter for all the mirror triggers being here at this end. As I told him that, I saw his eyes take on the look of comprehension.

  “Okay,” he said. “You obviously have an idea where this device may be. Right? And you’re assuming she is there. Right?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “We were hoping that you might be able to help us pinpoint where people cycle to each time. We think the device might be in the center.”

  “Makes sense,” Craig said. He glanced at his watch. “The plans for the ship are up in the officers’ quarters on the boat deck. We’ve got about an hour before too many officers fill those rooms. I could mark on the plans where everyone I can remember cycles to. I think I can remember most everyone. And even a few who are no longer with us.”

  “I don’t think we need to be that precise. How about doing a rough outline of each deck and marking generally where everyone appears? If there’s going to be a pattern, we should be able to tell from that.”

  Craig nodded, slid his chair back, and stood. “I’ll get some paper.”

  Over the next two hours, Craig proceeded to amaze me with his clear thinking and his fantastic memory for details. He sketched each deck, starting with the boat deck and working downward. He used the grand staircase as his main reference points. For each person, he drew a small circle, stating their name out loud and putting their initials inside the small circle. He remembered hundreds of people’s locations. And on four people that he couldn’t remember, he knew where they were and sent Marjorie and Alex off to ask them.

  My circle on the starboard side, front section of the boat deck was the last circle he put in place.

  The pattern was very clear. The seven top decks had circles. The boat deck had six, spaced uniformly around the entire deck and F deck had five, also scattered throughout the deck.

  About twenty circles dotted both A deck and E deck. Thirty circles filled both B and D decks, scattered more toward the bow and aft of the ship, with none in the direct center area of either drawing. On C deck, twenty circles dotted both ends of the ship, with not one circle filling the middle.

  I kept staring at the large open area in the middle of C deck. It was as if there was a giant hole right in the middle of the ship. It seemed very obvious that whatever device ran the mirrors was somewhere near the center of that hole. Susan probably had had the equipment to find it. We were just going to have to search.

  Craig drew a large circle in the center of C deck. “That’s on this same deck,” he said. “Let’s narrow this way down and only deal with the very small center section and forget the rooms along both sides, as well as the areas anywhere near the two staircases. All right?”

  I nodded and he went on.

  “In the center section between the two boiler casings there are three crosscorridors that run from the port hall to the starboard hall, a distance of over sixty feet.” He quickly sketched in the details on his drawing.

  “There are maybe thirty first-class rooms in that area, to my knowledge all occupied by passengers. There are also steward service areas and a half dozen small shops.”

  “What is in the very center corridor?” I asked.

  “Only rooms,” Alex said. “Four large suites on each side of the corridor.

  “Shall we go take a look?” Craig said, and started to stand.

  “Caution,” Alex said, “would be prudent in this situation.”

  “I agree,” I said. My sixth sense was screaming for us to be careful. I didn’t know exactly why. Something about the way Susan had said others would want to use the mirror. I agreed with Alex. We needed to be very careful.

  “Why?” Craig asked, seating himself after it became obvious that none of the rest of us were ready to run off and search just yet.

  “It would seem logical,” Alex said, “that the people who arranged to have us all here also arranged to have their device protected.”

  “That’s a good point,” I said. “But there may be more to it than that. Susan mentioned that her goal was to protect this or any seed group from another seed group. And at some point she mentioned one of the groups was called Lomax. I think I was starting to laugh at the moment she was telling me, so I didn’t ask any questions. Wish I had now. But you can imagine how farfetched this all sounded sitting beside a lake in the Idaho wilderness. However, she did say that these Lomax are biologically altered in some fashion.”

  Craig snorted his disbelief. “Are you kidding? Just how would they do that?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know how whoever does this does this.” I waved at the library around us. “I’d only read about time travel and ghosts in novels up until three days ago. I have a much greater acceptance of the possibility of biologically altered people than I do of sitting on the Titanic.”

  Craig laughed.

  “When did you get here?” I asked.

  “In 1941. Why?”

  “Over the last few years, there have been what was called test-tube babies. Babies that were start
ed in labs and then implanted in women. In 1990, that is an accepted medical fact.”

  Craig shook his head. “You’d think after being in this craziness all these years, I would be more open-minded. All right. What do you suggest we do?

  Marjorie glanced at her watch. “We’ve only got about twenty minutes.”

  My stomach clenched up like she’d hit me with a solid right hook. No matter what we found, there was no way I was going to be anywhere but out on a deck when this ship started to go down. I didn’t care how cold I would get. There would be no sitting in a cabin with water running around my feet this time.

  “My suggestion,” Alex said, “would be that we stroll in pairs through the area, noting any circumstance that might seem out of the ordinary.”

  Craig nodded. “Let’s meet in the grand staircase area. Alex and I will go together and take the starboard side. You and Marjorie take port side. All right?”

  Marjorie and I waited a full minute after Craig and Alex had left the second-class stairway’s foyer before we crossed the cold promenade to the starboard door.

  We didn’t say anything, but as we passed the first-class stairway, she took my arm. I could feel the tension in her grip. She must have walked these same halls hundreds of times, yet now she seemed afraid. I was too, and damned if I could figure out why. Amazing how I could create fear where none had existed and not really feel fear when I should have been running like hell.

  Just before the first crosscorridor, we had to move out of the way of a steward pushing a small cart. Other than him, the entire port-side hall, a football field long, was completely empty. The brown carpet was soft and the wood panels were again oak. Chandelier-style lights hung like streetlamps every fifteen feet. Walking down that hall was like drifting through a nightmare. And I felt lost and very much out in the open.

  The first crosscorridor was also empty. All the doors were closed.

  However, one woman occupied the center cross passageway. She was standing with her back against the aft wall, facing stateroom C-85. She had short black hair, wore a pair of brown pants and a windbreaker-type jacket. She stood in a parade-rest military position, hands behind her back.

  I guessed her to be barely over five feet tall, with very powerful shoulders and an even more powerful-looking pistol-like device strapped to a wide belt around her hip.

  As we walked by, she turned to look at us. I had the feeling she was looking right through me, as if I were nothing more than a piece of furniture. She turned back to staring straight ahead before we passed the hall. We were of no importance and no threat to her.

  Marjorie and I walked the rest of the length of the hall in silence, her grip firmly on my arm. It was clear I had seen a second traveler from the future. Whether this woman was a Lomax or not, I didn’t know. For some reason I had pictured biologically altered people as being huge, lumbering giants, stomping around scaring us little people. I suppose that was the fault of too many grade-B movies. But just maybe they were and the guard woman was one of Susan’s people. Hell, I didn’t know and I could think of no good way of finding out. I didn’t like that thought one bit.

  A few moments later, there was a rumbling deep down inside the ship as the Titanic struck the iceberg.

  I liked that even less.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Boat Deck

  Fourth Cycle

  April 14, 1912

  THE BITE OF the wind against my face and the weight of the pack on my back felt absolutely wonderful as the blackness faded and, for the fourth time, was replaced with the orange and reds of an Atlantic sunset. I took a deep breath of the salty-tasting air, quickly lowered the pack to the deck, and headed at the quickest run I could manage for the doors to the grand staircase.

  I was going to try to beat that guard woman to stateroom C-85.

  We all were. That was our plan. We had spent the last two hours of the cycle in the first-class lounge, drinking and discussing exactly what we should do next. The first hour we had sat in the same booth. But as the tilt of the ship became more pronounced, Marjorie and I could no longer hold ourselves on the stern side of the seat. We had to move to the bow seat of the nearest booth and then turn around to talk down to Alex and Craig. That kept me continually reminded that I was on a sinking ship.

  Outside the windows the passengers scrambled in all directions. I tried not to watch, yet found my gaze drawn to the deck. I kept having a sudden desire to run out on the deck and work at building something that would keep me afloat. But the totally unconcerned nature of my three companions kept me inside. It certainly didn’t help my nerves any that during the entire last hour we could hear the clear ragtime tunes of the band from the deck above. I must have had at least six drinks to try to keep from shaking. I hoped I was going to get used to this real soon. Or find a way home.

  We ended up not having enough information to form any concrete plan of action or even an educated opinion as to what was actually going on. Everyone had seen the woman standing in front of the stateroom. And everyone had gotten the same impression I had. She was guarding the door and she was not someone to be taken lightly. Susan might or might not be in that stateroom. The controls to the mirror might or might not be in there. The woman might or might not be an enemy. We just didn’t know.

  So the one conclusion we came to was that we needed more information. We assumed that the woman had gotten here the same way the rest of us had and therefore was governed by the same cycles we were. She too would have to come from outside that circular perimeter and return to the stateroom at the beginning of each cycle. It might be possible to beat her there. Maybe see if there was anyone else in that room.

  So, the plan was simple. All of us would rush as fast as we could from our cycle locations and then calmly walk through the stateroom area. None of us were to do anything other than act like prisoners passing through. If there was no one around, someone could take a quick peek inside the room. Alex was going to stay in his original clothes and act like a regular passenger. We’d all meet back in the library as soon as we could afterward.

  Running at my fastest, I made it to the A-deck landing without being too winded. At the landing above B deck, where stained-glass panels framed the staircase, I almost bumped into a woman and a small child passenger. By the time I reached the landing above C deck, I was gasping for air. It seemed that five years in a smoke-filled bar had cut down my strength and lung power.

  Alex was climbing the stairs from D deck two at a time as I reached the lush C-deck foyer. “You go right,” I managed to tell him between breaths. “I’ll take the left hall.”

  “Careful,” he said as he jogged past me and through the port-side door. I didn’t have the wind to answer him. He was seventy years older than I was. How come I was the one breathing hard?

  I paused for two quick breaths to give my heart a chance to catch up, then crossed the wide checkered-tile foyer. I had to wait for two passengers to pass before I could open the door to the starboard hallway. I was about to start down the long, carpeted stretch when I heard Susan’s voice behind me.

  “You’re not going to be able to keep this up,” Susan said, her voice nasty and filled with anger. “Not for long. My people will get through and then we’ll deal with all of you.”

  I turned around. Susan was being escorted up the grand staircase by two others. The guard woman was on Susan’s right, and a man wearing similar brown slacks and a white shirt was on Susan’s left. He looked to be no more than five foot ten, with huge swimmer’s shoulders and chiseled facial features. Susan’s hands were tied behind her back. She seemed to be offering no physical resistance as she was led along.

  As they turned the corner off the stairs and headed across the foyer toward the door I was holding open, Susan saw me. She seemed to almost pause in midstride, but not quite. Amazing control. The only acknowledgment she gave me was a slight shake of her head.

  I understood. With one quick look into the man’s intense gray eyes, I started
down the hall letting the door close behind me. I figured I had about five seconds before they got to that door and got it open. No way could I make the almost two hundred feet to the center corridor in time without looking suspicious. But I could do my best to put some distance between us.

  I did my best imitation of a sprinter down the wide hall and past one woman passenger headed in the other direction, counting to five as I ran. Marjorie, dressed in a blue bathrobe, was striding toward me. She was almost at the center cross-corridor.

  “They’re right behind me,” I shouted at her, trying to keep my voice just loud enough for her to hear. She stopped, a frightened look on her face.

  “Warn Alex if he’s in the hall, then go the other way.” She nodded and turned off the main hall into the middle corridor. I reached my five-count and slowed to a walk as I heard the door from the foyer of the grand staircase open behind me. Susan was no longer talking. I was amazed she had even said what I overheard. If I were her, I’d be afraid they’d dump me overboard.

  I tried my damnedest to look like I was just another prisoner ambling along, bored, while doing everything I could do to get some sort of air into my poor lungs. As I reached the center corridor, I could see Alex and Marjorie heading for the port-side hallway. Craig was standing at the other end waiting for them. I didn’t make even the slightest motion at them, but instead walked right on past the corridor and then did everything in my power not to look back until Susan and her two captors had turned off toward C-85.

  The moment I figured they were around the corner, I waited another two counts and then nonchalantly glanced back. No one in sight. I went back and peeked around the corner. I was in time to see the guard woman press some sort of small, calculator-looking device against the door. She made a twisting motion with the calculator and the door swung open. All three went inside and shut the door.