The Time Travel Chronicles

by Peralta, Samuel

  Darren knew what she was talking about. Beautiful food or no, the diets of these new humans were strictly controlled based on more criteria than Darren could even take in. Not satisfied with just defining calories based on height, weight, and age, it was further refined by metabolic rates, activity level, hormonal fluctuations, health indicators, and so much more. Except for those in transition like himself, who were exempt from restrictions. Rich food was available, but the portions might be so small as to be unsatisfying and that’s what Genarae was referring to. She didn’t need to worry.

  When he pulled out her chair at the table, she gave him a sharp glance, a little less patient with his antiquated ways than usual, but she took her seat. He sat, scooted his chair closer to hers in a series of squeaking hops, and took her hand in his. “Listen, I thought of everything. You’ll get a belly full of food.”

  His voice had taken on a pleading tone he didn’t like. Darren Gordan didn’t plead. He bit back the rest of his words, some of the pleasure of this treat he’d planned so carefully slipping away. Even the collared shirt didn’t seem so special anymore.

  Genarae seemed to sense just then that she’d wounded him in some way and her face softened. “I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t expect it. That’s all. And you look different. And, well, I just thought you’d adjusted to the world so nicely…” She trailed off there, her chin a little shivery, as if she might cry.

  It was that tiny chin quiver that finally got through to Darren. She hadn’t taken his surprise as a thank you, but rather as a reversion. And that meant failure for her. He felt terrible. This was not going at all the way he’d envisioned it.

  “Oh, Gen, I’m sorry. You misunderstand. There’s nothing wrong. I’m happy. See?” He lifted his hands, gave her his widest smile, and indicated the dining hall around them. She lowered her brows at him skeptically, so he winked, which brought the smile back to her face.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Really, really,” he confirmed. “You’ve done so much, showed me so much. I just wanted to give you a little peek at something from my time that was good.” He leaned forward again, this time with a mischievous grin that took twenty years off his face. “And believe me, eggplant parmesan is one of the best things from the past.”

  Just then, almost as if it were a planned punctuation to his words, the smell of the sauce wafted their way. Both of them lifted their heads to sniff the air like animals scenting prey. That shared instinct made them both laugh and the awkwardness lifted, nothing now between them at the table other than utensils and napkins.

  Genarae swiped her bracelet—the one everyone used for every transaction—across the shiny black spot on the table with a grin. Her nutrition profile was now in the hands of the chefs. Darren followed suit and said, “I guess that means we eat!”

  * * *

  “So this is eggplant parmesan?” Genarae asked as she swiped up the last of the sauce on her plate with her finger. Manners of the future were just a little more lax when it came to fingers and food.

  Darren nodded and said, “More or less.”

  He’d spent an enjoyable morning with the kitchen staff, trying to figure out ways around the various differences in cooking to achieve something like the dish he remembered. Without parmesan cheese and only minimal use of olive oil and salt, it wasn’t the same, but it was close enough.

  “And that was a common dish from your time?” she asked, looking at her plate. It was now almost so clean he could barely tell it had been used. He grinned. She’d liked it. It made him far happier than the simple act of preparing food should have. When she looked back at him, he could tell she felt the same. Whatever was happening between them, he liked it. He cleared his throat and shook those thoughts away. That was for later.

  “Sort of, depending on your family, I suppose. My dad was Irish but my mom was Italian, and she did the cooking, so this was something I grew up with. It’s Italian. We didn’t have a lot of money, but she grew eggplants, tomatoes, onions, and garlic in the garden, so we had this fairly often in the late summer.”

  He sighed then, remembering their overheated house, the curtains barely moving in the August air as his mother cooked and sweated over the hot stove, while he played under the house in the crawlspace where the temperature was lower.

  Genarae touched his hand, familiar now with his wanderings back through time and the way his face changed expression. “Thank you for showing me. It was delicious! I’d like to have it again.”

  “Well, they have it in their databases now, so you can. Maybe you’ll start a trend,” he said, suddenly delighted with that thought.

  “You said it was Italian? What was that like?” she asked.

  “What? Being Italian?” he asked, unclear.

  “No, Italy,” she clarified. At his alarmed expression, she added, “I mean in your time.”

  “Ah, well, it wasn’t much different than any other place when it comes right down to it. I traveled only for business and the inside of a hotel room is much the same no matter where you are.”

  She seemed a little disappointed, but then brightened, “Well, at least you’ve brought us Italian food. That’s something.”

  * * *

  Even as life in this new world unfolded before him, parts of Darren that were no longer needed began to fall away. In stages, he lost some of his reserve, found himself laughing with others and not suppressing his amusement. The time he spent with Genarae changed too, the progression from counselor to friend to whatever they were now steadily working on his heart and mind.

  He’d hardly noticed the changes until one day it hit him all at once. At a birthday celebration for another transitionee, she opened her arms for a hug and he didn’t hesitate. The hug felt good, appropriate. It was the way people were meant to be.

  He didn't know when he’d become this gregarious and friendly person, but he liked it. The lion inside him—the one that made him compete with everyone almost from birth—was going to sleep. It was letting him just be himself.

  As Genarae turned toward him after her hug, ready to take his arm and mingle with the rest of the guests, she stopped and stared at him. Her brow wrinkled momentarily, but then smoothed again in understanding. She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, and murmured a question, “You’re finally really here with us, aren’t you?”

  Darren patted her hand, letting his fingers rest on hers, and smiled. “I think I am.”

  Chapter Six – Summer’s End

  “I don’t understand. Why do I have to go anywhere?” Darren asked Genarae as they sat in the garden enjoying one of the last days of summer. The air was mellow and smelled of late-blooming flowers.

  Genarae shifted toward him on their bench, twirling a stalk of long grass in her fingers, her eyes half-lidded and lazy. She sighed. “Because this isn’t a retirement town, Darren. Didn’t I tell you this before?”

  “But I didn’t think it meant I had to leave, as in leave entirely. I just thought it meant…well, I don’t know what I thought it meant,” he said, slumping into the bench. He thought it meant maybe moving into a different neighborhood, but now that he considered it, he realized that no one had ever given him any reason to think that. “I just don’t understand why. I like it here.”

  His tone finally seemed to sink in and break her languor, because her eyes opened fully and she dropped the stalk of grass. Scooting closer to Darren on the bench, she took his hand in one of hers and tried to lift his chin toward her with the other. After a few gentle tugs, he let her, his expression the very picture of glumness.

  That made her smile and she kissed the corner of his mouth to make it lift away from his determined frown. It was only partially effective. Darren was ill-equipped to resist anything Genarae did, but the corners of his mouth drew down again within seconds. She sighed.

  “It’s just the way it is. Not every city is set up to take care of retirees. And there must be more social focus in a retiree town, right? We don’t have that here
. There would be such a limit to what you could do every day if you stayed. Don’t you think?” she asked, her tone coaxing and conciliatory.

  Darren only grunted. It was a grudging sort of half-assent, but Genarae grasped at it and went on.

  "Plus, you've complained over and over that you think that computers control too much of our lives, right?" she asked.

  He nodded, still glum but now also interested.

  "Well, who do you think tells the computers what the rules are?"

  That got his attention. "Wait, what? The retirees?" he asked, leaning a little forward.

  "After all that experience of life, of seeing all the good and the bad, of living the rules and feeling for themselves how it works, who better to guide things for the next generation?" Genarae said. She reached up with her free hand and brushed his cheek, her touch gentle and definitely more than friendly.

  “And you must agree that three generations is the ideal family unit. More than three—or if the eldest generation is too infirm—and the younger generations will be negatively impacted. The first generation offers wisdom to the younger two, and can still contribute to the family in tangible ways. The middle generation is in the prime of life and caring for young children, relying on the elders to help while helping the elders in their turn. The youngest generation requires the most attention and has two vigorous generations to give it. It’s ideal,” Genarae said, explaining as if she were reciting something entirely obvious and known by rote.

  “But I don’t have my two younger generations. I’ll end here. Especially if I go off to some retirement village,” Darren said and shivered, imagining some assisted living facility masquerading as a leisure community like the ones in his day. He’d rather go back into containment and start his timer over again, maybe just ride this whole era out if all he was going to do was play checkers with old people in seclusion for the rest of his life. He wanted a life!

  Then again, it was almost like he was going to be a politician or something. Making real changes for the next generation might be just the right thing for him. The people in this time were lovely and kind, but they had no spirit.

  “Oh, you,” Genarae said, understanding his moroseness in general, if not the details.

  She scooted very close to him on the bench, leaned her head into his shoulder, and ran her finger along the lines of his hand. After a short moment of stiffness, he softened as he always did, and accommodated the semi-snuggle. It was almost habit between them and he couldn’t deny it was always a highlight of his day.

  “Better?” she asked.

  Darren grunted again, but pressed his cheek to the top of her head where it nestled into his shoulder. Her hair smelled of something herbaceous, like wildflowers in sunlight. It was almost as delightful as she was. He savored the sensation of the soft strands against his cheek and added, “I suppose.”

  A stretch of peaceful silence ensued, broken only by the sounds of shoes on gravel at the other end of the path, the songs of birds, and the rustling of foliage in the breeze. Good, peaceful sounds in a good, peaceful world.

  Genarae squeezed Darren’s hand and lifted her face so that her mouth was close to his ear and breathed, “You know. It doesn’t have to be the end of your line if you don’t want it to be.”

  Darren leaned away so that he could see her face, his brow creased in confusion. Genarae reached up to smooth the line between his brows with her fingertip and said, “I’ve not had either of the two children I’m permitted, you know. And there's something about you that I can't resist. I don't know what it is, but you're different. Special. I think I would very much like to have a child like you."

  "Really?" Darren asked. He had grown to love Genarae and she seemed to care for him, but a child?

  Something inside him reared up, some primal part that he'd never encountered before.

  A child. Yes.

  Chapter Seven – A Last Kiss Goodbye

  The final weeks flew by in a flurry of happiness, of waking up to Genarae’s crazy bed-hair and adorably sleep-puffed cheeks, of time during the day to sit, enjoy her company, and listen to her talk, of evenings under skies so clear that the stars seemed to have multiplied while he slept the centuries away. It was good. All of it, good.

  And also very short.

  On the morning of his departure, Genarae seemed less than happy for the first time. She seemed to dread his going. It wasn’t right, but seeing it in the lines of her face made him feel a little better. It wasn’t that her being upset made him happy, but rather that his being here had mattered. In her downcast expression, he found comfort and commiseration, a validation that he had been here for a while and made a mark on someone important to him.

  He had nothing to pack, really. New clothes would be drawn up based on the style of his new city and he only had a tablet to call his own. Trinkets and mementos weren’t bought or sold anymore. He had only his memories.

  Genarae was waiting, just as he knew she would be. The light from the morning sun shone in on her, lighting her dark hair as if she was surrounded by fire as she gazed out at the garden.

  “The blooms are falling off our tree,” she said. A tear slipped down her cheek.

  He nodded, smiling sadly. “For now. It will bloom again.”

  She pushed away from the glass and wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed into his chest. “I’ll think of you when it blooms again next year.”

  The idea that she would see it bloom again, but never again with him, made him sad.

  She let him go and said. “And I’ll bring our baby here to see it and tell him all about you.”

  Her expression told him that she was seeking his approval. His grin must have been all the answer she needed because she grinned back, her cheeks still wet with tears.

  He lifted her a little from her feet and danced a few graceless steps. When he set her back down, he asked, “A boy? How do you know already?”

  “DNA is DNA. I found out the moment I got the rest of the results. He’ll be tall, strong, and look a lot like you, Darren,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I’ll be happy with that.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. He imagined himself as he had been when he was young, so ambitious and driven that he missed the most important parts of life. The living part. “Don’t let him get too wrapped up in things. Make sure he understands the good parts of life. Not like me.”

  Genarae nodded again. She’d heard hour after hour of Darren’s tales and knew—at least in the abstract—what he was saying. “He’ll be a good man. How could he not?”

  “With you as a mom, he’d have to be,” he said, planting a kiss on her lips.

  Then it hit him. He would never see this child, never meet this boy who would be tall and strong and look like him. Darren hadn’t shed a tear since he’d broken his arm falling from a bike at the age of thirteen, yet at this moment, he felt their sting in his eyes.

  She saw it. Of course she did. Her fingers were cool on his cheeks as she wiped away his tears and she murmured, “It’s okay. He’ll hear all about you, watch our vids, know how special his father was. He’ll be happy. I promise you that.”

  Over the intercom, they heard the call for his transport. However emotional this moment might be, he now had to appear in public and he didn’t want red-rimmed eyes when he went to the train. He pulled her hands from his face and kissed her knuckles, such delicate bird-thin bones, and took a deep breath. “Time to go,” he said.

  Chapter Eight – Train to Tomorrow

  At the train station, his goodbyes were mercifully short. He didn’t want to leave Genarae, but now that he was, he just wanted to get it over with. The suspense was the hardest part, knowing but not truly knowing what would happen next.

  There weren’t many people on his train, or at least, not in this car. All of them were older like he was. Polite as always, everyone smiled at each other, and before the car had been in motion for more than five minutes, conversations broke out as people got acquainted
if they weren’t already.

  Around lunchtime, a door at the end of the car opened, bringing with it the noise of the wind. A man wheeled in a cart filled with lidded plates and at the sight of them, Darren realized how hungry he was. They’d been in motion for a few hours. Since the train passed out of the city, he’d seen only one more such city. Then nothing but wilderness.

  It was all beautiful, but Darren found himself searching for some clue of the past. A crumbling ruin, a city skyline, an old bridge. Really, at this point anything would do.

  The attendant gave him one of the covered plates and a cup filled with ice-cold water. He drained that quickly and then handed it back for a refill, the attendant giving him a smile at his eagerness.

  “There’s a drink station up there, you know,” he said as he handed back the cup.

  “Oh,” Darren said, feeling a bit foolish.

  The seats in this train car weren’t like the benches of the city transport, but large and comfortable, with reclining options and fold-up tables. There were even footrests. It sort of reminded Darren of first class back when the airlines were something better than cattle cars.

  His food was good, if a little strange. A quiche-like pie of some sort—no meat—and three vegetables with three different, vaguely Asian-tasting dipping sauces. It wasn’t finger food, but it was certainly travel friendly.

  When the attendant came to take his plate, he asked, “How long until we get there?”

  The man stowed his dirty dish and utensils with practiced efficiency and said, as if he’d been asked that question countless times, “I don’t know. I only stay with the train until we stop and all the other cars join up. The other retirees from other cities, I mean. After that, I continue on with the rest of this train.”