He hesitated, then smiled. “On my driver’s license it says, ‘David Quinn’. But my name is just Quinn.”
“David.” She repeated the word softly. Then she smiled, though it seemed a little sad. “That’s something, at least.”
“I wish I could give you more. I wish…” He felt his chest tighten with the intensity of that wish. “I would give all that I know not to be the one to cause you pain.”
“Oh, Quinn.”
She turned to him, arms sliding around him, legs encircling his. Her eyes were clear and quiet and gentle. “Look at me. I’m not sorry. Whatever else happens, you’ve given me something I’ll treasure forever. You’ve shown me something about myself I can fall back on whenever I need it. I wasn’t sure I’d ever know what I’ve just shared with you and that’s a good thing. I’m not sorry.”
He kissed her, savoring her, treasuring her, wishing for more. Wishing for forever.
He said into her hair, “Why did we do this, Houston? We’re both wise enough to know better. It can only get more complicated from here.”
“I told you I wouldn’t be sorry.”
He answered quietly, “I made you no such promise.”
Her fingers entwined with his as though their symbolic unity was enough to defy the consequences that must now be faced. She didn’t look at him when she spoke, and her voice was low. “I should probably say something about how it doesn’t matter if I never see you again and I never wanted anything more than this one time with you and I never expected this to lead to anything more permanent…. And all of that’s true. And it’s not. I could fall in love with you, Quinn. And it scares the hell out of me.”
He tightened his fingers around hers. He didn’t know what to say. It would be unfair of him to speak what was in his heart, because he didn’t know his heart anymore. He had never thought he was capable of feelings such as this, not with a twentieth-century woman—not with anyone at all. But he didn’t want to say that. He couldn’t offer her hope when he knew there was no hope for them, as much as he might wish it could be different. With all his being he wished he could be a twentieth-century man and that he could say to her the words she needed to hear, make her the promises she deserved to have.
But all he could say was, softly, “It was more than just making love for me. Please believe that.”
She nodded against his shoulder, slowly. She was so trusting, so gentle. His heart ached for her.
After a moment, she said softly, “Do you believe in destiny, Quinn?”
He thought about it, wishing he could give her the answer she wanted. “No,” he admitted. “I’ve seen too much evidence to the contrary. We make our own destinies, for good or bad.”
“I think you’re wrong. I didn’t used to believe, either, but since I met you…now I think you’re wrong.”
“What do you think destiny has in store for us, then?”
She was silent for a moment, and he thought she was formulating a reply. But in the end she merely smiled a little and shook her head.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s no such thing.”
“Or maybe,” he suggested, “it’s best not to know.”
She caressed his cheek. “I have to go pick up Mark in an hour,” she said. “We may not be able to be together like this again.”
He nodded.
“For now…would you just hold me?”
He drew her into his arms and wrapped her in the cocoon of his legs, and he held her.
And while he did, a solution began to occur to him.
Chapter Eight
Quinn had to get back home. It was as simple as that.
The project that had once been urgent was now imperative. Once only his life had been at stake, but Quinn was prepared to lose his life; he had been from the moment he started training for the program. Travelers lived lives charged with danger and excitement, and they died young. Everyone knew that. To lose a life in the performance of one’s duty was neither a surprise nor a sacrifice.
But now he had found something worth living for, and that added an immediacy to his need, determination to his plan. He had to get home. Only by doing so could he stay with Houston, and give them each the time they needed to allow what had begun between them to grow and flourish. And if all went according to his plan, she would never even know he was gone.
If all went according to plan, he would never have to leave her again.
His plan was reckless, renegade, wild in the extreme. If he succeeded, some might say he would have lost more than he gained. He would be a fugitive in time, unable to return home again, a disgrace to his profession and a blight on the history books. And all this for the sake of a twentieth-century woman. It was absurd. But some might say it was fate.
Before there had been only the need, but now there was real hope. It was a faint hope, admittedly, barely a glimmer, but it was the first concrete idea he had had since becoming stranded. And it just might bring him the answers he needed.
Early in the twenty-first century, work would begin on a project that would eventually be known as the United Earth Space Station. There would be many delays and failures before the first module was finally placed into orbit, the date and details of which every schoolchild knew. What Quinn could not remember was when, exactly, research on the station had begun. Because one of the first pieces of technology developed in that research formed the basis of the resonator.
With that, there was a real possibility that even he, with his limited technical ability, would be able to build a frequency resonator. And it was possible that the technology he needed was under development in some laboratory right now.
If only he could find out when the research on the Earth Station project had begun.
He pondered the problem for a full day and night before the answer occurred to him.
Before the discovery of time travel, the only way of recovering information from the past had been through television and radio broadcasts of the time, randomly retrieved from outer space. Such broadcasts were still an invaluable part of their library, particularly those concerning parts of the past that had not been fully explored—like the last part of the twentieth century.
He carried those broadcasts, along with other databases essential to his mission, on microchip. All he had to do was convert them for use with the playback equipment of the day.
It was a long shot, but he had to try.
He had been at it for more than eighteen hours without a break. His head throbbed, and his throat felt raw; his muscles were stiff and sore from lack of exercise. But when he heard the sound of tires on the gravel driveway his aches faded into the background and a new and subtle energy crept through his veins. He went to the window and waited for them to come out of the garage.
Houston was wearing a pink dress with blue flowers on it, and her hair was tied back with a blue scarf. The dress was sleeveless, and the sight of her delicate bare arms wrapped around the textbooks she was carrying caused a catch in Quinn’s chest. The oddest things could do that: the curve of her neck, or the way her skirt fluttered around her calves, or the sound of her laugh or the way she glanced over her shoulder without appearing to glance at all—as she did every day, as she did now—to see if he was at the window.
Quinn called down, “Mark!”
Boy and mother turned.
“Where would I find an AV cable?”
Mark grinned, and Quinn answered his own question at the same time Mark did. “Radio Shack.”
Mark turned to his mother. “Can I go?”
Houston lifted an eyebrow and he corrected himself automatically. “May I? Please?”
Quinn said, “I won’t keep him out long.”
Houston looked up at him, shading her eyes with her hand. He wondered if her heart was beating with quick expectation, as his was. He wished he could tell her how hard he was trying for her, for them both. But even if he could have, he wouldn’t. False hope was worse than no hope at all.
“Would you like to borrow the
car?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to come along?”
She hesitated. The last time they had been closer than this window, they had been lying naked in each other’s arms. He had not even joined them for meals over the past two days; not because he was avoiding her, but because he hadn’t the time to spare, and anxiety had taken his appetite. He understood her hesitation. She didn’t know his agenda. And he couldn’t tell her.
“You really don’t like to drive, do you?”
And he answered, because it was true, “We’d like the company.”
She smiled. “Well, as long as you put it like that, I suppose I could pick up a few things for dinner while we’re out.”
“I need to be back by five, though,” Mark added. “On-line conference.”
Houston rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll try not to interfere with your busy schedule. Just let me put my things away. I’ll meet you guys at the car.”
Quinn turned from the window, then caught the window frame, frowning through a wave of dizziness. He was tired. Tonight he would sleep. If he got the system hooked up this afternoon, he could afford a few hours of rest.
He went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, and when he returned Mark was there, examining the monitor that was linked to his handheld unit, teaching itself to translate the computer language of this century. Quinn quickly flipped a switch, engaging a harmless entertainment program.
“Wow,” Mark said. “Major multimedia. What kind of software are you running? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“It’s a prototype. The company sends it to me to evaluate.” That was not entirely a lie. It was just that the company that had asked him to evaluate their prototype would not come into existence for another 250 years.
“Wow. Lucky.” He spotted another item of interest. “Is that a videophone?”
Quinn went around the room, calmly switching off machinery. “I don’t think so.”
“Yeah. Who would you call?” Mark shrugged. “I mean, there’s no phone up here.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed assessingly as he looked for the telephone link he was certain was there. He was right, too, but he would not spot the place where Quinn had tapped into the local telephone system, as it had been accomplished with a light link.
“You must be really rich,” Mark murmured.
Quinn smiled. “Who’s your conference with?”
“Huh?” Mark was staring at one of the computer setups, and he seemed to be thinking about something else. Then he answered, “Oh. This guy, a writer, is going to be on the science-fiction forum. You want to listen in?”
“Thanks. I have to work.”
Mark looked around. “How come it’s so cool up here?”
Quinn had forgotten to disengage the climate control. “It has to be, for the computers.”
“Yeah, I know.” A puzzled frown lingered around Mark’s brow. “But it’s like eighty degrees outside. And there’s no air conditioning in here.”
Quinn stood at the door. “Ready to go?”
Mark looked around one more time. “Yeah. Sure. You sure do have an interesting job.”
Quinn forced a smile. “Yes. I do.”
Houston was just coming out of the house when they came down. She had changed into jeans and a cotton T-shirt, and Quinn could not stop his eyes from tracing the curve of her hips that his hands once had cupped, the shape of her breasts that his fingers once had caressed. A spasm of longing stabbed at his chest, and it was impossible to believe they would never hold each other again like that. Impossible.
Mark climbed into the back seat and Quinn got into the passenger seat beside Houston. The silence grew awkward as she turned the car down the driveway and onto the main road.
There were a dozen things Quinn might like to have said, but with Mark listening from the back seat his choices were limited. After a time he settled on a neutral subject. “Any more trouble with the car?”
She didn’t even glance at him, and her tone was too casual to be genuine. “No. It runs better than new. You must be some kind of a magician.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
They came to an intersection and she slowed, looking in his direction to check traffic. Her expression softened a little and she said, “Are you feeling okay? You look tired.”
“I am, a little.”
“You should take better care of yourself. There’s a strain of flu going around.”
“Yes, that’s probably it. I will.”
Another beat of silence. The things unspoken between them throbbed in the air. Then Houston asked, “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?”
Too polite now. Almost stiff.
“I don’t know. I’m at a critical point in my work and I’d like to see it through.”
“I see.”
Her voice was definitely chilly now, and he could see the tension in her arms and shoulders as she guided the car.
He said, lowering his voice a fraction, “I’ve been working hard lately. I hoped if I finished early I might have more time to spend…on other things. With friends.”
“I see.” Her tone was still guarded and she did not take her eyes off the road, but the tension in her arms relaxed a fraction. “That will be nice for you. Any idea how long you’ll be staying yet?”
She darted a quick glance at him that revealed far more than she had probably intended—anxiety, hurt, reproach, hope. Houston, he thought, his throat constricting, I am so sorry….
He answered quietly, “Not yet.”
She nodded and turned her attention back to the road.
They parked in the lot of a lively little shopping strip on the outskirts of town. Houston left to do her grocery shopping, and Mark introduced Quinn to the wonders of the local Radio Shack.
Most of the equipment Quinn needed he had been able to reproduce or improvise from what he had available, so he had had very little need of the electronic supplies of the times. Now, however, his own resources were stretched to the limit, and he would have to adapt to the standards of the day.
Mark took him down the aisles, pointing out the games and gadgets that he considered cool. Then without warning, Mark said, “What’s going on between you and my mom?”
Quinn was surprised, but not really shocked. Mark was an extraordinarily perceptive young boy; he had always known that.
It did not occur to him to lie. He had promised Houston he wouldn’t—unless he had to. He said, “I’m not sure I know the answer to that, Mark.” He could tell by the expression on Mark’s face that that wasn’t good enough, and he didn’t blame him. He added, “I only know that your mother is the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met.”
Mark nodded—in approval or agreement—and replaced a video game he had been examining. “I have to take care of her, you know. I hope you’re not planning to make her sad.”
Quinn replied seriously, “I’ll do everything in my power not to.”
Mark hesitated. “My dad makes her sad a lot.”
Quinn rested his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Sometimes people do that, Mark. I don’t know why.”
“Yeah, I know,” he muttered.
Then he moved down the aisle. “The video cables are down here.”
“I’m going to need a nine-pin adaptor, too.”
“My teacher wants me to skip a grade next year,” Mark said. “She says I’m underchallenged.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
Mark shrugged. “Mom doesn’t think so. She’s worried about my social development.”
Quinn suppressed a grin. “What do you think?”
“I think my development is fine.”
Quinn let the grin break through. “I do too.”
And then Mark surprised him by asking, “What would you do?”
It was a moment, Quinn knew, that called for parenting. He had no experience or training in that area and no right whatsoever to interfere.
He had never imagine
d he might one day be a parent. He was surprised by how natural it felt to step into the role. “Education is important. You’re going to need as much as you can get to face the world you’re growing up in.”
Mark gave him a look that reflected a young person’s impatience with equivocation. Quinn smiled. “What do you want to do, Mark?”
“I want to skip. Fifth grade is boring. And in seventh grade you can get two hours a day of computer lab. I want to skip.”
Quinn said, “That’s what I would have done.”
“Did you skip grades when you were in school?”
“I went to a different kind of school. But once I made up my mind what I was going to do, I did what I had to do in order to accomplish my goal—sometimes at the expense of my social development.”
“You turned out okay.”
“That’s nice of you to say, Mark.”
“Don’t you think so?”
Quinn smiled, but he knew the sadness was in his eyes. “Sometimes,” he said, “I wish I had paid more attention to my social development.”
A salesperson approached with a welcoming grin on his face. “Hello, young Mark. What can I help you with today?”
“This is my friend Quinn. He needs some stuff. Do you have the CD from the San Diego Zoo yet?”
“Got it in this morning. I loaded it up when I saw you come in. Check it out.” He gestured toward a display computer and watched with a smile while Mark hurried over. He turned back to Quinn. “Nice kid. Now, what can I help you with, sir?”
Quinn told him what he needed and the salesperson bagged the items. Quinn paid with a twenty.
“Mark,” he said, “let’s go. Your mother will be waiting.”
Reluctantly, Mark exited the program and left the computer. Quinn accepted his change, but as he went to replace his wallet in his back pocket it slipped out of his hand.
“Clumsy today,” he muttered, flexing fingers that, for a moment, refused to respond. Too many hours at the keyboard, he thought. And he even tried to believe it.
Mark picked up his wallet but hesitated before returning it. “Hey, is this you?”
The wallet was open to the picture of Sam and him. “That’s right.”
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