by Sofia Grey
Who was I trying to convince here?
•●•
Back in my apartment, I headed for the chiller unit and the hidden stash of vodka I kept there. Alcohol was something I’d been introduced to on my first training jump, and like many ghardians, it had become a secret vice. Mine was distilled on a tiny Scottish island and delivered to me disguised as an herbal energy supplement. I liked the clean simplicity of the drink and its ability to render me unconscious without leaving a hangover. It was my narcotic of choice. After the day I’d had, I felt it was deserved.
Isabella had said nothing more, and this was a relief. For one tense minute, I feared she would announce plans to run away, to join her airman. Even worse was the wrenching anxiety that she’d ask for my help.
I’d done that once already. God knew how I’d not only held my rank but was given a commendation for bravery. Lila. She’d needed me to lie to my superior officer, to falsify mission records, and to help her become a fugitive. If it’d come to that, I would have done it.
If she turned up now and asked for my help, I wouldn’t be able to refuse her.
I took a drink of the vodka and held it on my tongue. All the better to relish the icy burn as it went down.
Lila had asked me if I believed in love. If I’d said yes, would she still have made a life with Jared?
I gulped the drink and then slammed the heavy tumbler onto the windowsill. How long would it take before I could forget her?
I needed a distraction. Something to ground myself.
Herodotus. A long ago combat tutor had demanded that we study the ancient military records and learn from their tactical experiences. I’d discovered a liking for Herodotus, and my tutor had presented me with a bound edition of essays on my acceptance into the ghardian ranks. It was among my most prized possessions.
Walking to the bookshelf, I slid my fingers along the handful of books, from one spine to the next. The slim volume of First World War poetry was much read, as were the reference books relating to the Ancient Roman occupation of England. On the end sat my copy of The Histories by Herodotus. I plucked the book from the shelf, snagged my glass again, and sank in the deep armchair next to the window.
Closing my eyes briefly, I opened the book at random, only to hear it make a strange rustling noise.
When I looked, there was an archive sleeve, the crisp cover that protected an artifact from fingerprints, light, and moisture damage.
After the strange events of the day, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the two photographs I found inside the sleeve. They were both of Isabella. However, I didn’t expect her to be visibly pregnant in them.
I scrutinized the pictures. The first looked like a formal gathering with a group of similarly dressed people milling around a dark stone building. A church perhaps? Isabella appeared to be in conversation with an older man, probably Davy’s father, judging by his similar appearance to the picture I’d seen earlier. Her coat was open enough to show a gentle curve to her belly.
The second was in a rural area on a grassy bank overlooking a sweeping bay. Isabella smiled for the unknown photographer, her face a study of happiness. It looked like summer. She wore a patterned frock that swirled around her legs, and her hair tumbled down her back.
I tried to focus on the details. The joyful smile that lit up her face. If love truly existed, it was here in this photograph.
When had I removed these from the archive? Not only that, but laid a false trail to another collection, and then removed them and hidden them in my own book. What the fuck was going on? I hadn’t done any of this.
I lifted my glass, only to find it was already empty. Think logically, Marc.
There were a limited number of options to explain this disturbing sequence of events. Either I had some serious issue with my memory and I’d forgotten these actions, or someone else had forged my authentication and then broken into my apartment and hidden the artifact. Both were extremely unlikely.
The final option was the most unpalatable. It was me, but I hadn’t done it yet.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I sat at the back of the lecture hall while the tutor droned on about the rise of the Internet. My new specialist period would be the late twentieth century: the Age of the Internet and the heady period leading up to the third world war.
It was odd how the last major war snuck out of nowhere. Political analysts had been convinced the threat would come from Russia or the Middle East. Oil would be the driver, or one of the other dwindling fossil fuels. The conflict, when it started, barely made the newspapers. A French girl ran away to be with her Spanish lover. They were both married to other people at the time, but it was a story played out countless times before, and nobody gave it any attention. Not until the couple were murdered, and the witch hunt began. Both families accused the other. The argument escalated and went viral, an uproar that swept the digital world. Terrorists set off bombs. The politicians became involved, and then on a sunny afternoon in the middle of a prolonged discussion about economic sanctions, a dirty bomb was set off in Paris, and the war had begun.
It was a stark reminder of why our society existed in the form it did today. The Internet no longer existed. Information was controlled. Emotions were recognized to be dangerous, and love was the most powerful and destructive of them all.
I’d warned Lila, but she’d chosen love for Jared over a life with me.
I tuned back in to the lecture, an information download I could probably recite in my sleep. I hadn’t needed to attend today. I’d been chasing another distraction, anything to stop the endlessly spinning thoughts in my head.
I needed to get my act together, pass my fitness tests, and get out into the field again.
And I had to decide what to do about Isabella’s photographs.
The students around me rose to their feet, a muted buzz of conversation filling the hall. I hadn’t even noticed the lecture finishing. I’d been reading my schedule for the day and checking for the next combat session when I realized one of the students had stopped near my chair.
Glancing up, I recognized the blue eyes and pretty face. “Student Delafield,” I murmured.
“Lieutenant Gallagher.” As before, she wore some brightly colored garment beneath the gray uniform. Her cheeks pinked at my scrutiny. “Am I in trouble?”
I frowned, puzzled, and then remembered her unscheduled visit to the ghardian compound. “Not yet.” With everything else that had happened since, it had escaped my mind.
To my surprise, her lips curved in a smile, and I could see was trying not to laugh. “Thank you. That’s a relief. May I ask why you are sitting with a class of students?”
I slid my data pad into my pocket and pushed to my feet. “I’m researching the period, the same as you.” I paused. “I thought your study area was the Second World War?”
She shrugged in reply. “Not especially. I haven’t chosen my specialist period yet, and neither has Isabella.”
Up to this point, I’d successfully avoided Isabella’s problem, but this seemed like the perfect opening. “I have an appointment now, but if you can spare ten minutes to walk with me, I’d like to talk to you.”
“Of course.” She fell into step beside me, and I cast around for somewhere to begin.
“How would you describe Isabella’s relationship with Davy Porteous?”
Her stride faltered. “That would be betraying—”
“A confidence, yes you said that before.” She was silent, and I glanced at her, noting a flicker of emotion on her face, quickly masked. “If you are loyal to Isabella, you should know I have her best interests at heart.”
“As do I,” she murmured.
“Did she fall in love with him?”
“Love is an artificial construct that has no place in our society.”
“I’m not asking you to quote from the Council manifesto. I’m asking what you thought.”
We walked another few steps before she ducked her head. “I have no
experience of love. But back in the nineteen forties, it was different. Isabella made a vivid report to the sentinel about the people that we mixed with. She recognized that they viewed things differently. And,” she hesitated, “from what I saw, Davy was in love with her.”
“What makes you say that?”
She continued to stare at the path as we walked. “He was protective and caring. He spent an hour tearing into the rubble of a collapsed shelter with his bare hands because Isabella was trapped inside.”
I’d not known that, but then, Isabella had said little about their assignment. “That must have been terrifying for her.”
“It was, but she was more upset at losing Davy. And when they were together,” she stopped walking and lifted her eyes to the sky, “I know they didn’t have much time together, but you could see she meant the world to him. ‘Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate.’”
“Rupert Brooke.” I couldn’t hold the surprise from my voice. “‘Where that comes in that shall not go again.’”
“One of my tutors took a war poetry workshop. I found it fascinating.” Juliet glanced at me, a half-smile playing across her face. For a few seconds, I was tempted to cancel my combat training session and walk somewhere else with her. Talk some more about poetry.
“There were so many differences there. In the past.” Her voice was soft. “But one of the greatest was their capacity to enjoy the moment. Perhaps because they knew their lives could be snuffed out at any time, but they lived. Simple pleasures, like walking beside a stream, or counting the stars. Riding a motorcycle with the wind tugging at your hair.” She flushed, and her gaze dropped.
I cleared my throat. “We were talking about Isabella and Davy.”
“Yes.” Juliet blew out a short breath.
“Do you know if she planned to run away? To be with him?”
“Isabella has always abided by the laws.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You need to ask Isabella.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Have you ever been in love, Lieutenant Gallagher?”
“Ghardians don’t believe in love.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I didn’t know whether to be amused or outraged at her boldness. In the end, I nodded to her. “Thank you for your time, Student Delafield.” I turned and walked toward the training center without waiting for her reply.
All afternoon, I fought and exercised and pushed myself harder than before, but my mind refused to quiet. I had to make a decision about Isabella’s photographs. About Isabella.
I’d been prepared to break multiple laws for Lila, so I’d already set my own precedents. Would I do the same for my cousin? I shouldn’t get involved.
The thing I kept coming back to, that I couldn’t ignore, was that I was already involved. I’d moved those pictures. I would have known she’d find the trail that led back to me. If I’d wanted to, I could have made it impossible for her to find them, but I hadn’t.
Back home, I looked again at the two images. How would that feel? I’d had my doubts about our society, but there was a world of difference between a few mild concerns and actively breaking the major laws.
The way Isabella smiled at the photographer was familiar. I’d seen that smile on Lila’s face when she was with Jared. I took a gulp of my vodka, but it didn’t numb the pain. It didn’t come anywhere close.
When I slept, I dreamed of Lila again. She lay in bed with me, her back to my chest. One of my arms pillowed her head, while the other draped across her middle. She slept, and I gazed at her and tried not to move.
I could never have that, no matter how much I might want it, but maybe I could make it happen for Isabella. Was it right to deny her a chance at happiness?
If anybody knew how this could be done, it would be a ghardian. We jumped all the time. We knew the secret tricks to hiding a trail, to avoiding detection. We’d been trained for that very purpose.
The actual jump presented the greatest difficulty. All jump activity was logged in multiple places, and the odds of disrupting all the data streams at the same time were too slim to calculate.
The answer, when it came to me, was brilliant.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I walked with Isabella through the small park close to the university. She clearly hadn’t slept in days. Her face was pinched and her eyes sunken.
“I have something to show you,” I said. “Let’s sit for a minute.” She sank onto the bench next to me and turned, hope clearly written on her face.
“Here.” I handed her my copy of Herodotus, and she frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
“Look inside.”
She opened it to see the archive sleeve and the two photographs clearly visible. “Oh.” Her mouth fell open, and she stared at them, completely silent. I watched her closely. Looking up at me, her eyes were puzzled. “I don’t understand. Where did you find these?”
“There’s no doubt. That’s you in the pictures, and they can’t have been taken while you were there before.”
“But how? How can I get back without getting caught?” She seemed to remember who she was talking to because her mouth formed an O, and panic flashed across her face. “Please ignore me. I must be confused.”
“Isabella, you do know what happens to runaways, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Her voice was dull. “The ghardians hunt them down and then bring them back as criminals. They spend ten years in the penal colony.”
“That is what we do.”
She examined the pictures, picking them up and scrutinizing the details, much as I had. “Davy came from Wales. I wonder if this is where these were taken?”
“Are you going to request another jump assignment, Isabella?”
She tensed and wouldn’t look at me. “If I pass my next grading exercise, I can request another jump.”
I sighed. “For a moment, can you please forget I’m a ghardian and talk honestly with me?” She shrugged. “Are you planning to run away on your next jump?”
“That would be illegal as well as dangerous.”
She hadn’t said no. “Would you really be happy spending every day looking over your shoulder, waiting for a ghardian to catch up with you? We don’t just give up after a few months, you know. It’s not as simple as hiding until the blood trackers have faded. You’d be hunted, Isabella. You would be caught.”
Her hands were shaking. She stuffed them into her pockets, her gaze flicking left and right. “I need to leave. Thank you for your time, Lieutenant Gallagher. I appreciate it.”
“Stay where you are.” I took a quick breath, anxiety pooling in my gut. This next move could signal the end of my career. “There is a way to do this. Without you being hunted.”
Her eyes flashed to me, but otherwise she was motionless. “How?”
“If you die.” I let my words hang in the air and saw the color drain from her face. “Nobody will hunt you if they think you’re already dead.”
“How?” It was just a whisper.
“If somebody left the cities and went to live in the remote colonies, and then had a fatal accident, there might be confusion about identifying the body.”
Her eyes opened wide. She leaned closer. “But how would that person get to jump? All the jumps are tracked.”
“There are brief windows when the tracking systems are updated and resynchronized. This isn’t common knowledge, for obvious reasons. It wouldn’t be impossible for someone to make an unscheduled and untracked jump during that window.”
I could almost hear her brain whirring as she worked through my suggestions. “How many other people would need to be involved? The more that know, the greater the risk.”
It was a good question. She was smart. “A contact in the colonies, someone to give you access to the update schedule, and someone to program and operate the jump.”
Isabella opened her mouth as though to speak, but then hesitated. She looked down at the ground,
flexed her fingers over the photographs, and finally looked back at me. “Why are you telling me? Is this a form of entrapment?”
“If I said I was willing to help you make this happen, but there were certain conditions, what would you say?”
“I’d ask what the conditions were.”
I nodded my acknowledgement. “You would have to separate from your family and friends and move to the colonies. When your death was posted, you’d have to avoid any contact with anyone you knew. You’d leave them upset and grieving for you.” She flinched, but said nothing. “You’d have to jump with little or no notice, after hiding for an unspecified amount of time, possibly months. And then, you might not end up in exactly the right time or location. You’d have to make your way, entirely alone, in a period you’ve visited once. There’d be no backup. No emergency portals. No return. Ever.”
I waited until she nodded, before delivering the final blow. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, you can’t discount the fickle nature of time. Even though it looks like a certainty, we’d be tampering with the timelines. There would be consequences. Your Davy might not return after all, and you’d be stranded.”
“Student Porteous told me the photographs showed Davy with his wife.” She hesitated, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. “But there’s just me, and I guess his father. Does that mean the timelines have changed already?”
“That is the most likely option.”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“How much risk is there for you? If I were to do this with your help?”
“Honestly? If I’m caught, the best case would be a court-martial and discharge. Worst case would be the penal colony. Or execution.”
Isabella sank her face into her hands. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Are you saying you’re giving up the idea?”
“No.” This time when she looked at me, I saw a steely resolve in her eyes. “I’ll just find another way that doesn’t need your involvement.”