Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure

by T. L. B. Wood

  “So, what was that about, Petra?” Kipp settled in the bed at my side, his muzzle stretched across my chest. Idly, I stroked his long ears; it was always hypnotic and soothing, that caress, for both of us.

  “I’m not sure, Kipp. I’m glad only you could hear my thoughts since Peter and Elani might have misinterpreted my intentions.”

  “Which were what?” Kipp turned his massive head to stare at me, our noses almost touching in the close confines of the bed; the mattress was so hard and unyielding, I expected a series of colorful bruises in the morning. In the room to our left, a television was playing–I distinctly heard the theme whistle from The Andy Griffin Show—making a pleasant background noise. Peter and Elani’s room was to the other side where they were quiet, their thoughts still in the darkness. I could feel Kipp’s soft breath caress my cheek; his whiskers scraped against my skin as he burrowed his long muzzle against my neck. Andy always seemed to recognize when he’d misjudged Opie and could humble himself with a heartfelt apology. I wished I had more of his common sense wisdom and quality.

  “I really felt uncomfortable being a witness to Tristan’s flaws and the discord between him and Meko.” My hand tightened on the back of Kipp’s neck as I gently massaged the muscles which felt bunched up and tense.

  “Mmmm…” he muttered. If he’d been a cat, he might have begun to purr.

  “I guess if I were in that type of conflict with you, I’d hope we could resolve it privately or at least in the company of good friends. Tristan and Meko are strangers to us.” I sighed. “It wasn’t that I just didn’t care.”

  “And I never thought that of you, Petra,” Kipp replied. “I know you too well, and you have a deep capacity for warmth and love.” He paused before saying, “But you hurt my feelings for discounting what I was trying to do.”

  “I’m sorry, Kipp. Can you forgive me?”

  He licked my cheek in response.

  “Maybe…I’ll think about it while you massage my shoulders some more.”

  The next day, we returned to the symbiont compound and found our way, unassisted that time, to Tristan and Meko’s office. It was clear, upon first sight, that they were more relaxed and the room seemed filled with a new vigor and sense of purpose consuming the space that had been occupied by despair and mistrust. Obviously, Kipp’s suggestion had been taken to heart. Bonded symbionts simply could not exist when there was discord with one another.

  “Meko and I stayed up half the night trying to figure out how to make this thing happen, in the event you are approved for a trip on the Titanic. But why you’d consent to do such, I don’t pretend to understand.” Tristan breezed on without letting us weigh in on his comments. “We can intervene with Morgan in such a way that he will give you the tickets.”

  “And how would you do that?” Peter asked. He looked very nicely attired, having taken time to shake the wrinkles out of a tweed sport coat that made him appear at least thirty years older, or at least he hoped so. He glanced at me, frowning, as I struggled to hide the smile on my face. When you are young, you want to look older; then you mature and want to look younger. That dynamic never seemed to change.

  “You four will travel to London and meet up with me and Meko during our time shift that was made in 1912. You will explain the situation–what has happened here—and I will take you to Morgan with an introduction that you are, uh, the children of my estranged sister in America. I will ask him if there is some way he can get you aboard the Titanic with your lupines. I’m sure he’ll do it.” Tristan sat forward in his chair as he spoke.

  “And since we are traveling back in time to see you as you were in 1912, what is to say that you will believe our story?” I asked. “We will be strangers to you.”

  “I’ll write a letter to myself that you will present to me,” he replied. “And after all, we will recognize one another as symbionts amongst all the humanity. With our telepathy, we can be assured of no false intentions in any case.”

  I felt my mouth drop open with surprise. The suggestion seemed so simple as to be fraught with issues. But maybe that was the beauty of it?

  “What was the original timeline?” Elani asked. The room was unexpectedly cool; the free standing heater was obviously on holiday and only working at half strength. She’d angled her body so that she wouldn’t block the feeble flow of warmth to the rest of us.

  Tristan’s eyes rolled towards the ceiling as he visually recalled the memories. We didn’t intrude but could feel Meko’s hovering presence as the two of them tried to determine the correct answer.

  “Morgan and Frank Millet were in Rome on April 3, 1912,” Tristan finally said. “They left and went to Florence, and J.P. arrived back in London on April 7th.” He leveled his dark eyes at us from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “The reason the London trip didn’t make the top news was because he was involved in a new business dealing that he didn’t wish to go public. The parties involved met privately in his London townhouse in Mayfair.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he added, “We left his townhouse very early on April 10th to catch the Boat Train at Waterloo.”

  “And that was the time he boarded the Titanic and died when the ship sank.” Elani was making a comment, not asking a question. Kipp looked at her with all the pride of a father watching his daughter blossom. She was his brightest student and the most capable of the class of young lupines.

  “Yes. After Meko and I realized what had happened, we time shifted to the previous week, to give ourselves the needed wiggle room since such is not an exact art, no matter how talented the pair.” We all nodded in agreement…I’d been there myself more than once. “We waited in London until he arrived again, on April 7th. I was ready with my plan to have his physician available to emphasize the need to not travel overseas at that time. Morgan was just recovering from something akin to the flu and would likely suffer a relapse if he was exposed on a boat deck when the weather was still cold.” He looked down at his feet for a second…his shoes needed polishing, and the heels were worn from where he walked on the sides of his feet. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “The sinking of the Titanic led to hearings in the United States as well as Great Britain. The International Mercantile Marine was not found liable but ran into serious problems a couple of years later due to poor cash flow.”

  “So, if we time shift with a letter for you and Meko, you believe we can intercept you before you intervene with Morgan, and you can finagle an introduction for us.” Kipp laid out the plan. “It seems simple enough, but I’m sure it isn’t.”

  “Nothing we do is simple,” Tristan said. “You’d have to go to London early enough to assemble some proper clothes if you plan on staying in first class. And if Morgan gives you his Parlor Suite along with instructions for the crew to let you have your way in terms of the lupines, there is only one thing left.”

  “And that would be?” I asked.

  Tristan’s jaw worked for a moment. “For you four to successfully find your bomber, survive the accident and return home to tell the rest of us about it.”

  Chapter 11

  Since the Twelve had not been presented with the notion of a time shift to the Titanic, we were still free to consider the trip and problem solve free of their noxious meddling. Of course, they were only doing their job, but I was enough of a nonconformist that having to be exceedingly cautious in the words coming out of my mouth was a struggle. Grudgingly, I conceded the need for some external controls since there were those among us with less than sterling motives. But the idea still did not make me happy and some of my best work, historically, had been done when I was freewheeling. Peter and Elani definitely put a damper on my activities, I thought darkly.

  The weather remained consistently cool and stark with more than a few gray days; the air had that sense of brittle fragility signaling an exceptionally harsh season. Occasionally, the clouds would darken with moisture and promise snow and ice, but eventually the wetness would come in the form of cold, drizzling rain as if n
ature was unwilling to commit to anything more drastic. Fitzhugh and I were content to survive off of crockpots full of vegetable soup and meatless chili since those choices seemed to fit the stereotypical dinner choices for the climate. Philo invited himself over for dinner one Saturday and took it upon himself to bring Peter and Elani. After dinner, we gathered in my front room; I’d laid a fire which was blazing nicely by the time everyone had arrived. Opening one sleepy eye, I stretched my back slightly, sighing, as I watched the light from the fire flicker, animating shadows that crept along the dim walls. When I was a child, I’d found those moving patches of darkness to be frightening and would curl closer to my mother, who would stroke my hair to comfort me. Kipp, always present in my thoughts, glanced up at me and thumped his tail. With age, I’d lost my fear and felt relaxed enough to melt into the fabric of my chair, if such a thing were possible. Juno, being allowed the courtesy shown to an elder, claimed the prime spot close in front of the blazing embers; a log broke and a shower of sparks whooshed up the chimney. Lily, who’d become somewhat fickle with her affections, was tucked in next to Juno, displaying the canny ability of a feline to pick the best place in any room for comfort. Outside, the wind was picking up with another threat of snow flurries, early travelers, it seemed, for that time of year. It was only November, after all.

  “I read your brief,” Philo began, staring over his reading glasses at Peter. “You did a good job and were very thorough.”

  Peter’s face flushed pink high upon his cheekbones. Clearing his throat, he glanced across the room at me as I tried not to smirk. “Uh, Petra, Elani and Kipp were just as much a part of it as was I,” he said. I had to applaud him for his fairness, but he had taken pen to paper…make that finger to keyboard. Peter was a much more patient scribe than I would ever be.

  On the front of the house, a loose shutter began to bang against the wall. Fitzhugh frowned at me, his thoughts filled with disapproval over my casual neglect of home and hearth. “I have been busy,” I said, eyebrows raised, arms crossed defensively.

  “Getting back to business,” Philo said, clearing his throat, “let me see if I have all of this in clear sequence.” He sat back in his chair, crossed his legs at the ankles and stared up at the ceiling. Following his gaze, I noticed a hairline crack in the finished sheetrock. I hoped Fitzhugh didn’t see it, too, since it would further magnify my inadequacies. Kipp giggled hysterically in the back of my mind, which didn’t help things one little bit. Sometimes it felt as if my safe nest was in danger of collapsing upon my head.

  “You will, after preparation, travel to London a few weeks before the Titanic is set to sail. The main objective of the early arrival is to arrange a suitable wardrobe for two people traveling first class.” Pausing, he removed his glasses; squinting narrowly, he held them up to the light. After a brief examination, he polished the lenses with the corner of his sweatshirt. “You will meet Tristan and Meko at Paddington Station where they are scheduled to arrive on the 0830 train on April 8. They would have been elsewhere in England about a week before that date, just killing time. Of course, they will recognize fellow symbionts and allow you to approach. After Tristan reads the letter, he recognizes what he’s agreed to do and takes you to Morgan’s town home for an introduction and subsequent manipulation of his old friend.”

  As Philo continued to speak, Kipp’s mind, which was predictably tangled with mine, began to question if we were less than honorable to not share with him the secret that Tristan changed the human timeline when he saved Morgan from what would have been his natural death aboard the Titanic. Peter had managed to craft the story in such a way that the facts were blurred, and Tristan’s serious lack of ethics was hidden from view.

  “I feel bad, like we are lying to Philo,” Kipp said to me.

  “We made a promise to Tristan, and his past actions have no bearing on what we do,” I replied.

  “Am I boring you?” Philo asked, his dark eyes staring at me over his reading glasses.

  “Uh, no,” I replied with a bright, false smile. “Keep going.”

  “You and Kipp are free to share your thoughts with the rest of us anytime you wish,” he added, glaring at me for a second before continuing. “After you four get on board the Titanic, you will plan on mingling as much as possible, considering the presence of the lupines, which understandably makes things a little awkward. Even with Morgan’s considerable influence, I would doubt they can go everywhere a humanoid symbiont can go.”

  “All I know is we are gonna have to work out some reasonable bathroom accommodations,” Kipp commented, his eyes opened wide. “There is no way I’m going to use a place called a poop deck to take my, uh, constitutional.”

  Juno, sensitive dear that she was, tried very hard to not laugh; turning her head away, she stared at the fireplace, pretending to be lost in the dancing flames.

  “Is it really called a poop deck?” Elani asked. “I’m with you, Kipp,” she snorted, her nostrils flaring just a little…ladylike but still a snort.

  “There is a reason it’s called that, Kipp,” Fitzhugh began before he was interrupted by Philo.

  “If I can please get back to this,” Philo growled, as he shook the papers in his hand. “You will, of course, look for Littleton who appears to have been traveling in first class. As best you can, you will arrange moments to speak with him and draw him out. You will not interfere in any way with the activities of the other passengers, nor will you do anything that will change the destiny of the Titanic. Your only goal is to determine if Littleton had an actual bomb aboard the ship and if he detonated it at some point after the collision with the iceberg.” He smiled. “Any side observations about the general, uh, milieu aboard the ship will be valuable, too.”

  Philo sat back, placing the sheaf of papers on a small table by his chair. He fell quiet and took his turn staring at the fire while the rest of us waited. The nagging wind caught the edge of the loose shutter; the clatter of the shutter and the moan of the wind as it raced around the corner of the house filled the silence.

  “It seems like something that can be done,” Philo finally spoke, his voice soft. “The valid question is does it need to be done and do you want to take on this job?” He smiled, but the expression didn’t make it to his eyes, which held a sober expression. “There is a reason no one has gone to the Titanic.”

  Philo, as he left, asked me and Kipp to meet with him privately. So, after awakening the next morning, I sat nursing a cup of hot coffee at my bruised retro dinette table. It was earlier than usual for us, me and Kipp, to stir; the house, as old houses do, creaked and settled against the cold breeze, which was still vigorous, forcing the walls to complain as the wind whipped up under the eaves and slapped against the asphalt shingles on the roof. Yawning, I rose to cross over to the back door, where Kipp was begging to come back in after his morning constitutional.

  “Whew! Pretty brisk out there,” he remarked. “How ’bout cutting on this thing?” he asked, pointing with his nose at the infrared heater Fitzhugh had picked up for the kitchen. That room, with its considerable panel of rear windows, tended to be the coldest in the house. I clicked on the device and sat with my chair angled toward the heat source.

  “So what’s up with Philo?” Kipp was referencing our impending date for that morning. “It’s cold as you know what, and he wants to go for a stroll in Duke Forest. The weather doesn’t faze me, but you two will be freezing.”

  Our discourse was interrupted by the sound of Fitzhugh, whose leather scuffs made a loud scraping sound on the wooden floor of the hallway, as he made his way to the kitchen. He appeared in the doorway, his flannel robe cinched tightly around his narrow waist. As he drew closer, I noted the cuffs were frayed, and there was a suspicious worn spot wearing through on his “propping” elbow.

  “Now you know what to get him for Christmas this year,” Kipp commented to me. Last year I’d surprised the inhabitants of my home with gifts; the Irish sweater I’d given Fitzhugh had been a hit, and
it would be difficult to find anything he’d enjoy more than that bundle of soft wool.

  “Good morning,” Fitzhugh said, waving me away as I made to stand and fetch him coffee. After pouring a steaming cup black into the mug I’d left out for him, he sat across from me. Juno had not appeared, and I could only conclude she was sleeping in. “Why on earth would Philo want to drag you two out in this cold, nasty weather?” he asked.

  I shrugged, since the inner workings of Philo’s mind were as much a mystery to me as to Fitzhugh. Kipp circled and dropped on the kitchen floor, his back end pointed towards the heater.

  “And that was a good purchase,” I noted, nodding at the little machine.

  “I am sure he wants to get you away from Peter and Elani to discuss a time shift to the Titanic,” Fitzhugh persisted, ignoring my applause of his choice of heating appliance. “I would want to do that,” he added.

  “What do you think we should do?” I asked. In that moment, I was amazed to find that Fitzhugh had become, following Kipp, my closest confidant. Once that had been Philo but his ascension to the leader of the Twelve had naturally caused some distance. And Fitzhugh living in my household had pulled us closer…he felt like a member of my family now. And although he wouldn’t admit it, I knew he felt the same…not a fatherly figure, but something special and valuable. It was not Fitzhugh’s way to talk in riddles or be indirect, so he didn’t surprise me with his bold, decisive answer.