(it's just a matter of where and when they will find the body)
He's been working alone these past few weeks, exploring any lead about where Zane might be and coming up empty.
Even though he's been expecting to be assigned a new partner since Zane went missing, it still cuts when it happens.
He's shoveling tasteless bits of something resembling food into his mouth when he hears the clatter of a tray hitting the table and a chair screeching across the polished floors. He looks up to see a girl sitting across from him. He recognizes her after a moment. "Anne Gallagher? How goes your world?"
She looks the same as the last time he'd seen her, back when he and Zane picked her up at Callope University. Her long, straight blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail that peeks through the back of a baseball cap. Her startling blue eyes are as sharp as knives. She has high cheekbones, rosy cheeks and in another life Ty would call her beautiful.
But beauty is not prized in Timewise. Anonymity is key for an operative. The ideal agent leaves no trace, no memories. It helps if the operative is nondescript. Anne Gallagher has managed it, albeit not with the ease of people like Ty and Zane. She wears no makeup and hides her figure under a baggy black sweatshirt and even baggier jeans.
She goes to work on her own plate of food. Ty watches her eat with a vague sort of fascination. She eats with unabashed enthusiasm, like the tasteless meal is the caliber of prime rib. A smudge of potatoes is on the side of her face. Ty lets his own fork clatter to the table.
"Right then, Gallagher, it's good to see you again. Why aren't you with the academy class?"
"Graduated," Anne says between bites. "Got the transfer orders by way of a diploma."
"Congratulations," Ty says. "Not explaining why you're here."
Anne pauses to wipe the smear of potato from her face. Chewing thoughtfully, she shoves a summons toward him. Ty feels surreal when he reads it, like some other Ty calmly skimming the summons and placing it down on the table.
You have been declared ready for Field Operations. Your new bunk is 607C. See Ty Smith for your next assignment. – S. Peabody
The real Ty is trapped inside him, screaming like a three-year-old having a temper tantrum because this is it. This is Timewise's official admission that Zane really is gone, that he's dead. This girl sitting in front of him, she's his replacement. She's Ty's new partner.
And she's green. Just like Ty was when he first partnered with Zane. It's not that she's young — in fact, Ty's pretty sure she's older than him — it's that she's new. She's never been in a battle, she's never seen a tikker, she's never had to slit one of the thing's throats. Part of Ty wants to scream about the unfairness of it all.
The other Ty, the one he lets see the world, forces a smile. Or at very least bares his teeth. He says, "Annie Gallagher, huh?"
"Name's Anne," she grumbles.
The public Ty starts laughing. The private one is silently screaming. "Annie will do just fine."
Tyler is thirteen years old when he walks into his house to find a strange man in his living room. It's just past noon on a balmy Wednesday in September. The students at Lewis Baker Secondary School have the afternoon off because of a malfunctioning fire alarm. His mom is at work. His sister is off at college. The front door is locked when he enters.
In the living room, the TV is on, blaring the highlights to some sporting event even Tyler doesn't care about. His mom doesn't watch sports and Tyler knows for a fact that he'd turned the television off before going to school that day. As quietly as he can, he slides the door to the hallway closet open and grabs his old baseball bat. Heart pounding, he creeps into the living room.
The man stands up from his perch on the arm of the couch. Tyler has never seen him before in his life. At his full height, he looks quite imposing. About six three with broad shoulders, blonde hair and a bland face. He's wearing a navy blazer with sweat pants and sneakers. The incongruities make him more threatening rather than less, as though he might not know how to function in society.
"Tyler Smith," the man recites, examining him critically. "Age thirteen, eighth grade, son of Joan Bueller and Garrett Smith (deceased). Temporal status: unstable."
"Unstable?" Tyler croaks. His fingers are white against the neck of the baseball bat. "I'm unstable? Says the freak who broke into my house."
"I apologize for any undue surprise," the man says. "I'm called Spenser Peabody. I'm from Timewise."
Timewise.
The name gives Tyler pause because he's heard it before. More than once. From Zane Tucker, who'd saved him from the tikkers. And from the girl who'd pushed him out of the past and back into his own time.
Timewise. It's important somehow, like the entire space-time continuum is tied up in a single word.
"Never heard of it," Tyler lies. "Get the hell out of my house."
(in 1997 Garrett Smith dies in a robbery gone bad – his mother always tells Tyler he is his father's son)
"You wouldn't have." Peabody draws an identification badge from his jacket pocket. "We prefer to operate anonymously and local we are not."
Tyler peers at the ID. It's official looking, a sturdy plastic card encased in a leather carrier. A badge clipped to the top reads TIMEWISE AGENCY. The card identifies the man as Spenser Peabody, senior agent. The photograph seems authentic, but something odd catches his eye.
Date issued: October 4, 2392
Date of Birth: September 19, 2370
"So," Tyler says slowly, "you're twenty-two and not born yet. Not a very convincing forgery when you keep in mind that's physically impossible."
"Age twenty-nine actually. The picture's a bit outdated." Peabody folds his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall.
"You actually expect me to believe you're from the future?"
"Technically, I'm from the present. You're from pastside." Peabody waves a dismissive hand. "All this is history living."
"Right," Tyler says, raising the bat again. He may be short and scrawny but he can get off a good swing if he needs too. The power's all in the hip rotation. "You're insane and you're trespassing."
"I know you've traveled pastside," Peabody says. "So why shouldn't I be able to travel from the future?"
"Because. . .," Tyler struggles to find the words, ". . .because it hasn't happened yet."
"The present is fixed," Peabody explains. Tyler watches his face for some sign of insanity, some glimmer of madness, but he can't find it. "Timewise is the present. Everything elsewise is history."
"Then why come here?" Tyler spits out, grip tightening on the bat, ready to knock the self-important look off future boy's face. "Why barge into my life, my past? Isn't that just going to screw up your future plans? Leave me alone!"
"Wouldn't be here if it weren't necessity." Peabody runs a hand against the wall, moving toward him. "Like I said prior, you're unstable. Libel to slip off through time whenever you get bored. It's not something you can control at start. Pulled me a kid out World War 1 last week. He could have mucked everything up. You're one of the lucky ones, really. We caught you before things got too messy."
"Messy?" Tyler says, knuckles still white on the baseball bat. "What do you mean by that?"
"Ah, you know. All the standards." Peabody is watching him with detached amusement. "Temporal instability always attracts tikkers. Not to mention the fact that amateurs have the tendency to slip themselves to unfortunate times. Knew a fellow who got his mother killed, wiped himself clean out the timeline. And then there was the guy who accidentally became his own grandfather. I'm looking out for you, Tyler. We can't have any of that happening to you."
Tyler thinks of Garrett Smith smiling through the cracked picture frame. "Say I am one of these unstable people who slips through time," he ventures. "How the hell are you going to fix it?"
Peabody clears his throat. "Timewise dedicates itself to maintaining the integrity of the timeline. You'll be brought upward, put through school and training. In two or three years, Time
wise'll recruit you for some work in the field."
"I already go to school," Tyler says.
Peabody shakes his head. "You don't get it. You can't stay here. Timewise will be your home. Staying here would put your family in danger."
A lump rises in Tyler's throat that threatens to choke him. "So you're saying I just disappear?" he asks, voice cracking. "Leave my mom to flip when I never come home? That's not going to happen! Not after Dad."
"You'll be scrubbed acorse," Peabody says, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket. "Standard procedure. All traces of you cleared out from the timeline. It's the only way to maintain the era's temporal stability. Your family won't miss you, Tyler. I can promise that."
Tyler's not sure if that makes the incredible scenario better or worse. "And what if I tell you to shove it?"
Peabody shrugs, folds his arms. "You'll stay pastside, live your life. Figure out a way to explain the missing time between your slips. But it's not going to stop, Tyler, not unless you learn to control it. Even odds you'll get yourself stuck somewhere pastside. Even if you don't, you'll probably end up knee deep in tikkers and trust me when I say you do not want to run crossing tikkers unprepared."
Tyler wants to deny the logic but he can't.
"Big blue things," Tyler says, vaguely. "Shoots lasers. I've seen one before."
Peabody nods. "Messy business, those things are. I've seen the folks caught crosswise. Not pretty. You stay here and you end up dead sooner than later. If tikkers abound, they won't be stopping with just you. The people you care about, they're in danger long as you're pastside."
"And if I do go with you. . ." Tyler's fingers have loosened their hold on the bat. "What happens to my family? My friends?"
"The timeline should stabilize soon as you're gone. They'll be safe."
Tyler drops the bat. It clatters to the floor, the only noise in the silent house. He heaves a sigh. "Doesn't sound like I've got much of a choice."
"You don't," Peabody confirms. "So are you in?"
If he has to leave, Tyler wants to accept with bravado, smirking as he proclaims, What the hell, I'm in. But his voice is missing, and he finds himself consenting with a barely perceptible nod.
Spenser gives him a wide toothy smile. Before Tyler can find his voice to ask if he can say goodbye to his family, Spense has crossed the room and placed a hand on his shoulders. "Good choice, kid."
The cold seeps in as Tyler's house fades into the past.
The last time Ty talks to Zane before the other operative goes rogue, Ty doesn't notice anything amiss.
(but looking back on it, he should have)
Ty creeps into Zane's room. Walking into a Timewise agent's room is usually the equivalent of taking a slip through time. Ty's room, for example, is nearly identical to the messy one he'd left back in his own time. Zane's is neat, impersonal and sterile. There are no posters on the wall, no relics from another time save the quantum alarm clock on his nightstand. But then Zane had been scrubbed when he was six, hardly old enough to remember his own time, especially after spending twelve years at Timewise.
"Heard you got paired with Val," Ty says.
Zane nods. He seems to be more or less back to normal. The bruises on his cheek, once a sickly green color, have faded to nothing. He's given himself a haircut, not quite as extreme as usual but enough to clear the bangs from his eyes. He is starting to look like Zane again.
"Means I'm stuck with Gallagher," Ty continues. "You got off easy. At least Val's sane."
Ty doesn't mention that it's a demotion. Zane is, or at least was, one of Timewise's highest-ranking field operatives. Working under Val Teasley is as good as being assigned a babysitter. Ty can't even bring himself to muster up some indignation for his friend. After all, he'd seen Zane carted off by a tikker and then there was nothing. Nothing for six months. The uncertainty very nearly drove Ty mad.
"Sane," Zane snorts. "Like anyone in this place is still sane. Personality disorders abounding."
"Personality disorders?" Ty raises an eyebrow. In two years of working with Zane, he's never seen this side of him. Never heard him offer up philosophy, never heard him criticize or question an order.
"You know Spense Peabody steals pens," Zane says. "Every time he makes a slip, he comes back with one new. Lifted off desks, nicked out from storefronts. He thinks no one will miss them. Because what's a pen in the span of four hundred years?"
The gravity in his voice demands Ty's whole attention.
"He keeps them in a box in his room," Zane continues. "Weighs more than ten pounds. It's not just him elsewise. Jones Longwood's been slipping off to the same time every few weeks. Plays pickup ball with the same group of kids. He's friends with them. And normal, sane Val keeps lists of everyone she's ever spoke at. She looks them up. Finds out when and where they die. Last I heard she'd filled up two notebooks. Jack McKennon, the guy they had me stay with first two years here, he hears tell of some mission with tikkers and volunteers. No death wish. Just thinks they're fascinating."
The silence is heavy save for the 2210 rock music coming from four rooms down. Ty is looking at Zane like he's never seen him before and thinks maybe that's true. Maybe this is the first time he's ever really seen Zane Tucker for who he is.
"Why are you telling me this?" Ty asks.
Zane shrugs, looks away and he's the worn-down Zane from the hospital. Not the other one, the one Ty misses more than he ever thought possible. More than he misses even Ivy.
"I dunno whyfore. Maybe because you're close as I got friendwise. Maybe. . ." Zane's voice trails off.
"You know you don't have to get back in the field if you're not ready," Ty says. "You've barely been back a month. No one will think any less of you if you skirt the slipping for a few more ticks."
"I'm ready," Zane says, but he doesn't sound ready. He sounds tired — a bone-deep exhaustion that engulfs everything else. He looks up and meets Ty's eyes. "Skorry, Ty."
"Nothing to be sorry about," Ty says, confused. "We're friends. You don't have to apologize."
Zane stands up abruptly and it's like he's put on a mask. "Shouldn't have said anything." His voice is clipped and businesslike. "You've got plenty to worry on without me adding to your load."
It feels like an interrogation, as though he's on trial and not Zane Tucker. Ty sits on the cold metal chair in the middle of Timewise's blinding-white interrogation room. He can see the back of Spense Peabody's blond head and his own reflection in the one-way glass. He wishes he were anywhere but here. He hates this room. The walls swallow all colors and sounds until Ty doesn't have the energy to say anything but exactly what Peabody wants to hear.
"State your name for the record," Peabody says.
"Tyler Smith. Am I on trial?" Ty asks. His voice sounds thick even to his own ears. He's drifting, exhausted, like a boat cut from its tether floating aimlessly downstream in the current. There's an inevitability to this place, like everything that happens here is preordained.
(he has been here before and he will be here again)
"You're not on trial," Peabody says. "We're just looking to sort this out."
"I'm not helping Zane." Ty is already tired of explaining this and he's just started. "I don't know why he snapped and went rogue, and I don't have plans to do likewise."
"It's not that easy," Spense says. "We've got Anne Gallagher swearing up and down you were talking at him and then you let him slip."
"Due respect, sir," Ty says. "He had a pulse. He could have thrown it. No way I was going to stop him leaving."
"You didn't think to use a stunner?" Spense says.
"The pulse would have shorted it out," Ty says slowly. "The stunner wasn't really an option."
"What did he talk at you about?" Peabody asks, jotting something down in his notepad.
"Nothing important," Ty says. "He was justifying, I wasn't listening."
"Do you recall anything specific?" Spense taps his pen against the table.
Ty can remember e
verything. The disheveled Zane Tucker's sweaty face, the slightly acrid stench that pervaded the school, like antiseptic tinged with body odor. He remembers every last word of their conversation and just how much it all stung.
Step off it, Ty. You're not looking to arrest me.
"Nothing," Ty says. "Nothing at all."
He's not looking at Spense, but rather at his own reflection in the one-way glass. Who was watching? Some of the higher-ups, no doubt. Peabody's bosses — his, indirectly. He doesn't think he's ever seen any of them before. Until now, that has never struck him as subversive. It had just been a fact of life.
What is Timewise's agenda? He knows the party line: Stop the tikkers. Maintain the timeline. But is it really that simple, that idealistic?
Why has Ty never asked these questions before now? Now, when he's probably facing expulsion from the agency, about to be convicted of conspiracy to tamper with time. Why not at the Academy with Jones Longwood whispering conspiracy theories in his ear? Or when Spense Peabody came to his house, talking about temporal instability and leaving his family for good? Why not the moment Zane, arguably the agency's most competent and loyal operative, turned his back on all this and went rogue?
It all comes back to Zane Tucker, doesn't it?
Zane Tucker panicked in a classroom with a younger Tyler while the older Ty tracked him down. Zane Tucker following orders without question. Zane Tucker's eyes wide as the tikker's long, thin fingers curled around his neck. Zane Tucker sitting hollow-eyed in the hospital, staring out the window. Zane Tucker, six months gone.
Something changed in those six months Zane was missing. Either he broke or something else did.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I dunno whyfore. Maybe because you're close as I got friendwise. Maybe. . ."
"According to Gallagher," Spense says, flipping through his notes. "You called the situation with Tucker 'complicated.' The explanation you just tossed my ways doesn't seem complicated in the slightest."
"Are you implying that I was just buying time?" Ty says. "Stalling Annie until I came up with a cover?"
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