Rewinder

by Battles, Brett

  “That, Mr. Younger, is the most powerful thing on Earth,” he says. “In the wrong hands, can you imagine the devastation one of these could cause? Someone could go back and ensure someone else is never born. Or worse.”

  Having traveled as much as I have, it’s easy to imagine the things someone could do—assassinating world leaders before they gain power, introducing technologies decades or centuries prior to their development, using knowledge of the past to increase one’s wealth in the present. I could spend hours writing a list and still not cover everything.

  “That’s why the only person living outside our walls who knows of the Chasers and what they do is the king, and even his knowledge is limited to believing that we can only witness the past, not interact with it. If he knew the full extent of its abilities, well…”

  With the experience and education I’ve gained at the institute, I can see the necessity of limiting the Crown’s knowledge, but I can’t stop the feeling of dread that grips my chest for holding knowledge back from the king. It’s a reaction rooted in how I was brought up, how all in the empire are brought up.

  “You can see now that it’s imperative we guard against those who might attempt to obtain our secret,” Sir Gregory continues. “Abducting one of our members while he’s out for a walk would be a simple thing. We can’t expose institute personnel to that kind of danger. The Chaser and what it allows us to do must be protected at all costs.”

  “So we’re imprisoned here.”

  “The institute would never phrase it that way. The grounds are expansive, and you are one of the lucky ones. As a Rewinder, you get out all the time. Think of the others here—the companions, the administrative staff, the security officers. If anyone is imprisoned here, they are.”

  Up until this afternoon, despite some of the lingering questions, I’ve never felt any doubts about joining the program. Now, I can feel them starting to creep in.

  “You do understand, don’t you?” Sir Gregory asks.

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  “And you’ll be able to live with these conditions?”

  Do I have a choice? “Absolutely.”

  __________

  I FOCUS ALL my energy on work so that I won’t think too much about what Sir Gregory has told me.

  I’m aided in this by the project Johnston and I are assigned. It’s a comprehensive rewind of an old and influential Midlands family. Their ancestral lore speaks of deep roots in England, and while those are indeed there, lines also lead to German, Dutch, and—the family will not be pleased about this—French relatives.

  It’s usually at night, as I’m waiting for sleep to take me, that my mind drifts in directions I don’t want it to go. Some nights I see myself running along the institute’s outer walls, screaming, “Let me out! Let me out!” Other nights, I see a dead Harlan Walker IV in his open casket, surrounded by bags of cash labeled Upjohn Institute, or Johnston balling up dozens of newspapers that he buries me in, or Palmer arching in pain over and over and over as he screams, “Denny!”

  __________

  IT’S A BEAUTIFUL spring evening and I’m taking advantage of it by reading a book in the back gardens. The topic is the Protestant reformation, a period I’ll be visiting on an upcoming assignment. It’s a dry subject not holding my interest, so the moment I hear loud footsteps, I look up and see Lidia racing out of the main building. I’ve seen her in foul moods before, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this angry.

  When she nears the reflecting pool, she begins turning around as if she’s decided to go back inside, but then she spots me and makes a beeline in my direction.

  “Did you know about this?” she asks as she nears me.

  “About what?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about.”

  “Go bother someone else, Lidia.” I look back at my book.

  She points past me. “I’m talking about that!”

  When I twist around, all I can see is the wide grass field and the distant institute wall.

  As I turn back, she says, “How long have you known that we’re locked in here?”

  So that’s it. She’s just had the talk with Sir Gregory. Despite the tension between us, I can’t help but feel some sympathy. “I was told only a few weeks ago. Before that I didn’t know, either.”

  She gapes at me. “A few weeks ago? It didn’t cross your mind to share that information?”

  “Before I left, Sir Gregory made me promise not—”

  “I don’t care what he told you to do. You had an obligation to your fellow trainees. You should have told us as soon as you left his office!”

  I consider letting her know she’s the first from the group I’ve seen since then, but it’d probably fall on deaf ears so I only say, “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Her face twists so tight that I’m sure she’s about to unleash a torrent of rage on me, but then she takes a breath and looks toward the wall again. “My father won’t stand for this.”

  Without another word, she whirls around and races back toward the main building.

  I see her the next evening in the dining hall, sitting alone. The anger from the night before has been replaced by a distant stare. I know I should let her be, but her words about my obligation to my group have stuck with me. It’s the Eight in me, always feeling the need to do more for others than they do for me. So I stop at her table before collecting my meal.

  “How are you doing?”

  I’m not sure she’s heard me until she slowly tilts her head up. Her gaze is on me but I feel like she’s looking through me. “He already knew,” she whispers. “He arranged for me to be here, and he already knew.”

  Her eyes remain on me for a few more seconds before she looks away and stares off at nothing again.

  I ask if she’s all right but she doesn’t respond this time. I decide to let it be and retrieve my meal.

  Lidia must have been talking about her father. But how would he have gotten her into the institute? I’ve been under the impression we’re all here because of our test scores. It’s clear, though, that she thinks he had a hand in it, and that he already knew she’d never leave once she’s inside. If that’s even partially true, I actually feel sorry for her.

  As I eat my meal, I think things have gotten as strange as they could get.

  But I’m wrong.

  Two days later, in the prep room as I dress for a trip back to 1924, I find a note.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE NOTE IS in the pocket of the trousers I’ll be wearing on my mission. I initially think it’s a piece of rubbish that somehow was missed by the support staff, but when I pull it out, I find it’s not all stuck together as if it’s been through the wash. It’s folded into a small square. Curious, I open it.

  There are four lines of machine-printed type: my name on the first, a Chaser location number on the second, a date and time—MARCH 16, 1982, 4:30 PM—on the third, and the words COME DISCONNECTED ONLY on the last.

  I’ve no idea what the final line means, but it’s obvious someone wants me to travel to the coordinates.

  As to who might have left it for me, the first person that comes to mind is Lidia. Perhaps she’s still furious with me for not telling her about our confinement and wants to take it out on me somewhere outside the institute’s grounds. But the last time I saw her, she was more in a state of resignation than fury.

  Perhaps the note is some sort of institute test to see if I’m willing to make an unauthorized jump. We’ve been told that doing so without the knowledge of the mission staff is grounds for immediate reassignment.

  I hear the door start to open so I slip the note back into my pocket, just as Johnston enters the room. Ten minutes later, we leave 2015 behind.

  As we work, my mind drifts now and then back to the note in my pocket, but at least I’m smart enough not to pull it out. When we come back to our home time, I slip the note from one pair of trousers to the other as I change.

  __________

&nbs
p; BACK IN MY room, I sit at my desk, staring intently at the note. I can’t deny I’m more than a little tempted to make the jump. But even after putting aside the questions of who gave me the coordinate and why the person wants me there, I’m confronted with a third unknown: If I were to make the trip, how would I do it without anyone at the institute knowing?

  Any time I use my Chaser, my companion Palmer feels it and those who monitor him know I’ve gone somewhere. If I travel at an unscheduled time, Sir Wilfred will be informed and security will be waiting for me when I get back. Or, quite possibly, based on the fact we’ve been told our destination can be tracked, the guards may even come after me.

  So, as tempted as I am to go, I see no way to make it work without putting my position in danger. I tuck the note away and try to forget about it.

  Exactly one week later, I receive a second message.

  __________

  LIKE THE ONE before, the new message is machine printed.

  If you want answers, go. Disconnect. It’s safe.

  This is followed by a short list of instructions.

  Disconnect. There’s that word again. I try to recall if I’ve ever heard anyone at the institute use it, but nothing comes to mind. When I read the instructions, however, I finally understand what it means. The instructions concern making adjustments to my Chaser, but it’s the last line that explains it:

  5. Once done, enter the coordinates and go. You are disconnected from your companion and cannot be traced.

  My skin tingles from both fear and excitement. Thoughts of do it and go are matched in strength by ones like the note is a lie and it can’t be safe.

  Even if I want to go now—which I’m not sure I do—I can’t. My next mission is about to start and Johnston’s already waiting by the door.

  Today, our work takes us to Pittsburgh, 1971, in the business district near where the rivers meet. Johnston, as he often does, has told me to stay where I am while he checks ahead, so I’m blending in by leaning against the side of a building and reading a local newspaper I found on the ground.

  It’s a nice day and a lot of people are out, walking along the sidewalk. None pay me the slightest bit of attention. That is, not until someone tugs at my arm.

  I keep my eyes on the paper and pretend I haven’t noticed, hoping whoever it is will go away. But there’s a second pull, followed by a young boy’s voice saying, “Excuse me.”

  Thinking he’s looking for a handout, I say, “I don’t have any change.”

  This isn’t the first time I’ve talked to someone in the past, but the encounters are always unnerving, and, per training, I do everything I can to end them quickly.

  “Who’s asking for money?” he says.

  I move the paper to the side and take my first look at him. Though his clothes are not new, they’re relatively clean and there’s no dirt on his face or hands. Not a street kid.

  “I’m busy,” I say, and start to open the paper again.

  “I have a message for you. You want it or not?”

  A message? “You must have the wrong guy.”

  “You’re Denny, right?”

  I lower the paper all the way to my side. “Yeah.”

  “So, do you want it?”

  Johnston must be in trouble, I realize, and this is the only way he could reach me. “What is it?”

  “They can’t track you if you go farther than ten years.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

  “They can’t track you if you go farther than ten years.”

  “Who told you to tell me that?” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Who?”

  I reach out to grab him by the shoulder but he jumps back.

  “Hey, leave me alone.”

  I step toward him. “I just want to know who it was.”

  As he turns to run away, I notice we’re beginning to attract attention. My need to know who gave him the message struggles with my training to blend, and it takes all my will to move only a single step after him.

  That’s when the boy stops and looks back. “Oh, yeah. One more thing. Disconnect and go!”

  My feet sink into the cement sidewalk as he disappears down the street.

  Perhaps, if I really want to play the fool, I could dismiss the first part of the boy’s message as coincidence. But there’s no way the last is.

  Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know.

  What I do know now is that I’m going to make the trip.

  __________

  I CAN HARDLY wait to get to my room when we return.

  After I finally close and lock my door behind me, I dig out the note containing the instructions and set to work disconnecting my Chaser from my companion. It’s not difficult. Only two wires need to be decoupled and a third rerouted.

  I check my work several times to make sure I did it right. The only way to know for sure, though, is to make the trip.

  I enter the date and location information from the first note, key in an adjusted time, then stare at the device, my confidence wavering.

  Should I really do this? Is it worth the risk?

  My answer vacillates with every second, until, with yes still in my head, I press the GO button.

  As always, the world around me winks out and I’m shrouded in gray mist. What’s missing this time is the faint but ever-present sense that Palmer is there, too. As quickly as I register this, the mist is gone and the world of March 16, 1982 appears. The note told me to arrive at 4:30 in the afternoon, but, per my training, I’ve arrived thirteen and a half hours early at 3 a.m.

  A trip of thirty-three years would typically result in nothing more than a headache that might last a few minutes. What I experience is a spike of pain more reminiscent of a hundred-year jump. It forces me to a knee as I ride out the sensation.

  Once the pain has abated, I look around and see that I’m not, as is usually the case, behind a building or in an alleyway or some other hidden spot in a city. In fact, there are no buildings in sight. I’m at the edge of a forest in a grassy meadow where boulders stick out of the ground here and there like skullcaps of buried giants. The only sound I hear is a gently flowing river somewhere to the right.

  It’s a perfect place for an out-of-the-way meeting.

  Or ambush, the cautious part of my brain thinks.

  I choose a spot just inside the woods, use the Chaser’s calculator to refigure my arrival location, and pop to 4:30 p.m.

  As soon as my eyes adjust to the tree-filtered daylight, I creep up to the edge of the meadow and look around. At first I think something must be wrong. No one’s waiting for me near the spot where I’m supposed to appear. I scan the meadow, wondering if this is someone’s idea of a joke, perhaps Lidia trying to get me into trouble. But then I spot someone sitting on one of the rocks about fifty yards away, back to me.

  By the time I’m halfway there, I’m pretty sure I know who the person is, and when I’m near, I know I’m right.

  “Gorgeous here, isn’t it?” Marie says.

  I take a look around. “It is.”

  She motions to a spot beside her. “Join me.”

  The rock is easy to ascend, and within seconds I’m sitting next to my old instructor.

  “If you’re hungry, I have some snacks,” she offers. “Water, too.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  After a quiet moment, she asks, “When did you come from?”

  I give her the date of my home time.

  “Took you a whole week, huh?”

  “When did you come from?” I ask.

  “I put the note in your pants ten minutes before I got here.”

  “Which note?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Well, I guess it would be the first one. I take it I needed to give you another.”

  I nod and reach into my pocket to get the second note, but she lays a hand on my wrist.

  “No. I still have to give it to you, so let me surprise myself.”

  I pull my hand back out, empty.
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  “Since we’re not surrounded by security officers, I’m guessing you figured out how to disconnect.”

  “Not on my own.”

  She raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

  “Are you sure we can’t be traced here?” I ask.

  She nods. “It’s a hole in the system the institute’s science department hasn’t been able to plug. Any jump more than ten years, with or without a companion, doesn’t even show up on their scanners.” Her eyes narrow, assessing me. “You already knew that, too, didn’t you?”

  I shrug.

  “I tell you that in the second note?”

  “No. You had a boy tell me on one of my missions.”

  She chuckles. “Still more work you’re making me do, I see.”

  I hear the cry of a bird. I look up and spot it soaring above the far end of the meadow. When it disappears in the trees, I ask, “What did you want to see me for?”

  “You’ve got it backwards. You wanted to see me.”

  “So you knew I was looking for you.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you see me back at the institute?”

  “Because I have a feeling what you want to talk about would be best discussed elsewhere.” She gives me a sideways glance. “Was I wrong?”

  “No.” She’s given me an opening but I hesitate. “You won’t report what I ask you about?”

  “Would I have brought you here if I was going to do that?”

  I shake my head.

  The original questions I wanted to ask her were about Harlan Walker, but in the time since I first started looking for her, more important ones have surfaced. “Are we really not permitted to leave the institute in home time?”

  “You’ve had the talk, huh?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve been with the institute for fifteen years, and can tell you that since we started using the Chaser, I’ve only set foot outside in our home time twice. Both were as part of recruiting missions such as the one that brought you to us.”