Second Lives

by Scott K. Andrews

  He had worked out the approach carefully. Letting Jana smooth the way, establish some facts before he showed his face. The idea had been to give him time to hear her voice first, to get used to the way it pulled at him, to choke back his tears before he tried to speak. But as he'd stood outside listening through her office door he hadn't felt like crying at all; he'd felt happy - overwhelmingly, heel-kickingly happy.

  When he'd stepped inside to talk to her he'd found it hard to speak not because he was biting back sobs, but because

  he was grinning so hard his jaw kind of locked. And when she had finally embraced him, he'd felt a deeper contentment than he had ever known, something primal that he had been missing more deeply than he'd been able to acknowledge.

  Once the reunion was over the questions had come flooding out of her. Had he done well at school? What happened to her and Zbigniew next? Had they overthrown the ayatollahs yet? He batted them all away, promising to tell her later, and tried to concentrate on his plan for approaching his father; he knew that was going to be a much trickier proposition.

  'Mum, listen,' he said, interrupting a question about, of all things, what was going to happen on the final series of her favourite soap. 'I need you to talk to Dad first. You know what he's like; if I turn up claiming to be his son from the future, he'll have me arrested.'

  'If you're lucky,' she replied.

  'Yeah, so you need to talk to him,' said Kaz. 'Lure him away, get him alone and then prime him for me. Can you do that, do you think?'

  'Of course,' she said, smiling. 'He's putty in my hands.'

  Kaz knew that wasn't true, but her confidence made him smile regardless.

  They reached the site of the newly constructed sports centre without incident. Dora became noticeably more twitchy once they stopped moving, and while Jana and Kaz sat on a patch of grass at the edge of a new playground that was part of the sports complex, she prowled the edges of it restlessly, on the lookout for threats.

  A group of UNIFIL soldiers were gathered near the swings talking to a gaggle of journalists. About twenty young children, excited at being let out of school, were waiting to one side, ready to start playing so the press could get some photos of the new facility in action.

  Kaz could see his dad, tall and straight in his uniform, schmoozing the press. He felt a pang of nerves as his mum touched his dad's arm. Dad looked round, surprised, and excused himself. They went off to talk in the shadow of a slide.

  'How you holding up?' asked Jana, who sat beside Kaz, reclining on the cool lawn.

  'I thought it couldn't get any weirder, but this is . . .' He trailed off, shaking his head.

  'I bet,' she said. 'But good, yeah?'

  He nodded. 'Oh yeah,' he agreed. 'I just worry it won't last. What if we can't save her? Or what if it's our intervention that gets her killed? There's too much uncertainty.'

  'Which is kind of the point.'

  'I know, I know. Still freaks me out.'

  'Your mom's nice,' said Jana.

  'She's great.'

  'Must have been really bad, when she, y'know.'

  'Yeah.'

  There was a long pause, then Jana sighed. 'Blood from a stone,' she said, sighing for effect.

  Kaz pulled his eyes away from his parents, who were locked in intense discussion, and smiled at Jana.

  'Sorry,' he said. 'My brain's kind of overloaded.'

  'I can imagine.' She reached out and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. Sparks flickered in the air and they both pulled their hands away sharply.

  'If we tried to have sex, we'd start a fire,' said Jana, laughing.

  Kaz blushed.

  'Yeah,' he said with a forced laugh, a moment too late.

  The next pause was even more uncomfortable than the first. Kaz remembered that he was supposed to ask questions. His dad had once told him, during an awful, awkward, endless conversation about Kaz's non-existent love life, that women liked to talk about themselves, and advised him to ask lots of questions. He rummaged around in his head for a suitable topic.

  'What about your parents?' he asked eventually. 'We've met Dora's, now you've both met mine. You never mention yours. What are they like?'

  Judging by the sudden change in Jana's body language - the way her posture stiffened and her jaw hardened - Kaz had hit on exactly the wrong topic for small talk.

  'Nothing special,' she replied curtly, staring fixedly into the middle distance.

  'You said you were kind of rich?' said Kaz, inwardly cursing himself for not letting it go.

  Jana grunted.

  'Nothing,' said Dora, passing them on her circuit of the area.

  'Then sit down for a minute,' said Kaz, relieved to have someone to interrupt the awkward.

  'I should—'

  'Oh sit down, Dora,' snapped Jana. 'Quil isn't here. She'd have made her move by now.'

  Dora sat down between Jana and Kaz looking somewhat confused.

  'Kaz,' Dora said after a moment. 'Long ago you told me your father was a soldier who made peace. I thought it strange at the time. Now I find that he does this by making playgrounds and it seems even stranger.'

  'This isn't his project,' said Kaz. 'He's here to make up the numbers, do a bit of PR. Normally he's locked away in meetings, negotiating or training other soldiers to negotiate. But UNIFIL does a lot of different stuff to try and help communities recover after conflict. This kind of thing,' he indicated the playground, 'isn't unusual. It's better than having children play on bomb sites or partially cleared minefields. And it makes people feel good about the UN being here.'

  Dora considered this and finally nodded. 'I suppose that makes sense,' she said. 'But I still think soldiers who build swing sets are kind of weird.'

  They sat there in silence - Jana sulking, Dora puzzling, Kaz fretting - until Dora nudged Kaz with her elbow.

  'Here they come,' she said.

  Kaz looked up and saw his parents walking towards him. His mother had the look she always wore after an argument, a kind of strained half-calm grimace, while his dad looked furious, stomping slightly ahead of his wife as if itching for a fight.

  Kaz took a deep breath and rose to his feet, steeling himself for a confrontation.

  His dad walked right up to him, put his hands on his hips, stuck out his chin and chest and opened his mouth to speak. But then the strangest thing happened. He looked Kaz in the eye and in an instant all the aggression melted away. His mouth dropped open, his arms fell to his sides and he kind of deflated as he said softly, 'How?'

  Peyvand stepped up beside him and slipped her arm through her husband's.

  'See,' she said, not entirely managing to hide both her relief and a slight undercurrent of I-told-you-so.

  'Hi, Dad,' said Kaz, shifting awkwardly on his feet, not knowing whether to offer to shake hands, go for a hug, or slap his dad playfully on the arm. No not that last one, definitely not that. He opted for a limp sort of wave and immediately regretted it.

  Colonel Zbigniew Cecka quickly regained control of himself. 'How?' he asked again, this time focused and direct.

  'Long story, and we'll have plenty of time to tell it,' said Kaz. 'But first you both need to come with us. There's someone you need to meet, who will make it all a lot clearer.' He glanced around but nobody was looking in their direction: all cameras were pointing at a two-year-old girl who was giggling hysterically as two soldiers spun her on a roundabout.

  Dora and Jana rose to their feet and they all joined hands in a circle. Then, with a flash of red, all five of them winked out of existence.

  Kaz had heard Kairos's long explanation of time travel already, but he endured it again as he sat between his parents in the undercroft conference room, holding his mother's hand and thinking about the awful conversation he was about to have.

  'So,' said Kaz to his parents when Kairos had finished, 'you see the situation. We don't know for certain exactly how time travel into the past works, but we can't risk creating a paradox that could destroy everyth
ing, so we have to plan accordingly.'

  'Plan for what?' asked Zbigniew, as always cutting to the heart of the matter. He really had no patience for shillyshallying.

  Kaz took a deep breath, let go of his mother's hand and leaned forward.

  'The one question I haven't answered,' he said, 'is what happened to me in the years between that day in Beirut when we snatched you, and today.'

  'Should we know?' asked Peyvand.

  'I'm afraid you have to.' Another deep breath. 'Because, you see, we're going to have to try and change history - my history. Or, well, actually, not change it at all. Change yours.'

  As he said this, he locked eyes with his mother and saw a sudden dawning of fear in her eyes.

  'Mine?' she said with a nervous laugh.

  'Yes,' said Kaz. 'And we can do it. We have a plan. So when I tell you what happened - happens - don't freak out. We have a plan, OK?'

  Peyvand glanced at Zbigniew again but his gaze was set firmly on Kaz, who could see he was clenching his jaw. Kaz squeezed his mother's hand slightly harder.

  'OK,' she said with a small nod.

  'On March twentieth, the day after we snatched you to bring you here, we were all together in Beirut. We were walking to the cinema.' Kaz paused, momentarily unsure how to put into the words the terror of that day. 'As we passed that stall that does the pastries - you know the one - you broke away from me and Dad and told us to wait a moment while you got some sweets for the film. You walked back to the stall, you were only about ten, fifteen metres away from us. And then—' Kaz stopped, unable to continue. His mother sat silently, obviously terrified.

  'Car bomb,' said Zbigniew after a few moments.

  Kaz looked up at his father, held his gaze for a second, then nodded. He hated revisiting that day - it was a hard memory, one he had pushed down as deep as he was able, and he felt sick as he started to pull it all back up again.

  'The head of national security service's convoy was the target,' he explained. 'The bomb went off as his convoy drove through the market. He was killed instantly. So were thirty-two other people. I remember - and this is important, because it's how we're going to fix this - I remember being lifted off my feet, literally. I remember flying through the air. I think I blacked out for a minute or two. The next thing I remember is the smell of smoke. I couldn't see either of you. I got to my feet - I wasn't badly injured, no bones broken or anything, just lots of cuts and scrapes. I was lucky. I think I was crying. I went running through the smoke crying for you. I saw . . . horrible things. And then out of nowhere you, Dad, scooped me up and ran with me to the end of the road, out of the chaos. You were limping and held me with only one arm. And I was asking you where Mum was over and over, but you wouldn't answer me. Not until you'd checked me for wounds. Then you said "she's gone".'

  Peyvand leaned forward and enfolded Kaz in a strong hug, making him well up despite his resolve not to cry.

  'My poor darling,' she said, and Kaz realised that even though he had told her she was going to die, she was only concerned about the effect it had had on his younger self.

  After a moment Kaz felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

  'You said you had a plan,' said Zbigniew.

  Peyvand released Kaz and he pulled out of the hug, although he regained his grip on his mother's hands and held on as if for dear life.

  'Yes, we do,' said Kaz. 'It all hinges on one thing.'

  Peyvand looked up at Kaz, who was still firmly focused on her even though he was taking to her husband.

  'I never saw your body, Mum,' said Kaz, with an unwanted tremor in his voice. 'Not at the bomb site, not at the funeral. It was a closed casket. I only knew you were dead because Dad told me you were.'

  'I don't understand,' said Peyvand. 'How does that . . .'

  'It means we can save you, Mum,' said Kaz, smiling as the tears finally rolled down his cheeks. 'We can go back in time and ensure that you survive the explosion. As long as my younger self still experiences that day exactly as I remember it.'

  There was a long silence as his works sank in. Then Zbigniew spoke up.

  'And all the days afterward,' he said.

  Peyvand gasped at the implication and looked searchingly into Kaz's eyes.

  Kaz nodded. 'Yes.'

  'So what did happen between that day and this, for you?' she asked.

  'We mourned you,' said Kaz. 'We buried a coffin.' Kaz turned to address his father. 'We returned to Poland. We fought a lot. I was, I don't know. Angry. Grieving. It was not a happy time. Eventually I ran away. Went to England to work. Met Dora and Jana, and the rest.'

  Kaz saw an unexpected flicker of sadness in his father's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it arrived.

  'Your proposal,' said Zbigniew, 'if I understand you correctly, is that you and I work together to plan your mother's escape from the bomb. And then I will have to lie to your younger self for four years. Subject you to the loss of your mother, make you live through grief and pain, have you grow up without her, endure your anger and your rebellion and all the fights, knowing all the time that I was deceiving you.'

  Kaz nodded.

  'And me?' asked Peyvand. 'I couldn't see you, could I. Not for all those years.'

  Kaz shook his head.

  'Yes but no,' he said. 'I can bring you forward in time. For you, those four years could pass in an instant. It's only

  Dad and my younger self who would have to travel in the slow lane.'

  'Hey Zbig,' said Peyvand with a sad smile. 'You'd finally be older than me. Shame your parents aren't alive to see that.'

  'Eh?' asked Kaz, who had only hazy memories of his paternal grandparents.

  'They never approved of me,' explained Peyvand, rolling her eyes and smiling. 'A woman who was older than her husband was obviously a cradle-snatching harpy.'

  'Oh yes, let's restart that old fight now,' muttered Zbigniew, smiling and rolling his eyes.

  'I'm still not sure whether we'd be changing history by doing this or not,' admitted Kaz, anxious to deflect the argument. 'Maybe this is what always happened, maybe I'm only creating the circumstances for four years of misery. I don't know, and the professor doesn't either, not really.'

  Peyvand glanced at Kairos, who shrugged.

  'All I know for sure is that if we do this,' said Kaz, 'you won't be dead. There's one thing, though. I can't go with you. It will have to be Dora and Jana who manage things in Beirut.'

  Peyvand opened her mouth to protest but Zbigniewr spoke up first.

  'Because if you were to come back to that day, and saw some detail that you realised was wrong, it might create a paradox,' he said. 'But Dora and Jana weren't there, so the new version of history they create only has to stick to the facts you give them.'

  Kairos clapped his hands once. 'Yes, I see you understand,' he said. 'Very good.'

  'So you agree?' asked Kaz, his face abeam with hope. 'You'll try it?'

  His parents locked eyes and nodded at each other almost imperceptibly.

  'Yes,5 they said in unison.

  Kaz felt a rush of emotion, but he couldn't have said for sure whether it was relief or terror. He reached out towards his father, then sat between his parents, holding their hands, crying in spite of himself.

  Peyvand did not sleep a wink the night before she died.

  She had risen that morning expecting an ordinary day, the latest in a long line stretching back for years and stretching ahead much the same.

  But now she knew that there were no more days stretching ahead of her. Tomorrow she would die, either literally or figuratively. And whatever became of her - spirited away to safety, or blown apart in the street - today had been her last day with Kaz. Her last day with her beautiful boy, the last day of the childhood she had shared with him. The very last day of the kind of motherhood she had found more fulfilling than she would have believed possible ten years ago.

  Because it had not been an ordinary day, not by any measure, and she couldn't process it. Time travel, h
er boy transformed into a young man, a trip to the future, a lecture in quantum physics, a daring plan outlined and then unceremoniously transported back to her flat to prepare for the end of everything she knew. It was dizzying.

  She drained her wine glass and reached for the bottle. Since she and Zbigniew had returned from the future, they'd been tense with each other, and young Kaz had picked up on it, becoming skittish and irritable. Not knowing the real reason for their nervousness, he had been expecting a fight and had set about making himself the centre of attention, diverting their anger his way. Peyvand wondered if he consciously decided to act as a lightning rod or whether it was instinctive, a character trait emerging in response to their rootless, unconventional life, one more way they were screwing him up, creating problems for the man he would grow into and the people who would share his life.

  Throughout his childhood they'd travelled with Zbigniew's work, and she'd kept busy even while nursing - chasing stories, writing articles for magazines and newspapers, juggling her trade with her mothering. The novelty of each new assignment, each new country, had been thrilling to both of them; they'd been so pleased with themselves for showing Kaz the world, opening his eyes to new cultures and experiences, that they'd not really considered the downside. From what Kaz had told them about his future, she was concerned that the only lesson they had taught him was to move on when things got tough.

  She looked across at Zbigniew, his brow furrowed, his face haunted. She felt a pang of pity for him, and the years of teenage rebellion he'd have to handle without her help.

  'You'll be fine,' she said.

  Zbigniew looked up. 'Not according to him,' he said. 'According to him, we'll spend the next four years fighting all the time until he runs away from home. I'm going to fail him. I'm required to fail him.'