I flip the papers closed. “Walk me through it.”
Ariel nods and heads over to the machine. He spins the discs on either side of it. “This is just the prototype, of course. The actual device is larger. Much larger.” He chuckles like he just made a joke, and I give a weak smile. “When it’s turned on, these discs start spinning faster than the speed of light.” He points to the copper wire in between the discs. “And this tunnels exotic matter, which creates a wormhole between the two points. I’ve figured out a way to load the wormhole into a small, everyday object that would allow time travel.”
Ariel switches off the machine and turns to me.
“We’re limiting it,” he tells me. “We’re loading the genetic makeup of seven men, hand-picked because of their strength, acumen, physical prowess, and intellectual capacity. The time travel devices will only work for those seven men.”
“Why?” I ask.
“This is an experiment. The fewer people who can travel through time, the better.” He drops his voice. “It’s never a good thing to go messing with time unnecessarily. Time is a powerful and dangerous tool.”
A chill races up my back.
“I have folks at the Department of Defense interested in this project,” Ariel continues. “They’re the ones who’ve asked us to limit it.”
“Have they given you money?”
“No,” Ariel says. “Not yet. They promise they will if the prototype is to their liking, but until that day, I need the help of the Kershul Group.”
Yeah, Kershul Group, whatever. “And what if someday you want to expand it past those seven individuals? How do you do that?”
“Well, their children would be able to time travel, obviously—”
“I’m talking broader than that,” I interrupt.
Ariel takes the papers from me and flips open to the fifth page. He points to a calculation. “That’s this. A later addition to the machine down the line. It’s only in the design phase. The machine was specifically designed to reflect only the genetic makeup of the chosen seven. Adding another person would require complicated and expensive changes to the design. We’re not there yet. We don’t have the funding.”
I ignore the push about funding because, oh my God, this is my solution. I don’t have to ask Ariel to scrap the genetic thing and let anyone time travel. I just have to make sure he doesn’t ever change the machine to add other travelers. This is even better. This way I’ll never be recruited into Annum Guard in the first place. I’ll leave 1962 and go back to Peel. Go back to Abe.
Or will I be stuck in 1962 forever? If I’m suddenly incapable of projecting, how am I going to get back?
I look at Ariel. I know this man. I love this man. He doesn’t know me yet, but he’s going to come to love me just like a granddaughter. Maybe I should trust him with my secret. Tell him that I’ve come from the future and beg him to help me.
Or do I trust Alpha? He says he really wants to help me, and part of me wants to believe him. Ariel or Alpha? Ariel or Alpha? Who’s to say I can really trust this Ariel from the past? I don’t know him. People change so much over the years. Maybe young Ariel is greedy and ambitious and out to prove his name no matter what. That’s so different from the generous, caring, genuine Ariel I know; but it’s definitely possible.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life locked in an eight-by-ten cell with a small, slatted window. Or maybe no window at all.
I decide to trust Alpha. To complete the mission he gave me.
“I’ll give you the funding on one condition,” I say.
Ariel’s eyebrows pop up. “What’s that?”
“Change the design. Get rid of the genetic link. Make it so that anyone with one of your watches can time travel.”
Ariel blinks. Then he scowls. “I never said anything about a watch.”
My heart skips a beat. “I—uh—” I flip through the papers Ariel gave me while my heart beats wildly. “Um—” I flip past a page of calculations, another page of calculations. Oh, please please please let there be a visual in here somewhere. “I mean—” And then I gasp. “Here!”
I shove the page in Ariel’s face. It’s a drawing of the machine, and in the bottom left corner there’s a rendering of a watch. I’m not religious, but thank-you to anyone or anything that might be looking out for me right now.
“Ah,” Ariel says. “Of course. You’ve seen this before.” But there’s something funny in his tone. I’m blowing this big-time.
“So you’ll get rid of the genetic link then?”
“What?” Ariel shakes his head. “No.”
I blow out a breath from my lips. “No?”
“No,” he repeats. “The DOD wants the genetic limitations. It’s always been my intention to partner with them on this, to let them use the power of Chronometric Augmentation—that’s what I’ve been calling it—to improve our lives. I’m unwilling to risk this machine falling into the wrong hands.”
“Then I’m not funding you.” My voice cracks and wavers. I can’t lose it. Although, what’s the point? The real Kershul Group representative is going to show up next week and probably provide the funding anyway.
Ariel sticks out his hand. “Sorry to hear it. It would have been a good fit for your interests. I’ll start looking elsewhere.”
I hesitate before taking Ariel’s hand in my own. My heart puddles onto the floor. Is this the last time I’m going to have physical contact with another human being? I blink back tears. I have to get out of here. I have to go now.
I turn on my heel and race toward the door, then down the stairs and onto campus, and I don’t stop until I’ve reached Massachusetts Avenue. I drop onto a bench. This can’t be happening. I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve failed.
Good-bye, Abe. I hope you know how much I love you. Be happy. Good-bye, Mom. I’m so sorry your life turned out the way it did and that I wasn’t there for you. I hope you find the help you need someday. I’m never going to see either of you again. I’m done.
Except that I’m not. The thought flies into my brain and yanks my breath away.
Ariel hasn’t finished the prototype. The machine doesn’t have the genetic link yet. And I have a gun strapped to my ankle. I could take care of this now and go back a free woman.
But I can’t do that. I won’t do that.
Or will I?
I don’t leave the bench. An hour ticks by, which means I’ve lost three more hours in the present. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever. Except that they’ll track me. They’ll win.
My watch clicks to noon, and campus bustles with lunchtime activity. Students and professors dart this way and that, but I see Ariel straight ahead. He waits for traffic to die down, then jogs across Mass Ave.
I spring up off the bench and follow him. His house is only a few blocks from campus. I know it well. I hang back half a block and follow him to the wooden-shingled Cape-style home stuck plumb in the middle of the block. There’s a long, flat, baby-blue Chrysler out front; but apart from that, the house looks exactly the same. Same white eyelet curtains in the windows. Same wrought iron bench on the stoop. I can’t see that well from where I am, but I bet you anything there’s a twisted metal S nailed above the doorbell and a mezuzah on the frame. I stop walking and watch Ariel enter the house.
The gun on my ankle feels so heavy.
I park myself on the stoop across the street and sit, staring at the house. The light in the living room is off. I wonder if Ariel is in the kitchen, which is next to the living room. Maybe he’s pulling leftovers out of the fridge and sitting at the kitchen table eating his lunch. The house doesn’t have a formal dining room, just a little space right off the kitchen. It’s tiny, but somehow we always managed to squeeze eight or even ten people around the table at holidays. I was there a couple months ago when Abe invited me to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with his family.
>
Ariel wanders into the living room and opens the window. I don’t try to duck, don’t try to hide. My hand travels down to my ankle, and I unhook the gun from its holster. I raise it, just to see if he’s in my line of fire. He is.
I wonder if past-Ariel knows how lucky he’s about to become. He’s going to get married and have a son, then his son is going to get married and have a boy of his own, a boy who’s going to have his grandfather’s physics genius and his father’s athleticism. I wonder if past-Ariel has any idea he’s going to fall in love with his research assistant and marry her. I wonder if past-Ariel can possibly know the pain and sadness her death is going to cause him. I wonder if he’ll know that his grandson’s girlfriend will stare longingly at the picture of Mona hanging at the top of the stairs and hope and pray that her boyfriend loves her even a tenth as much as Ariel loved Mona.
I want to run across the street. I want to bang on the door and beg Ariel to let me in. I want to wander the house I’ve become so familiar with, calling out for Abe. I want to find him sitting on the old yellow plaid couch in the basement, playing video games on an ancient, thirteen-inch TV because Ariel refuses to have a set in the living room. I want to cuddle next to Abe and sink my head into that warm crook in his neck. I want Abe to set down the video game controller and kiss me. Kiss me everywhere. Not to stop kissing me until we hear the creak of the old, rotted stairs and look up to see Ariel holding a laundry basket and hiding a smile.
I drop the gun on the step. Even if I can’t ever be with Abe again, even if I can’t ever see Abe again, I’ll never do this. Abe deserves a chance to live. A chance to be happy. A chance to have a family. I can’t take that away. I won’t.
I pick up the gun and toss it into a trash can on the sidewalk.
I’ve failed. My life is done.
So be it.
It’s seven at night when I land back in the present day. I step out of the gravity chamber, expecting to find at least two men in suits waiting, a pair of metal handcuffs dangling from one of their fists. I expect Alpha to hang back, mostly as an observer but also as backup if necessary. He’s a company man through and through, after all. I wonder if any of my teammates will be there to bear witness or if they’re going about their business, as usual.
But no one’s there waiting for me. Not my teammates, not Alpha, not any government suits. Maybe they’re upstairs.
If I’m going to do this—turn myself in—I need to do it now, before I lose my resolve. I trudge up the stairs with my head held high. I should be proud of myself. I did the right thing. I refused to take a life just for my own gain.
But really, all I feel is fear. Overwhelming, swallowing fear.
The living room is empty. So is the dining room. And the library. I glance at the clock to make sure it’s really seven p.m. People are always loitering about this time of night. Dinner even runs long sometimes.
I head down the long hallway off the staircase. Alpha’s office is right there on the left. I reach up my hand and lightly rap my knuckles as I turn the handle. But the door is locked. The handle doesn’t budge.
Where is everyone? Did I come back on the right day? If not, they’ll find me, that much is certain.
I stare at Alpha’s locked door. I wonder if his computer is on behind that door. It’s been on and logged in every time I’ve been in that office. Why not now? If I could only use Alpha’s clearance, I could find out what happened to my dad once and for all. It wouldn’t torment me for the rest of my life. I look at the metal keypad staring at me from above the handle.
940211.
That’s the combination Alpha used before. It jumps right back into my mind. Texas area code, Vermont community service number.
What the hell? What are they going to do if they catch me, tack ten more years onto my life sentence? I type in 940211, and the door clicks unlocked. I glance behind me, then quietly slip through the doorway and shut the door as softly as I can.
I sit down at Alpha’s desk and swivel around to face the computer. I flick the mouse around on the pad, but the screen stays dark. It’s off. I power it up, then lean back in the chair. I don’t know what I think I’m going to accomplish here. Watching him type in the door combination was one thing, but I wouldn’t even know where to start with Alpha’s computer password.
This doesn’t feel real. My thoughts are clouded. This is a dream. Or a movie. And I can’t even begin to imagine how it ends.
Except . . . I do know the ending.
I should go. Find Alpha. Try pleading.
But then I notice that the top file cabinet drawer is slightly ajar. I slide it out and stare down at a number of plain, unassuming files. They’re alphabetized, and each one has a different name typed on the tab.
JULIAN ELLIS
I don’t know who that is.
TYLER FERTIG
Oh, but I do know who that is. These are files on us. On Annum Guard members. Am I in there, or have they already taken me out, burned my contents, and tossed the empty file?
I flip past JEREMY GREER, followed by four MASTERS, which is weird. How can there be four? Intermarriage? There are three MCKAYS next in line, and then, there it is.
AMANDA OBERMANN. I’m still here. I pluck the file out of the cabinet, and my heart skips a beat.
Literally.
Skips a beat.
There’s another file behind mine.
MITCHELL OBERMANN
My dad.
My hands shake as I lift the file from the cabinet. But there’s another one behind it. WALTER OBERMANN. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
I lay all three files on the desk, pushing Alpha’s Moleskine notebook out of the way. I don’t breathe as I flip open Walter Obermann’s file. And then I do. Because the first thing I see is that Walter Obermann was Four. A founding member of Annum Guard. That means—
I flip open my dad’s file. DELTA screams from the page. My father was second-generation Annum Guard. There’s a picture paper-clipped to the front page. My dad stares up at me. He can’t be more than twenty-one. So young. So handsome. He’s smiling at me, and I smile back.
“Dad,” I whisper. I touch the photograph. Then I grab my photograph—I recognize the shot as the one Peel snapped of me my first day of freshman year—and compare them. Our eyes are identical.
I was born into this, too. I have the genetic makeup. The full force of the situation hits me. There is no secret government trial going on. No one took my DNA and inserted it into the machine. There’s no solitary. No Feds waiting to arrest me. I’ve been able to project since the day I was born. Alpha lied to me. They all lied to me. Zeta, Blue, Indigo, all of them.
They knew.
And they lied.
Why?
There are footsteps outside the door.
I scramble as the code is being entered into the door. My picture falls to the floor, and I don’t have time to grab it as the door swings open. Alpha’s eyes pop out when he sees me.
“Iris!” His tone is one of shock.
I narrow my eyes. “You lied to me.”
His eyes dart between the file cabinet and the open folders on his desk and then fly to the notebook I pushed out of the way. His face is panicked. He knows I’ve caught him.
“I didn’t lie to you,” he says calmly.
“My father was Delta? My grandfather was Four? There is no government program, is there? And there aren’t any agents coming for me.”
Alpha holds up both of his hands. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly. And I’m getting the hell out of here. Away from you, away from everyone.”
Alpha backs toward the door. “No, you’re not. You’re not going anywhere.” He glances at the notebook again. “Let me explain it to you.”
“I’m not going to believe a word you say!” I yell. �
��Ever! You basically ordered me to assassinate an innocent man. You’re using me because of my connection to the Stenders. Why?”
“Because—”
“Don’t answer!” I swipe my hand through the air to bat him away, even though he hasn’t reached for me. “I don’t care what you have to say. I told you I’m leaving, and I’m going. Now.”
Alpha stands up straight and grits his teeth. “And I told you that you’re not going anywhere.” He stares at me with cold, hard eyes, as if daring me to try to get past him.
But I don’t have to try to get past him. In one motion, I grab the three files off the desk as well as Alpha’s Moleskine notebook, then I whip open my watch necklace and spin the year dial. I’m not even counting the ticks. I don’t care where I go. I just have to get out of here.
“Iris, no!” Alpha yells.
He leaps at me. His hand closes on my wrist. I twist away and snap the watch lid shut.
Alpha’s office dissolves from view as I’m ripped away. The physical pain of projecting without the gravity chamber is intense, but the emotional pain is worse. My head stretches and pulls, and I hug the files and the notebook to my chest and scream.
I’m falling.
Still falling.
Still falling.
This won’t end. I’m going to die. Inside my chest my heart is exploding, and I’m not going to make it.
And then it stops. I stop. I open my eyes, expecting to be standing in the same office, some years earlier. But I’m not. I’m in the middle of a forest.
I whip around. Forest, as far as the eye can see. Holy shit. How far back did I go? When was Boston founded? Sixteen hundred . . . something. Oh no.
My mind flashes to what they told me before, about how the farther back you go, the more time elapses in the present. A minute four hundred years ago really passes two days in the present. Fifteen minutes is a month. What if I’m five hundred years back? Six hundred? I choke.
I open the watch face again and turn the year dial forward. I give it two full turns. That’s a hundred and twenty years. I turn again when—
The Eighth Guardian (Annum Guard) Page 18