In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Nathan Van Coops

  Mym arrives in midair and drops about a foot to the carpeted hotel floor. She takes her fingertips from the anchor and turns around. Her blue eyes find mine and she looks me over. We stand there like that, both of us in blue jeans. She’s got two tank tops layered over one another and her chronometer pendant hanging around her neck. Her blonde hair is loose over her shoulders, but I notice it’s curled. She’s gotten prepared for this meeting too.

  “Hey you.” I can’t help but smile.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  I take a few steps closer. “You made it.”

  She takes in the room, pausing slightly on the bed and at the digital wall of windows. “I don’t think you could find a farther away place.”

  “Long trip?” I take another step closer.

  “Six weeks. And you don’t even want to know how many people I had to talk to just to find anchors from this stream.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, the few hours I had to wait since I talked to you felt like a lot longer.”

  Mym shakes her head, but smiles. “At least you found us somewhere private.”

  I put my arms around her waist. “It’s really good to see you.” I kiss her then, not able to wait any longer. Her arms wrap around my back and she presses herself against me. Her hair smells like orange blossoms again. It smells like home. I let myself relish the electric feel of her skin against mine and it makes the rest of the world melt away.

  She pulls away for a moment. “I missed you.”

  “But you found me.”

  “If you could try to make it less difficult to get to you next time, I would appreciate that.”

  “Said, the hardest girl to locate ever . . .”

  Mym looks up and squeezes me tighter. Her expression is playful. “I’m here now. What are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to make your trip worth it.” I scoop her up and spin around, depositing her firmly in the center of the bed. She lets out a startled laugh, but when I land on the bed over her, she’s smirking at me.

  “It was a long trip, Ben.”

  I kiss her again and my fingers find the button on the front of her jeans. “Then I guess we’d better take our time.”

  The rest is just details. The absolute best kind of details. We get lost in the feel of each other’s bare skin and the exhilarating newness of exploration. For the first time in days, I escape the chronothon. I don’t think about Milo’s research. I don’t remember the danger I’ve been through or losses we’ve taken. The future me can have his time gate. I don’t care about the Zealots or the major and his war. I only care about right now and this girl. We keep each other confined in the moment, taking it prisoner between our interlocked fingers and our intertwined bodies. We share it with our lips and press it tight until we’ve run out of strength to contain it. For the first time since I’ve been a time traveler, I can think of no place else I’d want to be.

  <><><>

  Mym studies my face from the pillow next to me, relaxed now, but still holding my hand. Neither of us is ready to come back to the real world yet. There is a faint smile on her face and, as her eyes drift closed, she looks content. I watch her subtle breathing and just stay there listening as it turns into a more steady rhythm. I’d like to stay that way, ignore the world till the morning, but I know we can’t. Despite our best efforts, the clock is still ticking.

  I slip from bed and get dressed. Mym stirs slightly but settles back into sleep. I’ll need to wake her soon, but I let her rest a little longer from whatever journey she’s been through to get here.

  The hotel corridors are quiet. I pass a beautiful grandfather clock at the end of the hall that reads 3:30. A little moon and stars are showing in a window of the clock face to clue me in that it’s nighttime. I appreciate the help because my body is long past knowing what time it is. The frenetic pace of the last few days has destroyed whatever biological rhythm I may have had. Now I’m just physically tired and mentally lost.

  I take the stairs down a couple floors and wander into the cafeteria. I find a coffee machine that’s still backlit, and I select two cups from the dispenser. The machine hums to life when I press the power button and I hear the hopeful sound of something percolating. While I wait, I step to the windows.

  Adjacent to the cafeteria, a set of doors leads onto a balcony. I push my way through and onto the patio, enjoying the freshness of the salt air. To my surprise, I’m not the only one out there. Reclined in one of the half dozen patio chairs, Bozzle has his face skyward and is studying the stars. The lights of the city and the starlight above reflect in the deep black pools of his eyes. I make my way toward him slowly so I don’t startle him.

  “Beautiful night out, isn’t it?”

  The alien keeps his face pointed skyward but he blinks slowly. “I enjoy the nights on this planet. It’s a time of peace.”

  “Lack of other people usually helps with that. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “You do not disturb me,” Bozzle replies. “Your company is welcome. Please. Join me.”

  I take a deck chair one spot away from where the alien is seated and settle myself. I admire the view of the night sky silently for a few moments, then turn to my companion. “I appreciate the hospitality. Could you not sleep either? Need some time alone with the universe?”

  Bozzle smiles. “I am never alone.”

  I don’t immediately respond while I try to work out what he means. Is he talking about his mysterious guide I’ve never seen?

  The alien seems to read my mind. “My wife is with me. I carry her, but she’s the one who guides me.” He reaches for the neck of his shirt and extracts a pendant on a chain. I expect that it might be a locket of some sort and he is going to show me a photo of his wife. Instead, he whispers to the shiny triangular shape and it begins to glow. The light is a blend of purples and blues and twists around the pendant like a living thing. He raises his other hand and the light transfers from the pendant to his palm. He holds it out in front of him and smiles, letting his hand fall and staring into the twisting threads of color with an expression of joyful calm. He seems in no way concerned that the light will fall or fade or drift away in the breeze, and while the swirling colors do rise and fall gently, they do not leave his eye line.

  I’m not sure how to respond. I opt for an introduction. “What is your wife’s name?”

  “She is Sooka Moon.”

  “That’s a pretty name. Very celestial.”

  Bozzle shakes his head. “No, in your language ‘moon’ is different, a word of the sky. In my world it is very small. It is a flower. It is this.” He points to the tattoo on his bicep and indicates one of the flowers between the monsters that encircle his arm. The flower repeats frequently in the pattern, encircling the other elements and wrapping in and out of the elaborate illustrations. “This is our story.”

  He traces the artwork down his forearm. “When Sooka Moon was Anya Morey, her body told our story as well.”

  I consider the light just hovering in front of the alien. “So she wasn’t always . . . like she is now?”

  “Once, we were Anya Morey together. We grew a family, we spoke the language of the world with one another. Now we speak only in here.” He taps the side of his head softly. “But she loves to speak to me. She tells me of the things that I cannot yet see, and I remind her what it feels like to be Anya Morey.”

  Bozzle smiles the broadest smile I have ever seen on his face. “She says you are full of questions. And she says you should not be afraid to ask them.”

  “She can see me?”

  “She sees the essence of you.”

  “Like what? What do mean?”

  “You might say she sees your spirit, the you that is not your body.”

  “Like my soul?”

  “Yes. She sees your soul.” Bozzle laughs. It’s a carefree sound, deep and jovial. “Humans often wear the expression you wear now. You are surprised about your soul, like perhaps you forgot it was there.”

>   I smile back at his amusement. “I guess I haven’t spent much time thinking about it.”

  “That is like forgetting about your own mind.” Bozzle goes back to contemplating his glowing wife. “I think it is unkind that the human essence is a color that human eyes cannot see. I wish I could tell you the color of a human soul, but you have no words for it. You do not have the ability to see such a color, so you have not named it.”

  “I’ve heard about that. Apparently even butterflies see more colors than we do.” I grin. “Are Anya Morey related to butterflies?”

  Bozzle doesn’t seem to mind the association. “Who can say? The universe has been painting its creations with many of the same brushes.”

  “Do all of the Anya Morey tell their love stories on their bodies?”

  Bozzle lifts a hand toward his wife’s essence and she wraps herself around his fingers. “When you are born with the gift of moving in time, it is very easy to become lost. You can lose those whom you love, and miss the chance to find them again. Or you can find them at the wrong time. You may get mixed up about who is your love and who belongs to another you. When you share your stories on your bodies, you can compare. You can be sure you are experiencing the right time of your love. You share your stories and make them belong only to each other. Another you may tell a different story, but you will not be confused. You will always know your own story.”

  “That’s a brilliant solution.” I admire the elaborate artwork twisting up his arm. “And it looks like you two have had a wonderful story.”

  Sooka Moon works her way down Bozzle’s arm and slips back into the pendant around his neck. Bozzle holds his hand protectively over his chest once she’s inside, and returns to staring at the stars. “My story on this planet is nearing an end. I am happy to have met you, Benjamin Travers.”

  “So you don’t have any intention of going on through the gate tomorrow?”

  Bozzle looks down at the bracelet on his wrist and then over to me. “The men who want me to go through that gate do not know me. I will not finish their race.” He presses on the knuckle of his right thumb by using his left and compresses his long fingers to a position where he can easily slide the bracelet from his wrist. “And they do not know much about my people.” He holds the bracelet out to me. “I think you need this now more than me.”

  I hesitate but then sit up on the edge of the chair and reach for the bracelet. I turn the silver ring over in my palm. “I don’t know why I should go through that gate, either. The only reason I have to go on is the fact that I’ve already done it in that video. Have you ever done something that you didn’t want to, just because it would create a paradox if you didn’t?”

  “A paradox cannot make a man do what he will not, any more than it can keep a man from doing what he must. The decision will always be yours.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. I don’t want to make the wrong choice.” I stand up and put his bracelet into my pocket with the admiral’s. “Thank you for the advice. I feel like I can use every bit I can get.”

  Bozzle nods and goes back to his contemplation of the stars. I make my way back into the cafeteria and find the coffee machine ready. I pour two cups and carry them gingerly back upstairs to my room. The bed is vacant when I walk in. I find Mym in the corner of the room pulling on her tank top.

  “Where did you go? You left me—” She stops when she sees the cups of coffee in my hand. I stretch out my arm to offer her one and her voice changes from hurt to conciliatory. “I guess you might be forgiven.”

  I smile and settle into the room’s only chair. “You looked like you needed the rest.”

  Mym tugs on her jeans and straightens her shirt over them. “We still have a lot to talk about.”

  “You found something out about your dad’s gravitan research?”

  She takes a sip of coffee before beginning. “I talked to Dad about it, but it was Abraham who found what I was looking for.”

  “What did he find?”

  “Turns out it wasn’t a what, it was a who.” She sinks onto the edge of the bed. “Abraham went to the end of the chronothon to see you finish. Only you weren’t there. None of the fans were allowed anywhere near the finisher’s podium, but he could tell it wasn’t you up there. Nobody else seemed to know the difference except one other fan. He met an inventor named Ebenezer Sprocket.”

  “Jonah’s dad?”

  “Yeah, apparently he’s another racer? In any event, they got to talking, inventor to inventor, you know? Only they both knew the race was a sham. Ebenezer was in on it.”

  “Jonah’s dad was part of the setup?” I try to wrap my brain around Jonah somehow being involved.

  “These people are really bad news, Ben. Bad enough to put a guy’s kid in a chronothon to keep him from talking. Abe says he was scared. He freaked out when his boy wasn’t back at the finish line and started ranting.”

  “What was he not supposed to talk about?”

  “What they’re doing with the gravitans. They’re building a weapon. It’s already built. They just haven’t used it yet.”

  “What kind of weapon?”

  “From what Abe got out of Ebenezer, it destroys gravitites. It’s a weapon to use against time travelers. Ben, if they use this thing, it could affect everybody. I mean everybody. Every time traveler. Ever.”

  I try to fit this new information into what I already know. “That makes sense from a Zealot standpoint, they want to kill all the time travelers, but what about the ones who are time travelers themselves? The Order uses their own time travelers to fight, and the company sponsors are all time travelers. If this thing can affect everyone, are they going to wipe themselves out, too?”

  “That’s what I thought, but Dad has a theory about it. He thinks if Ebenezer was forced to design a weapon that will wipe out gravitites, they could be using the gravitans as a way to survive it. That could explain why they need them.”

  “How?”

  “Gravitites are synthetic. They’re the particle Dad invented. It’s what ASCOTT and the Academy and every other time travel facility uses to infuse time travelers. If you could come up with an alternative strain, a natural variant of the particle, maybe you could find a replacement that will survive the weapon, or design the weapon specifically to work that way.”

  “Replace gravitites in your body with gravitans, and wipe the gravitites out?”

  “Exactly.”

  “They still had to have the chronothon committee build the gates. They aren’t Zealots, why would they do anything to help them? It’s suicide.”

  Mym shakes her head. “I don’t know. But if Ebenezer built what he says he did, every time traveler we know is in danger.”

  I lapse into silence. My coffee has grown cold and I’ve lost my taste for it. I stand up and pace the room. “Major McClure seems adamant that I go through that time gate. Hearing about the weapon is only going to make him insist on it more. He obviously thinks me going will make a difference.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “I trust Milo and Kara. They’ve helped me survive this far. The major definitely has an agenda, but he isn’t trying to hide it. After fighting the Zealots all these years I’d probably trust him less if he didn’t have some scheme. I don’t know what the future me in that video knows that I don’t, but he seemed confident walking through there. He must think he’s going to accomplish something.”

  “What do you think?” Mym studies me from the bed.

  “I think I’m tired of being a pawn in everyone else’s plans, but if there is going to be an end to this, I need to keep playing. Whatever the endgame is, it happens on the other side of that gate.”

  “Do you know anything about what the major expects you to do?”

  “Not yet. But I think it’s time I found out.”

  “War has scarred every timestream I’ve visited. If there is a world where mankind has learned to resolve conflict without aggression, it is a time I’ve yet to witness—but al
so one I have not ceased hoping for.”–Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 1776

  Chapter 30

  “What is it?” I ask.

  The major is standing over the open crate with an expression akin to a child showing off a new toy. I try to look appreciative of the contents, but to me it just looks like cans of lubricating oil. The gray metal cylinders nestled in the straw packing have a threaded top with slightly more complicated looking lids, but they could hold anything really.

  “This is how we knock them out of this fight.” He picks up one of the cans and models it appreciatively. “If your new information is right and they’ve got a weapon to use on us, we’ll need to beat ’em to the punch.”

  Mym is beside me. Her surprise arrival has gone largely uncommented on with the exception of a creepy wink from the major when I arrived in his office with her. He seems unaware that she is something other than a female overnight guest and that my “new” information came from her. He addresses his explanation toward me, oblivious to the fact that he’s just met the daughter of the greatest mind in the world of time travel. Mym seems disinclined to enlighten him, so I follow her lead.

  The major has brought us to the basement to explain his new strategy, complete with visual aids. He practically beams at the device in his hand. “We confiscated the plans from a Zealot warehouse and used them for our own design. The black-clads never did figure out how to get them to work, but you have to give them credit for trying. Our engineers finished the job, and now we’re going to give them back a dose of their own medicine.”

  The other men around the basement armory are silent and serious. Milo and Kara are nearby, but Milo is away in the metaspace and Kara has used the opportunity to clean the underside of her nails with one of her knives. She casts occasional glances at Mym and me, but her emotions are as invisible to me as ever.