Red, White, and the Blues

by Walker, Rysa

  “It’s not that simple, unfortunately. A second genetics war has been going on for the past two decades. I don’t have all the details, but simply removing Forson from the picture doesn’t seem to have changed much.”

  A car pulls into the lot next to the bus stop. I dismiss it at first because the driver is an elderly woman, but then I remember that Kate Dunne is in her seventies now. Only moments ago, I was mentally berating her for being late, and now I wish she’d have waited because I’m not really ready to tell Jack goodbye again. And the face staring out at us isn’t exactly a welcoming one. In fact, I’d classify it as royally pissed.

  “I’ll drop by the cabin each day to keep you up to speed,” I tell Jack as we head back across the street.

  “No. Not every day,” he says. “You only have two days to fix this, Madi. We both know there won’t be much I can do from here. Tyson was just trying to soothe my ego.” I start to protest, but he squeezes my hand. “It’s true. If there are stable points you need monitored, Clio is probably a better option. Or the Dunnes, back in 1939. Plus, if I see you in danger, there’s a decent chance I’ll blink myself back even further. What you said at the hotel was right. Fix this, and when you’re done, we can deal with everything else.”

  I’m tempted to protest, but we’re now only a few feet away from Kate Dunne, who is scowling at us from the open window of her powder-blue Ford Fairlane. “He’s right. I’ve just experienced three decades without my daughter. I lost a son to this abomination of a government. We’ve spent years stuck in the cabin as virtual hermits, trying to stay off the radar. These are not memories I want to keep.” The photograph I gave her at the restaurant is clutched in one hand. It’s fared worse over the past thirty years than it did during more than a century inside the album in the controlled atmosphere of the library. “This reality,” she says. “I want this back. This, or as close to it as you can get. And I want your promise that you’ll do everything in your power to make sure that Clio and Kiernan remain in this picture. Otherwise, I swear to God I will haunt you.”

  There are tears on her cheeks and in her voice, and all I can think of is Clio crying on the side of the road ten minutes and thirty-one years ago. I felt as helpless then as I do now. Kate’s words are angry and demanding, but there’s a note of pleading that breaks my heart. They all looked so happy in that picture, and I wonder whether I was unkind to leave it with her. True, it probably gave her hope during some very dark times, but was it a false hope? I want to ask her why Clio and Kiernan might not be in that picture, but I suspect that knowledge would only complicate things even more.

  I take a few steps toward the car and crouch down. Her eyes, still green but cloudy with age, are now level with mine.

  “You have my word, Kate. I promise.”

  The anger fades from her expression, and she just looks old and very tired.

  I rejoin Jack, who’s still standing near the back of the car. He gives me a look that very clearly asks whether it was wise to make promises about things outside my control, and then pulls me into his arms.

  On the one hand, it doesn’t matter. I said I’d do everything in my power. And I would have done everything in my power anyway, even without the promise.

  But he’s right. If I can’t keep the promise, Kate Dunne won’t have to haunt me. The memory of her clutching that tattered photograph will do the job all on its own.

  FROM THE BOOK OF PROPHECY

  CHAPTER OF PRUDENCE

  The patron of the House of Prudence is the Apple.

  As Eve took the Apple from the tree, so shall the House of Prudence bring five thousand Apples into the storehouse on the twelfth day of December in the year 1980. And the House shall live upon the dividend of these Apples in perpetuity.

  As Prudence is the first daughter of Cyrus, the living embodiment of his spirit upon the earth, her form is eternal. When the body takes the shape of the Crone, three daughters will arise, each as a helpmeet, each identical in form and substance. They shall wear the Key of Light, but not the Key of Time.

  As it is foretold and decreed, the ancestral home of the Mother of Prudence shall be raised up as an eternal, unchanging shrine in the year 2017.

  So it is written, and so shall it be.

  ∞14∞

  TYSON

  BETHESDA, DC

  NOVEMBER 18, 2136

  Madi reappears in the library about twenty minutes before the deadline for inserting the game chip. As soon as she steps out of the stable point, another woman blinks in. The new arrival appears to be in her midtwenties, with dark curls and green eyes. Almost instantly, her tentative smile morphs into a grimace, and she clutches her stomach. When the queasiness passes, she glances around the library, where the entire contingent, including the baby, is now gathered, and tucks her CHRONOS key back inside her sweater.

  “That was the shift, wasn’t it?” she asks Madi. “That sick feeling that hit me.”

  Madi nods. “Almost certainly. I guess this is your first trip past the date the timeline flipped.” Then she turns toward the rest of us. “Jack is now settled in Skaneateles. This is Clio Dunne, Kate and Kiernan’s daughter. She’s offered to help.”

  “Did you say Dunne?” Rich asks after we introduce ourselves. “Are you related to Padraic?”

  She nods. “He was my great-grandfather. Never met him, though, since he died even before my dad was born in 1885. I haven’t jumped to County Clare to see if he’s still around back then, but I’m fairly sure he’s not. From what Madi told me, this new chain of events means he was erased before the jump that stranded him over there while researching the Great Hunger.”

  Padraic Dunne is in the same cohort as Delia Morrell, one of the historians I trained with. Given that he’s a Europeanist, our paths haven’t crossed much. He’s also the only historian I know who is married to someone outside CHRONOS, and as a result he doesn’t tend to hang out and socialize after hours. The agency tends to be pretty insular, and outside partnerships are strongly discouraged prior to retirement, which comes early enough that you still have options for raising a family if you’re so inclined. Marriage before retirement is generally tolerated between historians, however, especially those who are paired off to work as couples in the field. In our classroom training, we were taught that outside relationships rarely work because of the aging differential. Most historians spend six months in the field for each year they’re active. We return exactly an hour after we leave, so it’s not that relationships are strained by the burden of long absences. Over the course of field training and the fifteen years or so that you’re an active agent, however, you generally age an extra eight to ten years. That time is added onto your official age in the medical records, which makes birthdays a bit confusing.

  I don’t see much similarity between Clio and Paddy, who is fair skinned with ruddy cheeks, yet another testament to the stereotypes perpetrated by most CHRONOS genetic-design teams. But the girl’s bright-green eyes are very familiar. They look almost identical to the eyes that greeted me a few days ago when I woke up in the isolation tank. Angelo had pulled in Timothy Winslow to go back to 1965 and make an anonymous tip that helped get the Voting Rights Act back on course. He’d been kept in the dark as to exactly what I did to screw things up, but we suffered through the time-travel equivalent of a hangover—double memories for him, and triple for me—during that twelve-hour stint in the tank.

  Madi said Kate Dunne was sort of kin to her. She also said previously that she was descended from several CHRONOS historians. I’d assumed that meant just Katherine and Saul, but now I’m beginning to suspect that Timothy and Evelyn Winslow are somewhere in her gene pool as well.

  Katherine turns to look at us. “I don’t think bringing her in is a good idea. Didn’t we just decide that we were going to do this without observers? We’d only be giving the other side hostages by pulling anyone else in.”

  “Clio and I have had this conversation,” Madi says. “And to be honest, I agree with you, Kat
herine. I don’t like this. But—”

  “But you need the help,” Clio says. “I know the era better than any of you. You may have had classroom training on how to be a historian, but I’ve probably spent more time actually using the key in the field, and a good chunk of that time was in 1939 and 1940.”

  “Why those years?” I ask her. “What were you studying?”

  “Baseball, mostly. If a city had an American League team or made the series in either of those years, I spent at least a few days there. There were also a couple of trips to the fair. Movies.”

  “So you were a time tourist?” Katherine says. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather volunteer to work for the other team?”

  It’s a rather caustic comment, and more than anything else she’s said since we got here, it tells me that Katherine is more upset than she’d like to admit about killing the observer in Memphis. I suspect she thinks that if she’s sufficiently snide and nasty, the girl will huff out and she won’t have to worry about putting anyone else in harm’s way.

  But judging from the amused lift of her eyebrow, I don’t think Clio Dunne is going to be easily offended—or easily deterred.

  “Let me guess. You’re Katherine Shaw. My mother said—” She stops abruptly in response to Madi clearing her throat, takes a breath, and then continues. “I’m not a time tourist. Any time travel I engaged in was work related. I may not have the training of a CHRONOS agent, but I’ve spent several years managing one of the messes you guys left behind. As I said, I know the time period better than any of you—for one thing, it’s close to my own time, but I also read a lot of newspapers during those games. Baseball is tedious enough the first time you watch a game, let alone the third or fourth time. And Simon—” Madi doesn’t even have to clear her throat this time. Clio stops herself automatically and shifts tracks. “Anyway, there’s a lot going on in those years. And this is as much my fight as it is yours. I hadn’t told my family yet, but I was thinking about volunteering after Pearl Harbor. I’m willing to take the risk.”

  Everyone is looking at me for input, and I realize that they’re assuming I’m taking the lead again. “Whoa. Hold on. This is a group decision. And even if it wasn’t, I’m not the senior historian here. That’s either Rich or Katherine.”

  They both protest, noting that I have more time in the era than either of them. “Plus,” Katherine adds, “your name was first on the roster. Alisa contacted you, not one of us, to give you the data. And we don’t have a lot of time to dither about.”

  I’m tempted to point out that Madi was listed second on that roster, which would put her second in command. Katherine is right on one thing—we need to make decisions quickly. But it only takes a few seconds for a show of hands. “Fine. Since you’re designating me as team lead, my decision is that the entire team votes. All in favor of adding Clio Dunne as an official observer, raise your hand.” I run a quick count. Everyone but Katherine votes yes, although I notice a slight delay as Alex, Lorena, and RJ look to Madi for guidance. I think it’s safe to say that we really have two team leaders.

  “The ayes have it, seven to one.”

  “Seven to two, technically,” Katherine says, nodding toward the baby. “Welcome aboard, Clio.” Katherine doesn’t seem at all put out about the vote not going in her favor, so I think her resistance was merely a safeguard to make sure she didn’t have the death of another observer on her conscience. I’m fine with that, especially since the observer in question is her great-granddaughter . . . sort of . . . although I left that information out of the bare-bones account I gave her earlier.

  I turn to Clio. “Okay. You are an official observer. But the bulk of your observing will be done through the CHRONOS key, from this library. We can jump back regularly to get your input.”

  Clio shakes her head. “With all due respect, that’s not the best use of my abilities. It sounds more like you’re planning to stash me away out of danger and make me think I’m doing something useful. If you want me to keep out of your way, I will, but I’ll be doing that from 1939 New York, which is where I plan to be whether I’m officially part of the team or not.”

  She nods toward the list on the wall screen.

  1) Conversion of Father Coughlin (*11/10/1938?)

  2) Deaths at Pro-America Rally (*2/20/39)

  3) Unsuccessful attack on Japanese ambassador (*6/2/39)

  4) Attempted assassination of Lindbergh (*2/22/40)

  5) Court of Peace at World’s Fair is bombed (*7/4/40)

  *NYC

  “Are those the things you think were changed?” Clio asks.

  “They only changed three,” I tell her. “The others are consequences of those changes. We’re about to vote on which three to choose for our initial predictions, which we have to enter into the system in . . .” I check the time on my key. “Fourteen minutes. Coughlin’s conversion happened first, so it’s definitely on the list, but the others could, at least theoretically, be the result of another change.”

  Clio pulls a CHRONOS diary from her handbag and records the screen, then shifts the diary in my direction. “You’ll have to research all of them, though. Right? Have you decided yet who will be handling what?”

  “Katherine and Rich will take the lead on Coughlin and probably assist on Lindbergh,” I say, wondering if she always takes notes via diary. “Both of those may include some travel outside NYC, even though the moves we make will have to be inside the city. Madi and I will take the lead on the others.”

  “Okay.” She aims the diary toward each of us for a few seconds and then asks Madi, “Am I violating any rules of The Game if I blink out briefly?”

  “Nooo,” Madi responds, sounding a little confused. “Not as long as you spend less than four hours away and are back here within a few minutes.” She turns to me for confirmation and I nod.

  “Okay, then. Back in a flash.” And then Clio blinks out.

  “Where is she going?” Katherine asks.

  Madi shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what she’s up to.”

  Clio is back in less than a minute, carrying a briefcase. She puts it on the coffee table and unlocks the clasp, pulling out a stack of manila envelopes. “Identification for all four of you. Money, too. Neither of those will be worth a damn after 1943, but they’re solid for the years prior to that.” She pulls out a sheet of paper. “These are just basic bullet points because you only have a few minutes to absorb them before you make your predictions. We have the full research to back it up at the apartment.”

  “What apartment?” I ask.

  “A three-bedroom walk-up on West 44th, near the Algonquin. My dad purchased a small house in the Detroit suburbs, too, although I haven’t seen it. I know you’ll be coming back here some to use the computers—the one we have is just a tablet and it’s really basic—but there will be room for everyone to sleep in both places if they don’t want to or, for some reason, can’t make the trip back.”

  I’m about to ask how they have any sort of computer in 1938, but Alex jumps in with a different question. “And you managed all of that in less than four hours, right? Because otherwise, you can’t be listed as an observer, which means you’ll need to be out of here before we initiate the simulation.”

  Clio checks her key. “Three hours and twenty-seven minutes for me. But about three years for my parents to purchase the properties, secure the identification, and so forth.”

  “Christ. They must have spent a fortune,” RJ says.

  She smiles. “Let’s just say they have a knack for the stock market, even though my mom insists that they avoid defense stocks and major polluters, which makes it a challenge. Plus, they live in a house in the middle of nowhere, and they don’t travel because there’s too much of a chance they might end up outside the CHRONOS field, which would erase my mom. And I think they’ve both always worried that something like this might happen again. My mom calls my dad a prepper, which I think was slang for a crazy hoarder when she was growing up. Anyway, mon
ey isn’t something they have to worry about. Oh, and my dad will be joining us in June of 1940. Strictly a support role, since he can’t use the key, but we may need extra boots on the ground, as they say.”

  Madi, who looks a bit paler than usual, says, “What about your mom? I mean, I know she can’t use the key, but—”

  “The plan is for her to remain in Skaneateles. We know there’s risk involved, and while my brothers are both adults now, Dad didn’t want there to be any chance that they might lose both parents. And if you meant is she okay with either of us being involved, the answer is not entirely. She’s worried. But she understands what’s at stake. She’s actually the one who handled most of the research for the background files.”

  Clio hands me the paper with the bullet points. “The only one on this list that has my parents worried is the date for Coughlin. They say it started earlier, based on conversations with some Cyrists in Detroit. My dad stayed in the area for a few weeks while he was purchasing the house there, and he went to the temple a couple of times. He grew up in that culture, so he can fit in pretty easily. Several of the people he spoke to said the land they’re building the new temple on was purchased in late 1937, and someone began hiring contractors the next summer.”

  “That’s not possible, though,” Katherine says. “We know that the other team earned full style points and a bonus for the chronological category, so everything has to be within a two-year window. If Coughlin was converted in 1937, all of their other moves would have been before the fall of 1939.”

  Katherine has a valid point, but I hate to dismiss the opinion of Clio’s parents entirely, given that they’ve gone to great expense and effort to keep us from winging this. “Maybe Coughlin’s earlier contacts with the Cyrists were just an . . . I don’t know. Interfaith cooperation of some sort?” I suggest, but Clio doesn’t seem convinced.

  I scan through the bullet points she gave me and see that she’s right. They’re mostly just additional information about the events. Suspects the police questioned, names of possible contacts in the Bund or Universal Front, and so forth. There’s not much here that we can act on in the few minutes we have left before the deadline to start the game. So after passing the list around the room for everyone to skim through, I collect a notepad and several pens from an old desk in the corner of the library.