Red, White, and the Blues

by Walker, Rysa

  “Rank the five options,” I say as I tear off a sheet of paper for each of them. “We’ve currently got the choices in chronological order, but the only option that is connected to Japan is third on the list, and something our opponents do keeps Japan from bombing Pearl Harbor, so . . . we have to take that into consideration.”

  I jot down 1, 3, 4, 2, 5 on my sheet. The killings at the Pro-America Rally are definitely a change, but Coughlin is on the stage this time. Lawrence Dennis, as well, although I guess it’s possible that Dennis signed on when he saw Coughlin was going to be speaking because he knew there would be a major crowd. Maybe Coughlin’s presence also resulted in a different dynamic among the protestors outside Madison Square Garden. He was an incendiary figure in our timeline—people either loved him or hated him. Maybe his rhetoric grew more heated after his conversion. And the fifth change, the July 4th bombing, is the last chronologically. It seems far more likely to have been triggered by the earlier alterations to the timeline.

  Rich collects the ballots, and I tally them up. One person, probably Clio, drops Coughlin’s conversion down to the fourth slot, and another elevates the Court of Peace bombing to third. But in the end, most of the ballots mirror my own.

  “Okay, we’ll be going with one, three, and four. Are you ready to start the simulator, Alex?”

  He nods and slips the drive into the SimMaster 8560. The trademark globe appears as always, but it’s accompanied now by up-tempo music. Then the globe, which usually just hovers, explodes into a cascade of fireworks as a small sign reading TD Off-World zooms into view. Then we’re back to the usual globe, with a video screen superimposed on top. The image is the Redwing Room, where Morgen Campbell is seated on his platform. The chair, which is a bit worn and tattered in our reality, seems to have gotten an upgrade, and the Doberman at his feet looks considerably younger than Cyrus. The man in the chair, however, isn’t the younger, slightly more svelte version, but the old gox himself, looking every bit the king on his throne. He’s smiling genially at the camera, and apparently at an audience, based on the background sound of applause. After a moment, he holds up his hand, and the applause gradually dies down as he speaks.

  “Welcome, welcome, time-chess aficionados to the twenty-seventh edition of TD Off-World! I am, of course, your host, Morgen G. Campbell, and we have a very special treat for you this season. As those of you who followed the last round are no doubt aware, things took a rather unusual turn at the end of play, when the timeline shift was reversed by a group of rogue historians from World 47H, resulting in an unprecedented draw between our two championship teams.”

  As Campbell speaks, images from the Beatles concert flash onto the corners of the screen behind him in clockwise order. At the upper right, there’s a clip of me tackling John Lennon to the stage. Directly below is Richard in the men’s room, nearly strangling one of their observers with his CHRONOS key. Katherine zapping Saul and Alisa fills the lower left corner. The montage ends at the upper left with a dramatic clip of Madi shooting the sniper who was preparing to fire on Dr. King and the Selma marchers camped across the street.

  “How did they get those images?” Madi whispers.

  “Probably from stable points they had set at those locations,” I say.

  The clips are mostly met by boos, although there is a smattering of applause mixed in.

  “An unexpected twist to say the least,” Morgen says. “And both team leaders initially requested a rematch on a different playing field. I think perhaps there’s a bit of ego involved.” Polite chuckles from the audience. “But where’s the fun in that for you, our viewers? You don’t want to see the same scenario, do you?”

  A chorus of nos arises, and we get a brief glimpse of the audience shaking their heads. They look entirely normal, just like any group who would be at an OC event. I’m not sure why that surprises me, but it does.

  “Of course you don’t!” Morgen booms. “And who could blame you? That’s why we’ve opted instead to rattle the box a bit and embark on an adventure that I’m sure will be appealing to our viewers, our contestants, and five lucky off-world observers.” The camera again moves to a section of the audience, where four men and one woman, presumably the five observers, are seated.

  None of the men look familiar to me, but my stomach sinks when I realize the woman is Marcy Bateman, who heads up the Timeline Consistency section of the Temporal Monitoring Unit. She looks a bit different—longer hair and she’s in a dress, rather than the usual CHRONOS scrubs. But it’s definitely her.

  “Is that . . . Marcy?” Katherine looks to me for confirmation because Marcy and I dated briefly when we were in our respective training programs. This was before Marcy had fully sorted out whether she was more attracted to guys or to girls, and we parted on friendly terms when Annika came into the picture to answer that question definitively. Rich and I have lunch with the two of them a few times a month. I glance over at him and see that he’s wearing the same expression of shock that I’m feeling.

  “Yeah,” I say. “That’s her.”

  The words have barely left my mouth when the names pop onto the screen below their faces. Three of the men are classified as SPORT. One of them has odd sideburns and a pointy nose that make him look like a fox. Another reminds me a bit of Tate. He’s not nearly as large, and his hair is slightly darker, but I suspect those muscles are attributable more to a genetic boost than hours spent at the gym. Marcy and the young guy seated next to her are labeled ACADEMIC.

  Katherine curses under her breath. We’d already agreed to make every effort to spare the observers they seem to be using as cannon fodder. But having a face we all know, a face we see after each and every time jump, on one of their pawns hammers the point home.

  “You may be wondering why we have only five observers tonight, rather than the usual five per team,” Morgen continues. “That is because for this special event, our four ranking champions will compete as a single team. This season, for the first time, they will combine forces against an off-world opponent”—he waves at the images on the display behind him, which now include the names TYSON, RICHARD, KATHERINE, and MAX in bold white letters—“the team who threw our last season into chaos, four scrappy, unseasoned, and undeniably brutal CHRONOS agents from World 47H.”

  Approving murmurs from the crowd follow this announcement. It might be my imagination, but I think those murmurs are louder after he says the word brutal.

  “World 47H will be known as Team Hyena. And now,” he says, “let’s welcome the players for our own Team Viper. First—”

  The video cuts abruptly at that point. When it resumes, Morgen Campbell is no longer on his throne but seated behind a desk, leaning toward the camera. “I think we’ll keep the next bit to ourselves, since our viewers like to see individual player stats displayed, and that’s the sort of information that might give your side an unfair advantage. These are the only stats you need. Display style-points tally for Team Viper.”

  A list pops up on the right side of the screen:

  Character Assist: 75

  Chronological: 125

  Geographic: 175

  Social Movement: 75

  Government: 75

  Probability: 50

  “As you can see, our players have done exceptionally well. When the game begins, you will have two days. During that time, we will avoid direct interference with your moves, although that is not a popular decision with the team due to your actions in our last match and the fact that you seem to have a rogue agent tweaking our playing field. But since that occurred prior to the official beginning of play, I’m willing to overlook it. Let me just note that from here on out, all of your moves must be made by the four players and officially designated observers.”

  “Hmph,” I say. “He’s got a lot of nerve talking rogue agents given that they had someone taking potshots at us in Memphis.”

  Morgen tilts his head to the side, arching one eyebrow. That’s when I realize that this, unlike the previous se
gment, is not a recording. Alex must notice the same thing, because he immediately begins typing something into one of his computer terminals.

  “Oh, be still,” Morgen says with a look of disgust. “I’m messaging you through the sim-system. It’s not going to let me tap into your files. And you can hardly blame Saul for targeting one of your observers. Your side has now killed three of ours. We rarely lose that many in an entire season, let alone in a single match. Once the game begins, we’ll be following standard player-safety protocol and—”

  “Which means what in this context?” Rich says, clearly exasperated. “We don’t play with living pawns, so you’re going to have to spell it out.”

  Morgen blinks, annoyed at the interruption. “The SimMaster includes a rule book. I suggest that you read it carefully before attempting your first move. The short version is simply this: Players are off-limits. You may incapacitate them if you encounter them, but you may not maim or kill. You are playing against our four most popular players. They are fan favorites, and we’d prefer not to lose them. Should you violate this rule, the safety protocol will be abandoned, and you will all become fair game for our team and our observers. And we have the advantage of having a damn good idea where you’ll be and when, so I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Extend the safety protocol to the observers,” I tell him. “It should apply across the board.”

  “How odd that you say that now, after you’ve taken out three on our side. Seems like a rather convenient time to climb on your high horse and start worrying about morality and the sanctity of life. But I’d have said no either way. If the safety protocol extends to observers, you’ve effectively removed most of the drama from the equation. We would lose millions of viewers, as our audience would quickly move on to something more interesting. That’s not to say that you can’t show a bit of mercy, from time to time. We usually simply capture or wound the observers on the other side. But given that you’ve played in such a bloodthirsty fashion so far, you shouldn’t be surprised that Saul is feeling a bit—”

  “Bloodthirsty?” Madi says angrily. “This is our reality you’re fucking around with. You may be playing a game, but we’re not.”

  Morgen stares at her for a moment, then shakes his head, laughing. “Oh, but you are, my dear. Whether you like it or not, you most certainly are.”

  The screen goes blank, aside from the still-spinning globe and a timer set to five minutes. As the numbers roll, the automated female voice of the SimMaster 8560 calmly instructs us participants to enter our names, along with whether we are team leads, players, or observers. I go first, and at the end, the voice asks me to activate my CHRONOS key.

  When I’m done, I step aside and say, “Your turn, Max.”

  Madi nods to acknowledge the reminder about her pseudonym. “Max Coleman, player.” She activates her key, and then the computer asks for the next player. Rich is about to begin when Jarvis chimes in with an announcement.

  “Mistress, your grandmother has arrived. Shall I let her in?”

  “Nora’s here?” Madi asks, and then her face falls. “Oh. Never mind. You mean Thea. No. Don’t let her in yet. Tell her I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”

  Rich states his name and is about to activate his key when Jarvis interrupts. “Mistress, Thea Randall is in the foyer.”

  “But I said not to—”

  “Unfortunately, Miss Randall is registered as a representative for the legal owner of this property. Section 3239c of the local housing code prevents me from refusing her entry.”

  Madi sighs and says she’ll be right back. Rich and Katherine enter their information. By the time Clio is finished registering, Madi is indeed back, with an older woman directly behind her. As they step into the library, the woman says, “Thea Randall. Observer.”

  “No. She is not an observer,” Madi says. “Thea, tell the computer that you’re not an observer. You can’t even use the key!”

  I second Madi’s objection, but the computer begs to differ. “Tyson Reyes, team lead. Max Coleman, player two. Katherine Shaw, player three. Richard Vier, player four. Clio Dunne, observer one. Thea Randall, observer two. Do you wish to enter additional observers?”

  “We have only one observer,” I say. “Clio Dunne.”

  “Incorrect. You have two observers. Clio Dunne and Thea Randall. You may add more observers to reach the maximum of five. Otherwise, you have two minutes to state your three initial predictions in the order you plan to proceed.”

  “Thea, please,” Madi says. “You can’t help us, and you’re putting yourself at risk. Just tell the computer that you are not an observer.”

  The woman narrows her eyes at Madi. “I’ll do no such thing. I’m supposed to be here. It’s in The Book of Prophecy. If we didn’t follow the “Chapter of Prudence,” I wouldn’t even exist. You wouldn’t exist. Well, you’d exist but . . .”

  “Enter your initial predictions now,” the voice insists.

  “Reverse order,” Katherine reminds me as I step up to the computer. “Four, three, one.”

  I nod, and then read from the list we voted on, adding in a few details. “Prediction one: New York City, February 22, 1940—the attempted assassination of Charles Lindbergh. Prediction two: New York City, June 2, 1939—the attempted assassination of Japanese Ambassador Horinouchi. Prediction three: New York City, November 10, 1938—the conversion of Charles Coughlin from Catholicism to Cyrisism.”

  “You should have asked me first,” Thea says, tsk-tsking as she parks herself on one of the sofas near the windows. “That last date is definitely wrong.”

  There’s a brief pause and then a transcribed version of all three predictions appears on the screen.

  The voice says, “Prediction number two is partially correct. Fifteen bonus points will be added to your total at the conclusion of play.” A pale-green check pops up next to the second line, and a red X appears next to our first and third predictions. Below this is a red button—of course it’s red—labeled START.

  For several seconds, we’re stunned into silence. Then Richard says, “What the hell? Coughlin used to be a Catholic. We know that for certain. He’s now a Cyrist. That should be at least a partially correct answer, although I guess we might have the date wrong, like Clio was saying . . .”

  Thea clears her throat dramatically.

  Madi shoots her grandmother an annoyed look. “Yes, Thea. You told us, too. But not in time to do us any good. And we might even have the place wrong, although it’s hard to see how we could have botched either of those, given the style points they racked up. But Coughlin’s conversion was definitely a change to the timeline. And what’s with the partial points?”

  “We got most of the points on that one,” Katherine says. “So we have almost all of it correct. Could be that they want the name of the shooter.”

  “Which we couldn’t know at this point,” Rich says. “The newspapers mention a suspect, but I don’t think anyone was ever actually convicted. Maybe the date is slightly off? Maybe we have the date it was reported in the papers.”

  Madi asks Jarvis to confirm the date of the assassination attempt, and he comes back with the same information.

  “That’s what the list of anomalies coughed up, too,” Alex says. “Can we ask the simulation to check again?”

  We do. Twice. And each time, we get the same answer.

  “Maybe there was another attempt on his life on the way to the fairgrounds. Or afterward . . .” Katherine stops. “Or maybe the real target wasn’t the ambassador. That’s one of Saul’s favorite ploys. Make what looks like an obvious move, while hiding the real goal—some seemingly insignificant move that won’t necessarily occur to your opponent. Which means there’s very little for us to glean from these totals.”

  The red START button begins to flash. We all stare at it for a moment, and then I do the only thing I can do at this point. I push it.

  “You have two days to complete your moves,” the voice says as the button disappears. �
�All moves must be entered by a registered player or observer. All players and observers must actively participate. No splinters allowed at any stage of play. Please refer to the official rule book for additional details.” The timer on the SimMaster 8560 then dings once, resets to 48:00:00, and immediately flips to begin the countdown.

  “What’s a splinter?” Thea asks. “It sounds painful.”

  “It’s when you double back on your timeline to change something,” Katherine tells her. “It’s best to avoid them because yes, they’re painful. They make your head hurt.”

  “They make everybody’s head hurt,” Lorena says. She and RJ have been watching quietly from the sofa on the other side of the library. Yun Hee is now curled up on the couch between them, sleepily tugging at her socks. “Is it possible that Team Viper made an extra move and simply failed to enter it into the system?”

  “They must have,” Clio says. “Because we know Coughlin wasn’t a Cyrist before. And that guy had the nerve to snipe at us for my dad simply handling some logistics. Or . . .” She gives the machine a wary glance. “Maybe they did enter the extra move. What guarantee do we have that this simulation system is a fair judge?”

  “None,” I admit.

  We have no guarantee at all, and with Thea Randall’s arrival, I’m more than a little suspicious that we now have a spy in our ranks as well.

  But what choice do we have?

  The game is on. Our only option is to play.

  PART TWO

  ZWISCHENZUG

  Zwischenzug [from German, “in-between move”]: An intermezzo, or intermediate move, played in anticipation of an expected response. Answering this move generally exposes the opponent to an even greater threat.