Red, White, and the Blues

by Walker, Rysa

  Jack laughs. “You are asking the wrong housemate. Anyway,” he continues, “I’m fairly certain you’ll find both Dorothy Thompson and Albert Einstein at the World’s Fair on May 9th.” He gives me two handwritten sheets of notes.

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Yes, I slept. This was just kind of nagging at me, so I got up for a bit in the middle of the night, and I spent a little time combing through the microfilm newspapers. You need to have Rich and Katherine set stable points at the Jewish Palestine Pavilion and in the General Motors auditorium.”

  “The first one is on our list. Not sure about the second one, unless that’s the Futurama thing?”

  “I don’t think so. But Dorothy Thompson is the president of the US chapter of PEN, the international writer’s organization, in 1939. They’re holding a conference at the Fair on May 9th, and the novelist Thomas Mann, a close friend of Einstein, will be speaking. Both he and Einstein fled Germany, and both were teaching at Princeton at the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if Einstein took the train in on the day that his friend was giving an address about his hopes that Germany would find its way back to democracy. If you don’t catch him at the conference, I suspect he’ll stop by to check on the progress of the pavilion. This is just a few weeks before it opens, and Einstein was very much involved in the project. And it’s a day that the newspapers don’t seem to have highlighted the fact that the famous Professor Einstein was in attendance, so it’s a perfect day for the other team to contact him, given that it would be a day we’d be less likely to look.”

  “Okay. Alex seemed to think May 28th would be Einstein, but . . . maybe it’s both? Anyway, I’ll be back with the observation points from the fairgrounds later today. And I’ll also have the serum, so maybe, maybe you can finish this research at home, and you won’t have to deal with microfilm anymore. The food unit at my place isn’t great, but at least the cheese doesn’t glow in the dark.”

  He gives me a rueful smile. “Afraid I’ll have to stick with Velveeta for a bit longer. As long as I’m here in 1966, you can use and abuse me as needed. I can spend days going through your stable points. If I go home, I’ll be on the same schedule you are, and you’ve got what? Only a little over a day left? I’ll try Lorena’s science project once we set the timeline straight. And if I still can’t jump out, it’s not the end of the world. We’ll get a cabin across the lake. I’ve started watching this show called Days of Our Lives. Wouldn’t mind finding out how it ends.”

  “I’m not watching anything on that teeny-tiny screen,” I tell him. “I’ll have Jarvis start combing through archives. We can curl up on the sofa and watch your show in comfort when this is all over. Deal?”

  “Deal.” He gives me a long kiss, and then says, “You need to go.”

  I check the timer on my key. He’s right. I debate jumping to get the info and the serum from Alex but decide it might be better to send one of the others. They almost certainly have a better understanding of temporal physics than I do, and they’ll be far more likely to know what questions to ask Alex. And I need to get back. I’m about fifteen minutes away from everyone waking up to find me missing.

  “Oh, crap,” I say. “I was about to waltz in and tell everyone all of the great new information I have . . . but I’m supposed to have been asleep in my bed this whole time. I guess I’ll be back shortly with one of the others.”

  “As much as I’d love to see you, it makes more sense to follow Alex’s lead. Check the living room stable point at ten a.m. this time, and I’ll have your cover story ready. Now, go.”

  When I arrive back in the bedroom, Katherine is still in her bed, snoring softly. Or maybe she’s back in her bed, because I’m still fairly sure she left last night. That’s based not just on her opposition to the buddy plan, but also on Richard’s expression. He clearly knows her better than anyone else, and he didn’t believe for one minute that she’d stay put.

  I grab my toiletry kit out of my bag and feel around for my hairbrush. It’s not in the interior pocket where I left it. I crouch down to look more closely and see that it has tumbled out. That’s weird, because I’m almost certain it was in there when I zipped the bag last night. Katherine must have borrowed it. Which isn’t a big deal, really, although I’ll admit I’m a bit annoyed that she didn’t ask . . . and that she didn’t put my property back where she found it. I fish the brush out from under the dresser, and then head for the bathroom.

  And the bathroom is occupied, so I slump down into the chair in the hallway to wait. The table next to the chair holds a clunky, black rotary-dial telephone and a fat, red telephone directory. A picture of the Trylon and Perisphere from the World’s Fair is on the cover. I thumb through while I wait, thinking how much time people must have spent looking up numbers in this era. How many decades was it before you could call someone simply by speaking their name? I’m not at all sure . . . Technology history isn’t really my strong suit.

  Rich comes out of the bathroom a couple of minutes later. “You should have showered in Skaneateles. The water was barely tepid when I got out.”

  His tone is more than a little smug, and it’s not about using up the hot water, I’m sure. He clearly expects me to ask how he knows I was in Skaneateles, but I ignore his little jab. As I step into the water—which is indeed lukewarm—I’m really, really tempted to jump back a half hour and beat him to the bathroom. We’d both have a double memory, but is that worse than a cold shower?

  Yes. It is. And so I resist the temptation and just do a rush job of it. At least the chilly water helps wake me up.

  Katherine is now awake and at the table when I enter the kitchen. Her eyes are even more red rimmed and puffy than they were last night. It might just be from sleep, but it looks more like she’s been crying again. I cross over to the coffeepot and caution her that she might want to wait until after breakfast to shower unless she likes it chilly. She nods and pours cream into her coffee until it’s only a shade or two darker than the cream itself.

  Her hair is loose now, rather than the updo she wore the day before. That reminds me of the hat that Thea mentioned, and I tell her that I’ll grab it for her on my next jump home.

  “Thanks. Do you trust your grandmother?”

  “If Thea says you left your hat in Bethesda, I think we can take her at her word.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she says.

  I knew it wasn’t what she meant. But the question bothers me, possibly because I’m not at all certain that I trust Katherine.

  “I trust that Thea has my best interests at heart. Why do you ask?”

  “Because Thea Randall reminds me of someone,” Katherine says. “Quite a bit, actually.”

  “And who is that?”

  “Saul’s mother. Dark curls shot through with silver, including that one distinctive streak on the left that looks almost as if someone took a paintbrush to it. Thea is missing Elora Rand’s sharp widow’s peak, and her nose is a bit wider. But otherwise the similarity is striking. Looking at you, I see no family resemblance to Saul. Maybe a bit to me, but not to him. Clio, on the other hand, looks quite a lot like him, so I’m thinking maybe there are some things you haven’t told me in regard to her lineage. And your grandmother—if you put her next to Saul’s mother, people might not think they were twins, but they’d definitely say they were sisters. And the reason I asked if you trust her is because Elora Rand doesn’t strike me as particularly trustworthy.”

  I’m tempted to point out that it’s rather prejudicial to assume that a physical resemblance means that Thea also inherited her grandmother’s personality traits. But that would require me to get into a lot of details that I really don’t have time to explain. And I get the sense that this is more about Katherine wanting those details than it is about Thea. Which I totally understand, but she’s going to have to wait. “When this is over, Katherine. Come talk to me when this is over, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. About Clio, about Thea. All of it. We can even go ask
Thea some questions together if you like, because there are quite a few things I’m not clear on. I dug up that damn CHRONOS key only a little over a week ago. I need answers, too.”

  She’s silent for a moment and then says, “Fair enough. But, since we’re on the buddy system, would you mind accompanying me to Detroit for a few minutes after I shower? I agreed to check in with Saul. He may have some useful information.”

  I doubt that, but I keep the opinion to myself. And as tempted as I am to point out that she’s partnered with Richard today, I know she probably has reasons for not wanting Rich along for the ride. I’ve never met her version of Saul. Based on Tyson’s and Richard’s opinions of him, I’m not missing anything, but I do have a bit of morbid curiosity, given all that I’ve read about him in Katherine’s and Kate’s diaries. And now, I also have a couple of questions I want to ask him, even though the sane portion of my brain isn’t exactly keen on meeting a future mass murderer. Or possibly a current mass murderer, depending on whether he’s killed the people in that little village in Georgia.

  I tell her sure and pour a bowl of something called Wheaties. While I’m reading the back of the box, Clio, Tyson, and Rich come in.

  “Did you know that Abraham Lincoln got word he won the presidential nomination while on a baseball field?” I ask, turning the box around to show them. “I’m used to having the food unit just spit cereal out into a bowl. You don’t get a history lesson along with it.”

  Clio yawns. “You’d seriously trade your Jarvis device for a cereal box?”

  “Well, no,” I admit. “But it’s still kind of cool.”

  Once everyone is settled with their food, I make a show of pulling out my key to check stable points. When I pull up the Dunnes’ living room at the time Jack gave me, I find him sitting on the couch. He holds up a sheet of paper with a smiley face drawn on the back, and then pulls it away to reveal a sheet that directs me to check stable point 162 on my key at 9:47 last night. A second note reads: Dorothy Thompson injured; Court of Peace Jul 4th. The final note says: May 9th, Einstein (?) and Dorothy Thompson at Fair.

  I relay some of this to the others as they eat, along with what was on the bulletin board back in the library. Richard’s eyebrow is arched so high that it looks like it’s going to pop off his forehead, but he doesn’t actually question how I got the new info.

  “The bulletin-board thing’s not a bad idea,” Katherine says as she puts her coffee cup in the sink. “When we visit Saul, I’ll get him to set up something similar.”

  “Which of you knows the most about temporal physics?” I ask. “Because that’s who should make the next jump to the library.”

  “Rich,” Katherine and Tyson say in unison.

  “Well, it’s definitely not me,” Clio says. “Super-many-time theory? That sounds like something from a comic book.”

  “I’m not familiar with that particular theory,” Rich says. “Or with Tomonaga. But yeah. I’ll go. I wanted to see what I could find on Josephson’s brother anyway.”

  We check the time on our keys and find out that we’re all within ten minutes of each other. My clock has the least time left, with twenty-five hours and thirteen minutes, which means I need to be more careful about getting back here on time. Tyson has about three minutes more. After a bit of basic math, we figure out how long we have for our various information-gathering trips and agree to meet back here in three hours.

  After Katherine heads to the shower, I tell the others the one bit of information I held back—that Jack thinks Saul was at the rally watching when Dorothy Thompson was targeted.

  “But which Saul?” Clio asks.

  “Good question,” I say. “I think we have to assume that it’s the one from our reality, given the new alliance between Coughlin, Dennis, and the Bund. Maybe Rich can ask Alex if there are any clear bubbles in Manhattan last night.”

  “We know there were three a few miles away from the rally,” Tyson says. “Alisa, Esther, and Marcy at Café Society. But maybe he can tell you if there were any others.”

  “But why would they target Thompson?” I ask. “Is she that big of a deal?”

  Clio laughs. “Uh . . . yeah. She’s a very, very big deal. Thompson is sort of the anti-Coughlin. She’s not just a writer, but also has a radio show. Millions of listeners. She’s the one who took up the case of that kid who shot the German diplomat and gave the Nazis an excuse for launching Kristallnacht. My mom gets annoyed at her. Says she’s a hawk, whatever that means. But she still listens. And even Mom doesn’t fault her for being a hawk about the Nazis. She says you can be antiwar and still think there are exceptions. And Dorothy Thompson has been warning people that we’re probably going to have to fight fascism in Europe for several years now. She’s one of the strongest voices in favor of the US joining the war. Time magazine did a big article on her . . . Or maybe they haven’t done it yet. Anyway, she’s on the cover. They say she’s the second most influential woman in America—after Eleanor Roosevelt. You studied writers and you haven’t heard of Dorothy Thompson?”

  I bristle slightly, but just say, “I mostly study fiction writers. And yes, I’d heard her name. But nothing to suggest she was that important. Does she continue writing after the war in our timeline?”

  Clio shrugs. “I’m not sure. Most of my time after 1945 has been in theaters and baseball stadiums. I mean, I see the covers of magazines at the newsstands, but I usually try to steer clear of too much news, since I’d really like to go back to living a linear life one day. It would be nice to have a few surprises.”

  “Well,” I say, “the way things are going right now, you may get your wish.”

  “True. But I’d prefer to have that life not be in some sort of fascist dystopia. My mom just always seemed to be thinking about the next crisis coming up and whether we were safe and how she could help those who wouldn’t be safe. Then she’d start second-guessing herself, saying maybe she shouldn’t help because it might break something. And on that note, I’m going to go get dressed so that I can sit on the sofa and not help all day.”

  “You’re watching stable points,” Tyson says. “That’s help.”

  “Which Jack can do better because he has pretty much unlimited time,” she says. “I could do more out there.”

  Tyson exchanges a look with me and then says to her, “You’re helping, Clio. And you heard what Morgen said. They consider you fair game. If they’ll take out one of their own observers for a minor infraction, I don’t think they’d be above killing you or using you as leverage to distract us. And the same is true for your father. You might want to call and tell him to just stay in Skaneateles.”

  “We have an agreement. No contact with them until we jump forward to July 1940. He’ll show up here the night before the bombing. Otherwise, he’s going to have double memories. But . . . I could call him that afternoon. No sense in him traveling all this way to be stuck in the apartment with yours truly.”

  Richard, who had gone out to grab his backpack, pops his head in and says, “I’ll add Dorothy Thompson to my list of things to ask your Jarvis. Anything else? Oh, and perhaps one of you would like to come with me so that we can keep up the buddy charade?”

  “We need the serum for Jack,” I say. “And I agreed to go with Katherine, so . . .”

  Tyson says, “I’ll be right behind you.” Once Rich blinks out, he adds, “God, he’s in a pissy mood this morning.”

  “Yeah. That might be my fault, at least partially. I didn’t follow the buddy rules last night. I’d already arranged to meet Jack back at the Dunnes’ place. Not sure how Rich knows I skipped out, but . . . Anyway, speaking of the buddy system, do you actually want me with you at the Universal Front meeting?”

  “No. The UF meetings will be men only. While there might be a female auxiliary, I doubt they meet at the same time. But . . . Rich pointed out last night that there might be a little problem with me going undercover right now.” He taps the corner of his eye with one finger. For a moment, I don’t
follow, but then I realize that as a new recruit, he’d probably be under fairly close scrutiny, and without the blue contacts, people might actually have questions about his race.

  “So what’s the game plan?” I ask.

  “Looks like we’re going to the Fair. Katherine and Rich can still set the main observation points in the areas where we know we’ll need to make changes, but we can check out Einstein and the Japanese tourists. Thompson, too. Something is off about that entire thing to me. I mean, pre-World War Two isn’t my primary era. I’ve only made a few training jumps here, and then that one day trip to see Lawrence Dennis. But I know a lot about the period between the late 1950s and the early 2000s. And like you, I’d heard the name, but I couldn’t have told you exactly who she was. Admittedly, it’s a fairly generic name, but I certainly wouldn’t have thought of her as someone with that kind of political power.”

  “Do you think Thompson’s influence is something that’s been changed? Maybe by Saul, like he did with the Cyrists?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Speaking of Saul, I’m assuming that I shouldn’t ask him about whether he was at the rally last night?”

  Tyson is quiet for a moment and then shakes his head. “If I felt like he was actually working with us, actually trying to set the timeline right, then I’d say yes. But I don’t think we want to tip our hand that we suspect he’s doing anything other than exactly what he claims to be doing. Just . . . be on alert, okay? And if you get a chance to set some stable points, take it. We need to keep an eye on him.”

  I sigh. “Which means Jack is going to be stuck in 1966 for a bit longer. He might finish watching that Days of Our Lives show after all.”

  FROM THE NEW YORK DAILY INTREPID

  50,000 ATTEND DEDICATION OF JEWISH PALESTINE PAVILION; EINSTEIN PRAISES FAIR

  (May 29, 1939) Albert Einstein, renowned physicist, a leader of the nation’s Jewish community, and its most famous German refugee, spoke yesterday at the dedication ceremony for the Jewish Palestine Pavilion, noting that the World’s Fair “is in a way a reflection of mankind, its work and aspirations. But it projects the world of man like a wishful dream. Only the creative forces are on show, none of the sinister and destructive ones, which today more than ever jeopardize the happiness, the very existence of civilized humanity.”