Here and Now and Then Page 6

  He focused on that all night long. It helped dam up the onslaught of other thoughts inside him.

  Finally, after hours, he turned on the radio, reflexively wincing at the pounding drums and fuzzy guitars of Miranda’s alt-rock station.

  Except he didn’t need to. Modern music usually triggered at least a sting in his temple, occasionally worse, as if the combination of rhythm and instruments brushed too close to popular music from 2142. He’d spent his current life listening to classical music, its strings and horns safely distanced from the future.

  Nothing poked his head this time. The metabolizer’s effects must have been spreading. Instead, he hit the preset to the classical station, not as avoidance, simply because he wanted to. The music crescendoed, an aria by Handel he recognized, and he gave himself a second to close his eyes when a knock came on the window.

  It was Markus.

  Kin glanced over to his house, squinting to detect anything unusual. No movement through the shrubs. No change in lights, doors, or drapes. No shadows traipsing across the fence.

  The window opened while he turned down the radio. “Are you alone?” Kin asked.

  “Yes. And you shouldn’t have come here.” Markus looked straight at the ground. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Do you want to hear what the Washington folks decided?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Markus shrugged and leaned against the car frame. “Your family is safe. Despite the level of timeline corruption, our regional AD and the national oversight committee have elected to let them be. The only condition is that they can’t have any knowledge of the future or the TCB. Zero contact.”

  “How generous.”

  “It is. Our whole agency is built around eliminating timeline corruption. You were never supposed to be here, but we can’t do anything about that now.” Markus looked up, meeting him eye to eye. “They’re not heartless, Kin. These are people like you and me, and you’ve put them in an impossible situation.”

  “What’s the plan? What’s my ‘exit strategy’? How do they expect to bring me back without anyone noticing?”

  “You’ll drive over the Golden Gate Bridge and meet me in Sausalito. Tonight.” The explanation continued as if Markus read it off a sheet of paper.

  Tonight. It stole all the air from Kin. But Markus kept going, words rolling out relentlessly.

  “We’ll ditch your car and take a separate vehicle up to the time-jump point. And we’ll jump. It might be a rough ride with your body having been here for so long. A medical crew will be waiting for us. In this era, the Logistics team will ensure a clean handoff.”

  Markus described the situation so clinically that it took several seconds for its meaning to fully register. Once it did, a tingle ran across Kin’s skin, from the top of his forehead all the way down to the tips of his toes.

  “Define ‘clean.’”

  “I don’t know the plan. That’s not my job. But they’ll do whatever it takes to minimize the timeline corruption for anyone you’ve ever interacted with.” Markus’s face hardened, like a schoolteacher scolding a rebellious teen. Did Kin have that face when he tried to talk to Miranda? “You can’t ask for sympathy now. This is our job. You see that car driving down the street? That person’s whole life is ahead of them. You come here and maybe pass her on her way out. She’s only a few seconds off her original schedule as she waits for you to go by. Those few seconds mean she hits a stoplight, holding her up another few minutes. That propagates forward. What have you changed for her? Did she miss bumping into her future spouse? Maybe you rescued her from a car accident? Or maybe you caused the car accident that kills her. What gives you the right to alter her destiny that way?”

  “Or maybe nothing happens. You’re getting dramatic.”

  “Or maybe nothing. Maybe she’s just a few minutes later getting home, she goes to bed at the same time and nothing changes. The psych team always tells us that people revert to their patterns. Thing is, we can’t control what happens to them while they’re returning to their habits. The variables, we’re here to control those. We can’t undo the things that have happened because for every single thing undone, a hundred more get created. Our job is to eliminate timeline corruption.”

  “No, your job is apparently to destroy families.”

  “That’s not fair. Kin, you are a timeline corruption. You knew better than to get involved. Who was your wife supposed to end up with? What doors did her relationship with you close in her life? In everyone else’s?” Markus cleared his throat and straightened up, though he didn’t look Kin in the eye. “And your daughter. She’s the ultimate timeline corruption.”

  “She’s a fourteen-year-old girl.”

  “Who shouldn’t even exist. You’ve swapped out whatever life Heather should have had, whoever her natural children should have been, and replaced that with you and Miranda. Miranda’s existence is a corruption in itself. And corruptions need to be addressed. That’s what we do.”

  “So you want me to just disappear on them?”

  “Yes. You signed up for this when you became an agent. You knew the rules then, you knew them when you got stuck here and you broke them. You may have changed, but the rules haven’t. You break them again and the TCB has to course-correct the corruption.” Markus leaned back and looked up, eyes tracking to the sky above. “Let’s not let it get to that point.” Suddenly all the weight that held Kin down wanted to escape, to unleash in defense of his daughter against Markus, against anyone who could possibly want to hurt her, against every weapon and threat from the future. “You must leave. To save them.”

  Just like that. Heather wouldn’t have a husband.

  Miranda wouldn’t have a father. She wouldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to him, or ask him the four questions.

  Silence seemed to be an appropriate reply, and after several seconds, Markus gave an uncomfortable shift in his posture. “It’s ten past twelve. I’ll meet you across the bridge at two.”

  “We’re friends,” Kin spit out, “in your time. We’re friends, right?”

  “You remembered?”

  “No. Only wondering.”

  “Yes. We’re friends.” Markus shook his head. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “Why would you do this to a friend?”

  A guttural sound came from behind Markus’s clenched teeth. He shook his head again, then looked up at the black night sky. “Things will come back to you.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  Markus’s professional demeanor cracked, and he shot Kin a smirk, like he expected him to know the answer. “What I always do when I visit this era. Get some fast food.” He reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a long, thin object.

  Chopsticks.

  So that was a future thing. “Heather always makes fun of my chopsticks. I figured it came from 2142. Couldn’t totally remember.”

  “The doctors said that personal memories were the most likely things to disappear during your stay here. But everyday habits stick with you. Chopsticks. Coffee with honey. Arsenal. Like muscle memory. See? People revert to their patterns. I can’t believe they use forks still, it’s such a pain. Well,” he said, holding up his chopsticks before turning away, “duty calls.”

  “That’s timeline corruption,” Kin called out as Markus began to walk away. He stopped and turned to face him. “That thing you said about slowing people down. You’ll do the same thing ordering food. I should turn you in.”

  “Protocol Seven-Fifteen—era visitation. Walk on empty streets. Don’t buy when there’s a line. Don’t sit in a crowded place. Execute with zero impact. Midnight is the perfect time for that.” Markus’s eyes lit up, flashing as if he forgot that lives hung in the balance for a moment before returning to reality. He glanced at his watch. “Two a.m., Kin. Then we leave. You can bring some keepsakes if you want.” Kin continu
ed glaring at his supposed friend until his silence was met with a short nod and a silent march.

  The window closed, the sound of a single cello filling the space around him. He reached into his pocket and found his lucky penny, the coin that yesterday sat peacefully above his garage workbench, cellophane tape holding it in place.

  For those few seconds, nothing else existed except him and the penny. His fingers wrapped around it, the edge of the coin digging into his palm, then he held it up to the moonlight, observing the spot of oxidation on Abraham Lincoln’s hair, the etched 1978 by Lincoln’s lapels, the scratch across the top half of the dull surface.

  It was just a penny. Yet for now, it was the only thing he had in his world. Kin held it and took a breath.

  CHAPTER 7

  The academy taught new recruits about the theory of the multiverse, where each individual choice spawned off a new universe—an infinite number of universes, some wildly different from one another. All theoretical, of course, and even with 2142 technology, not even the brainiest of physics professors had the means to prove it. But now Kin wished he could rip a tear across space and time and hitch a ride to the one where his biggest concern was perfecting an audition dish for Home Chef Challenge.

  In this universe, however, an hour remained before walking down the Sausalito waterfront, getting in a car with Markus, and heading to the time-jump point.

  For now, he found a spot to stare out across the bay, city lights across the water watching him back. All the walls and defenses he’d built up around his emotions had collapsed, leaving a thick throat, a hollow chest and too many questions to answer.

  He sat, bag of keepsakes at his feet, focusing on memories. Random flashes of the future kept poking through, though he’d pushed them aside, fought through them. This was his time and he refused to let it be anything other than the memories he chose:

  The moment Miranda was born.

  She was smaller than he thought she’d be. At seven pounds, two ounces, she didn’t arrive underweight or sickly. Yet holding her little body, the sheer fragility of the universe sank in.

  Though Kin had jumped through time, saved and taken lives, nothing had quite prepared him for it.

  Heather had looked up at him and chuckled, her sweaty hair matted down after the last ninety minutes of pushing. “You look like you’re afraid you’ll break her,” she said from behind the handheld camcorder.

  “I am.”

  “Babies are pretty pliable. You’ll see. They fall on their face and keep going. Unlike us adults. We’re the fragile ones.”

  Heather had spoken with the advantage of having four younger siblings. Memories of whatever family Kin had prior to Heather were long gone, so the experience of holding a child, particularly within minutes of birth, was completely new to him.

  Miranda coughed, then a gurgle turned into a sniffle turned into a cry. “Come here, little girl,” Heather had said, and they swapped the video camera for the newborn.

  In the days leading up to Miranda’s arrival, Kin considered the first thing he’d say to her. That morning, with the sun barely creeping over the horizon, he went with his first choice. “Life lesson number one,” he said, one eye shut and the other looking through the camera’s viewfinder, “in soccer, don’t follow the ball. Go where the ball is heading.”

  “Life lesson number two,” Heather had countered. “Jean-Luc Picard is the best Star Trek captain there ever will be. Ever. But just in case you need to be like Dad sometimes—” Heather nodded to the suitcase in the corner “—look in the front pouch. There’s something for her.”

  Kin paused the recording, unzipped the rolling luggage and reached in, his fingers touching something that felt like yarn. “It feels like...” he started before pulling it out and unfurling it.

  “In case she needs to bond with her daddy. In between watching sci-fi.”

  As Kin held up the baby-sized scarf, the word Arsenal woven into its red-and-white stripes, he beamed at his wife, a smile so wide it almost hurt. In that moment, nothing could be more perfect. He went back over to the bed, gently draping it over Miranda as she wiggled in her mom’s arms.

  “Your daughter is beautiful,” the nurse said, putting a stack of blankets on the counter before grabbing a clipboard behind the door. “Miranda Elizabeth Stewart. That’s such a lovely name.”

  “We like to think so.” Heather laughed, her voice carrying on a gentle bounce that Kin never heard before. “Wouldn’t we? Yes, we would.” She continued cooing at the crying newborn, a gesture equal parts affection and desperation and hope only found in terrified-but-enamored new parents. Kin collapsed into the chair next to the hospital bed, the allure of sleep suddenly tugging on his eyelids. He heard the nurse leave and the world blacked out for just a second when Heather’s elbow poked him.

  “Kin!” Heather half whispered, nudging him again. He looked over to find her weary smile. “Look,” she mouthed, nodding at the baby in her arms.

  A quiet, sleeping baby.

  “Her first nap.” Heather’s words were barely audible. “Can you put her in the bassinet?”

  She passed their daughter with the same precision and care as Kin used, and it dawned on him that despite her experience with her younger siblings, the confidence she projected was all superficial. Heather, the woman who sometimes doubled as a runaway train of opinions and ideas, a quick wit with a dash of too-smart-for-her-own-good sass, was actually as nervous about parenting as he was.

  Kin cradled Miranda in his arms, walking with soft steps over to the heated hospital bassinet. He stood by it and hesitated to put her down, an uncontrollable urge to shell his own body around her, to shield her against any possible harm the past, present, or future might bring to her. The urge came and went, and in its place came an understanding of her place in the world now, that setting her down didn’t mean he wasn’t still protecting her. He put the still-sleeping Miranda in the bassinet and fell onto the hard sofa chair next to Heather, who’d already closed her eyes. His fingers interlaced with hers while he watched Miranda.

  The lights across the bay blurred through his tears. Maybe he should have never let his guard down. Maybe the TCB would have caught up with him regardless. The thoughts compiled in his mind, forming the list to end all lists, and he closed his eyes until he forcefully shut off the visualizing part of his brain, the agent-trained mind that structured things in plans and options.

  Those skills wouldn’t do him any good right now. His memories, his moments with Heather and Miranda, those gave him enough to get through the night.

  He had an hour left. And though he was separated from his family by the water of the San Francisco Bay, he hoped they somehow heard his thoughts while he sat and remembered them.

  CHAPTER 8

  Failure.

  The word repeated itself over and over during the hour-long drive from Sausalito to some deserted two-lane road that wound toward the hills by the Pacific Ocean. Even as Kin followed Markus on foot up the mountainside, through weeds and shrubbery and crumbling clumps of dirt, failure was all he felt since leaving his family behind.

  He’d failed his family by sitting in that car with Markus, by following him step after step up to the jump point. The logic of his exit strategy dictated that he had no choice, that asking Heather and Miranda to accept a ridiculous truth and a life on the run was unfair to both of them. And that part was correct.

  Except maybe that wasn’t the only option, and that defined the failure that ate away while he made small talk with Markus. “What’d you decide to bring?” Markus asked after quizzing him about his life with Heather.

  “Not much. My phone. A charger. Figure there’s probably a way to convert the USB interface to keep my photos.”

  “They may even be able to convert them to three-dimensional holos.” Markus spouted out the fact as if it were stock photography, not images of the family he’d a
bandoned.

  “I have some photo prints, too. My lucky penny. My wallet. That’s about it.”

  “Your lucky...” From the side, Kin glimpsed Markus’s mouth form a wavy line, as if deeply digging for the right word. “Coin.”

  “It’s my lucky penny.”

  “It must—” Markus cleared his throat before starting again. “It must be very important to you,” he said at a slow deliberate cadence.

  “Actually, I can’t even remember how I got it. Not yet, anyway. It’s been with me through a lot. Why do you care? It’s just a penny.”

  “Only curious. What people consider keepsakes, that’s all.” Markus began rambling about a psychology course he’d taken in college while assessing his standard-issue time-jump equipment, but Kin tuned out. Other, more important things started bubbling up in his mind.

  He’d failed his family by giving up and giving in. With Markus configuring the time-jump accelerator, precious seconds remained before they left.

  There was still time to fight back.

  “So,” Kin said, striking up idle chatter while he weighed his options. “What happens with the car?”

  “The car?” Markus remained focused on the equipment, unaware of Kin moving into position.

  Should he run away? Knock him out?

  Kill him?

  “Yeah. Isn’t leaving that a timeline corruption?”

  “Nah,” Markus said. A flash of light paused his internal debate. Kin’s vision adjusted to the glowing burst, focusing on the small holographic screen floating above the metal sphere in Markus’s hand. “The Logistics team handles that stuff. I asked how they did it once, they’re all department secrets and everything.” Markus tapped the holo, continuing to mutter to himself. As he leaned forward, his ramblings became clearer. “Set temporal coordinates. Damn it, Stu, why didn’t you reset the gauges? I swear, no one pays attention.” His fingers danced over it, scowl bouncing up and down as colors and messages cycled through. “Seriously, guys? Was that so hard? Am I the only one who follows the rules? There’s a reason why we have protocol.”