Time Bomb Read online

  Another rule we seem to have confirmed is that you can travel through time but not space, so you better pick your departure point carefully, because that’s exactly where you’re going to show up on the other end of your trip. That’s why we do it on the lowest floor possible. If I pop into 1992 in the middle of, say, a policeman’s convention, the fewer flights of stairs between me and street level, the better. If I had to go any further back in time than 1985, we’d have to do it from another location since the Columbia Tower wasn’t built then. I picture myself materializing into thin air in 1970s Seattle. I’m two hundred feet off the ground and plummeting to my death, frantically trying to plunge my return chemicals into my port-a-cath in midair to get back to 2074. No thanks.

  The final proven rule of time travel is that you can’t interact with yourself. I helped provide evidence for that rule after the water purification tablet debacle. Dad sent me back to try to stop myself from losing that stupid shield sack. I went back a day before my return so I could have a talk with myself and stress the importance of double-checking the security of the knots on my tie-down straps. I remembered exactly where I’d been, which streets I’d walked down, which buildings I’d entered, and when. It should have been easy. But every time I got within about a mile of myself, it was like I ran into an invisible wall of gelatin. Gooey and sticky and impossible to move through. I ran at the invisible barrier multiple times, and once I must have busted about five feet into it before I lost my forward momentum. Then it felt like an unseen hand was shoving me backward, my feet sliding along the cracked sidewalk, scuffing the soles of my stolen shoes. A zed passing by complimented me on my ‘groovy dance moves’ and tossed a dollar at my feet.

  Since I couldn’t interact with myself, I tried circling around and getting ahead of me. I left notes and signs for myself, in places I knew I’d be, where I thought I should see them, but I don’t know what happened. I guess it didn’t work, because even now, four trips later, that shield sack full of water tablets is still gone, and I still feel the sting of letting my dad down.

  I told my dad about the gelatin effect in great detail, and the inability to approach myself. He understood, and he was actually grateful for the information. Now when he mentions that particular rule of time travel he calls it “Rosie’s Law.” I wish he wouldn’t. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but every time I think of how that all went down, I’m ashamed of myself.

  Lisa slips booties over my feet, because regular shoes would be way too heavy for me on the outbound trip. The booties aren’t much good for walking or running in, so when I get back to 2007 I’ll stuff them into one of the inside pockets of my vest and go barefoot until I can shoplift some better footwear. One of Dad’s goals is to go far enough back in time to open a savings account at a bank and let something called compound interest make money for us, so we don’t have to steal everything we need, but it’s a low priority. Dad worked out the math. For it to be worthwhile we’d have to go back at least to the 1930s, and Dad said it would be hard to find a bank that hadn’t gone out of business during that time because everyone was suffering from depression, or something. I don’t know. Dad is a lot more interested in zed history than I am, maybe because he lived through The Collapse too, even though he doesn’t remember it. He was the youngest survivor – an infant, only two days old when it happened. Still, maybe it gives him a connection to that time that I just don’t have. I’m way more interested in getting my people the things they need to survive right now. The people in the past…their politics, their religions, their art…they’re just zeds, and I don’t have the bandwidth to care about them. I care about the living. I care about the people in The Towers. My people.

  I shake my head. Lisa has asked me a question and I’ve been so lost in thought I have no idea what she said. “Huh?” I ask brilliantly.

  She smiles and I can tell that she’s trying really hard not to roll her eyes. I must be the spaciest chrononaut ever. I wonder if she prefers working with General Safeco or if she thinks I only have this job because I’m David Columbia’s daughter. Well, if she does think that, she’s probably right. I wouldn’t be here if I lived in Third, or Muni, or Russell Investments, or any of the other towers. I earned my position through trust. Dad knows he can count on me, no matter what. I focus my attention one hundred percent on Lisa. “Would you like to peel your second skin now, or after your gloves are on?”

  “Oh! Now, please.” I think it’s way easier to peel the covering away from my port-a-cath with my fingernails. Maybe General Safeco likes to do it with his gloves on. And what if there’re other chrononauts. There could be. I don’t know. This whole Safeco revelation has whirled into a sea of unanswered questions.

  Lisa fluffs open my coat and unzips the access panel on the upper right quadrant of my vest. I flick at the second skin patch until it peels back a little. I grip the nub and pull it further to reveal the circular white port imbedded beneath my skin.

  “I look forward to your missions,” Lisa says conversationally. “I’m always given plenty of time to prep you, it feels so much safer than the last-minute trips they’ve been thrusting at me lately.”

  Wow. I guess there are other chrononauts. I’m not sure I should be hearing this kind of stuff. What is up with everyone lately? Lisa has always been nice, but she’s never been anything but businesslike. First Dad casually outs Safeco as a time traveler and now Lisa’s complaining about her job? “I thought this prep routine was a requirement,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.

  “No, just guidelines,” Lisa replies. “Best practices, if you will.” She blinks a couple of times and reaches into the plastic bin at her feet. “Gloves,” she says.

  I hold out my hands and she puts them on.

  “Last step, helmet.”

  “Make it nice and tight,” I say.

  “You’d better believe it.”

  I wonder if Lisa was the one who helped General Safeco into his suit when he left four years ago. Well, if she did, she’s the best person to suit me up now. She won’t make that mistake twice, just like I’ll never use anything but a bowline knot to secure my shield sack to my body again. Mistakes. If they don’t kill you, they leave you a lot smarter than you were before.

  I dip my head and Lisa gathers my hair into a stubby ponytail and slides a hairnet over it. She places the silver helmet gently over top. I straighten my neck and she secures the bottom of the helmet to the collar of my vest with Velcro, then engages the lock levers on either side of my collarbone, really cinching it down tight. This is the heaviest part of my travel suit, and I know from experience that the weight of it in the void can leave me with a crushing headache that sometimes lasts for hours when I come out on the other side.

  Lisa threads a silk-crete cord through a loop on the exterior of my helmet and then ties the other end to my right wrist with a simple slipknot. This precaution isn’t for the void, it’s for the other end. I have to take my helmet off right away when I land – it’s the one thing that will draw the most attention to me – but it’s best if I can bring my helmet home with me when I return. I’ve lost a few helmets in the past, sometimes it’s unavoidable, but the materials they use to make them are in short supply here in 2074.

  I have a two-inch-wide, six-inch-long viewing window in my helmet, and I meet Lisa’s eyes through it. She gives me a thumbs-up, and I give her one back. “Final check?” she says, raising her voice so I can hear her over the muffling effects of my helmet.

  I lift my thumb a little higher to indicate yes to that question, then spread my arms and take a wide stance. Lisa walks around me in a full three-hundred-sixty-degree circuit. She inspects the armpits of my jacket, a spot notorious for extra wear and tear. She ends her circle in front of me, but when she speaks, it isn’t to me. “She’s ready to go.”

  A short man with a lot of hair on his forearms enters the room. I’ve worked with him before, every time I’ve traveled, but I don’t know his name. He never talks. I suspect he’
s one of the mutes, but I don’t know for sure – he’s never opened his mouth in front of me. He gives me my chemicals. One hypodermic zipped into my vest pocket on the left side, directly opposite my open port-a-cath. The other hypodermic is placed in my gloved hand. This one is for now. The one in my vest is for the return. They both work the same way. When the time comes, I’ll insert the hypodermic into my port-a-cath and inject the time travel serum directly into one of the large central veins in my chest. It takes about two seconds to start working, so I’ve got to be quick. Plunge, withdraw, drop, slap, zip. I chant those five words in my head as the hairy-armed guy swings open the blast door. Lisa has already left the room, slipping out and settling herself at a desk behind a Gila-shielded window in a little room just opposite the travel chamber door. The hairy guy gives me a thumbs-up, and I nod and mouth “thank you.” I don’t speak once my helmet’s on. I can’t risk fogging up the little window.

  I step over the threshold and he swings the door shut behind me with a clang that shakes the floor. I walk to the center of the small room and turn around so that I’m facing the blast door. There’s a porthole in it, and beyond that, Lisa sits in her small control center. The travel room is completely empty – no carpet, no furniture, not even a comm. I’ll keep visual contact with Lisa and she’ll count me down using hand signals. She’s a little warbly since I’m looking at her through the tiny view window of my helmet, then through an eighteen-inch-wide porthole, across the prep room, and through her Gila-lined window, but my eyes are plenty sharp enough to count the fingers on her hands as she marks me down.

  Five. I flex my left hand and make sure my arm is hanging loosely at my side.

  Four. I crack my neck quickly, right side, then left.

  Three. I bend my right arm at the elbow, fingers curled around the hypodermic needle.

  Two. I swivel my wrist ninety degrees.

  One. I slide the tip of the hypodermic needle into the port-a-cath, my thumb flicking out from my fist and settling on the plunger.

  Lisa cocks her head. Go now! My brain screams at me. Do it! But Lisa still has one finger in the air while she speaks rapidly to someone I can’t see. My thumb trembles on the plunger.

  Suddenly, Lisa spreads both hands wide and smacks her control room window three times. Her mouth moves in the wide, exaggerated motions of someone yelling at the top of their lungs. I don’t know what she’s saying. What happened? What’s wrong? Is she telling me to stop, or is she saying to get into the void as fast as I can? I’m torn with indecision, and Lisa is still just standing in the room, pounding on the window and yelling.

  I’ve been so focused on her, I nearly plunge my hypodermic from shock when a big hairy arm slaps a sign across the porthole on the blast door. “ABORT.”

  I yank the tip of the needle out of my port-a-cath. My knees go rubbery and I tremble all over. Keep it together, I chant internally as the wheel on the blast door spins and the hairy-armed guy jerks it open.

  If he can tell that my body is as loose as a wilted leaf, he doesn’t say anything. The hypodermic needle rolls a little too freely out of my hand and into his collection tub, like I’m dropping it instead of giving it to him intentionally, and he doesn’t call me out on it. Whether he’s one of the mutes or not, whatever his reason is for staying silent, I appreciate his discretion. He exits through the same door he entered before, taking the hypodermic needle with him. I’m breathing deep, controlled breaths. I’m not going to let Lisa see how rattled I am when she unlatches my helmet and takes it off.

  “You okay in there, Rosie?” she asks, lifting the helmet from my shoulders. She hands it to me, and I fold it and slide it in the side pocket of my jacket in a smooth, practiced movement, just like I would have if I’d completed the travel and was out on the other side.

  “I’m fine,” I say, and I surprise myself with how calm my voice sounds. Like I just finished something mildly exciting, like a difficulty three climb, or a live ammunition riot drill. My voice definitely didn’t sound like someone who got yanked out of a time travel mission one second before she was supposed to plunge into the void. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” Lisa says. “Well, no. I mean, I don’t know.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I got an urgent comm on the private line, the one that comes directly from your family’s floor. Your mission has been aborted. You’re to proceed immediately to the roof, where you’ll meet your father.”

  “My dad?” I exclaim. “He’s back already?”

  “Actually, I’m unclear on that.” Lisa stamps her foot; she’s obviously upset with herself. “You’re either meeting him or being taken to him. I’m sorry. I can’t confirm which.” She lowers her eyes. “I was a bit flustered.”

  She’s taking a big risk telling me that. I know I’m not supposed to touch anything with my travel suit on, but I put my gloved hand on Lisa’s upper arm sympathetically. “So was I.”

  Lisa gives me a tight-lipped smile and a look of gratitude. “You’d better get up there as quick as you can.”

  I don’t even take the time to rip my hairnet off. I nod at Lisa and I’m off like a shot. I zoom past Beverly and the armed guard. Their job is preventing people from getting in; they never pay attention to me when I’m exiting. The travel room is nearly sixty stories below my quarters, and I’m going farther than that, all the way to the roof. I sprint, taking the stairs two at a time.

  When the metal door to the hall smacks open on the twenty-fifth floor, I’m so startled, I catch my foot on the top step and sprawl forward onto the landing, banging my right knee hard, but catching myself with the palms of my gloved hands. I look up, breathing heavily.

  “Rosie! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Sarah grabs my elbow and hauls me to my feet. “What on Earth are you wearing?”

  I open my mouth, but she rushes on before I can speak. “No, never mind that. David needs you right now. You’ve got to get to your dad; there’s no time to waste. Follow me.”

  Oh my god. Seriously, what is happening? What was the Achtung about? Sarah leads me toward the middle of the tower, where three elevator shafts pierce the center of the building from top to bottom. We call them the straws. Three giant, dark tubes filled with a hundred feet of filthy water at the bottom. Dad must be sending down a rappelling hook to winch me up to the roof. What could be so urgent about that Achtung he received that I had to bypass the seventieth floor stairwell landing security this way?

  When I was a little kid, I was never allowed on the twenty-fifth floor because that’s the only floor that has open access to the shafts. We don’t have quarters or storage on twenty-five either; it’s basically deserted. It’s too dangerous.

  “Come on. Hurry,” Sarah says, racing ahead of me. She stops at the gaping maw of the southern shaft. “I’ll help you with your hook.”

  I join her at the edge of the shaft and look up, hanging on to the frame with my right hand and reaching out for the grappling hook with my left. There’s nothing there.

  Sarah’s breath is hot in my ear. “Two years waiting for you to come of age is a long time,” she hisses. “I’m ready to get pregnant now.” I try to whirl around, but she shoves me in the back, and I tumble forward, falling into a far different void than the one I’d planned for.

  Chapter Five

  March 21, 2074

  My training kicks in instantaneously. Columbia Tower is flooded to the tenth floor, so I only have seconds before I hit the water. I curl my knees toward my chest and try to wrap my arms around them, cannonball style. My body twists as my center of gravity rotates and I enter the water butt-first with a painful smack.

  Plunging downward into the murky, fetid water of the elevator shaft seems to take even longer than my one-hundred-and-fifty-foot freefall drop. I’m disoriented, but I think I sense myself slowing, and I uncurl my legs and frog-kick as hard as I can to propel myself back up to the surface.

  My eyes are shut tightly, and I swim head
first into something metallic, probably a strut or support beam in the shaft. My head rocks and my neck screams with agony, but I keep kicking. Twenty excruciating seconds later, my face breaks the surface and I gulp gigantic breaths of air.

  I bob in the putrid water for several moments until I get my breath back. Thank god we’re trained from toddler age what to do during an accidental fall.

  Accidental, my ass. Sarah’s trying to kill me, to get me out of the way so she can have a child with my father. “I’m ready to get pregnant now.” Her voice echoes in my head. Psycho bitch. I thought she was vapid and useless. I way underestimated her.

  I’m treading water, and my foot connects painfully with flotsam below the surface. I have got to get out of here. I tread harder and tilt my head back. The tiny pinprick of light is the roof-level opening, and it’s almost a thousand feet away. Still, I call out. “Dad! Daddy!” I scream, my voice ricocheting off the vertical walls of the shaft. How far will my sound waves travel before they peter out? I don’t know the answer.

  Lisa! Lisa and the hairy-armed guy are only ten or eleven floors above me. Beverly and the guard too. “Lisa!” I scream. “Anyone!” I call out over and over, my breath growing shorter as I struggle harder to keep myself afloat and shout at the same time. I lose my rhythm and my mouth dips below the waterline. Foul liquid pools into my mouth. I spit it out, gasping, and have the most painfully obvious thought of my life. This would be a lot easier to do if I had something to hang on to. I stop my stupid treading water and I swim to the side, feeling around in the blackness for the wall.

  I find it, and there are struts or support beams or something, I don’t know what, but it’s a handhold and that’s what I need right now. I scream for Dad, Lisa, anyone, over and over, for at least ten minutes, maybe more. I have no sense of time down here. But nobody responds. Lisa is probably tucked away in her control room, prepping for the next mission, or she’s in her quarters, wherever they are. Beverly and the armed guard are nowhere near the straws, and the entrances are covered by steel sheeting on twenty-one anyway. Dad was probably never even here. No. Someone called the control room and got Lisa and the hairy-armed guy to abort the mission. Sarah doesn’t even know about the time travel program. It couldn’t have been her. But it came from our quarters, Lisa said so. Could Sarah have known more than I gave her credit for? She’s already surprised me once, in the most horrible of ways.