Convergence Point (24 page)

Mada raised her hand. “You said we have the research Emir used?”

“Yes.” Oh, she did not like where this was going.

“Then we have a way of learning how to control the machine.”

Sam opened her mouth to protest, but Mada held her hand up to stop her. “But I also recommend caution. Agent Rose is right, we shouldn't be poking anything with a stick. Yet we also shouldn't dismiss it too easily. There are many things in history we could change.”

“That would be a mistake,” Sam said, cutting off Director Loren. She'd rather her director fire her than let this go on. “Changing the past will drive you insane. We have Gant in custody, he's insane. I don't think he started that way, but when he came here, everything that had made his history was erased. Anyone we asked to use the machine would be at risk.”

“So we ask for volunteers,” Mada said. “Ask them to fix our greatest mistakes, and in exchange, let them fix one of their own.”

It was like they weren't even listening. “How would you determine our nation's greatest mistakes?” Sam demanded, hands moving to her hips. “Marrins tried that. He wanted to go back and stop the nationhood vote. Gant wanted to leave the country before he committed his crimes. If you ask any two ­people what part of history ought to be stopped, you'll get three different answers. Are you willing to risk another civil war to justify using the machine?”

“We won't ask the ­people. This isn't a referendum. We have a government for a reason.” Mada's dark eyes were frosty with contempt.

“So we'll put the power to eradicate parts of our culture into the hands of the wealthy and elite? You'll destroy parts of our heritage with no idea what impact it will have on the future, or our present?” Sam shook her head. “No. This is too dangerous.”

Director Loren held up a hand. “Thank you, Agent Rose. Please have a seat. We have a great deal to discuss here.”

“Sir—­” There was nothing to discuss.

“Your opinion has been noted, Agent Rose,” Director Loren said as he stood up. “I appreciate your passion for the topic. But, as your supervisor, I will caution you to examine your own feelings on the matter.”

Sam sank reluctantly into the chair opposite the director as she realized his decision was already made. Director Loren might not have even been the one making the decision. While she'd slept, he could have passed it up the chain of command, so the choice to use the machine ended up with a politician. Ended up with someone like her mother, someone who wouldn't think twice before rearranging the universe to suit their whims.

“Dr. Troom was close to you,” Director Loran said.

“Not particularly, sir.”

“You rescued him last year during the assault on the laboratory where he worked?”

“Yes, sir.” Her shoulder tightened in anticipation of what was coming.

“From personal experience, I know how much it hurts to lose an asset you've risked your life for.”

She swallowed the angry refutation she wanted to use. “I regret the loss of Henry's life, but I assure you that's not why I object to using the machine, sir.”

“Your dog was killed by this. Your partner injured. You are too closely tied, and too emotionally invested, to think clearly about the possibilities,” Director Loren said with a patient smile.

Sam resisted the urge to cross her arms. Looking combative wouldn't help her stance. “With all due respect, sir, that's a weak argument. I've been dealing with this for over a year. I'm the only person with any direct experience in this field. That makes
me
the expert. I'm not being emotional when I tell you that using the machine will cost more lives than you or I are willing to spend. You're about to make the Battle of the Somme look like a picnic.
Sir.
”

Director Loren stared at her, face a mask of emotionless rigidity. “I'll take that under advisement. Agents, we will follow Agent Mada's direction to proceed with caution. That being said, let us discuss the possible ways this new device could help our nation.”

“Putting a positive spin on it won't make it better,” Sam muttered. Director Loren sent her another harsh glare, and she snapped her mouth shut. Her teeth ground together as the other agents talked about the things that could be changed. Old cases worth revisiting. Being able to place a person at the scene of the crime to witness it without interfering, stopping tragic deaths in advance. They hadn't heard a word she'd said.

An hour later, her stomach was in knots, and nothing had changed.

Director Loren dismissed them. “Agent Rose, stay a moment please.”

She stopped at the door, not willing to turn. “Sir.”

“I know this is hard for you. You've been on the front lines, and it's left an impression. Have you considered taking a few days off?”

“I'll take it under advisement, sir.” Just like he'd taken her suggestions under advisement.

“You're going to go down in history, Agent. A hundred years from now, they'll be reading about you in history class.”

“A hundred years from now, there won't be anyone left to attend class.”

T
he hospital was oddly quiet for an afternoon. Sam walked down the halls, heels clicking on the floor with a comforting familiarity. The smell of antiseptic and the slow beeps of the machines guarding the patients helped soothe her. She slipped into Mac's room and checked the nurse's notes on the computer screen by his bed. Poor security there. Someone should have logged out before leaving the room. Still, she was grateful for the oversight. Mac's vitals were good. He'd recover in time.

She sat down in a hard plastic chair next to his bed. “Mac?” The whisper didn't wake him. She gently reached for his hand. He was cold. So still. Corpselike . . . almost dead when she needed him most. She squeezed his hand and bit back the tears. There was so much she needed to tell him, to ask him, to take from him, she realized with a sickened sensation. She always took from Mac. Stole his time, and his couch, and his attention . . . She had endangered his career more than once.

She put her head on the bed beside his hand, waiting for him to wake up. She wanted one more thing from him: a chance to say good-­bye.

A nurse bustled in, regarded her in speculative silence, and retreated after checking the monitors.

She was still waiting for Mac to wake up when Agent Petrilli knocked on the door.

“Hi.” He smiled like a movie star waiting for the camera flash.

Sam forced a smile of her own. “Hi.”

“Your phone was off, and Director Loren asked if I could check on you on my way back home.”

Sam sat up.
What had they done?

“I figured you'd be here.” Petrilli smiled. “I always wondered who I was competing with for your attention. You two are quite something, aren't you?”

“No, just friends,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. She pulled her hand away from Mac's. Petrilli couldn't know what Mac meant to her. No one could. Not if Mac was ever going to have a normal life. “He saved my life once. I figured the least I could do was visit the hospital and check up on him.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He'll be fine. He has a minor concussion, a ­couple of scrapes and bruises. Nothing serious.” Hoss had taken bullets for her. Mac had taken the bruises. She ought to be dead twice over, but here she sat unscathed, while everyone around her suffered. “Did you need anything?”

“No. I just wanted you to know they ran the first op with the machine up at Fort Benning.”

Her heartbeat slowed, stuttering, threatening to stop as cold fear gripped her. “Oh?” She kept her voice light and calm.

“They went back a week in time and saved a baby who was going to be killed in a car collision. I thought you might need to hear that.”

“Really?” Even to her ears, her voice sounded strained.

“We're going to do good with this, Rose. I know you're worried it could all go sideways, but it isn't. I promise. I'm on your side. I agree we need to be careful. But we saved a kid's life today, what's better than that?”

“Nothing,” Sam lied. “I'm sure the family is relieved.” She waited a moment. “How did they react?”

He glanced down the hall and shrugged. “They were good.”

“You're lying.”

Petrilli winced. “There was some shock. The family was grieving, and then it hadn't happened, it was an adjustment. We sent a therapist to work it out with them. In the future, we'll probably try to hit these things within a few hours. Giving ­people too long to adjust to changes only gives them more psychological dissonance to worry about.”

“What do you think is going to happen if we erase tragedy from life?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe we'll create Utopia. Maybe it'll just lower the number ­people using antidepressants. It's a sea star thing; you can't save them all maybe, but you can save the one you throw back in the water. You know?”

“Do you think everyone is going to have a fabulous life because you stop every death, every car accident, every suicide?
Are
you going to stop death? We can't even keep ­people from being unemployed when the world population is so low that no single country could scrape together a halfway-­decent army, and you think you can create Utopia by stopping car accidents? Life without tragedy isn't life, Petrilli. If we didn't ever experience a loss, we'd never understand how good it feels to have someone survive. You can't appreciate sunshine if you've never seen night.”

“That is a very pessimistic view, Rose. If ­people need tragedy in life, they can read Shakespeare. Pull out some old Russian literature, maybe. No one needs real heartbreak in their life.”

“Who would we be without tragedy? I wouldn't be me. Are you going to erase all the moments that defined my life?”

“Maybe this will mean your life won't need to be defined by horrible things!” Petrilli threw his arms up in exasperation. “You know? How much happier would you be if your life was influenced by a series of happy memories instead of whatever trauma you're hauling around. Drop your baggage, Rose.”

She lifted her chin. “There is no such thing as a perfect life. Even if to everyone else your life was flawless, you would hate the days that weren't euphorically beautiful. You'd be an addict always looking for the next bit of happiness. You'd destroy yourself in a quest for something that doesn't exist.”

“I give up,” Petrilli said. He turned away, then turned back, ready to jump into the fray once more. “We saved a
baby
.” Petrilli raised his eyebrows. “Don't you think that means something? Can't you see the value of a single life?”

“I can. I'm glad the baby is alive, but I want to make sure the baby grows up in a world where its choices determine its future. No one sitting in a lab with a tinkertoy time machine has the right to decide how history is shaped. That's not our job. We aren't God.”

“I was always taught God helps those who help themselves. We were given a wonderful new way to help ­people. I think God would want us to use it.”

“That's probably what ­people said about the atom bomb.”

“And the bomb brought an end to the world wars. It isn't a black-­and-­white thing.”

“Exactly! Don't you see: You can't just decide this machine will only do good because you want it to. There are ­people who will use it for their own ends. Nothing ever exists in a vacuum. And maybe it won't be immediate, but given enough time—­and we are talking about a time machine here—­someone is going to turn that machine on and hurt others.” Sam pushed past him and walked furiously down the hall.

“Where are you going, Rose?” Petrilli asked as he chased after her.

“Home.”
No.
There wasn't an apartment left to go home to. “Never mind, I'm going to the office.”

“Are you upset with me?” He honestly sounded wounded.

Sam came to a screeching halt in the hospital hallway. “Petrilli, I know this might be hard for you to wrap your mind around, but my life doesn't actually revolve around you. In the past seventy-­two hours, I've lost my residence, my dog, and my best friend has been hospitalized. I have paperwork piling up in my office and a junior agent who needs to be debriefed and given some leave time before he breaks from the stress.”

“I'm just checking. You're were a hot second away from trashing your career this morning, arguing with Loren. I don't want our friendship caught in the cross fire.”

“We're fine,” she lied.

“Good.” He fell into step with her. “Wanna do lunch next week? I found this awesome Mexican grill near the border of our districts. Hole-­in-­the-­wall, but the queso deserves a letter of commendation.”

Sam glanced sideways at him. “Really?” He couldn't be serious.

“Oh, yeah. If you like spicy food, you will love this place!”

He was incredible. Nothing bruised Feo Petrilli's ego. Something would have to get through to his little pin-­sized brain for that to happen.

“You game?”

“Sure. Let me check my calendar, and I'll let you know when I'm free.” She'd probably be free second Thursday after never, but she'd say just about anything to get him to shut up at this point.

“It's a date then.” If he'd had a hat on, he would have tipped it. She almost laughed at the image.

Almost.

Sam stabbed the elevator
CALL
button and realized that was a tactical error. Being trapped with Petrilli even a minute more might result in a homicide, and she didn't want more paperwork. The elevator dinged as the doors opened. She waited for Petrilli to step in, and said, “You know what, I think I'll take the stairs.” She waved good-­bye, then leaned back, looking up at the ceiling, trying to picture heaven beyond the faded white tiles dimpled with black paint.