Erasing Time (17 page)

Taylor sat back in her chair openmouthed. “
His
work? I can’t believe this. I never even spoke to the guy, and he took credit for my ideas. He stole my QGP.”

“And may have killed your professor.” As soon as Sheridan said it, she dismissed the idea. She had read too many spy thrillers. Professors didn’t go around killing one another. She waited for Taylor to refute the notion, but Taylor didn’t.

Which told Sheridan that there was money to be made with the QGP.

“How did he even know about it?” Taylor asked. “It was a secret.”

“Dr. Branscomb must have told him.”

“Branscomb was the one who insisted I keep everything a secret.”

“Of course he did. He wanted to make sure he could take credit for your idea. What was the patent worth?”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed at something on the screen, and Sheridan got up and went over to see what it was. A grainy picture of Don Reilly stared back at her. He would have looked like any other balding middle-aged man, but his expression, even in picture form, had an air of self-importance about it. His lips were slightly pursed, disdainful of something—perhaps humanity in general. He had bushy, unkempt eyebrows and a long thin nose, but his most noticeable features were jowls that hung down, making his face blend into his neck.

“If Reilly did kill Branscomb,” Taylor said, “he had to have known the QGP was working. But I wasn’t done with the programming.”

“So Branscomb sold you out and finished the machine on his own. Maybe he needed Reilly’s help. Whatever happened, before he could steal the credit from you, Reilly stole it from him.”

Taylor glowered at the screen. “The love of physics. That’s what Branscomb always said motivated him. Right. I’m glad he’s dead. He deserved it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Taylor shot Sheridan a look that indicated she did indeed mean it.

Sheridan decided to change the subject. “Do you think Reilly knew about you?”

Taylor leaned back in her chair. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I disappeared three days before the accident. Must have been awfully convenient for him.”

“But someone knew about your involvement. Scientists wouldn’t be searching for you four hundred years later if you hadn’t gotten credit somewhere along the line.”

“They aren’t searching for me—they’re searching for Taylor Sherwood, the pen name I used on papers in science periodicals.” Taylor leaned forward again, her hands busy on the control panels.

An obit picture of Reilly came up. It looked about the same as the last picture they’d seen, except that he was smiling. It didn’t improve his looks that much.

“What do you know?” Taylor said. “Reilly had an early demise too. He disappeared two months later.”

“Disappeared?”

Taylor scanned the article. “He went to work and never came home again.”

“You worked on the machine and disappeared, then he took credit for it and disappeared. Do you think the scientists used the Time Strainer on him?”

“I hope they did.” Taylor scowled at his picture. “It would serve them both right. Reilly will realize he missed out on his ill-gotten gains, and the scientists here will have someone who probably never conceived an original idea in his entire life. A perfect match.”

But not so perfect if he knew too much. “Taylor, did Branscomb know you’d published as Taylor Sherwood?”

Taylor exited out of the obit record. “Yes, but Branscomb wouldn’t have told Reilly about me. Not when he didn’t want to share the credit.” She pushed away from the desk, stood up, paused, then sat back down on the chair. She put her hands on the desk, then two seconds later raked them through her hair. “Do I leave before the scientists find out who I am, or do I stay and figure out a way to keep them from taking anyone else?”

Sheridan didn’t answer.

“If I stay,” Taylor went on, “I put my life and my sister’s life in danger. If I go, they’ll keep using the Time Strainer to take anyone who’ll give them an advantage in the present. Scientists, leaders, enemies. Who knows how much damage they’ll do?” Taylor swiveled in her chair to face Sheridan. “But Elise said she could take us to meet her contact tomorrow—as soon as we can get away.”

Sheridan still didn’t say anything. The two options struggled against one another in her mind. Which was better?

Softly, Taylor said, “Maybe you should go with Elise and leave me here.”

Sheridan shook her head. “How would you ever get out of the city? How would we find each other again?”

Taylor lifted her hands, then let them fall back into her lap. “All right, then tell me what to do. You decide if we stay or leave in the morning.”

It wasn’t usual for Taylor to hand over decisions to Sheridan, and she didn’t know how to answer. “Why do you want me to decide?”

“Because,” Taylor said, frustrated, “whatever I decide will affect you too. Besides, you’re better with moral decisions. Right now, all I can think about is that if we delay going, I’ll probably be caught and then my good intentions will be for nothing.”

Sheridan let out a slow breath while she considered the matter. “I thought you said that if you destroyed the Time Strainer, the scientists would just build another one.”

“Yes, but they can’t build another QGP back in the past. And without a functioning QGP in the past, they won’t be able to take people from the last four centuries, change them into energy waves, and reconfigure them inside the Time Strainer now.”

Sheridan turned this over in her mind. “How can you destroy something in the past?”

“The Time Strainer sends signals back through time to the QGP telling it who to change into an energy flux wave, so if I was able to send an autodestruct command, I could effectively seal off the past.”

“How long would that take? Days? Weeks?”

“Please.” Taylor gave an insulted toss of her head. “I helped create the QGP. I could program a destruct command tonight. Getting into the Scicenter to a place where I can send it will be the hard part.”

“Echo could get you in.”

“We can’t depend on him. He’s Dakine.”

Maybe, but even if Echo was Dakine, he had to understand the danger the Time Strainer posed to everyone—to the Dakine too. “He’ll help you,” Sheridan said.

Taylor wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t know …”

“You said it was my decision,” Sheridan reminded her. “We can ask for Echo’s help in the morning. It will only delay us a few hours.”

Taylor sighed in resignation, then turned to the computer. “Fine, I’ll get started on the destruct command.”

Sheridan settled herself in bed and shut her eyes, listening to the rhythm of Taylor’s fingers. In the darkness of her mind, she saw the picture of Reilly hovering in front of her. The man was probably a murderer and he might already be here.

When Sheridan awoke, Taylor wasn’t in bed. She probably hadn’t slept at all. As Sheridan dressed in the hideous purple-and-red-striped outfit, she could hear her sister and the others talking in the main office.

Jeth said, “The word
okay
was used so frequently in your time period; what did the initials stand for?”

“Oklahoma,” Taylor answered.

There was a long pause; then Jeth said, “Why did Oklahoma mean something was all right?”

“Because Oklahomans were that way. I mean, none of the world’s problems ever originated in Oklahoma.”

If their dad was right, and liars went to hell, Taylor was going to be in
so
much trouble. The wordsmiths would probably start injecting the word Oklahoma into casual conversation now, like they were all part of the musical.

Sheridan brushed her hair, then walked out to the main office. Echo turned from the computer he’d been working on and smiled, letting his eyes linger on hers. It seemed like such a genuine smile, not one that could be full of dark secrets.

She sat next to Taylor on the floral couch and picked up a roll from a tray on the coffee table. “So are your ducks in a row after burning the midnight oil?”

Taylor had never liked nuts and was picking them off her roll. “I think I can make my little Frankenstein kick the bucket, but we’re still between a rock and a hard place. We’ll be walking a fine line, and we could find ourselves up the creek without a paddle. You sure you don’t want to jet?”

Sheridan took a bite of her roll. It tasted like maple syrup. “I’m not letting you give me the brush-off.”

Taylor flicked another nut onto her plate. “Fine. I’ll try to nip this thing in the bud, lickety-split so we can split.”

Sheridan glanced at Echo, then looked away when she saw he was watching her. “We need a helping hand.”

Taylor nibbled a bite of roll. “Ten-four. We’ll cut a deal with Romeo.”

“Is everything okay with your breakfast?” Jeth called over. “Sometimes I can’t understand your comments.”

“Everything is wonderful,” Taylor said. “Sheridan and I were talking about how good the food is here.”

They both took large bites of their rolls to prove the point.

Jeth swiveled in his chair to better look at them. “I never realized how much slang people used in the old twenties. I’ll have to catalog it. It would make a fascinating study, don’t you think, Echo?”

“Fascinating.” Echo didn’t look fascinated. He looked suspicious.

Sheridan gave him a weak smile, then turned back to Taylor. “The clock is ticking. I’ll stay here and shoot the breeze. You ask Echo to give you a hand.”

“A hand?” Echo repeated. “What do you mean?”

Taylor took another bite of her roll. “I need to interview you privately. It’s normally the father’s job, but since our father isn’t here, I’ll have to do it.”

Echo raised an eyebrow. “Interview me?”

“Yes.” Taylor finished off her roll and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “Back in our day, when a guy started dating a girl, the father interviewed him. You know, asked him about his intentions and stuff. Well, after yesterday, it’s only proper that I interview you.”

Jeth brightened. “I’m familiar with that custom. I saw it referenced in a movie from the mid-twentieth century. It was still in practice at your time?”

“Oh yes,” Taylor said. “And it has to be done privately. And it might take a while.” She stood up and strolled over to Echo. “Are you ready?”

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just yourself.”

He stood and walked out of the room with Taylor, and neither looked back at Sheridan.

If Echo really cared about her, wouldn’t he at least have glanced back as he left? The thought prickled, and it bothered her that it was bothering her.

She had to stop thinking of Echo that way. Taylor was right. It was like having a thing for a guy in the Mafia. All that was important was that Taylor find a way to destroy the QGP before it took anyone else. Then they could find their way to someplace safe.

Sheridan finished her roll and settled in to answer Jeth’s questions. As they talked, her gaze traveled around the room, landing on the cabinet with the etched-glass front.

She tried not to stare or show any reaction, but she noticed it immediately. The gun was gone.

Echo walked into the hallway with Taylor, taking note of her agitation. The interview was apparently a stressful thing. He wondered why.

“This ‘hand’ request,” he said, “it doesn’t actually involve some sort of severed hand, does it?”

Taylor caught hold of Echo’s arm and pulled him down the hallway. “Of course not, it’s just a saying.”

“What does it mean? And what did giving hands have to do with dating?”

“Nothing.”

Which meant Taylor didn’t want to tell him. He knew giving hands had
something
to do with romance. He had studied enough historical marriage documents to know the term
take her hand in marriage
.

Taylor kept pulling him along at a quick pace as though she knew where she was going—or perhaps this was part of the ritual. Perhaps you pulled a guy around before you spoke of relationships, which might explain the phrases
leading him on
,
leading him around by the nose
, and
pulling your leg
.

They stopped in front of the elevator. Taylor pushed the button, and the doors slid open. He held on to her arm so she couldn’t go in. “Where exactly did you want to go for this interview?”

“The Scicenter.”

He didn’t move. “We’re not allowed to walk into any building we want.”

The elevator door slid shut. Taylor pushed the button to open it again. “I have a lot to explain and not much time. We can talk in the car on the way over. If you don’t want to help me, you can turn the car around and bring me back here, all right?”

She stepped into the elevator, and he reluctantly followed. When the door slid shut, he pushed the button that would take them to the parking lot. “Start explaining.”

She took a deep breath. Her voice was calm even though her fingers tapped against the elevator handrail nervously. “You know about history. You’ve studied it. You must understand how dangerous the Time Strainer is. All of history could be changed. When you strain people, you don’t just take them out of the time line, you take their descendants and everything those people did. If you strain the wrong person, nations could be wiped out.”