Time's Mirror: A CHRONOS Files Novella (The CHRONOS Files) (21 page)

“Then maybe we should be questioning her faith, or at the very least, her judgment. Do you really think that Cyrus would put her—would put any of us, but especially her—in danger? We’re his most valuable assets!”

There’s a pause, followed by a clink of glass on glass. Probably Simon refilling his drink. “I mean, we’ve all seen how Prudence has been the past few years. It’s sad that she’s falling apart, but it’s the reality we face, Ron. We certainly can’t trust her to lead us, especially in these times where every decision is critical.”

“Fine,” Ron says. “I won’t say anything to her if that’s Brother Cyrus’s final decision. Are you planning to do it now, or after the other arrangements are made?”

“After. I don’t see why this would cause a major shift in the timeline. Either way, I’d rather wait until we have everything else synched up. Pru has people watching both houses, and I’ve been told the grandma never leaves. The girl’s in school, however. It’ll be easier to grab her before she gets good with the key. The flip side is that she probably won’t have the information we need. But I’m guessing we can lure grandma out into the open if we have her as bait.”

My mind flashes back to the picture of Deb, pregnant. This must be her daughter they’re talking about.

The two men leave, and I really should follow. I need to catch Simon. But I don’t want him to wonder whether I’ve been listening in. So I run around the long way, rather than cutting through the kitchen, and head him off in the hallway just outside the conference room.

“Simon! Saul said—”

He glances toward the conference room and then down at what I’m wearing, giving me a warning look.

“Brother Cyrus,” I correct, in a lower voice, “wants me to take a trip. And I need to get the stable point from you. Did he mention it?”

“Yeah, yeah. He mentioned it. Give me your key.” He transfers the location and then says, “Leave a blood sample for June so we can keep you honest.”

“Already did.”

“Oh, and Pru. Speaking of blood, I ran a few tests of my own after we talked to June. When the time comes, don’t worry about the thing in Copenhagen. Handle it your own way. I’ll take care of Moehler. Saul doesn’t need to know. I’ll take care of everything.”

If I didn’t know better, I could almost imagine he was watching out for me. But then I remember his expression as he looked out at those kids on the playground. Simon just wants to make sure he remains Simon.

I turn to go, but he grabs my arm. “Almost forgot.” He reaches into his pocket with his other hand. “Took this picture for you yesterday. Thought you might want to put it in your album.”

Of course you did, you snake.

It’s Deborah, as always. She’s sitting on steps outside of a building, laughing. There’s a little girl sitting between her knees, looking up at her. My breath catches in my throat for a minute, because the girl could almost…
almost
…be me at that age.

“Hurry back,” Simon says. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Is that even possible?” I mumble under my breath as I walk away. Simon clearly hears it, though, because he chuckles as he heads toward the conference room.

I grab my bag from the dining table and unzip it to drop Simon’s photo inside. It lands face up, and Deborah’s eyes look at me. The kid is holding something up for her to see and Deb seems so happy. Content. That’s how I want to think of her. That’s what I want for her. And I have no doubt that whatever Simon and Saul are plotting is going to destroy that.

R
EDWING
D
INING
H
ALL

O
BJECTIVIST
C
LUB

W
ASHINGTON,
EC

Day 273—July 22, 2306, 9:20 p.m.

We’ve eaten at my place or at Tate’s every night since I arrived. I really haven’t been in a mood to deal with Morgen Campbell. But I need to leave tomorrow afternoon if I’m going to have any hope of making my curfew, and Tate’s probably right that it would be a bad idea to dis the old man entirely. So we’re sitting here at a table in Redwing Hall, the same table Campbell eats at every night.

“Saul has always been…complicated,” Campbell says, when I tell him about Gizmo. He takes another sip of his drink, that green stuff he always seems to like after dinner, and then adds, “I wouldn’t read too much into the thing with your animal.”

I glance down at Cyrus, who is snoring loudly by his owner’s feet. “Yeah? What would you do if he snapped
your
dog’s neck?”

“I’d have security toss him off the top of the OC and cheer from my balcony when he splatted on the sidewalk below. But you’re missing the point. Saul was raised around pets that weren’t really alive. Cyrus is a rare exception. You’ve seen the pets around here. Designer doggies. No poop, and you pick the color, style, and degree of intelligence. Some might disagree with me on this point, but I don’t consider those sentient life forms. From Saul’s point of view, if your pet malfunctions, you simply dismantle it before it does any more damage, and order a replacement. You wouldn’t think twice about it.”

“Giz wasn’t a robo-pup!”

Tate gives my arm a squeeze and then looks back at Campbell. “I think
you’re
the one missing the point, Morgen. The dog isn’t really the issue. It’s what the dog meant to Pru. Saul knew it would hurt her and he didn’t care. It was cruel.”

I stay quiet, because I’d rather avoid getting emotional, and I don’t disagree at all with Tate’s statement that it was cruel. But he’s wrong on one point. Gizmo
is
the issue. Saul had no right to harm him.

“Well,” Campbell says, “let’s keep in mind you’ve never had experience as a father. What’s the saying,
cruel to be kind
? Maybe Saul thought of it as discipline. Misguided,” he adds when he sees my expression, “but discipline nonetheless.”

“If that’s your idea of discipline,” Tate says, “I can see why you and Alisa are barely on speaking terms. But to get back to the main point of the conversation, my biggest concern is how long we have before CHRONOS realizes the spare keys are gone. For all I know they monitor activity in the backroom. We could show up at the museum tomorrow and find that Sutter has a picture of you blinking in and out.”

“Well, you’re safe for the next two days, at least,” I tell him. “I already worked tomorrow’s shift, and Tuesday’s as well.” I’ve actually worked six shifts since I arrived, mostly helping one of the researchers organize the late twentieth century files, but also answering questions about the 1980s for two school groups. It’s not exactly my idea of fun, but it beats hell out of playing Sister Prudence. The key reason I worked those shifts, however, is that Tate’s cover will be blown if I skip out entirely. If CHRONOS decides to come looking for me, they’ll start by questioning him.

“Personally,” Campbell says, “I’m more worried about someone noticing changes to the timeline. I disconnected the field we set up here in the OC, but how many people does the government have under a CHRONOS field? I seriously doubt that Tate and I are the only ones.”

Tate has the bracelet that Sutter made for me on a chain beneath his shirt. I left it with him both to make sure he’d remember if things suddenly changed, and to keep from tripping Sutter’s alarm with my travels through space and time.

But Campbell?

Tate’s clearly thinking the same thing. “You never have explained how you’re still under a field when Pru has your key.”

Campbell gives him a sly grin. “Connections, my boy. And some of those connections would like Saul to succeed. They might not admit it openly, but they’d like to see CHRONOS reopened, and they’d like to see these barbaric International Genetics Accords abolished. They’d like a system that rewards initiative over blind equality. And I think they’d be willing to…overlook…any tweaks in the timeline that work toward that goal.” He adds, almost as an afterthought, “And, of course, that mitigate the damage Pru’s mother caused.”

“Do you think this war—the one that started in Africa—was really her fault?” I ask. “You’re sure it didn’t happen before CHRONOS was destroyed and those historians were left in the past?”

Tate and I have already discussed this issue at length. The simple truth is that he can’t know one way or the other. He wasn’t under a key when the headquarters building was attacked. If history changed around him, he wouldn’t have known.

Campbell did have a key back then, but he swears he didn’t start wearing it until after he heard about the explosion at CHRONOS. If that’s true—and like anything Campbell says, I wouldn’t guarantee it—then he also wouldn’t know if anything changed.

“I have no evidence either way,” Campbell says. “Saul was the one under a key. He’d certainly know better than any of us if history started spinning off in a new direction. And he’d be in a better position than anyone else to figure out how it might be repaired.”

“But,” he says, leaning forward, “here’s the catch. So far, all I’ve seen from Saul Rand is another piss-ant cult leader. Yes, he’s got more followers than most, and yes, he’s moved some money away from other religions. Your Cyrist International has appropriated a few of their charities, inserted a few people into positions they wouldn’t have obtained otherwise. But Saul hasn’t changed a damn thing of importance, at least not anything that’s filtered forward to this day and time. And I don’t think he will. Go back and tell your Brother Cyrus I believe he’s about two moves away from checkmate
.
In the end, I’ll win.”

I cannot for the life of me figure out Morgen Campbell. One second it seems like he wants Saul to succeed. They appear to have the same political goals. Neither one is a fan of this genetics agreement, whatever it entails. Both claim to want CHRONOS back up and running.

The very next second, however, Campbell says something that makes me think he’s rooting for the universe to come crashing down around Saul’s ears. And while I’d love to join him in that wish, that means the universe will come crashing down around my ears, too, so…

“So, you’re more interested in winning than in seeing any sort of meaningful change?” I ask. “I have no love for Saul, but the Cyrist environmental programs he’s put together are helping reverse the damage of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The Cyrist educational system increased literacy by nearly three percent in the developing countries where we’re operating within the space of five years. The birthrate and hunger are both steadily declining. And that’s just the result of programs started in the twentieth century. We don’t have to leave it there! Think about how much good could be accomplished if I go back a century. Find a few visionaries and help push them in the right direction. I was looking at this one woman, Victoria Woodhull. She had so much charisma, and a lot of good ideas, and I was thinking—”

“A drop in the bucket,” Campbell interrupts. “Reformers come and go. The type of changes you’re talking about will mean nothing over the course of decades. People may unite for a short time to do good, but they’ll only stay together if there’s a solid profit to be made—and that’s entirely as it should be. The profit motive will conflict with the do-gooder agenda pretty much every time. This little scheme of Saul’s—of yours, too, I guess—simply isn’t sustainable.”

We continue to argue for a few more minutes, but even Campbell looks weary. I guess I’m not as good a sparring partner as Saul. Maybe it’s because I can’t muster up much passion for the ideas of a man I personally detest.

I’m in too deep now to back out. Doing that would just leave all of the power in the hands of Saul and Simon. It’s just hard to see how I can preserve the good elements of Saul’s vision without embracing the bad.

And it’s even harder to see how I can change anything they’re planning without losing my mind along the way.

Later, when Tate and I are back at my place, I lie next to him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his shoulder beneath my head as he sleeps. Over and over again this past week, I’ve heard the voice of my older self in my head, saying that Tate and I don’t last. As much as I hate it, I know she’s probably right. I know she
must
be right, unless I plan to create a whole host of double memories and make my future self even crazier.

I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know about Saul and Simon’s plans for Deb’s daughter. For Kate. I don’t like the fact that my niece is working with Mother, but I no longer believe that there are clear sides in all of this. It’s not black or white, good or evil, from where I’m standing. Here in the middle, everything looks gray.

The only thing I know for certain is that I don’t want Deb’s life to suck. I saw the way she looked at the little girl in that picture. If something they do erases that kid, part of Deb will die. And if they erase Mother, Deb will never even exist. I won’t either, if someone snatches my key.

Suddenly, the CHRONOS key embedded in my older self’s arm makes a lot more sense.