The Continuum, page 12
part #1 of Place in Time Series
Too many minutes have passed. It’s almost time for whatever strength of engineering is holding this colony together to crumble, and anyone not in one of the escape pods—or in another time—will be sucked out into space.
I scan the buildings, searching for any hint of movement. Finally, I see him. He stands near a small warehouse away from the crowd, but still within sight. His head is hunched over, staring at a piece of paper in his hand. As I watch, he pulls a cigarette lighter from his pocket and ignites the paper’s edge. The smoldering sheet flutters down, slowly disintegrating into smoke and ash.
I approach as I would an injured animal. When he takes out another object, a gasp escapes my lips. He’s either deep in thought or the crowd is still too loud even at this distance, because he doesn’t notice. I quicken my pace, afraid of what he might do next.
He raises an upturned palm with the orb balanced gently atop it. In the dimly-lit nighttime panels, Allen’s Wormhole looks liquid and strangely alive. His hand wavers.
“Don’t!” My voice catches in my throat, the intensity of the cry tearing at my vocal cords, as if the blunt force of my word could still his hand.
I lunge to close the distance between us. My hands shoot out to break the device’s fall, but I’m still meters away when the delicate lifeline shatters on the Continuum’s uncompromising surface.
The crash echoes in my ears. Tiny fragments dance across the ground. Springs pirouette and wires leap as I fall to my knees, still too far away to reach the scattering shards. They land among the paper’s ashes; all that remains is one small corner. “Our Most Daring Campaigns.”
When the last glitters have stilled and the tinkling of broken dreams reaches a full stop, I find my voice. “Why?”
Allen looks up, stupefied, as if seeing me for the first time. “You should be on a pod.”
“Why did you destroy it?”
“My ambition,” he whispers. “I thought it would be an adventure, but I realize now what a monster I’ve become.”
He turns away, a hand over his mouth as if the very thought has made him physically ill. “What sort of fiend would want to witness that suffering? I had to be stopped.” He turns to me, his skin now so pale that it makes him seem untouchable, like a china doll on a shelf. “I lied.”
“What?”
“The letter I wrote to Marie.” He hangs his head. “I know you read it. Most of it was true, but I couldn’t face my cowardice. I’d only imagined that I’d had the courage to stand and look death in the eye as the ship sunk into the sea.
“I was terrified. I panicked. I jumped over the edge. I thought I could land in one of the lifeboats as it was lowered, but I misjudged the distance and hit the water instead.” He shudders. “I clutched the one object of any value to me: Marie’s sphere. I’d already disabled the locking mechanism, and when I went under, I must have pressed the button. The next thing I knew, it pulled me through time.”
He starts choking up, and I rise to my feet, uncertain whether I should comfort him or keep my distance.
“If you were so terrified, why come here, of all places?” I ask. Anyone could see the similarities between the two events. History was repeating itself.
“I read about the men’s bravery. Even my own brother, who’d never done a single noble thing in his life… Even he wasn’t as selfish and cowardly as I was.” Allen squeezes his eyes shut. “History describes him helping women and children into the lifeboats. When they had all launched, he pulled up a deck chair and lit his pipe, accepting his fate.”
Allen crumples to his knees, pulling at his hair. I remain silent.
“I had to do it,” he whispers. “I had to come here… to see for myself… to prove I’m not a coward. But I am. A coward of the worst sort.”
His weary body folds in on itself. This man whom I’ve thought of as twisted and cruel is really just broken. My emotions are confused, but bitterness still grumbles within me, refusing him any expression of compassion. By condemning himself to go down with this ship, he sealed my fate as well.
I turn to walk away, but he pleads, “Forgive me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:
April 15, 2112
A sudden change in the crowd’s pitch distracts me. Back at the launch bay, there are only two escape pods remaining.
Chandler. Dodge.
Without a glance back at Allen, I run toward the pods.
We have mere minutes before the end of the Continuum, and there are still thirty or forty people who haven’t boarded an escape pod. What’s going on?
The air is eerily quiet and thin. My eyes burn with the residual fumes of the pods’ rocket fuel. I push through the diminished crowd, past those who have come to grips with not leaving. Though there’s still the odd person here or there whose countenance is filled with panic or anger, the majority of those remaining—mostly officers and other men—have the same sorrowful look of resignation.
Even with my warning, I wasn’t able to save everyone. I glance around at the crowd, trying to rectify what went wrong. Were there not enough seats? Or were there pods that—just like the Titanic’s lifeboats—left prematurely, without their full capacity? As I look into each face, I wonder if I’ve actually changed the outcome at all.
The final pod is being loaded in the last tube. Tube Y. The officials have drawn their guns and are holding back a few people still fighting to reach it. When I press forward, a hand settles on my shoulder—a gray-haired stranger who shakes his head to discourage my fight toward the officials.
“I just need to say goodbye.” Finally, I reach the front of the crowd. Over the officials’ heads, I find the faces I’ve been searching for. “Chandler!”
Dodge spots me, returning my greeting with an enthusiastic wave. Fortunately, he’s still too young to fully grasp the situation’s magnitude. Chandler strides over, parting the guards so we’re face to face.
“Dodge is safe,” he says.
“Thank God—”
“I’m ready to go back.”
“But—”
“I’ve said my goodbyes. We don’t have a lot of time, so give me the Wormhole and I’ll Extract from here.”
“But—”
“It’s okay. It’s not like anyone here is going to talk.” His eyes shift to the handful of people around us, and the pity in them mirrors my own emotions.
“Enough,” the official in front of us says, needlessly loud. “Back to the pod, or we’ll give your seat to someone else.”
Chandler opens his mouth to respond, but I interrupt.
“You can’t Extract. Your devices were both smashed. The first one when you were fighting Allen, and the other broke in the Observatory. I only have mine left.” I pull it out, brandishing it as proof that only one remains. Fortunately, he has no way to know whose it is.
“What about Rule #1?” The corner of his mouth turns up slightly. “If I board one of those escape pods, there’s no going back. We both know I don’t belong here.”
I look over his shoulder at the dark-haired face peering out from the escape pod. “I think this is exactly where you belong. Take care of him, okay?”
“Final call!”
Chandler wraps his arms around me, and I let him embrace me, willing my heartbeat to slow down, so as not to expose my lies. He lets go and hurries back to the pod, where he buckles himself next to Dodge. Chandler whispers to him, and whatever he says must reassure the boy. Dodge grins at me, waving as if he’s on an amusement park ride.
With tears threatening to fall, I back slowly away.
The door closes on the final escape pod. The tube’s airlock hisses shut. I can’t pull my gaze from the last window of the pod and the blue eyes that look back at me with confidence, even a hint of excitement, as Chandler bursts out of his past and into the future that awaits him. The image sears itself into my mind.
I’ll never forget it.
“Good luck,” I whisper. In moments, the pod’s momentum will push it out of sight until the Continuum is barely a speck in the myriad of stars that will swallow it up. I wonder if Chandler will look back at the implosion.
A hand touches my forearm and I tense, surprised to see Allen’s face so near mine. I pull away, my hand automatically moving to protect the hip pocket where the Wormhole—useless to anyone without Chandler’s thumbprint—rests.
Allen puts up his hands. “Please, wait.”
I look him in the eyes, eyes that now only show sorrow and loss, and perhaps a twinge of fear. “What do you want?”
“You lied to him.”
“I lie to a lot of people.” I eye him suspiciously. “How did you know?”
“If you could use the device, would you still be here talking to me? May I see it?”
I hold the Wormhole flat in my palm. Allen takes it carefully, studying it for a moment before looking up.
“I can fix this.”
“What? How?”
“Removing the security mechanism was the first thing I did with Marie’s. It’s a simple matter of snipping the correct wires.”
“Do we have enough time?” I barely dare to hope.
Allen looks around. A large metal crate sits off to one side of the launch bay, and he hurries over to it. He takes a small toolkit from his suit pocket and unties the piece of ocean-blue ribbon holding the leather pouch together.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.
Allen places his pocket watch next to the device. “Watch the time. We have ten minutes.”
I beg the second hand to slow down. The floor pitches, and the Wormhole slips out of Allen’s grasp, rolling toward the edge of the box. He curses and snatches it up before it can fall, then pries on it with a tiny scalpel-like tool.
Four minutes pass, then five, six. I’ve gnawed my fingernails into nubs by the time Allen makes the final snip with his wire-cutters and snaps the device’s outer shell into place. He holds it out, a peace offering and my only hope for survival. Though I know TUB will be waiting for me, as I take hold of the device, I feel strangely optimistic.
Allen snaps his pocket watch shut and holds it out to me. An intricate etching of a ship embellishes the front. It’s incredibly old and probably expensive. Before I can ask, he speaks. “I don’t deserve any kindness from you, but please, could you get this to Marie?”
I hesitate, not wanting to make promises I can’t keep. “I’ll try.”
Over my shoulder, something catches his eye, and I turn around. Near the empty launch tubes, the men who’d gathered earlier have formed a tired semi-circle and seem to be discussing something important. One man—the shortest and most wrinkled—clears his throat and hums a single tone. With the angelic harmony of a choir, the small enclave begins to sing.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me;
Still all my song would be nearer, my God, to Thee!
Allen straightens up, his back braced against the impact to come. His expression is calm, but his eyes are glazed. He catches me watching him.
“Go.” His tone is encouraging, confident, as if in this moment he’s instilling in me all the hopes and dreams of happiness that he had harbored for himself. Just as I had watched Chandler go, desiring only the best for him and his new life, Allen now offers me the same blessing.
Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I’d be nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
“Marie wanted you to know…” I struggle to recall her exact words. “That she’ll always treasure the days with you at the seaside. She wanted you to be happy.” It isn’t an eloquent eulogy, but it’s what he needs to hear.
His eyes close and a single tear slides down his cheek. It shatters his calm countenance; his face contorts in sorrow. “Thank you.”
There let the way appear steps unto heav’n
All that Thou sendest me in mercy giv’n;
I hold out the Wormhole. “I wish…”
Allen raises a hand. He shakes his head. He’s faced death before, but this time he’s prepared.
Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
My thumb finds the ridge of the device’s button. I study it, trying to read it like a crystal ball. What future waits for me back in 2012?
Or if on joyful wing, cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upwards I fly,
Allen steps back, the same awe and wonderment filling his eyes as the first time he watched me disappear in 1912. This time he won’t follow. It was his own choices that led him here. Acceptance sits nobly upon his brow as he joins in the final lines:
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
I press the button and feel the familiar tingle of the earth giving way beneath me, the nauseating pressure that reminds me I’m not really where I belong, that another time is calling me home. Tears flood my eyes.
My gaze meets his. He smiles gently. The tug at my heart is only outweighed by the omnipotent tug of time, pulling me away from the eruption of light and sound that rips through my senses. Is it the fabric of time or the final death cry of the Continuum? All I know is that I’ll never forget it.
THE PRESENT
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:
April 15, 2012
The shining world of the future spins away. Those dark eyes, filled with weary acceptance are burned into my eyelids. In another time, under different circumstances, could he have been happy? Was it our interference that led him to that end? The uncertainty gnaws at me.
Suddenly, there’s gray carpet beneath my head. I must’ve been more distracted than I thought; I never lose my footing on Extractions anymore. Piles of notebooks and papers surround me. Familiar, and definitely not the TUB headquarters.
A pair of loafers leaps out from behind the desk. Dr. Wells’ face is creased with worry, but I couldn’t be more relieved to see him.
“Elise! Thank goodness!” He helps me up, studying my features for clues. “Something went wrong.”
I flop onto the edge of a chair, even now mindful not to disturb his piles. I don’t know how to feel. I’ve failed TUB. I’ve failed PITTA. I’ve failed Dr. Wells, and I’ve broken the Rules I held sacred. Despite all of that, I don’t regret what I’ve done.
“I failed.”
Over the next half hour, I recount the events of my trip. I tell him what happened to me and Chandler over the past days and how it’s changed everything.
“And then you Extracted back here,” Dr. Wells says when I’ve finished.
“But how? The Wormhole was supposed to take me to TUB’s headquarters.”
“I had to ensure that you found your way here before TUB got a hold of you, so I reprogrammed your Wormholes. I wasn’t sure it would work or that I’d have the time to complete the reprogramming, so I left you the warning message in case.”
Should I be offended that my boss and mentor, who relied on me for so many cases in the past, didn’t think I’d be able to complete this task? Then again, he programmed both devices back here. He’d known more than I’d thought.
I reach into my pocket and pull out Chandler’s letter, pressing it open onto the table. “You warned him.”
“I had no idea how this would turn out. I slipped it in his pocket before he Jumped the second time. I didn’t know they’d send a Retriever after him.”
“I don’t suppose… Couldn’t we still make things right somehow, for everyone? Allen, too? I mean, we do have a time machine.”
Dr. Wells turns to me, the pain on his face fresh and raw. “Don’t you see? It’s already done.”
“So it’s unchangeable? What about free will? Personal choice? Is everything really fated to happen?” Bitter tears sting my eyes as I recall Allen’s last moments.
“No, no.” He holds up a hand. “The decisions we make dictate the life we lead. We each made our choices here: me, Agent Chandler, and you. And from what you’ve told me, I’m proud of the ones you made.”
But now what? I have to get away before TUB discovers me, but I have nowhere to go. I can’t hide from them forever. “If only I could disappear into the past.”
“Let’s think this through.” The creases on his face deepen. “I’ll convince TUB to Jump the next Retriever to somewhere on Earth’s surface, instead of Jumping to the Continuum itself. He will report what happened to the colony, and that will settle it. They’ll assume you and Agent Chandler perished in the disaster. We can provide you a new identity…”
“And if they suspect we escaped? They’re not just going to give up, are they?”
Dr. Wells sighs. “No, I’m afraid you’re right. They eliminated Mike because of what he knew of their secret project; from what you’ve told me, you know even more than he did.”
“And this will be the first place they’ll look for me. I have to leave.”
“Come then,” he says resignedly. “One more choice.”
In the Jump preparation room, Dr. Wells opens the door of my wardrobe. I touch the wool, silk, cotton, and linen items, each one calling to mind a particular place and time. I weigh the pros and cons of each.
“Here.”
When I see what Dr. Wells is holding, my stomach drops. I take the navy blue traveling gown from him, carefully checking the skirts for any residual dampness from my recent dip in the Southampton harbor.
“Don’t you think I ought to go further back? Won’t it be safer?”
“You know the Gilded Age better than you do the present, and I doubt TUB would be able to pick you out from among all the other new immigrants. It will work. I know.” When I look into his eyes, I see a certainty there I wasn’t expecting. “I always knew I’d have to give you up at some point. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon.”
