Now, Then, and Everywhen (Chronos Origins) Page 15

  Plus, some governments began adding package deals for priority professions. The bribe was a bit higher for those. My parents and grandparents invested a lot of money to get me into CHRONOS. That’s true of every historian in the program.

  But even though there are work-arounds, and all nations cheat to some extent, the underlying concept behind the IGAA is considered sacrosanct. Nobody wants another genetics war. Nobody wants to go back to a time where the divide between the enhanced and the unenhanced was so wide that it was hard for either side to consider the other fully human.

  “Saul’s family was fighting the Accords long before he was born,” Katherine says. “They tried to purchase multiple enhancements for him and his sister on the black market, but they couldn’t find a geneticist willing to do it. His grandfather and great-aunt are still involved in efforts to pull the Americas out of the agreement. Saul’s had a tough time breaking free from some of the beliefs that were drilled into him when he was a kid.”

  I’m not sure that Saul’s relationship with his family is nearly as strained as Katherine thinks. He’s one of the few historians who is an actual member of the Objectivist Club, and that membership is tied to the Rand family. They certainly haven’t cut him off financially. We’re all required to maintain quarters at HQ, but Richard says Saul frequently vacations at one of several homes his grandfather owns. And whether it’s in the form of direct bribes or family influence, someone has definitely pulled strings for him at CHRONOS.

  I don’t go into that, but simply note that Morgen Campbell is a well-known opponent of the Accords. “And he and Saul seem to be pretty chummy,” I add. “You were saying just last week that he spends way too much of his spare time gaming with Morgen.”

  “He does,” Katherine admits. “But I don’t think you can really call Morgen and Saul friends. They’re more like . . . opponents. Morgen’s obsessed with wealth. He thinks the person with the most cash and the most toys should run the world. But Saul understands that there are forces stronger than money. Religion, for example—he could have chosen pretty much any subfield, but that’s the one that fascinates him, because he’s seen what a powerful influence it can be. Saul’s interest in their simulations is to prove Morgen wrong. And, I think, in a way, to prove his parents wrong. To show that there are things more important than money.”

  Even though I don’t entirely buy what she’s saying, I do believe she believes it. And I like Katherine. I really don’t want to argue with her.

  “Okay. Maybe I misjudged him.”

  She smiles, then glances around the room nervously. “I shouldn’t have told you any of that. Saul would be furious. But I’m hoping maybe you could help Rich understand. We used to be close, but since I started dating Saul, things have been different between us. I completely understand that Saul is hard to like. He’s . . . spiky, like one of those prickly creatures up in Canada . . . What are they called?”

  “Porcupines?”

  “Exactly. Although, I guess that’s not the best analogy, since porcupines aren’t really ever not spiky.”

  “Except to their mates. Otherwise there would be no little porcupines.”

  Katherine gives me a little nod of admission. “True. But could you guys try to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if it’s possible that I’m the only one who sees his nonspiky side?”

  She’s not the only one—Saul’s pre-Katherine sexual exploits were extensive, and Rich claims the guy is still on the prowl every chance he gets. But I decide not to stir things up further.

  “You want some bread?” I ask, pushing the basket toward her. It feels weird eating when she’s not.

  “No, thanks.” Katherine blinks her eyes rapidly to switch on her retinal display, and we sit there silently for a few minutes as I eat and she scans through something I can’t see. Whatever she finds must annoy her, because she finishes off the last of her iced tea and gets up. “If you see Saul, could you tell him I decided to head home early? I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

  “Sure.”

  As she heads for the exit, I glance around and spot Evelyn and Timothy at the table next to Abel and Delia. Grabbing my food, I head over to join them so that I can pick their brains about auto repair.

  Timothy slides his plate a bit closer to his wife’s to make room for me. He looks amused. “Lots of drama today. You seem to be smack in the middle of it.”

  Evelyn glances toward the door that has just closed behind Katherine. “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah. I think so. Said she had a headache.”

  “Why did Richard let Saul on the project in the first place?” Timothy asks.

  “Same reason Saul gets away with most of his bullshit. Word came down from above. I’m pretty sure he pulled another one of his stunts in Memphis.”

  I explain the bet with Richard and Saul’s conversation with Reverend Stroud. “Of course, I can’t prove anything. Just Saul being Saul. I don’t know why Katherine puts up with him.”

  Timothy leans forward, a conspiratorial glint in his green eyes. “Actually, I have a theory about that.”

  “Oh, hush, Timo,” Evelyn says, rolling her eyes. “That’s just rank speculation.”

  He grins. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? You know the design team had to have given Tate Poulsen a testosterone boost or something. They tweaked all of us . . . some more than others. The vast majority of Katherine’s jumps—with or without Saul—are before the twentieth century, when women were expected to be meek. Subservient. It makes sense that designers might do something to make women traveling to that era fit in better. And Saul’s clearly attracted to the timid type.”

  Evelyn snorts. “You think Esther is timid? Saul Rand is attracted to any woman who’s attracted to him.”

  “Whoa,” Timothy says, as another thought occurs to him. “You just made my point. Only . . . backward. Esther’s work is with matrilineal societies, and some of them are societies where women are warriors, so . . . maybe that’s something they tweaked in both of them, just in different directions.”

  Evelyn gives a little shrug. “Okay, okay. It’s possible, I guess. But the idea that they would alter something like that bothers me. It feels inherently wrong. If they tampered with Katherine in that fashion, who’s to say they didn’t tamper with me? Or you? Maybe we’re only together because they found a way to increase my preference for green eyes and my tolerance for really bad jokes.”

  Timothy leans forward and gives her a quick kiss. “Then I owe the genetic-design team a huge debt of gratitude, don’t I?”

  She gives him a little smile. “I just hope for Richard’s sake that it’s not true. I keep hoping she’ll wake up and realize she has far better options. She deserves better than Saul.”

  I’m a little worried that they’re going to keep up the discussion on Rich’s feelings for Katherine, and even though they both seem to view his infatuation as a given, I don’t want to be the one to confirm it. So I shift the discussion over to 1960s cars and quickly discover that neither of them knows much more about auto repair than I do.

  “They have this thing called Triple A,” Timothy says. “You call them if your car breaks down.”

  “But no mobile phones for . . . what? Three more decades?”

  Evelyn shrugs. “Pay phones in the cities, though. We’ve only made a few trips into the more rural areas. Never a good idea to get too far away from your stable point. What has you worried about car repair, anyway?”

  I could tell them. It’s not like I’ve broken any rules, and I trust them not to say anything to Angelo or the board. But given that Evelyn seems to have picked up on Rich’s feelings for Katherine, I think it’s possible she’ll also guess that my reasons for being a little anxious about the Ohio trip are in part due to a girl. And I’d really prefer not to go into that right now.

  “I was just wondering how I’d deal with it if it happens. There was a car broken down in Memphis when we were there, and I was kind of curious.”

  We fin
ish eating and then mingle with the others for a bit. Delia tells an amusing story about this guy they met in 1939 Georgia who claimed to be clairvoyant. That leads to another story about a purported psychic in Amsterdam, and someone asks if any of the earlier cohorts had gone back to the sixteenth century to interview Nostradamus. And that somehow segues into a comparison of witch trials. Shaila, who focuses on Islamic cultures, mentions a witch panic in the mid-2000s that swept through Saudi Arabia and a few other countries, and that leads to the next thing. It’s the sort of free-flowing conversation we can’t have in the team meetings, but it’s probably even more important in terms of helping us decide which eras and events to study.

  Afterward, on my walk back to HQ, my mind returns to Timothy’s theory about Katherine. The possibility that she might be with Saul, in part, because of something the design team inserted into her genetic code shouldn’t really come as a surprise. They alter everything else. I’m one of the few who can look at my parents and see anything of myself in their faces. Katherine is blond with blue eyes, a far cry from the Asian features of her mother, who is a technician at CHRONOS, or her father, whose race is as mixed as the average person on the street. That’s true for the vast majority of agents.

  I won’t say I’ve never thought about the differences between the periods we study and now. Back then everything about you—your entire mental, physical, and emotional makeup—was shaped by your family tree and your environment. Life spans were shorter and congenital diseases were still rampant. Genetic modifications have helped millions of people live better lives.

  If your one enhancement is the CHRONOS gene, though, everything about you is fair game for alteration. Appearance. Intelligence. Language aptitude.

  But I’ve always believed that underneath all that, my personality, the core of what makes me Tyson Everett Reyes, would have been basically the same even if my assignment and my chosen gift had been something entirely different from CHRONOS.

  Now I’m wondering if that’s true.

  And if they tweaked that, too, then what part is really me?

  FROM THE NEW YORK HOURLY INTREPID (MAY 3, 2111)

  Supreme Court Rules in Favor of Genetically Enhanced Ballerina

  The Chicago Ballet must pay damages and reinstate a dancer who inherited a genetic enhancement from her father, the Supreme Court says, in a ruling that may have a ripple effect on other enhancement cases.

  Marla Wembley, twenty-seven, had been with the ballet for four years when it was discovered that her father was genetically enhanced. Lawyers for Ms. Wembley noted that the enhancement her father received prior to birth was for gymnastics, not ballet. During her years of training for her career as a dancer, she was unaware of his enhancement, due in part to the fact that an injury as a teen ended his career.

  The lower court agreed with the Chicago Ballet’s position that regardless of how the alteration was marketed to Ms. Wembley’s grandparents, it would have resulted in a general enhancement in physical ability.

  In the 8–3 decision handed down on Friday, the Supreme Court reversed that decision, arguing that the earlier ruling was a violation of Wembley’s rights under the Equal Protection Clause.

  ∞10∞

  MADI

  BETHESDA, MARYLAND

  NOVEMBER 10, 2136

  I step to the edge of the pool and dive into the warm water as the music begins. Jarvis is now sufficiently trained to sort out why I’m swimming, based on my heart rate and general demeanor. If I’m already relaxed, he plays a mellow mix. If I’m down here because I need to exhaust my muscles in order to have any hope of sleeping that night, he selects something that will keep me moving at a rapid pace.

  That pace was rapid enough for me to place first in my age group for swim team every single year I competed. I’ve always been proud of that. Proud of the fact that I worked hard and accomplished my goal. But maybe I had an unfair advantage. Maybe all of those ribbons and trophies should have gone to someone else.

  It’s almost enough to make me get out of the pool. To go in search of something else to get my mind off the news Lorena gave me. That bottle of bourbon in the library is sounding pretty good right now.

  Instead, I concentrate on the up-tempo mix of drums and bass pounding through the pool speakers—an excellent call on Jarvis’s part. I try to empty my mind of everything except the music and the water around me and focus on matching my stroke to the beat.

  Nora has complained more than once about the expense her father incurred in catering to the whims of his much-younger second wife. This pool is just one example of many in her litany of ways that Raquel Coleman was spoiled rotten. I suspect that converting two-thirds of this basement into a swimming pool wasn’t cheap, but I’m glad Raquel got her way. This is my favorite place in the entire house. It’s my retreat, my cave—warm, with cozy amber lights and the slight tang of salt in the air.

  The library on the top floor is magnificent, and I’m enough of a bibliophile that it might edge out the pool for my favorite place, under normal circumstances. But the library is also a reminder of work I need to be doing. And, as of today, it’s a reminder of how very much I do not know about my family. About myself.

  Jack called about an hour after Lorena left, asking if I wanted to do something later. I debated crying off, maybe claiming a headache. It’s actually true, after Lorena’s news, but it’s also a bit of a cliché excuse. And I do want to see him. I need to talk to someone about what Lorena told me. As nervous as I am about revealing the results of the DNA test, if I don’t talk this through with somebody, I’m going to go crazy. Jarvis isn’t an option. He’d just parrot back what he thinks I want him to say.

  Although that actually might be informative right now. My mind is in such a state of turmoil that I have no earthly idea what I’d want him to say.

  I considered calling Nora, or my mother. If my dad were still alive, I probably would have called him. But then if my dad were alive, would I even be here? Almost certainly not. I’d be finishing up my degree in Dublin. There would be no money worries, or at least nothing like we’re facing now. Matthew Grace wouldn’t have gambled everything on a few closely related investments. He would have diversified, because he wasn’t a fucking idiot.

  But maybe I’m not the best judge of that, since I didn’t really think my mother was an idiot, either. If I’d thought she would do anything so colossally stupid, I would have handled the family finances myself, even though numbers and investments really aren’t my strong suits. I’ve tried to convince myself she was just so distraught over my father’s sudden death that she made bad decisions. His death came as a complete shock to all of us. He was in seemingly perfect health when I’d visited the week before. We’d even talked about taking a hiking trip at Glendalough, just the two of us, like we did a few times when I was in high school. And then I got the call. His heart had simply stopped.

  I know my mother was upset. She loved him. But she volunteered to take over the finances, saying the activity would help keep her occupied. And then she went barreling down a direct path to financial ruin. She couldn’t have made worse financial decisions if that had been her actual goal.

  So, calling Mom is something I tend to avoid these days. When we do talk, half of the time she spends the entire call telling me how sorry she is for screwing everything up. The other half of the time she spends the entire call telling me that it’s not her fault. I wish she’d just pick one and be done with it.

  And I don’t want to worry Nora. Fear plays a very big role in that. Her son’s heart stopped without warning, and he was thirty years younger than she is. I can’t stand the thought of losing Nora, too.

  I do know that I’ll eventually have to talk to both of them about this. I can’t fathom a scenario where at least one of them didn’t know I’m enhanced. But tonight, I need moral support more than I need confrontation. So instead of making excuses to Jack, I opted for middle ground. He’s bringing takeaway and his swimsuit. And hopefully by the time
he arrives I’ll have completed enough laps to burn off most of my nervous energy.

  Most of the time, I find my stress evaporating after only a few laps. Today, however, reality keeps creeping back in, accompanied by a tiny, incessant worm of panic. I keep having to yank my mind back to the rhythm and the water, as I propel myself toward the amber light at the shallow end of the pool. Flip, twist, and back to the other end, counting off another lap each time I turn to the end of the pool where one of the lighting panels is off-kilter and the light shines much brighter.

  Flip, twist, swim, repeat.

  The music stops abruptly somewhere around lap twenty-five. Normally, I’d know the number for certain, but I lost count a few times as my mind drifted.

  “Jack Merrick has arrived, mistress,” Jarvis announces in his clipped accent as I surface. “Shall I tell him to join you?”

  I say yes and push myself up to the pool’s edge. A moment later, I hear footsteps at the top of the stairs.

  “Madi? Are you there?”

  “Yes. Come on down.”

  Jack squints around for a moment when he reaches the bottom. Then he places the pizza on the poolside table, which I’ve already laid with plates, glasses, and a bottle of wine.

  “Isn’t it kind of dark in here?” he asks.

  “A little, I guess.” It doesn’t really seem all that dark to me, but I tell Jarvis to increase the lighting by 30 percent and to switch from my swim tunes to dinner music.