Now, Then, and Everywhen (Chronos Origins) Page 9

  “I said it was an extrapolation. Do you have a better explanation?”

  Lorena begins talking rapidly, pulling in quantum entanglement, Schrödinger’s cat, thermodynamics, and a whole bunch of other stuff that might as well be ancient Greek. When she finally pauses for breath, I cut in.

  “Do you think I should stop using the key?”

  Alex considers my question for a moment. “No,” he says, finally. “Although I do think you need to be more cautious until we have a better idea how the time travel works.”

  This is the first time that Alex has actually acknowledged that I’m time traveling. I smile to myself, partly because it feels like a victory, but also because I was a little afraid that he was going to say I should stop using the key. My curiosity has been piqued, and it would be hard to stick it into a drawer and just forget about it. I will definitely avoid crossing my own timeline, though. June was totally right about the headaches that can cause, and even if it seems likely that I would continue to win out in this quantum Darwinism contest, I’m not too keen on taking the chance.

  “The biggest problem,” he continues, “is that it would be a whole lot easier for me to figure out how it works if I could take it apart. And . . . that’s kind of risky when it’s the only one we have.”

  “But according to that book Madi showed us, you invented the thing,” RJ says.

  “Wrong,” Alex says. “According to the book Madi showed us, we invented it. Me, you, and Madi. Maybe you need to read up on temporal physics so you can answer these questions yourself.”

  “Yeah, right,” RJ says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be handling the marketing and grant applications. I’m guessing Madi is the historical side of the equation. That leaves the science stuff up to you, Cuz. And Lorena, assuming there’s a genetic component.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to turn the device over to Alex’s department?” Lorena asks. “I mean, no offense, Alex, but you’re just a postdoc. There are people there with more experience and maybe . . .”

  RJ is shaking his head vehemently. “Spoken like a true academic. Which isn’t a bad thing in general. But it’s horrible advice if Madi ever wants to turn a profit on this.”

  “They’d also take all the credit for the discovery,” Alex says. “This is the research opportunity of a lifetime, and it’s exactly in my field. No way am I turning it over to someone else.”

  “Plus, they’d probably try to copyright Madi’s DNA,” Jack says. “Which doesn’t seem fair to me.”

  A shadow crosses Lorena’s face. Their odd couples-telepathy thing must have its limits, though, because RJ doesn’t seem to catch it. He leans forward and says, “Here’s the deal as I see it. You can probably sell this thing right now and offer yourself up as a research subject. But you’ll make a whole lot more—and have more control over how it is used—if you can find a way to replicate it and lock down the rights. You need to present it as a total package. Not just the technology itself, but also historical locations that are already scouted out. Like the list you had earlier, but a more comprehensive log of stable points.”

  “That’s true,” Alex says. “At a bare minimum, we need to understand the science behind it. And I’m kind of afraid that handing things off to someone else would create a conundrum if the book is correct and we’re supposed to be the ones who make this discovery.”

  I rub my temples, where a dull headache is forming. “How can we be the ones who develop the technology when I just dug it up in the garden? What if the book only says we discovered the technology because we stole it?”

  Alex shrugs. “Could still cause a conundrum, since it would change the historical record.”

  “Unless the book is forged,” Jack tells him. “Which you seemed pretty sure of the other day when Madi first pulled it out of that drawer.”

  “I’ve had time to think it over since then. I have a theory about this that builds on an earlier project that was abandoned nearly a half century ago. So I think the book is probably legit.”

  “Well, as I said before,” RJ says, “I don’t understand a damn thing about the tech side. I am excited about the potential, but, obviously, it’s your call, Madi. And your grandmother’s, I guess.”

  Technically, he’s right, since the key was found on Nora’s property. But she told me to toss it with the rest of the trash. And since my grandmother couldn’t see the orange light, I’m pretty sure she can’t use it to time travel.

  The one thing I do know for certain is that Nora will adamantly oppose any future travels on my part if she knows about the key. As my grandmother, she’ll put my safety over her financial situation. And this really is about her finances. I’ll be okay either way. I’m twenty-three, and in good health. As long as I’m able to finish my research, someone will be interested in the definitive biography of James Lawrence Coleman. It might not support me for the rest of my life, but I can find a job once I have my degree. Nora, on the other hand, is too old to start over. She made a career of volunteering, serving on philanthropic boards and the like, and her pension is miniscule. And even though it’s not rational, even though I’m not my mother and not responsible for her bad financial decisions, I still feel a degree of personal responsibility for Nora’s current situation.

  Simply put, I’d like to try to restore some of the family assets that my mother lost. So, there’s really only one option.

  “I have power of attorney over all matters concerning the property and its contents. If there’s money to be made from this technology, I’m in. But given the current state of my finances, I can’t pay any of you for working on this. And . . . I need to retain a controlling interest. This really belongs to Nora, and I have to look out for her, too. The four of you could split the remaining forty-nine percent. Does that seem fair?”

  “More than fair,” Alex says. “I’d have taken less, to be honest. I just want to be part of this. The money’s not my top priority.”

  Jack seems hesitant. “It should be split three ways. I’m not a scientist. There’s really not much I can do to help.”

  “So?” I say. “I’m not a scientist, either. Neither is RJ. And while I don’t know about him, I can’t imagine any reality in which I could be a scientist. Math’s always bored me, and while I did well enough in science, it’s never been anything close to a passion. So my role in this must always have been as a historian.”

  “Same here,” RJ says. “There are only two reasons I’d be in that book. The most important is as a cover for Lorena’s involvement. And the second would be handling the sales side of things. Figuring out how to market this. Whether you even can market it.”

  “So not being a scientist isn’t a disqualifier, Jack. You’d be helping me with the history side. Plus, you’re the only other historian who knows about this medallion. If we’re going to start adding more stable points, like RJ suggested, then I’ll need your input. Otherwise, the locations are going to tilt heavily toward literary history. And even more importantly, I want someone else helping to assess whether there’s any historical . . . blowback, I guess? Changes. That’s not a minor task.”

  “Okay,” Jack says. “I’ll agree for now. But if we get into this and I’m not earning my keep, we’ll have to reassess.”

  RJ and Lorena engage in another one of their silent two-second discussions, and then Lorena says, “We’re both willing to work on this project in exchange for shares of the eventual sale of the technology. My role will have to be silent, though, given my job. I can simply say I’m helping RJ with a business project, if anyone asks, and it should be fine.”

  The others begin talking about business models and start-up costs, neither of which I had considered in much detail. It’s obvious that we’ll eventually have to pull in the government, but they all seem to favor delaying that for as long as possible, especially Alex.

  “We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with. I think . . .” Alex stops, looking around at the four of us. “This is in confidence, okay?
There are rumors at the institute about a project involving human time travel. It was years ago, and I’d have staked my life on them being just rumors, but . . . maybe not. I’ll see if I can find out more through the grapevine at work, but I don’t want to push so hard that people get suspicious.”

  RJ agrees. “We need to keep this under wraps until we understand how the device works and exactly what it can do. And that could take a while, since none of us really has extra cash stashed away to sink into a major business endeavor. I just finished my classes over the summer, so I’m only working part time right now. That’s good in the sense that I’ll have time to start writing up funding proposals, but not so good for our cash flow.”

  “There might be another way to free up a bit of cash,” I say a little hesitantly. “I could offer lodging, if any or all of you are interested. That would free up whatever you’re spending on rent to cover any equipment we need to acquire. This place has eight bedrooms, including one that’s a two-room suite, which you could set up as a nursery. Just something to consider. I totally understand if you guys want to keep your own places.”

  In fact, a little panicky voice in my head is hoping they’ll decide not to take me up on the offer. The house is definitely large enough that we’d still have privacy, but I don’t know RJ and Lorena that well. And I spoke without even considering how it might sound to Jack. Technically, I just asked him to move in with me. Him and four other people, but still.

  Alex says he’s not sure if he and Jack could get out of their rental agreement, but they might be able to find someone to sublease the apartment. RJ and Lorena are conferring, using actual words for a change, and it sounds like they’re seriously considering it. All of them say they’ll get back to me with an answer soon. On the business side, I have everyone transfer their full legal names, contact information, and thumbprints to Jarvis, my virtual assistant, and then ask him to draw up a basic partnership agreement for what we’re calling, at least for now, AJG Research. We’ll probably need a more in-depth agreement later, and definitely a catchier name, but this will at least get us started.

  It’s almost dinnertime when we finish, so we call it a night. Alex has plans in DC. Lorena and RJ need to get back to their daughter.

  “I guess I should go, too,” Jack says reluctantly, after the others leave. “You seem a little tired, and I should probably get some work done.”

  He’s right. I am tired. Maybe it’s just the sheer relief of having others confirm my sanity. Or maybe the time travel itself is draining. Either way, the slightly frantic energy I’ve felt all day has begun to drain away. I kind of want to curl up on the couch and watch something. Or maybe listen to a book.

  But I also need to get some work done.

  “Or,” I suggest, “we could order dinner and both work here? There’s plenty of desk space in the library, although we may have to clear away some junk.”

  Jack smiles. “Works for me.”

  After deciding on Thai and clearing away the glasses and whiskey, I show Jack the section of the library where I found the CHRONOS history. Then we head out back to wait for the aerobot delivery. I take a seat on the low brick wall that runs around the stone patio. Jack joins me, and we both just sit there for a moment, looking out at the large white oak tree that shades the right corner of the lawn. This is the first time we’ve actually been alone since that clumsy first kiss, and I feel intensely self-conscious, like a schoolgirl sitting next to her crush in an assembly. I find myself stealing quick glances at his profile. Jack has one of those faces that is all angles and planes, almost stern when he’s not smiling. The stubble along his jaw is a shade darker than his light-brown hair, and I have a strong urge to feel it against my palm.

  Apparently, I’m not the only one feeling awkward. We do that weird thing where both of us start to speak at the same time. Then we both laugh. And then silence looms again.

  This is stupid. I’m twenty-three, not thirteen. I’ve had two long-term relationships, one of which lasted nearly two years before we realized, at about the same time, that we had too little in common to make a go of it. Jack, who is four years older, mentioned a girlfriend in passing when we first met. In fact, I hadn’t been entirely sure that she was an ex-girlfriend until last week when we were at a bar with some people from the department and he said as much after someone made an offhand comment about long-distance relationships rarely working out.

  “Maybe we could have another go?” I say. “Only this time without the part where I miss your signals and we bump foreheads?”

  Jack smiles. “That sounds like an excellent plan. Except”—his eyes shift up toward the roof—“I think we have company.”

  A small silver drone maneuvers down to the bright-orange delivery mat near the patio door. I retrieve our noodles from the bag and press my thumb to the paypad. The drone beeps twice and heads off into the sunset. Then, Jack takes the containers from me, places them on the patio table, and pulls me into his arms.

  The kiss is better this time. Much, much better.

  “I can’t let you take all the blame for misreading me the other night,” he says when we pull apart. “There were some mixed signals on my end. I hadn’t entirely decided whether this was a good idea, and then . . . it sort of just happened.”

  I’m not quite sure how to take that, so I duck into the kitchen to grab the wine and two plates from the cupboard.

  “That came out wrong,” Jack says, following me inside. “I didn’t mean I was still undecided. What I meant was, when we were in the car . . .” He gives me a sideways grin. “It’s just that I didn’t want to mess things up. I actually like you.”

  “So . . . do you usually only kiss people you don’t like?”

  “No.” He laughs. “And you’re teasing me now, aren’t you? My point was that I didn’t want to mess up a perfectly good friendship, if you weren’t interested. And having had a breakup not that long ago . . .”

  “You’re not keen to rush in,” I say as I dish out the pad thai. “Makes sense.”

  I’m tempted to mention my proposal about everyone moving in here, since I’m a little worried he might have taken that the wrong way. But I can’t think of any way to broach the subject that doesn’t sound weird or presumptuous. So I opt instead for a bit of self-deprecating humor. “Anyway, it’s a relief to know that I’m not as hopeless at reading romantic signals as my grandmother seems to think.”

  “Nora or Thea?”

  I don’t remember ever mentioning my maternal grandmother by name, but Jack and I have had lunch and/or dinner together several times a week for the past few months. Even though I haven’t spent nearly as much time with Thea as I have with Nora, she’s a colorful person. I have a number of stories about her travels and her unending quest for spiritual enlightenment, so Thea must have sneaked into our conversation at some point.

  “Nora. I love her dearly, but she is . . . a bit much, sometimes. That’s true of both my grandmothers, actually, in totally different ways. Nora is a Nordic ice queen, who tries to out-British the British to make up for the fact that she wasn’t born there. She took my dad’s death really hard, but you’d never know it because ‘stiff upper lip’ and all that nonsense. And Thea is the polar opposite. I see her maybe once every three years. We go to dinner. She reads my palm or aura or whatever crazy stuff she’s into this year, and then takes off again, back to following some new guru around the world. She’s fun, but rather exhausting. So . . . what about your family? You’ve mentioned a sister, but . . .”

  “Not much to tell, really. They’re in California. My sister is in med school at Berkeley.”

  A cloud passes over his face as he speaks. There’s something he’s not sharing. But I can’t really expect him to bare his soul on the basis of two kisses, one of them badly bungled.

  After a minute, he continues. “Deciding to attend school on the East Coast was seen as a major act of rebellion. Add to that the fact that I’m the only person in two generations not to go into t
he military or some sort of scientific field, and I guess that makes me the black sheep of the Merrick clan.”

  “Studying history on the East Coast makes you a black sheep?”

  He laughs wryly. “Families are weird. What can I say? And I think that’s even more true of blended families. My stepmom is wonderful. We get along great, but she’s not my mom, you know? I think she wanted to be, or at least wanted to try to be, but I was at an awkward age. The one time she tried to draw me out, to get me to talk about missing my mom, I just couldn’t. She wouldn’t have understood, because all the things I missed were odd. Things that wouldn’t have made sense to anyone, that I’d have felt stupid even talking about back then. Even with my sister, Jenna, because she was only six when Mom died, and I think the memories faded faster for her. But every time my hair would fall into my eyes, I’d think about the way Mom used to tuck it back behind my ear. I hated it at the time, but later . . .” He shrugs. “There was also this sandwich she used to make with peanut butter, banana, and bacon, which probably sounds gross, but it’s good. And the fact that she actually kept a swear jar—do you know what that is?”

  I have a vague idea, but I shake my head. “Not really.”

  “It was this big jar she kept on the kitchen counter. Whenever anyone in the family said a bad word, they had to contribute a credit. The money went to charity at the end of the year. She said her grandma had one, and the first time she caught me cursing she decided to revive the tradition, because she knew that I was picking it up from her and, even more so, from my dad. She was mad at my dad one day and forked over twenty credits. Got her money’s worth, too.”

  “You’d like Nora,” I tell him. “She doesn’t have a swear jar, but she’d have enough to fund a charity all on her own if she did.”

  “So, how about you?” Jack asks. “What’s the one stupid thing no one else would understand that you miss most about your dad?”

  I don’t even have to think about it. “He had this nickname for me, from the time I was a toddler. He called me Mad Max. Or later, just Max. It was from an old movie. I was a daredevil as a kid. A bit of an adrenaline addict. I went for the highest diving board, the fastest amusement-park rides, and I always swam too far from shore. My mom hated the nickname—said Dad was encouraging me to take risks—so he never used it around her. It was just ours, the pet name he called me even after I grew out of my wild-child phase. And when he was gone, I realized that part of me was gone, too. That I would never be Mad Max again.”