Rewinder (10 page)

He flips one of the switches and I pull back, half expecting him to disappear.

With a chuckle, he says, “The battery cell was removed long ago. I like to keep it here, though. A reminder of the whens I’ve visited and the things I’ve seen.”

He picks it up, and without warning tosses it to me. It bounces off my hands as I’m reaching out, but I manage to snag it before it falls to the ground.

“That, Mr. Younger, is the most powerful thing on Earth,” he says. “In the wrong hands, can you imagine the devastation one of these could cause? Someone could go back and ensure someone else is never born. Or worse.”

Having traveled as much as I have, it’s easy to imagine the things someone could do—assassinating world leaders before they gain power, introducing technologies decades or centuries prior to their development, using knowledge of the past to increase one’s wealth in the present. I could spend hours writing a list and still not cover everything.

“That’s why the only person living outside our walls who knows of the Chasers and what they do is the king, and even his knowledge is limited to believing that we can only witness the past, not interact with it. If he knew the full extent of its abilities, well…”

With the experience and education I’ve gained at the institute, I can see the necessity of limiting the Crown’s knowledge, but I can’t stop the feeling of dread that grips my chest for holding knowledge back from the king. It’s a reaction rooted in how I was brought up, how all in the empire are brought up.

“You can see now that it’s imperative we guard against those who might attempt to obtain our secret,” Sir Gregory continues. “Abducting one of our members while he’s out for a walk would be a simple thing. We can’t expose institute personnel to that kind of danger. The Chaser and what it allows us to do must be protected at all costs.”

“So we’re imprisoned here.”

“The institute would never phrase it that way. The grounds are expansive, and you are one of the lucky ones. As a Rewinder, you get out all the time. Think of the others here—the companions, the administrative staff, the security officers. If anyone is imprisoned here,
they
are.”

Up until this afternoon, despite some of the lingering questions, I’ve never felt any doubts about joining the program. Now, I can feel them starting to creep in.

“You do understand, don’t you?” Sir Gregory asks.

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“And you’ll be able to live with these conditions?”

Do I have a choice?
“Absolutely.”

__________

I
FOCUS ALL
my energy on work so that I won’t think too much about what Sir Gregory has told me.

I’m aided in this by the project Johnston and I are assigned. It’s a comprehensive rewind of an old and influential Midlands family. Their ancestral lore speaks of deep roots in England, and while those are indeed there, lines also lead to German, Dutch, and—the family will not be pleased about this—French relatives.

It’s usually at night, as I’m waiting for sleep to take me, that my mind drifts in directions I don’t want it to go. Some nights I see myself running along the institute’s outer walls, screaming, “Let me out! Let me out!” Other nights, I see a dead Harlan Walker IV in his open casket, surrounded by bags of cash labeled Upjohn Institute, or Johnston balling up dozens of newspapers that he buries me in, or Palmer arching in pain over and over and over as he screams, “Denny!”

__________

I
T’S A BEAUTIFUL
spring evening and I’m taking advantage of it by reading a book in the back gardens. The topic is the Protestant reformation, a period I’ll be visiting on an upcoming assignment. It’s a dry subject not holding my interest, so the moment I hear loud footsteps, I look up and see Lidia racing out of the main building. I’ve seen her in foul moods before, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this angry.

When she nears the reflecting pool, she begins turning around as if she’s decided to go back inside, but then she spots me and makes a beeline in my direction.

“Did you know about this?” she asks as she nears me.

“About what?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about.”

“Go bother someone else, Lidia.” I look back at my book.

She points past me. “I’m talking about
that
!”

When I twist around, all I can see is the wide grass field and the distant institute wall.

As I turn back, she says, “How long have you known that we’re locked in here?”

So that’s it. She’s just had the talk with Sir Gregory. Despite the tension between us, I can’t help but feel some sympathy. “I was told only a few weeks ago. Before that I didn’t know, either.”

She gapes at me. “A few weeks ago? It didn’t cross your mind to
share
that information?”

“Before I left, Sir Gregory made me promise not—”

“I don’t care what he told you to do. You had an obligation to your fellow trainees. You should have told us as soon as you left his office!”

I consider letting her know she’s the first from the group I’ve seen since then, but it’d probably fall on deaf ears so I only say, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Her face twists so tight that I’m sure she’s about to unleash a torrent of rage on me, but then she takes a breath and looks toward the wall again. “My father won’t stand for this.”

Without another word, she whirls around and races back toward the main building.

I see her the next evening in the dining hall, sitting alone. The anger from the night before has been replaced by a distant stare. I know I should let her be, but her words about my obligation to my group have stuck with me. It’s the Eight in me, always feeling the need to do more for others than they do for me. So I stop at her table before collecting my meal.

“How are you doing?”

I’m not sure she’s heard me until she slowly tilts her head up. Her gaze is on me but I feel like she’s looking through me. “He already knew,” she whispers. “He arranged for me to be here, and he already knew.”

Her eyes remain on me for a few more seconds before she looks away and stares off at nothing again.

I ask if she’s all right but she doesn’t respond this time. I decide to let it be and retrieve my meal.

Lidia must have been talking about her father. But how would he have gotten her into the institute? I’ve been under the impression we’re all here because of our test scores. It’s clear, though, that she thinks he had a hand in it, and that he already knew she’d never leave once she’s inside. If that’s even partially true, I actually feel sorry for her.

As I eat my meal, I think things have gotten as strange as they could get.

But I’m wrong.

Two days later, in the prep room as I dress for a trip back to 1924, I find a note.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

T
HE NOTE IS
in the pocket of the trousers I’ll be wearing on my mission. I initially think it’s a piece of rubbish that somehow was missed by the support staff, but when I pull it out, I find it’s not all stuck together as if it’s been through the wash. It’s folded into a small square. Curious, I open it.

There are four lines of machine-printed type: my name on the first, a Chaser location number on the second, a date and time—
MARCH 16, 1982, 4:30 PM
—on the third, and the words
COME
DISCONNECTED ONLY
on the last.

I’ve no idea what the final line means, but it’s obvious someone wants me to travel to the coordinates.

As to who might have left it for me, the first person that comes to mind is Lidia. Perhaps she’s still furious with me for not telling her about our confinement and wants to take it out on me somewhere outside the institute’s grounds. But the last time I saw her, she was more in a state of resignation than fury.

Perhaps the note is some sort of institute test to see if I’m willing to make an unauthorized jump. We’ve been told that doing so without the knowledge of the mission staff is grounds for immediate reassignment.

I hear the door start to open so I slip the note back into my pocket, just as Johnston enters the room. Ten minutes later, we leave 2015 behind.

As we work, my mind drifts now and then back to the note in my pocket, but at least I’m smart enough not to pull it out. When we come back to our home time, I slip the note from one pair of trousers to the other as I change.

__________

B
ACK IN MY
room, I sit at my desk, staring intently at the note. I can’t deny I’m more than a little tempted to make the jump. But even after putting aside the questions of who gave me the coordinate and why the person wants me there, I’m confronted with a third unknown: If I were to make the trip, how would I do it without anyone at the institute knowing?

Any time I use my Chaser, my companion Palmer feels it and those who monitor him know I’ve gone somewhere. If I travel at an unscheduled time, Sir Wilfred will be informed and security will be waiting for me when I get back. Or, quite possibly, based on the fact we’ve been told our destination can be tracked, the guards may even come after me.

So, as tempted as I am to go, I see no way to make it work without putting my position in danger. I tuck the note away and try to forget about it.

Exactly one week later, I receive a second message.

__________

L
IKE THE ONE
before, the new message is machine printed.

If you want answers, go. Disconnect. It’s safe.

This is followed by a short list of instructions.

Disconnect
. There’s that word again. I try to recall if I’ve ever heard anyone at the institute use it, but nothing comes to mind. When I read the instructions, however, I finally understand what it means. The instructions concern making adjustments to my Chaser, but it’s the last line that explains it:

5. Once done, enter the coordinates and go. You are disconnected from your companion and cannot be traced.

My skin tingles from both fear and excitement. Thoughts of
do it
and
go
are matched in strength by ones like
the note is a lie
and
it can’t be safe
.

Even if I want to go now—which I’m not sure I do—I can’t. My next mission is about to start and Johnston’s already waiting by the door.

Today, our work takes us to Pittsburgh, 1971, in the business district near where the rivers meet. Johnston, as he often does, has told me to stay where I am while he checks ahead, so I’m blending in by leaning against the side of a building and reading a local newspaper I found on the ground.

It’s a nice day and a lot of people are out, walking along the sidewalk. None pay me the slightest bit of attention. That is, not until someone tugs at my arm.

I keep my eyes on the paper and pretend I haven’t noticed, hoping whoever it is will go away. But there’s a second pull, followed by a young boy’s voice saying, “Excuse me.”

Thinking he’s looking for a handout, I say, “I don’t have any change.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve talked to someone in the past, but the encounters are always unnerving, and, per training, I do everything I can to end them quickly.

“Who’s asking for money?” he says.

I move the paper to the side and take my first look at him. Though his clothes are not new, they’re relatively clean and there’s no dirt on his face or hands. Not a street kid.

“I’m busy,” I say, and start to open the paper again.

“I have a message for you. You want it or not?”

A message?
“You must have the wrong guy.”

“You’re Denny, right?”

I lower the paper all the way to my side. “Yeah.”

“So, do you want it?”

Johnston must be in trouble, I realize, and this is the only way he could reach me. “What is it?”

“They can’t track you if you go farther than ten years.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“They can’t track you if you go farther than ten years.”

“Who told you to tell me that?” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Who?”

I reach out to grab him by the shoulder but he jumps back.

“Hey, leave me alone.”

I step toward him. “I just want to know who it was.”

As he turns to run away, I notice we’re beginning to attract attention. My need to know who gave him the message struggles with my training to blend, and it takes all my will to move only a single step after him.

That’s when the boy stops and looks back. “Oh, yeah. One more thing. Disconnect and go!”

My feet sink into the cement sidewalk as he disappears down the street.

Perhaps, if I really want to play the fool, I could dismiss the first part of the boy’s message as coincidence. But there’s no way the last is.

Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know.

What I do know now is that I’m going to make the trip.

__________

I
CAN HARDLY
wait to get to my room when we return.

After I finally close and lock my door behind me, I dig out the note containing the instructions and set to work disconnecting my Chaser from my companion. It’s not difficult. Only two wires need to be decoupled and a third rerouted.

I check my work several times to make sure I did it right. The only way to know for sure, though, is to make the trip.

I enter the date and location information from the first note, key in an adjusted time, then stare at the device, my confidence wavering.

Should I really do this? Is it worth the risk?

My answer vacillates with every second, until, with yes
still in my head, I press the
GO
button.

As always, the world around me winks out and I’m shrouded in gray mist. What’s missing this time is the faint but ever-present sense that Palmer is there, too. As quickly as I register this, the mist is gone and the world of March 16, 1982 appears. The note told me to arrive at 4:30 in the afternoon, but, per my training, I’ve arrived thirteen and a half hours early at 3 a.m.