Chapter 7
2057 A.D.
Time Immersion Corporation Ivan dropped into the chronsole chair, signaling a shift change.
How’s it going?
Not great, Ralph replied. Six out—four tourists, two Rovers.
We got an issue in ’88.
Thad crossed to the chronsole desk. That’s incorrect, Hamilton. The total is five out, their boss interjected. Stone came back in.
Ralph shook his head. Not from what I’m seeing. The log shows Chris is still in ’88. His last update––
The log hasn’t been updated. He came in last night.
That didn’t wash. The chron logs were updated every quarterhour.
Before Ralph could protest, he felt a kick at ankle-level from Ivan.
The logs have been running slow. They’re about a day behind now, he explained.
The hell they are. My mistake, Ralph said, casting a glance toward the kid.
Hey, it happens, Ivan said, shrugging.
Thad made an approving noise. That’s settled, then. You’re off-duty, Hamilton. The martinet turned on a heel and marched away.
So I am, Ralph murmured. And you’re a lying SOB.
A furtive nod came from Ivan.
Keep an eye on Cynda. Things are going wrong there, Ralph whispered as he bent to collect his backpack.
I will. Something small tumbled into the pack from above.Read the file once you’re out of here, the kid said.
I will. Thanks.
Later.
Ivan’s nanodrive delivered a succinct warning; scuttlebutt was that all the Senior Rovers’ apartments would be confiscated at eight the next morning. Those poor unfortunates who were in residence would be evicted. Those on assignment would return to find their domiciles locked down, their possessions discarded.
Providing they ever got home. According to Ivan, the chron logs were being altered to avoid governmental fines. There were at least five Rovers in the Time Stream, including Chris. All indications pointed toward TIC orphaning the lot of them and hiding their crime by sanitizing the paperwork.
Bastards.
Ralph waited for the LuggageBot to wheel itself into the center of Cynda’s stark apartment. If a person’s life could be judged by the amount of their personal possessions, Jacynda Lassiter was a phantom of someone’s imagination. Clearly, she didn’t see this as home. In retrospect, the piece of luggage was more than he needed. A good-sized box would have covered it.
While he packed her sparse wardrobe, he cycled through the Vid-Net Mail messages, deleting the sales pitches as he went. She always kept Chris’ communications, and Ralph understood why.
They were funny. Every time Chris returned from an assignment, he’d send a message to Cynda. Some included naughty limericks based on the time period he’d just visited. Others were frankly pornographic. All were hilarious.
End of message queue, the computer announced. Delete all?
Ralph hesitated. Negative, he said. State date of last message from CStoneRover.
Twenty-first June, 2057.
No message received last evening?
Negative.
Check status of CStoneRover mailbox.
Mailbox full. Mail last downloaded twenty-first June.
A week ago. Thad’s lie didn’t hold water. Ralph sighed. Being right wasn’t always pleasant.
Send all messages from CStoneRover to SilverHairGeek, he ordered, forwarding them to his mailbox. Cynda would want them. He suspected she’d be bunking with him until TIC revived or died an unnatural death. The latter was the odds-on favorite.
Messages forwarded, the computer reported.
Delete remainder.
Deleted.
And just to annoy TIC, Lock account. It would take the geeks a while to hack the password, only to find the account was empty.
Account locked.
Ten minutes later, Ralph tucked Ferret Fred into his pocket and shut the apartment door behind him. When Cynda gave him the apartment’s pass code, she’d joked that he might need it if something bad happened to her. Make sure Fred gets a good home, she’d said.
God, I hope it doesn’t come to that.