Hannah gaped with revelation. “Oh, that’s what it was.”
Upon receiving a roomful of glassy stares, she described the first person she met on this world, a pony-haired teenage activist who sat outside a supermarket, urging a stop to pet extensions. Hannah finally knew what the term meant, but she couldn’t understand the controversy.
“There are people out there who see all forms of time manipulation as unnatural,” Quint explained. “Even unholy. And then there are other, more rational individuals who simply believe that animals, like people, have a right to die with dignity. When you consider that the oldest dog in America is currently forty-one years old, it’s hard to dismiss their argument.”
David whistled in wonder. “Forty-one. That’s amazing.”
“It’s awful,” said Mia. “You’d think that poor dog would want to die at this point.”
Quint shook his head. “Keep in mind that reversal is total. When you undo a year of life, you undo a year of memories. From the dog’s perspective, he’s merely reliving the same year over and over. He’s frozen at a mental age of ten.”
“Huh. Just like Zack.”
Half the room erupted in chuckles. Zack wagged a wry finger at Hannah. “Well played. Well timed. I hate you, but kudos.”
Theo clenched his fists until they throbbed. He was two bombshells away from structural collapse, and yet the others seemed to be handling it just fine. Why aren’t they freaking out? Why am I the only one ready to scream?
Unamused by Zack and Hannah’s silliness, Quint motioned Charlie Merchant to the stage. The slender young physicist looked slightly ridiculous in his blue rubber suit. Insulated wires connected his thick gloves to a small electronic console on his back. The Silvers watched in quiet bemusement as he wrapped a dangling hood over his head and snapped a clear bresin guard-mask over his face.
Hannah winced with concern. “He’s not about to get younger, is he?”
“No,” Quint replied. “You in particular will appreciate what he’s about to do.”
Charlie pressed a button on his glove. The device on his back whirred to life. A mesh of glowing blue lines appeared on his suit. Before the Silvers could process the odd display, he dashed back and forth across the stage—fifty feet each way, five times in each direction.
He did this all in a blurry six seconds.
The guests gaped as he came to a panting stop. Wisps of steam rose from his shoulder blades.
“The device Charlie’s wearing on his back is called a shifter,” Quint explained. “The outfit itself is called a speedsuit. As you’ve no doubt gathered, the gear doesn’t imbue the wearer with any special motor skills. It merely creates a temporic field in which time is accelerated. What was six seconds to us was a full minute to Charlie.”
Quint patted the young man’s shoulder. “Thank you. You can go change.”
Hannah watched Charlie exit. “God. Is that what I look like when I do it?”
“It is,” Quint told her.
“And is there one of those in every house also?”
“No. Speedsuits are expensive and difficult to maintain. But the technology isn’t limited to clothing. A temporic shift can be generated in any enclosed space. There are special cinemas where you can watch a two-hour movie and yet only lose twenty minutes of your day. Restaurants have special booths where a busy diner can enjoy a leisurely lunch in minutes. The technology’s been around for over three decades. Most of us can’t remember a time when our personal day was fixed at twenty-four hours.”
“How far can it bend time?” Zack asked. “I mean, is it possible to squeeze a year into a day?”
“No. By federal law, no shifter can go beyond twelve times normal speed, or 12x, as they call it. And there are limits, both legal and physical, to the number of consecutive hours one can spend in a shifted state. In most places, the cap is twenty.”
Amanda looked to Hannah with fresh concern. “What’s the danger of going beyond those limits?”
“That’s a source of endless debate,” Quint responded. “Aside from the small bouts of resistance one might encounter when tampering with their body’s natural clock, some psychologists believe the human mind can only handle so much disruption to its natural cycle without suffering . . . issues. Most of their concerns are either theoretical or anecdotal.”
Neither Given took comfort in Quint’s assurance. Great, thought Hannah. Now she’s going to treat me even more like a time bomb.
Moving on, Quint retrieved a small object from a display table. It looked like a ten-inch dinner candle without the wick.
“There are other forms of temporis that are specific enough in application to earn their own names. One of them . . .”
Pressing a button at the base of the candle caused a floating white flame to appear.
“. . . is lumis.”