“Jan, there are a lot of moving parts here,” he says. “I’m doing my best and I’m still drowning. You being you doesn’t help. So please, make my life a tiny bit easier.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Because for some reason, the memory that comes back to me right now is being three weeks out on the job, me and Allyn junior agents, blowing off steam with some co-workers at a bar, and we ran into each other in the hallway, him going to the bathroom and me coming back. He gave me that look, the one every man wears when he’s four beers into the night and he sees a woman by herself. He asked if I wanted to get another drink somewhere quiet. When I told him I was gay, I expected the same reaction you get whenever you’re a woman who says you’re into women—you become repulsive or you become a challenge. Allyn just smiled and apologized, and we carried on after that like it never happened.
Plus, he did save my ass back in 1945.
Allyn joins me in laughing, though he’s not sure why. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “Just, I know I can be a lot. You’re a good friend.”
“Shit, a compliment from January Cole? Am I dying?”
“I’ll be good,” I tell him, putting my hand on his arm. “C’mon. Let’s go get yelled at by rich people.”
“You go ahead,” he says, holding up his phone. “Few more calls to make, and then we meet the last of the VIPs. And, January…thank you.”
I pat him on the arm and head for the lobby, hoping my trust isn’t misplaced.
* * *
—
The departure-arrival screen is lit up red. That’s new. New things happening all over. I do not like it.
QR3345—Ancient Egypt—CANCELED
RZ5902—Battle of Gettysburg—CANCELED
ZE5522—Triassic Period—CANCELED
HU0193—Renaissance—CANCELED
This isn’t going to help the mood among the guests. It’ll be a fun distraction from the rest of this nonsense, up to and including the fact that I’ve got a bullet marked for my brain. Which raises an interesting thought experiment: I had already considered the ramifications of keeping my John Doe out of death’s path, back when I thought seeing his corpse was just a glimpse of the future.
But close as Grayson was standing, he’d have to have been half drunk and blind to not make that deposit directly into my dome. Of course, I don’t want him to. But am I destined to die? If I dodge out of the way, take the gun, and feed it to him, will the universe course-correct, and then I’ll fall in the tub the next day and break my neck?
Would saving my own tail risk damage to the timestream?
Would the safe and smart thing be to accept my death?
How does the look-don’t-touch policy apply going forward instead of back?
Or does it even matter?
Time travel!
I hate to say it, but there’s more important shit to worry about in this moment than the potential end of my life.
No sign of Teller or the prince, so I may as well check into the crowding issue. I go looking for Cameo, who I find ducking through the front doors of the hotel, not even caring enough about appearances to go out one of the service doors. I tell Ruby to wait and follow them.
It’s cold outside, but not bitter. The snow is coming down hard, but the air is still, so the snow floats in lazy circles on its way to the ground. Narrow pathways are cut underneath the overhangs, the most trodden one leading over to the standing ashtray. The sky is a heavy blanket of gray, and the vista, which on a sunny day can be quite nice, is washed out. The circular drive is covered with snow, plowed a short time ago but already filling back up. The fields rolling away from the hotel are white curves that accentuate the squat gray buildings and flashing lights of Einstein in the distance.
Cameo is standing by the ashtray, tense against the cold, a cigarette clamped in their lips. They see me and give a pained little smile, then pluck the cigarette free, holding it up.
“You still quit?” they ask. “Or about ready for a relapse?”
I can feel the tug of it. That slavish devotion to smoking never goes away. Lucky for me I had the best kind of aversion therapy.
“Not enough nicotine in the world right now,” I tell them. “What’s the story indoors?”
“The story indoors is that the world is coming to an end,” they say. “That is, if you ask any of our guests. Flights are officially canceled until further notice. Something is up. Not that anyone is telling us a damn thing. And now…” They wave the cigarette toward the drive.
There’s one car headed away, slowly, navigating the snow. Another seems to have spun off a bit down the road, but not far enough they need help.
“Lots of people headed on the tram back to the timeport right now,” Cameo says. “Get while the getting is good. But the closest airports are Rochester and Syracuse and those are both an hour with no snow or traffic.” They take a deep drag, exhale a large plume of smoke. “Getting might not be good anymore. With all the Einstein staff on their way in, we’re talking about cots.”
My stomach drops. “Where?”
“I thought maybe the meeting rooms?”
“Well, we can’t do the meeting rooms, because they’re still setting up downstairs for this stupid summit.”
“So where do you suggest we put them?”
“There are plenty of alcoves on the second or third floor accessible to bathrooms,” I tell them. “And there’s the gym.”
“What if people want to use the gym?”
I sigh, fold my arms. “Well, thanks for ruining my day.” It builds up in me, the pressure making my skin bulge, and then it comes out. “We’re at DEFCON Level Holy Shit. You didn’t think, Oh well maybe this isn’t the best idea? C’mon.”
I know I shouldn’t be dropping this on Cameo, and there’s a little voice in the back of my head—stop, no, what are you doing—but it’s not as loud as the voice currently scorching my throat. Thirty seconds of serenity after my talk with Allyn and we’re back to the damn churn.
“Excuse me.” Their eyebrow is arched into a knife blade. “I did not ruin a thing. External forces are intruding and it’s up to us to address them.”
They flick the cigarette into a pile of snow, where the cherry sizzles and dies. “I get it, sweetie. You loved her. We loved her too. And sure, yours was a different kind of love. But it was all love nonetheless. We all feel the vacuum she left behind. Maybe instead of being such an asshole about it, you can remember that this is a thing we all share.”
I know there are many right answers to this.
I’m sorry.
You’re right.
Thank you.
My anger is misdirected and I’m taking things out on you that I shouldn’t.
Instead I say, “This isn’t about that.”
“Everything you do and say is about that. And that, my love, is the problem.”
I spin on my heel. “I have to find Reg so we can fluff a bunch of trillionaires. Oh, and Ruby was supposed to send you a note about this but there’s some kid running around the hotel without their parents. Find out who they are. I don’t need it getting eaten by a dinosaur.”
“Hey.”