“You! You saved us. Me and Gram and Imogen and—” Far’s voice cracked. His eyes darted to the tea stand, where chai was being poured. “This whole world. All of history.”
None of these statements were true in their entirety. Early history had its holes: The morning of Far’s death was gone, along with the hours he’d visited pre-dating it. When Eliot tried to retrieve Berossus’s Babylonaica from Alexandria’s burning library for Lux-baiting purposes, the Fade’s tear forced her to land too late. She found the smoke impassable. The past steadied out, post–pivot point, for this was a different world. Every time after 95 AD remained as it was, unfaded. The Titanic sank; Las Vegas sparkled. CTMs landed without a hitch, collecting bees and seeds and history to revitalize Central time. All was as it should be.
Except for Eliot. She’d been wiped blank again, with only streaks of Grid-protected memories to cling to: shooting at Far, watching seven subjects’ worth of footage, brainstorming ways to build a world. Beyond that? Her earliest recollection was from a month ago, standing in an empty field, pulse thrashing with terror her mind couldn’t register. The Fade. Why else would Eliot forget? Why else would she flee? According to Vera’s logs, she’d jumped from December 31, 95 AD, to a morning in 90 AD. A glance into her pocket universe confirmed she hadn’t done it alone. Gaius, too, had survived.
She wasn’t sure the same could be claimed for Far, Gram, Priya, and Imogen. They were alive, yes, but they’d also been lost. Eliot’s comm link with the Invictus kept SEARCHING FOR CONNECTION… and saved was a word she didn’t quite know how to define. If you never were, were you ever? Could people be dead if their existence was erased?
“I was there,” Eliot said, partly to reassure herself. “From what I can remember, it was a team effort. The chip was Priya’s idea. Imogen kept ship’s logs. Gram figured out how to end the countersignature, and you…”
“Died?” Far didn’t seem to mind that the vendor was within earshot, placing the steaming hotmug into the pickup window. “Yeah, I figured. Pretty hashing noble of me, don’t you think?”
So she did. The sentiment became a lump in Eliot’s throat, swallowed back. Grief didn’t feel right with Far standing here. The sadness didn’t feel wrong, either. Just… misplaced.
A few extra credits swiped as tip and Eliot passed the hotmug to Far. “At least your humility came through unscathed.”
“As did your humor. Your fashion sense, though…” He squinted at her jacket, which translated the morning light into something psychedelic, colors stretching to the edge of expected. “Methinks you took some cues from Imogen.”
“Girl’s a bright influence.” Is, was. Same, different. Flesh, ghost…
Far’s laugh brought Eliot to the land of the living, where the plaza stones became unshakeable beneath her feet. This was a memory she would not forget: bantering beside a tea stand, breathing in factory spice and sky smog. She slipped her hand back into her pocket, where the envelope was.
“Priya wanted the chip to reach you on your seventeenth birthday, before your final exam Sim. I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a few weeks now, waiting for the right moment—”
“You winked at me on the hoverbus!” Far interrupted. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Explaining was the chip’s job. I’m here for the fallout.” With all jump systems functioning, she had everywhere else to go. A multiverse awaited: Choose a number, lotto random, and that universe was within reach. But this world—with its solid ground, its booming black market trade, its many McCarthys—was Eliot’s now. She’d put down roots here, or vice versa. They were already a few weeks old, growing as deep as she could ever remember.
“The chip didn’t explain everything. My”—the boy paused—“our father. What happened to him?”
“Gaius lived his life.” Again, it was hard to choose a tense, but for happier reasons. Eliot still checked in on her—their—father from time to time, visits that eased her guilt for leaving him in 96 AD with nothing but some coins and a toga sewn from sheets. She’d worried for nothing, though. Said garment had fetched him a small fortune. “Long and free.”
“What about the Multiverse Bureau?” Far’s face tightened, until she could see every muscle in it. “Will their agent check in on us again?”
Again? Agent Ackerman must’ve turned up during the lost moments. What a hazing cucurbita… “Anything’s possible, though I wouldn’t fret over it. Your countersignature emissions scan comes up same as mine. Clear. Nothing particularly special or apocalypse-inducing about either of us.”
“I can live with that.” Far only became self-aware of his pun until after the fact—evidenced by his wince. “So what’s this fallout you referenced?”
Eliot realized she’d used the wrong word. Fallout? No, it was more of a catching…. It was convincing Lux to allow the use of the fourth, unnamed TM in his fleet. It was the red panda cub, the Tetris cartridge, and the satchel of karha spice— welcome-home gifts Eliot collected and placed in their respective bunks. It was the envelope she pulled from her pocket.
Far stared at the stationery. “Is that…”
“This is your life, Farway Gaius McCarthy. I’m not going to bust into your final exam Sim as Marie Antoinette—”
“Wait, what?” He must not have watched that part.
“I got you thrown out of the Academy, which caught Lux Julio’s eye, which landed you on the Invictus. All that to say, fate’s in your court this time. You can soup up on chai and go crush that exam, or you can accept this invitation.”
“The tea isn’t for me,” Far said, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did. He considered the envelope another second before reaching for it. “A life worth dying for has got to be a life worth living, right?”
“It won’t be the exact same setup,” Eliot warned. “I’ve already signed a contract with Lux. Think you can handle being co-captain?”
“Only time will tell.” The boy’s expression bordered on wicked; he tucked the paper into his uniform pocket. “I assume the invitation extends to the rest of the crew? Can’t fly a TM without an Engineer, and Gram and Imogen are a package deal as of a week ago. Who knew talk of rodents’ digestive anatomy and past-life kissing would lead to… well… kissing?”
“Assemble the dream team.” Eliot’s smile felt much like her sadness. It amazed her, that joy and sorrow could be so intertwined. Sweet to the bitter. This start wasn’t fresh, but perhaps she was better for it. “Eleven o’clock tonight. The Forum. Zone One.”
A winking light. The chai in Far’s hands took on a whole new meaning when Eliot spotted the gold headphones bobbing through the crowd. Of course Priya was headed toward the tea stand. Ships of Theseus in the night, moments from colliding.
Eliot wasn’t about to get between them.
“Tonight,” she said again, before stepping back into the current of financiers. There was no need for a farewell, not when she and Far would meet again in a matter of hours. “The Invictus is waiting.”