Displaced - Day 10

She’s giving me a chance to check on Silvia, he recognized. She wants me to know she’s okay, and to know that she knows too. He obliged, signing in with data packets flying through space and time to servers more remote than anyone had ever dreamed when the architecture of the ‘net was first invented, still several decades off.

Silvia was online; it was 4pm and she was out of school. He’d been careful when he came back to ensure he arrived at the same time of day as his link to the future; it kept time-keeping easier.

‘Hey sis,’ he tapped out.

‘Charlie, great timing. I’m starving, can we go get something to eat tonight?’

‘No can do, Sil, sorry. I’m kind of tied up.’

‘That’s the third time this month, I’ll start thinking you’re ditching me or something at this rate!’

‘I promise I’ll make it up to you soon.’ He hadn’t traveled back to the present in weeks, he realized guiltily. He’d been too busy planning the big score.

‘You’d better. Any luck finding a place?’

‘That’s what’s got me so busy. Got some leads, need to follow up, make sure we can afford it, all that crap.’ It was true enough. She didn’t know about the time travel. He glanced at Sandra. She doesn’t know about it yet, anyway, he thought.

‘Fine, fine,’ she sent back. He could almost hear her sigh.

‘How’s this?’ He switched away from the conversation for a moment and transferred a generous sum to her account; enough to eat well for a week instead of living on school rations. He switched back.

‘!! Charlie! Okay, you’re forgiven, and yeah yeah, I won’t ask. But I’m gonna forget what you look like soon if you don’t see me.’

‘Love you sis, I’ll see you soon.’

He shut it down. “Okay, so what’s your agenda?”

Displaced - Day 9

Charlie stared at the photo for a long moment, then narrowed his eyes as he returned his gaze to Sandra. “What’s this about? I don’t take kindly to threats.”

She stared right back at him levelly. “There’s no need for threats here, Skeeve. I just want you to know that we know who and where she is. There’s any number of ways we can use this information, but the one I’m most interested in right now is how we can use it to help her, if you’re willing to help us.”

If there was one thing the life of a skimmer had taught him, it was that preparation was key to success. He carefully schooled his face to neutrality, willing his heart rate to slow to normal levels, to not give in to the immediate fight-or-flight instinct the veiled threat had triggered.

Of course he also had to assume that, good as she must be to be standing here, she was prepared too.

“I’ll hear you out.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. Shall we?” She gestured at the entrance to the building.

Did she know this was where I was going, or is this coincidence? Is coincidence even possible when time travel is involved? He couldn’t decide. She said we. It’s most likely that she’s not alone in this time, and so they’ve probably got people at the most likely places I’d choose. Probably got someone back at my old place, too.

They passed through the entrance and several halls of the building, staying toward the front end. Charlie’s distraction aided their passage immensely; he carried the occupied air of someone going about his business rather than someone sneaking into a place he didn’t belong. Nobody challenged them.

The room they finally selected was a bit larger than a walk-in closet, but not by a whole lot. It had the look of an office space to it, though it was empty, and had the singular flaw of a large support column dropping down through the limited space, awkwardly close to the door. It was unfurnished; apparently whoever was using the building hadn’t been forced to consign anyone to this room.

Sandra closed the door and turned to him, a half smile playing over her face. “Since we’re being so cooperative, why don’t you go ahead and establish your ‘net connection while I call off the others?” She turned away and pulled out her phone, fingers tapping out messages rapid-fire.

Displaced - Day 8

Finally he arrived at his destination. The building looked new; the iron gate’s protective black paint still shone in the sunlight without a crack or a dull patch to be seen. He pictured the photos he’d seen in his online research; the front of the building had been intact. It was the rear that had collapsed. He needed an interior room, preferably no windows. Didn’t have to be large. A closet would be just about perfect, if he could access one.

“Well, Skeeve, don’t you seem a little out of place. What’s a nice guy like you doin’ in a time like this?” The mellow female voice startled him even before the words hit home.

“What?” He whirled, almost hitting the pretty young woman standing behind him with the bag on his shoulder. She stood staring at him expectantly, her body radiating confidence and a hint of challenge.

“Relax, you don’t have to go to all the trouble of lying. I already know when you’re from.” The corner of her mouth quirked as she said it.

“I—”

“No, don’t deny it. I followed you here.”

He frowned, eyes narrowing. “That’s impossible.”

“Are there a lot of people in 1930 who call you Skeeve? Check out the phone.” His eyes widened as she reached under her coat, looking around for witnesses. “Hey, I’m not new, man. I know better.” She didn’t pull the device out completely, just enough to allow the glow of the display to show, casting a pale light on her hand. She slipped it back into her coat pocket.

“… Um …” His mind raced. How?

“Yeah. Figured that’d get your attention. And no, it’s no coincidence that I showed up right now.”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“Call me Sandra. No, it’s not my name, but it’ll do. I want your talent.” Her eyes were hazel, somewhere between brown and green. They were also serious and touched with cold.

He drew back a little. He was off balance, he knew that, and he didn’t like it. “You came an awfully long way just to recruit me.”

“Cute. But true.”

“Why? And how, for that matter?”

“Why? Because you’re good enough to be here, that’s why. As for how, isn’t that obvious?”

“What’s obvious is that you’re also good enough not only to be here, but also to track me down through time. What do you need me for?”

“Well now that’s a pleasant surprise. You’re sharp enough to look deeper than the surface. I came here to show you I’m serious about this. I’m also,” she reached back into her pocket again, this time withdrawing a black and white printed photo, “serious about this.”

It was a photo from the future. A group of school girls crossed the street; the same street they stood on now. They were chattering away with one another, except for one. She crossed with the group, looked happy enough at a glance, but her face had a drawn look to it you’d have to know her to recognize. It was Silvia.

Displaced - Day 7

The streets were busy, but his 2041 sensibilities found it quiet, almost sedate. The vehicles—cars mostly, with a mix of small trucks, busses and streetcars—seemed few and far between to him, though around him people complained about the absurd traffic.

It was even possible, though rare, to see people riding horses or genuine horse-drawn carriages. Before he’d come back to the past, he’d never seen a horse outside of a video.

The lack of traffic left the city feeling quiet, which was both invigorating and oddly disquieting, as though he’d found a kind of peace but that he’d gained it at a cost he couldn’t put his finger on. People talked more, all around him, even to him so that he had to make an effort to respond. He found himself smiling involuntarily, and chastised himself for it. He limited his conversations to a pleasant “Good morning!” in passing.

He had to walk to his destination. He didn’t know how to drive the contraptions that passed for cars in this time, and had been too busy to learn. There was public transportation, but he hadn’t learned to use that either. He’d memorized the location of the building he sought though, and the streets were laid out in an easy to navigate grid, so he thought he shouldn’t have much trouble.

He made his way south for a time, approaching the lake, which made itself known by the unmistakable smell of the open waters. Everything smelled stronger in the past, the good and the bad alike; he’d noticed that within days of arriving. Or maybe it was simply that his nose had recovered from a lifetime of living in pollution-laden air. He found himself breathing in deeply as he walked.

He turned to parallel the lake shore and started to finally recognize things as busy, at least as far as pedestrian traffic went. The piers were a popular spot for boaters and those just out for a walk and fresh air. He pushed on, trying to keep to himself as he passed the great downtown train station and a series of ornate hotels, some of which still stood in his time.

Displaced - Day 6

He shut down the vid feed. “So I’ve got two choices,” he said to himself. “I can move, or wait it out and hope.”

Neither option filled him with joy. Moving would be difficult; he’d literally have to relocate to another living space, and he’d have to find a suitable one first, one that still existed in at least a comparable physical state in the future, and which was unoccupied in both 1930 and the present of 2041. If he waited, those who’d busted into ‘his’ unrented place in 2041 might have left, but he’d never be certain it wasn’t being watched.

The problem was time. Both options required it, and without knowing if anyone was on to him or Silvia, that was time he didn’t want to spend.

He stared bleakly at the tablet. “I guess it’s time to move.” Thankfully the place was fully furnished. He barely owned a thing. A few clothes, his trade supplies, his mobile gear, some groceries he’d bought at the market down the street. He could leave those. The rest belonged to the landlord, whom he paid weekly.

He sat back at the desk and started scanning real-estate possibilities. Empty or abandoned places were the best. Unrented rooms were rare, but on his initial location scouting, he’d come across some abandoned places that might do. He’d passed them up because of the risk of vagrants seeing his comings and goings through time, but now he needed something quickly.

“This might do,” he muttered to himself. Images of a half-collapsed tenement flickered across the screen. “It’s old enough to be around now. Not far from Silvia, either.” The place had apparently been damaged in one of the riots back in 2038. A sad irony, that; the riot had been over the high costs of living, and the building’s collapse had put yet more people out on the streets.

He put $50 in an envelope and gathered his things, plus a little of the food for his lunch, then walked out of the place for the last time. The landlord failed to answer at his knock, so he scribbled a goodbye note and slid the envelope under the door. $50 would have kept him current on rent for another couple of months, but in 1930 money wasn’t a big problem for him.

Displaced - Day 5

He watched with growing anger as the gunmen searched the room. When it became clear there was nothing to find, all but one left. The feed from the Mote camera dust seeded throughout the room was cut off; they couldn’t sever his data stream, not yet anyway; they’d have to jam it. The nano-scale camera sensors were physically present in 2041 though, and so they were fair game.

He cursed and slammed the top of the desk, rose, and paced the room, palm pressed to his forehead. “Calm down, relax, they only know where I am, not when.” But a nagging voice inside his head wouldn’t shut up about the possibility that they knew where Silvia was too.