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September 11th, 1962 Pecos, Texas
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TURNER felt like a new man. Bob had insisted on taking him to a decent hotel and pre-paying for a full week’s stay. Then, while her husband had been arranging things with the desk clerk, Joy had slipped a hundred dollars into Turner’s hand. “You’ll need it to get back on your feet,” she’d said.
And they had left him their phone number and address, asked him to call and let them know he was doing alright, and invited him to stop by to visit anytime. Bless them.
The first thing he had done after saying goodbye in the hotel lobby was to walk several blocks to find a discount store where he could purchase some new clothes. Not wanting to waste Joy’s largesse, he was content buying anything inexpensive. And since he was in Texas, he chose blue jeans and denim shirts. His comfortable loafers were beyond repair, forcing him to give in and get a pair of cowboy boots, but he denied himself the matching hat. Aside from being an unnecessary expenditure, it would’ve been going one step too far. And looked plain silly.
Then he had returned to his hotel room to scrub himself raw getting all the sand and sweat off. And between the sun and the hot shower, his skin was so red that, added to the white shirt and blue jeans he had donned, he appeared aptly patriotic for Texas.
This new Turner left his room and made his way down to the small, dark dining room the hotel called a cantina. Here they likely served Mexican-inspired food tailored to the American palette. At least that was what he hoped.
Inside the dimly lit space, he saw no sign of any bartender or waiter, just one scrawny kid at the bar and all the tables empty. Turner might’ve gone out to search for someplace else to eat, but he’d walked enough for a while—he preferred to sit and relax for now—if he waited, presumably someone would appear, eventually. He sat down at one of those empty tables and picked up a menu to peruse.
“You’ll be sitting there a long time if you’re waiting on the waitress. She doesn’t start ‘til six.”
Turner glanced up from the menu to see the kid at the bar staring at him. “Is it too early for food?”
“That depends on whether you want something someone has to cook.”
With a sigh, Turner stood and walked up to the bar, nodding at a seat one down from the kid before sitting there. The boy gestured with the beer bottle in his hand, then returned to staring at the stuccoed wall behind the bar—at which point, as if by a signal, the bartender walked out of an arch leading back to, presumably, the kitchen area. Then he started wiping down the counter.
Turner watched him for a minute before folding the menu and setting it down. “How about a bowl of guacamole and chips?”
The big man nodded. “And to drink?”
“A lime squash, please.”
Turner slid a five-dollar bill across the counter, and the man returned a few minutes later carrying a giant basket of chips and a large bowl of fairly fresh-looking guacamole. The bartender mixed the drink and set it on a coaster. When Turner reached out to take the glass with his left hand as his right dipped a chip into the guacamole, he was conscious of the kid eyeing him.
“Your wristwatch.”
Turner glanced over to see the kid staring. “So. What about it?”
The kid shook his head in wonder. “It looks digital. Is it?”
Turner stopped himself from pulling the cuff of his shirtsleeve down over the watch—it was too late. The kid had already seen it, and Turner didn’t think digital watches existed yet. Not beyond prototypes, anyway. But that’s what his watch was, in its way.
He nodded at the boy. “It’s one of a kind—I’m a bit of an enthusiast.”
Grabbing his chips and dip in one hand and his drink in the other, Turner began sliding off the bar stool to leave for a table—this was an awkward conversation, one he wanted to get away from—but the boy grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back.
“Wait. Eat here. I’d like to talk to you. Are you an electronics geek too? Do you know much about computers?”
Turner sat down with a sigh and took a sip of his drink before responding. “I know about integrated circuits.” If he remembered right, that was the field for big innovations in this period. “I’m particularly interested in digital technology, as it relates to communications.” Then he scooped a big hunk of guacamole up with a chip and stuffed his mouth to try to keep himself out of trouble.
“This is great. I’m studying electrical engineering myself. I’m on my way back to Dallas, to start a new semester.”
Turner smiled at the kid. “That is great. I hope you do well.”
“My uncle got me an internship at Texas Instruments Central Research Lab for next summer. I can hardly wait. But what really interests me is computer programming.”
“The TI labs were the birthplace of the integrated circuit—I think you’ll be off to a great start.”
The kid grinned. “My name’s Brandt Keener by the way.” He looked about to offer his hand, before noticing that Turner’s were full.
“I’m Turner,” he said by way of introduction.
“Just Turner?”
Turner just nodded as he stuffed another guacamole-loaded chip into his mouth.
“Cool. Are you one of those guys who’s dropped out, gone off the grid?”
He supposed that description would fit his current circumstances, and shrugged.
“Let me guess—you went to Canada to avoid the draft? I don’t blame you. The Korean War was one huge mess, but there’s a bigger one on the horizon, in Vietnam. Maybe you’d have been better to stay in the North.”
Turner occupied himself with washing down his food with a big gulp of lime squash.
Brandt held up his hand. “You don’t want to say anything—I understand. Don’t worry, I’m not going to narc on you. It doesn’t bother me at all. I’d probably have to do the same thing—if my uncle wasn’t a congressman.”
Turner shook his head but didn’t try to correct the kid. He needed some kind of explanation for his lack of identification, and this would do. He would have to say something which would seem to confirm this kid’s misconception though. “I’ll only say that I am constrained by conscience. I don’t want to have to kill anyone.”
“Sure, me too. It’s not that I’m a coward or anything. The only killing I intend to do is in business. One day computers will run everything, and if I can come up with even one great idea, I’ll have it made.”
Swirling the liquid in his glass, Turner reflected on how he should respond. “A digital revolution—it will change everything, eventually.”
The kid’s eyes lit up. “You said it. It’ll improve people’s lives in every respect. The potential’s enormous.” He grinned at Turner from ear to ear. “Only I have to wait until I graduate for my dad to give me the money to start my own business. When I do, I’ll come and hire you.”
“That’s nice kid, but I happen to be looking for a job for right now.” He should probably head to Dallas like Brandt—maybe he could find a way into the burgeoning telecom industry. “But I’ll look forward to seeing your name in the papers.”
Brandt couldn’t stop grinning. “Have you got a car?” He continued as Turner shook his head. “I’ll give you a ride into Dallas, then make some calls to line something up for you. If you are going to work for me, I want you to have the right experience. And anyone who can construct a digital watch by himself is someone I want working for me.”
The kid still hadn’t graduated, much less started a company, but already he was head-hunting. Turner shook his head in wonder, even as he winced to think of all the misconceptions he’d allowed the kid to grab hold of. But he couldn’t tell the whole truth. At least he was capable of constructing a simple digital watch, of the sort the boy believed he was wearing.
“Thanks, I’d appreciate the help.”
Brandt stopped grinning. “Only, school doesn’t start until next week, so I’d planned to spend several more days here before I drove to Dallas. Can you wait that long?”
Turner nodded. After a few days in the desert, he was ready to wait as long as he needed to—and he might have to wait fifty years or more to see Verity. If he ever did see his wife again.
Maybe another Traveler would find Turner and help him make the trip faster, but he couldn’t count on that. But I can count on You. He marveled at the way everything and everyone kept turning up at just the right time. Now Providence had positioned him where he needed to be to see the early stages of the digital revolution—the very aspect of history he had come back in time to study. Maybe even to be a part of it all himself.
He couldn’t rely on this kid, though. He’d need to figure out how to establish a new identity for himself and bury ‘Turner Belue’—so if he never made it back to the future, Verity would at least be a proper widow. And if he did make it back to her, she could always marry Turner Hope. Though if it took him a full sixty years to reach her, he’d be an old man, and she’d probably want to remain a widow.