22 October 1962
Chicago, Illinois
Sparkles whirled about Haakon like fat, glittering snowflakes, and the temporal field brayed like a thousand out of tune bagpipes. Just beyond the edge of the shell of light enclosing Nathan and himself, the interior of the Chicago safe house shimmered as though shrouded in smoke. The machine's shriek spiraled to supersonic, and the outlines of the drab tenement fell into sharp focus.
Jump jeebies sucked the air from Haakon's lungs. He leaned against the wall, panting for breath. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, and tingles jittered down his arms. His legs trembled, and his head wobbled on suddenly languid neck muscles.
Nathan's fist gripped Haakon's wrist, sending pain shooting up his arm. The poor guy was green as lima beans and looked like he was going to puke. "If you're going to hurl..." Haakon had to stop and catch his breath. "Try to do it in the sink." He pointed to the washbasin hanging on the wall to their left.
Nathan croaked and staggered across the room.
Haakon turned away from the retching sounds and examined the loft apartment. It still had the floor-to-ceiling Victorian wardrobe he and Gunnar had purchased in 1943 when they'd been stationed here, and the walls were the same washed-out olive, but the other furnishings were different. A maroon sofa slumped in front of a nineteen inch RCA black-and-white television. TV trays flanked either side of the couch, and a glass coffee table stood between it and the TV. Late afternoon sun streamed through the windows and gleamed off the cheap chrome-and-Formica kitchenette.
The place held memories of Gunnar. Surprisingly poignant memories. Haakon wondered if his friend survived his jump to Control. They wouldn't know, not in this era. He'd have to wait to find out.
The sound of water splashing in the sink drew Haakon's gaze back to Nathan. "How are you doing? The jumps should be getting easier."
"Better." Nathan's voice croaked, but he was just pale now instead of chartreuse. "I could use something to drink."
"There should be glasses in the cabinet over the sink. At least, that was where we kept them when we lived here."
Nathan gave him a quizzical look, but started opening doors. "Here they are. You need anything?"
"I'm going to check the refrigerator. I hope there's beer." Even the piss that Americans drank would beat water.
Nathan spat into the sink and then gulped down a glass of water. "Beer sounds good to me, too. Uh, you used to live here?"
The chilled air from the refrigerator cooled Haakon's skin. He leaned into it while he scanned the shelves. "The only beer is Hamm's and Schlitz. Gah. Who stocked this thing?" At least it wasn't Budweiser. Who in their right mind made beer with rice?
"You're kidding? I've never heard of Hamm's. Is it imported?"
"From hell, maybe." Haakon pulled out two cans of Schlitz. "Great. No pull tab. I hope there's a can opener some place in this dump."
"Pull tab?" Nathan opened drawers and held up a can opener. "Got it." He chewed on his lip. "I'm still a little shaky from the time jump thingees. Mind if I maybe sit on the sofa?"
"Sure." Haakon collapsed on the cushions, which gave a discouraged whoosh as he sank into them. He accepted the opener, cracked both cans of beer, and gave one to Nathan. Time for a toast. He held his can up. "To modern conveniences."
Nathan gave him a lopsided grin while he lounged back and stretched his feet out. "I'll drink to that." They clinked their cans and Haakon guzzled half his beer.
A train rumbled by, and the windows rattled. Haakon smiled. The train noises had been annoying when he and Gunnar lived here, but they were like an old friend now. "That'll be the Diversey train. We're not far from Wrigley Field."
"No kidding? I'm more of a Cubs fan." Nathan sucked at his beer and contemplated Haakon with hooded eyes. "You said we lived here a while back. Who's 'we,' if I'm not being too forward?"
"My friend Gunnar and I lived here. We were stationed in Chicago in 1942. We were both Chroniclers back then. Our job was to observe and record events, so Timekeepers would have an accurate record. My cover was working as a janitor in Fermi's lab at the University of Chicago."
Nathan frowned. "1942? I thought you said we were going to 1962. They didn't have TV in 1942, did they?" He nodded at the blank screen facing them.
"We are in 1962. October 22, in fact. It was the only familiar date and location stored the machine back in New Mexico."
"What's with that? I thought you could jump anyplace? I mean, any time." A stray curl fell across his brow. He frowned and gave his head a toss which sent it dangling down his temple. "I mean, space-time is unified right? In theory I could position my photons anyplace, and anywhen, using all twelve dimensions, given enough energy."
Haakon kept his face impassive. Nathan could move photons anywhen? What was that about? "I don't know about twelve dimensions, but you're right. My Timepiece takes spatial and temporal coordinates." He touched the combination cross-Timepiece hanging about his neck. "It's just that the controls on the New Mexico machine were different. I couldn't figure out how to change the settings, so I had to use presets." Haakon frowned. "The field effects during the jump seemed off, too. More glittery, and the sonics were peculiar." Something was strange here. Fatigue and jump jeebies dulled his concentration. He'd figure it out later.
"Maybe that's why I hurled." Nathan swallowed more beer. "If the settings on the one in the refuge were screwed up, why didn't you just use the time gizmo we used in Iowa.?" He nodded at the cross about Haakon's neck.
Haakon eyed his companion. Nathan didn't miss much, but he must have missed the warning that flashed back in the control room. "To take the two of us on a big jump like that, it's better to use the bigger machine." Besides, Haakon was pretty sure the warning meant that the Viking's sword had damaged his Timepiece back in Scarborough. No telling how much longer the blasted thing would work, and he didn't want to worry Nathan. "The bigger machine should make the jump jeebies easier, too."
Nathan nodded. "It was a lot easier this time. Not as painful." He rotated the can in his fingers and avoided looking at Haakon. "Who's this Gunnar guy?"
"Another Timekeeper. Like I said, a Chronicler. Someone's got to observe and record the historical record so we can spot Deviations." Haakon paused. Nathan was looking at him with puppy dog eyes, so soulful. The poor guy was jealous. Haakon's heart melted. It seemed like eons since someone cared enough about him to be jealous. He wanted to be truthful, but gentle. "We were lovers, too, if that's what you're asking. But we broke up long ago."
Enough about Gunnar. Time to change the subject. He jumped up and knelt before the TV, steadying himself. Damned jump jeebies. He should be recovered by now. Maybe that arrow did more damage than he'd thought. "Want to see what's on?" Without waiting for an answer, he twisted the dial and a grainy, black-and-white image formed. "Gawd, look at that. It's Leave it to Beaver."
Nathan stared at the screen. "I had a lover, too, you know," he murmured. He took a sip of his beer.
"You told me. Claude the Loathsome, from your description. Gunnar was pretty nice, really, except for being a tight-ass." Haakon grinned. "He'd be scandalized at how much I've told you about Timekeepers." If he knew I'd used nano-docs on you, he'd really shoot over the edge. Not that you need to know that.
Nathan gave him another of those lop-sided grins he'd come to adore. "I knew you were a bad boy. I like bad boys."
"I bet you do." Haakon let a lustful smile bend his lips. "But Gunnar, he just had to have rules to follow. If he didn't have any rules, he'd make them up." Haakon remembered Gunnar's threat to report him to Control for helping Ralf. He was always about duty and never about loyalty. Or people.
People. Like Ralf. He owed more than just Nathan. Shit. He sat up and finished his beer. "You know, I really need to report in. There's a mess back in 1066 I haven't even told you about, to say nothing of the Vikings we left in 2018. Control needs to know what's going on." The jumbled locations in the time machine in New Mexico worried him more, but he didn't want to trouble Nathan with that. With any luck, Chicago Control in 1962 was still in the tunnels underneath the South Side. That would give him a rallying point for righting whatever was causing this Deviation.
Nathan squeezed his hand. "Well, I'm with you." He turned pensive. "Will they send me back to 2018? I will see you again, won't I?"
"I'm not sure what they'll do," Haakon lied. Most likely they'd want to send him to an exile colony in the past. Chicxulub sixty-five million years ago was their favorite destination for temporals who knew too much. The asteroid that would strike there a million years later would kill off the dinosaurs and eliminate any possibility of time traveling-induced Deviations. “I just know I have to report in. But don't worry; I won't let them do anything bad to you. And I'm not going to lose track of you, either. Not now."
Nathan's hand was warm against Haakon's. "I don't want to lose you, either," he murmured.
Haakon lost himself in those baby-blues. Maybe he could convince the bean counters at Control to recruit him as a Timekeeper. Maybe they could even work together. He was brave, and smart. And Haakon owed him.
He shook himself. Gunnar was a pain, but like a broken clock, even Gunnar was right sometimes. Romance was personal, but duty called. He had a Deviation, maybe a massive one, to handle. If he found love and lost the world, he'd have nothing.
The strains of the scherzo from Beethoven's Ninth thrummed from the tinny speaker on the TV. A grim-looking man peered at them from the screen and announced, "Chet Huntley, NBC News, New York." It cut to a younger man, who said, "And David Brinkley, NBC News, Washington." When the picture flashed back to the older man, he started reading from a sheaf of papers in his hand. "Tonight, the Portugal missile crisis with the Soviet Union deepens. President LeMay is scheduled to speak to the nation at 7PM." The picture cut to an aerial shot of ships at sea. "Meantime, US Navy resupply ships are steaming toward our bases in Portugal which are at the heart of this crisis."
Haakon stared at the screen. "What the hell is he talking about?"
Nathan shrugged. "I read about this in school. There was some big to-do about missiles or something. Don't worry. There's not going to be a war or anything."
Haakon gaped at him. "Who the hell is President LeMay? And what does Portugal have to do with anything? It's supposed to be the Cuban missile crisis, for bog's sake."
Nathan gave him a blank look, but just then heavy footfalls stomped in the hallway outside the loft. Someone pounded on the door, and a harsh voice with a southern accent shouted, "This is the FBI. We have a search warrant. Open up."
Before he could react, a half dozen men in dark suits crashed into the room. They held pistols at the ready, pointed at Nathan's and Haakon's hearts. The lead man shouted, "Don't move, or we'll blow your commie brains to smithereens."