Chapter Two
August, A.D. 79
Ariel Midori was no stranger to death. People seemed to be dying all the time, and for any reason: diseases, hurricanes and floods, boats sinking and cars crashing. She had first heard about the volcanic eruption of Mt. Vesuvius as a marginal note in a history class, and was fascinated by it. An entire town dead, smothered under ash, buried for thousands of years…
It wasn’t the deaths that interested her, of course, but the life. As she strode through the open-air marketplace of Pompeii, the streets bustled with activity. Storekeepers stood alongside the road, hawking their wares, and shoppers stopped to inquire prices or haggle. When they spoke, Ariel was reminded of high school classes: vocabulary, declensions. Only now, a certain language was alive and well.
“Salve!” someone called to a friend, waving.
Ariel Midori smiled. That’s Latin, she thought. You’re in ancient Rome, and people are speaking Latin. She could understand most of the words, but didn’t bother to start any conversations: she would only speak with an American accent.
People passed her by, and many of the men were wearing togas, but she saw other garments as well: of all shapes, colors, and cuts. This was a trading town, with a busy port and merchants from all over the Mediterranean. But she stuck to the classic look: a white dress and period-perfect jewelry, with her reddish hair loose. No one gave her a second glance. And if under the roar of the crowd, people close to her happened to hear a ticking noise, they didn’t attribute it to a clock: such a device hadn’t been invented yet.
Ariel was a time traveler.
Mt. Vesuvius loomed in the distance. It didn’t yet have its trademark two-peak shape, but of course not: its famous eruption, which would bury Herculaneum and Pompeii, would not occur for five days. She stopped to look at the volcano a moment, marveling.
I wish Jamie could see this, Ariel thought. Then she stopped. How long had it been since he left? Two days, and she already missed him.
She’d intended to visit him in his own time, trying to give a few weeks’ leeway since he last saw her, but she had messed up the date: the year 2507 instead of 2501. Ariel peered down at her copper watch. Whatever happened in 2501, besides the formation of a rock band? The other year was far more interesting, from a historical perspective. Someone had been shot, some sort of world leader…
She turned to look back at the street, and something caught her attention. She squinted. Not far behind her, a man wearing a sky-blue helmet and white uniform pushed his way through the crowd.
Gladiator? she thought. No, they didn’t have riot gear. The man carried a clear plastic shield, emblazoned with the word POLICE. In English.
So definitely not Roman. Ariel might have been from another time, but at least she had the good sense to blend in.
The oddly-dressed invader, who was garnering a lot of strange looks, noticed Ariel and started running toward her. She took a quick breath and slipped through the crowd, saying an instinctive “Excuse me, excuse me,” even though no one knew what the words meant.
She darted into a side street with two tall buildings on either side, then pressed herself against a wall, trying to think.
Someone had followed her through time. How? It didn’t matter. She had seen that gear once before, but when?
Celestial, she thought suddenly. He’s called a Celestial.
They were from her old partner’s time, which she’d just left. She pulled out her copper pocket watch, her time machine. It let out some sort of signal; perhaps it could be tracked?
Heavy footfalls sounded nearby, and after a moment, the Celestial walked into sight.
“Ariel,” he said.
She didn’t move. She was eyeing his blaster, still in its holster at his belt. “How do you know that name?”
“We’ve been tracking you for awhile. You have a teleportation device.”
“Oh, do you think?” she snapped. “We’re only speaking English in first-century Pompeii. Why are you here?”
“My lieutenant wishes to speak with you.”
“Uh-huh. Not gonna happen. How did you follow me?”
He held up a silver pocket watch.
Her eyes widened. “That’s—” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re thousands of years behind where you should be. Doesn’t that scare you? That thing behind us isn’t a mountain. It’s a volcano, and in a week it’s going to blow.”
He seemed startled by that, and for the first time looked around, to the buildings on either side of the narrow street, to the gray volcano in the distance behind her. Then he pulled off his helmet, ran a hand through his light hair. He looked remarkably young. The uniform connected with the images of Celestials she’d seen, but the shoes didn’t: Converse low-tops. Not much of a police officer.
“I’m Agent Six,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. We don’t mean any harm; we’re just really curious about you.”
“Uh-huh. Why are you following me?”
“You have a time machine! My lieutenant thinks it’s just a teleportation device, but this…” He shook his head at the volcano, smiling. “Always there in times of death and destruction, huh? You removed a prisoner from a cell four years ago.”
“Four years … relative to your time.” She squinted, looking up at the sun. She hadn’t broken anyone out of prison, as far as she could recall. “Okay, listen. I’m a time traveler. If I’m going to do that, I haven’t even done yet.” She pulled out her pocket watch. “But I’m looking forward to it.”
He fired his blaster, but she dodged it. The hologram showing her Roman clothing flickered and then vanished, revealing a black jacket, jeans, and green-tinted sunglasses. A sheathed sword was slung over her back. Was it her stress or some action of her timepiece that killed the hologram? She had no idea, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t need her disguise now.
He was momentarily confused by her change of form, and she took the opportunity to run. She darted around a corner as he fired again, sending off sparks.
She hid in the doorway of a building, listening for his footfalls.
“Ariel,” he called. “My lieutenant just wants to meet with you. You could work for us.”
Ariel glanced down at her watch. She had to get him out of Rome—but how? She suddenly had an idea.
He turned the corner and came into view, holding the blaster steady at her. “I only ever wondered one thing,” he said. “Of everyone on the ship, why did you go to Thomas Huxley?”
Ariel, perplexed, didn’t answer.
The agent pressed the fob of his pocket watch, intending to take her back to his own time. The silver cover, etched with an image of crescent moon, popped open—but nothing happened.
Ariel grinned at the agent’s confusion. “You don’t know how to set it, do you?”
He didn’t reply, just held the blaster steady.
“Agent Six, huh? What are you … special ops? Secret police?” She stepped closer, pulling out her own watch. “Here’s a hint: they’re telepathic.”
She pressed the fob, opening her watch’s face; it let out a golden glow. He yelled and reached out to stop her, but too late; her watch’s cover closed with a click. The light cleared, and he was gone.
Ariel took a step back, and her hologram flickered back on. A warm breeze swept through the street, then drifted away.
“Wow. I’ve always thought the watches could communicate with each other, but I’ve never actually tried it. Don’t you think that’s…”
She turned her head, and realized she was alone.
People walked by the narrow opening of the alley, unaware of the brief stand-off under the shadow of a volcano. In a matter of days, everyone who had seen the oddly-dressed invader would be dead, their knowledge erased from history.
The sky darkened to a deep blue, with the sun a gold disk lowering in the sky. Ariel held up her watch: on the cover, it had a raised image of either a sunrise or a sunset.
A voice buzzed in her ear. “Ariel, report. I’m getting a strange reading. What just happened?”
She tapped her earpiece. “You will not believe this, Bailey. I’ll be right there.”
The hands of her clock moved to show the correct time for what she needed. The inner dials showing the day, week, and month spun quickly, and she closed her eyes.
After a moment, anyone walking past saw only an empty street.
2.
Bailey Tyler was the leader of the Saturnine Order, a pretentious name for a tiny group of time travelers. Now that Ariel’s partner had left, it had only three members.
Ariel didn’t know much about the Order, beyond that the base was hidden underground somewhere in the future. Its founders had lived in the third millennium, and started the group secretly to continue travels in time. How long the group had existed, Ariel had no idea. The founders started choosing partners from earlier times, and then left or died long before she arrived.
Bailey wore a white lab coat, and sat at a desk in her laboratory. A clock ticked overhead as Bailey looked through a microscope.
“Studying ancient microbes?” Ariel asked, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed. “I wouldn’t be any help. I got a B- in biology. A+ in history, but—”
Bailey pushed away the microscope. “Did you see anything unusual?”
“You … could say that, yeah.”
“I traced a signal.” Bailey slid off the stool and walked over to a computer. “It originated in June of 2507, and went straight to A.D. 79. It was another time machine.”
“I gathered that, thank you. He had a silver watch.”
“Who?”
“Some sort of police officer. I think they call them Celestials.” Ariel explained the encounter.
Bailey listened intently. “If someone from the twenty-sixth century is following you, we need to go there. They’ve stumbled upon a timepiece I haven’t accounted for, and we need to find out how.”
“By ‘we’ ... you mean me, right?”
“You won’t be alone. I found a new partner for you.” She picked up a folder off the desk and handed it to Ariel. “You need a guide, someone who knows this time, someone who will be sympathetic to your cause. He’s perfect.”
Ariel opened the folder. “Thomas Huxley, journalist. Ah, born in the same city as me. Wait!” She snapped her fingers. “The Celestial mentioned him. Said I’ve gone to him before.”
“It’s possible you bumped into him before, without realizing it. And he’s not as well-known as your last partner, but you still need to be careful.”
“Got it. Will they track me again?”
“The other signal is dead; no activity. The watch is probably malfunctioning, but that doesn’t mean it can’t start up again. I don’t think they’re done. If it happens again, don’t try to reason with them. Run.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll try to remember that.”
“Good. Find Huxley right away. All the information you need is in that file.” Bailey walked over to a safe in one corner and unlocked it. “Oh, and Ariel?” She pulled out a pistol, checked the magazine for bullets, then handed it to her.
“A gun? Bailey, I’m not twenty-one or anything, and I wouldn’t know how to use it—”
“They’re illegal in the Federation, for a civilian anyway, so your age doesn’t matter. That flimsy sword isn’t going to do you much good. If you need this, take the safety off and shoot. I take it that’s easy enough for you to understand?”
Ariel took the pistol, hesitant. “Bailey, that Celestial knew what I looked like, knew my name and everything. I’ve apparently done something in their past to draw their attention. What if every police officer on the globe is on the lookout for me?”
“Ariel? Trust me. They’ll have something bigger to worry about.”
3.
June 15, 2507, 8:30 p.m.
Lt. Kira Watson stood over Agent Six, who was leaning against the glossy wall of a laboratory.
“All right there, Six?” Kira asked.
The agent blinked, amazed. “I saw her, Captain! The girl … she was right in front of me.”
Kira grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. “And you didn’t think to bring her back?”
The agent shoved her off him. “She sent me back. If it wasn’t for her, I’d still be stuck there. You sent me in without knowing how this works.” He handed her the watch, then stormed toward the exit.
Two technicians sat in one corner of the room, monitoring the readings on computers. They kept their eyes firmly on their computers to avoid the lieutenant’s stormy glare. Kira looked down at the pocket watch.
“Where was she?” she asked, quietly.
The agent turned. “Pompeii. She said there was a volcanic eruption coming.”
“Pompeii?” Kira raised an eyebrow. “Last volcanic eruption there was in A.D. 79.”
“I swear, it was something out of a history book. Ancient Romans and everything. Remember a few years ago, when she broke out a prisoner? She said it hasn’t happened to her yet. She really is a time traveler. Maybe we’re starting a causal loop, a predestination paradox—”
“She’s lying.”
The agent blinked. “I’m just saying.”
Kira walked out the door, shaking her head.
A man in his forties stood in the hallway. He was tall, with frizzy, sand-colored hair. “Lieutenant?”
“Not now,” said Kira, waving her hand and passing him by.
“Did you see him, Melo?” the visitor asked the agent.
“That’s classified,” said Agent Six.
“Oh, please.” The visitor followed Kira, lagging a few steps behind her. “I see you’re having trouble with your latest project, Captain.”
She turned. “Who sent you?”
“Commander Delacroix. I’m your new personal assistant.” He held up a silver card. “I volunteered to be transferred back to your squad. I left a few years ago when I moved to the covert ops in New York. Agent Five, John Caxton, at your service.”
Kira sighed. “I remember you.” She kept walking. “I really don’t need any more agents, though. And this project is none of your concern.”
“Since the Commander sent me here, I think it is. You only have fifteen agents, by the way, when you should have more than twice that. And since one of those agents has been out of service for several years, that makes fourteen. You could use the help.”
“Fine. Why are you interested in this project?”
“Curiosity,” he said. “Not every city is investigating time travel.”
Kira slid a card through a slot by the door, and it opened. “We’re not, either. I’m closing the file. This is getting a bit bizarre.”
“What? There’s been a new development. The servants saw your red-haired girl in the palace just this afternoon. They said she was wandering the hall leading to the king’s chambers. They haven’t seen her since the epidemic a few years ago, and she always comes before someone dies.”
“Really? Hm. I’m glad I have someone to report servants’ ghost stories for me.”
“She’s a time traveler, Captain. I believe it, your agents believe it, Delacroix believes it. Why can’t you?”
She pressed a button for the elevator, then turned to Caxton. “I’m not really a fan of chasing legends. Report back to Commander Delacroix: the device finally worked, but the target was not apprehended.”
“So you’ll be trying again?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for the clock to light up. That’s how we sent Six through—it lit up this morning. In the meantime, I want every agent in the city to be watching out for Thomas Huxley. If she reappears, she might go to him.”
“Why?”
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside. “This girl represents a threat to the Celestial Federation’s security. The Commander appointed me to investigate it, and I’m following every lead.”
“You never did find that escaped prisoner, did you?”
“No,” she said.
“Do you even care if you find this girl?”
Kira didn’t reply. She heard a crackle in her earpiece, and paused to listen to the message. Her eyes widened.
“What is it?”
She looked up at him. “Palace ghost, you said? Only shows up right before people die?”
“Yeah?”
She put a hand to her ear. “It’s the king.”
4.
Thomas Huxley could think of better things to do at 11 p.m. than write a statement for the police. Sleep, that would be nice. But here he was, watching the clock tick away the minutes, writing everything he knew about Damien.
Thomas had already made a call to the news studio in London, excusing himself from the story. He couldn’t really give unbiased reporting about an attempted assassination if his future brother-in-law was the shooter. His editor recommended he write a commentary piece instead, but he couldn’t even think until he saw Zoë.
He walked over to the window, watching the rain drizzle outside. The king was lying in a hospital bed, his condition critical. He was alive, but no one knew how long that could last.
How could this have happened? The greatest leader in decades, gunned down by a musician? It didn’t seem possible. He heard the police discussing the story over and over again: Damien was found running down the hall, away from the only elevator that led up to the balcony. No one else had been seen entering or leaving.
They were talking about the death penalty.
“I wondered when you’d come back,” came a voice behind him.
Thomas turned. A brunette in full officer’s dress stood before him. He smiled. “Hello, Kira.”
Lt. Kira Watson strolled up to him, amused. “Four years in London, huh? Have you been avoiding me?”
“No, just … avoiding the city.”
“I can understand that.” A pause. “I heard you were engaged. Congratulations. Your parents mentioned how happy they were.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice flat.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Things must be hard for your fiancée right now. I could hardly believe it when they told me.”
He really didn’t want to hear her speaking about Zoë. Kira had ties to Commander Edward Delacroix, who would most likely assume control of the Federation until the king recovered, and to the World Council, which would decide Damien’s fate.
“Is the king going to be all right?” he asked.
“It could go either way,” Kira murmured.
He stared out the window. Raindrops clung to the cold glass, sparkling in the night. In the starless sky, he could only see the dark outlines of buildings.
“I’ve lived in this city for two decades, and I feel like I’ve never been here before,” he said finally.
“How much do you remember?”
“Nothing. Very little.” He listened to the rain patter outside. “Some days more than others.”
“It’s good to see you, just the same. I like your new accent.”
He smiled a bit, inwardly.
“I’m actually looking for someone, and I was wondering if you could help me. It’s a girl with red hair, and she might wear green sunglasses. Missing person. Calls herself Ariel. If you see her, can you let me know?”
“What?”
“Just promise me. We were friends once, even if we’ve changed since then.”
He wavered for a moment. “Kira, I’ve been meaning to ask you. The day I was shot—”
A door behind them opened. Thomas and Kira both turned and saw Zoë shuffling in, wiping her eyes. “Hey,” she said, when she saw Thomas. Her eyes moved to Kira for a moment, and then back to her fiancé.
“Oh,” said Thomas. “Zoë, this is...”
“Lt. Kira Watson,” said the woman, walking over and shaking Zoë’s hand. “Thomas and I grew up together. I’m terribly sorry for what happened. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”
“Thank you,” said Zoë. “I … appreciate it.”
“Thomas, were you about to ask me something?” Kira asked.
Zoë looked at him expectantly, and Thomas stared at the lieutenant for a moment.
“No,” he said. “No, it was nothing.”
The couple walked to their hotel a few minutes later. When they arrived, Zoë tossed her purse onto a desk. “I guess I’ll have to get my stuff in the morning,” she said, yawning.
A flash of lightning streaked the sky outside their window, followed by a peal of thunder. Thomas’s suitcase was already in the hotel room; he’d dropped it off that morning, but Zoë’s belongings were still in her ship.
She didn’t fall asleep until almost midnight, since there were so many people calling, and so many calls to make. All of her friends had questions about Damien’s place in the tragedy. It wasn’t necessary to call any members of her family, however. Besides her brother, she had none.
Finally the exhausted young woman fell asleep sitting in the recliner, her phone still in her hand. She left it on in case someone called during the night, seeking illumination. For now, it didn’t ring.
Thomas put a blanket over Zoë, took his contact lenses out of his eyes, then sat awake for a long time.
When he finally drifted off, it was only after replaying the scene of the king’s attack in his mind over and over again. The room was damp from the day’s rain, too damp for summer, and he tossed and turned, restless. He kept waking up and reaching for an alarm clock that was thousands of miles away, back in his flat in London.
When morning neared, the sound of a gunshot jerked him from his sleep. He sat up in bed, startled, looking for the source of the noise. But Zoë still slumbered in the chair, the world around her undisturbed: he had only heard it in a dream.