Sunder (3 page)

Alfredo had probably been listening to Isabella’s call.  She never did anything without his leave.  So he had played nice, put on the happy face. Of
course
he was all right with the annulment.  He was
fine
with his whole life being over. 

Now he would be the laughing stock of Miami society, his fate to become a cautionary tale for other silly Spanish girls who even thought of slumming with an Anglo.  The Annulment would be featured on society pages all over the country, probably in Mexico and Cuba as well.  Meanwhile, the grieving widow Esperanza Macias would get a promotion, a feature in the
Miami Crier
, and the standard condolence allowance from the Senate.  Her husband had died in service to the Republic, so her life was going to improve dramatically. His, on the other hand, was circling the drain. 

The idea struck him suddenly.  Martin Macias had been declared Lost without much investigation. Everyone, including him, had simply accepted the disappearance of three people—husbands and fathers all—as simply “one of those things.” No one had been hauled in for questioning; certainly no one was going to be punished.

A giddy excitement washing over him, Etienne looked around the living room once more, searching for the keys to his launch station. Spying them, he finally left the armchair and grabbed the errant keys off the floor.  He headed out the door, his lips stretched into a satisfied smile.

4

Dawn came to Miami, splashing a bombast of sunshine into the arboretum where Isabella sat quietly. Launch days were always pleasant, but this one in particular lavished on her a deep caress of hope and happiness. She had risen even before her alarm had gone off and found her way to the glass confines of the arboretum. The beautiful tropical garden had been added to the house after Alfredo filled in the pool with concrete. It had been a wonderful surprise all those years ago, and even now it was a comfort for her.

As the sunshine washed over her, making her feel a little too warm in her long-sleeved uniform, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She was finally going to be with Guillermo and Etienne would return to where he belonged, happy once more with his life. This was the first morning in a long time she hadn’t woken up with a jaw sore from clenching.

“Isabella?”

The meek whisper was too softly spoken to startle her.

“Good morning Elizabeth.” With a smile, Isabella turned around to see her assistant hovering in the door with a suitcase in her hands. Normally, the mousy girl grated on her nerves, despite her efficiency and work ethic, but today nothing could darken her spirits.

“You can put my bags in my room, Elizabeth, thank you.”

Elizabeth nodded her neatly coifed head and turned to go.

“Did Etienne say anything to you when you went over to pack?” Isabella asked.

“Etienne wasn’t there, actually,” she said quietly before disappearing into the house.

Not there?
Well, that was bizarre. But maybe it was a good thing. Perhaps Etienne had felt the same rush of relief and freedom that she had and gone out with one of his friends. He only had one or two and he rarely socialized on his own accord; perhaps he was turning a new page. She hoped he was.

Running short on time and not wanting to wake her father, Isabella stepped into the house and bent over the kitchen counter, hastily scratching out a note to remind him of their meeting with Padre Lopez-Castaneda that evening. She was just finishing her last sentence when she heard a timid
a-hem
behind her.

“Yes, I’m coming,” she snapped, dropping the pen on the counter as she finished her note. Content all of her morning trifles were done, Isabella hastily followed Elizabeth out the front door, calling for the locks to seal as she exited. Her Agency-provided luxury sedan was waiting for her out front; Elizabeth had left the motor running and the rear passenger door wide open, awaiting her arrival. She stretched out on the Italian leather back seat, propping her feet up on the black down cushion to keep her boots off the upholstery, and closed her eyes with a peaceful exhale. The drive to the launch depot was always a soothing ritual as Elizabeth was very good about making it a smooth ride.  Considering the time tourist she was going to have to deal with today, it was a good idea to relax now while she could.

This month’s client was a graduate student, a biological engineer who would be studying the immune systems of German refugees in Brussels after the Great War.  This meant Isabella and her secondary Agent would essentially babysit him as he collected samples from the indigenous population using discarded cigarettes, flatware, or anything else that could provide DNA.  Having so much chance of interaction with the natives of that time would be risky, but Isabella knew she could keep him in line.  His preliminary psych reports had revealed him to be the anxious sort, which is why she had chosen Grecia Dejesus as her secondary Agent.  Dejesus was an exceptionally patient woman, good at handling excitable people. This one had seemed nervous already, and they hadn’t even launched yet.

As if reading her mind, Elizabeth spoke from the front seat. “The launch station called this morning. Apparently some faculty members at Coronado called to complain about the refusal to change the time window. Something about a lack of consideration for the emotional state of travelers.”

Isabella snorted her disapproval.  “He could have booked his time window earlier, and he decided to procrastinate. Our schedules are booked almost a year in advance, and he thinks we should move it around because of his superstition? I don’t think so.” Agitation had crept into her voice.

It was a popularly-held belief among civilians that all Lost travelers and confirmed fatalities had occurred after a traveler was transmitted at the dreaded High Noon.  This was utter nonsense of course, but mere fact could not dissuade hysterical civilians from their beliefs and the great majority of tourists scheduled their window as far from noon as they possibly could.  The grad student had merely neglected to schedule his departure in a timely manner, so he was stuck with the last available time slot.  There was no other time he could go on this day. He would go today at noon or seven months from now at whatever time he wished. As his dissertation was nearing its deadline, he chose to go today, but persisted in complaining to everyone who would listen.

Isabella felt the car pitch mildly to one side, indicating that Elizabeth had just turned onto the narrow, unmarked road leading to the launch depot. The main campus of Jaramillo-Diaz was designed to be a warm and welcoming place, one that shone with corporate efficiency. The independent launch depot, however, was not. Its outer appearance—from the solitary road and accompanying gate to the outer façade of the building—carried a dark, sullen, and despairing look. There was only one road leading to the gate; the encroaching everglades had not been beaten back much from the pavement, making it a shadowy drive. There was no sunlight here, ever, and the odor of the swamps was unpleasant, even overwhelming, particularly after the rain. 

Sitting up straight in her seat, she looked up as Elizabeth slowed the pace of the car and checked, for the third time, to ensure the Agency insignia was displayed on the windshield.  As her assistant drove the car over the last hill, she could see the guards, standing at relaxed parade rest, their weapons at the alert position. The brakes squeaked slightly as Elizabeth halted in front of the gate. The car was put in park, and the two women exited the vehicle. 

While the sedan was being thoroughly searched, Isabella and her assistant presented their ID cards and submitted to pat downs and a weapons scan. They were instructed to keep their hands visible at all times and to speak only when asked a direct question; they complied. When the guards had finished their search, pat-down, and had called the councilman on duty to ensure Isabella was allowed an assistant, they were permitted to re-enter the vehicle and drive through the gates. 

After parking in the small lot, they approached the sole entrance to the launch depot, an opaque door with no handle or knob.  The two women stood side by side, allowing a laser to shine out from the door and take their retinal scans. Approving their identities, the door opened just long enough for them to quickly squeeze through.

Upon entering the building, any look of darkness or sullenness fell away as the gleaming pristine terminal spread out before them. If the building’s features were exquisite, the security systems were even more so. As Isabella walked down the highly polished hallway, Elizabeth trailing close behind, she knew that every step she took was being recorded by holographic cameras—on the ceiling, in the walls, and in the floors.  Even the bathroom stalls had cameras. Being recorded was something every Agency employee grew accustomed to; it was a condition of employment.

Elizabeth, however, made a habit of voicing her discomfort with the policy. “I still don’t see why there have to be so many cameras.  No terrorist could get past the guard houses.”

Isabella did not slow her pace. “The surveillance is not solely for spotting infiltrators. It’s also to enforce regulations.” Isabella raised her voice slightly to be heard over the squeaking of her boot soles against the waxed floor. “If even one rule is bent here, people could die. It’s important that every violation is recorded and corrected.”

Elizabeth nodded, still looking warily at the mechanical eyes.

Technicians were considered to have the best jobs in the Agency because the Launch Stations had no cameras. Corporate espionage was a serious problem, and all possible measures were taken to protect the technology.  But Isabella knew these pivotal rooms were not left unguarded, as so many employees had assumed.  They had their own unique surveillance; highly-evolved sensors recorded every movement or applied pressure. Every footstep, every fingerprint, any insect landing on the wall would be logged. Even the DNA of the person touching the machines was documented.  Very few people knew about those security measures, not the technicians nor the Agents. Isabella only knew because her father had told her.  The cameras watched as the Agent and her assistant arrived at the ready room.

It was 8:15 a.m.

***

Etienne stood outside the ready room, nervously tapping his fingers against his leg as he waited for Dejesus to come down the hall. The time tourist and his dissertation advisor were already seated inside the ready room awaiting their departure brief and the soft tones of their conversation were the only sounds in the long corridor. The door was hanging open, and they had given Etienne a glance, very likely wondering what he was doing there. 

Etienne vibrated with anxiety.
What if Isabella changes her routine and decides to actually meet with the tourist like she’s supposed to?
What if she’s with Dejesus?
Everything would be ruined. The plan relied on so many things going right and the actions he was about to take still felt like a faraway dream, rather than his present reality. The sheer terror of being caught that had gripped him last night as he skulked through the launch depot maintained its hold on him and, not for the first time, he considered abandoning the whole idea.

But no; there was no way he could let Isabella get away with this—no way he could live anywhere
knowing she and Ramirez were laughing at him.
She doesn’t just get to go on with her happy life. No. Fucking. Way.

His boiling hatred tempered when he spied Dejesus walking slowly down the hall to the ready room; she was alone, just as he had predicted. A smile cut its way across his face, but he suppressed it quickly in favor of a dramatized look of panic.
Showtime.

“Agent Dejesus!” he called, sprinting across the gleaming tile. “The transmittal time,” Etienne gasped as he came to a stop in front of her, pretending to be out of breath, “has been moved to 1100.”

Grecia Dejesus was a good deal older than him and one of the more composed women he had met in his life. The stormy look that overtook her face was an expression Etienne had never seen on her before.

“And why is that?” she asked frostily. The student and the professor had cautiously risen from their seats and were hanging in the doorway, listening intently.

“The Council just decided it wasn’t worth alienating the Coronado faculty over such a small matter.” Etienne looked over his shoulder to the tourist. “You don’t have to launch at high noon.”

The lanky young man exhaled loudly with relief. “Thank you so much!”

“Wait a minute,” Dejesus called sharply, and the giddy laughter of the student fell silent. “That’s all well and good for the Council, Danforth, but I haven’t completed his prep yet. It is absolutely
unacceptable
, both professionally and legally, to send him to the past without a thorough—”

“I can give an abbreviated prep if we start now.  I know this is a pain, Dejesus. I’m sorry. But this comes directly from the Council.”

“And where is Agent Jaramillo?”

Etienne had not predicted the outright anger rippling like heat off the pavement across Dejesus’ body. If this went on much longer, she just might get it into her head to call the Councilman on duty. He could not allow that.

“Izzy is in with her father and some other members of the Council. Apparently, it’s very important, and she’ll launch at noon as planned; she’ll meet you at the transmittal coordinates three minutes after you arrive.”

Setting off briskly toward his station, he gestured at all three to follow, but the student’s advisor stood fast in the hallway, giving her student a concerned wave as he followed Etienne. Dejesus kept pace with Etienne, still visibly angry. Though Agency regulations dictated that tourists must be accompanied by no less than two Agents, there had been a few times when the travelling unit separated into two separate launches. It wasn’t favored, but it was legal.

Passing two other launch stations, Etienne arrived at his own and steered the tourist into the adjoining prep room where he could dress for the destination time and get supplies. Luckily, Europe in the 1920s was very much about simplicity; Dejesus had only a plain green dress to put on. Her hair was already pinned back and her makeup removed. The grad student had a few layers to get into, but he also dressed in record time. 

“Okay, ” Etienne clapped his hands to get the student’s attention, and then held up a transmitter. “This pretty little crucifix is actually an emergency beacon.  Keep this around your neck at all times. It serves as a pulse generator, which makes it a hell of a lot easier for the retrieval technicians to bring you back; it also emits your temporal displacement field.  That’s what allows you to exist outside of time. With this device, you could stay in the past as long you liked and wouldn’t age a day.”

The grad student looked up from his jacket buttons. “Why? What happens if I travel back in time without it?”