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  * * * *

  The freak factor was getting up there when Ashe received permission from Lurch to open her eyes. A guy in a white coat—probably a doctor based on the time frame—jerked back and almost knocked over the ECG monitoring her heart beat. It felt odd to know that, but living with a nanite was like that. The creepy crew watching her through glass got a bit wide eyed, too. In fact, it looked to be a freak fest on both sides of the partition.

  What are they seeing? Lurch gave her a look through the camera and she felt like joining the freak fest. Or laughing. Neither was appropriate to the situation, so she refrained, though it wasn’t easy.

  So, it’s your fault Roswell purists think aliens look like my cloak?

  You chose the look, not me.

  But I chose the look I chose. That’s almost a paradox right there.

  You can thank me later for stopping them from cutting you open.

  He wanted to change the subject and it worked. I think I’ll thank you now.

  He’d sent her the plan and it wasn’t bad. She concentrated on finding the time stream, getting ready to hook in when she “died.” The hologram would broadcast her “death” scene, then she’d appear to disintegrate, and if all went well, make the leap at the right moment. If it didn’t go well, she’d end up as an alien autopsy. Great incentive to get it right.

  The ECG started to go nuts and the doctor was joined by more guys and one gal in white. They huddled with considerable intensity, but didn’t really know what to do, which suited Ashe just fine. Lucky for her they were old school and didn’t know ancient CPR or they’d have been pounding on her chest and giving her the “kiss of life” instead of watching her die.

  Kill me now. She found the stream and gathered herself in. Heard the ECG go silent, the babble of voices…

  Now.

  For a second she thought she hadn’t managed it, and then they were in it, leaving Earth and the coming cover-up behind. So, Keltinar.

  Indeed.

  It wasn’t the Constilinium itself that puzzled her. Keltinar had huge deposits of Constilinium. It was the shipping it through time that didn’t make sense. As far as the Council knew, the Garradians were the only race with time travel science—at least that’s what they claimed. Don’t believe what you’re told.

  Another family axiom she should have remembered.

  * * * *

  Smith tried not to dwell on Olivia as he strode through New York, circa 1894. This wasn’t his time, or his planet for that matter, though he’d spent enough time here to feel at home. If she’d been interested, he might have tried harder to stay here, but the pain meted out by his master felt mild compared to the scornful rejection from a woman. Was that why he’d avoided women in his real life? The first time he’d met Olivia, he’d thought, this is why not. He’d waited for her. He paused to allow a matron, trailing children, to pass in front of him, politely lifting his hat. Her chin lifted, but her eyes assessed—and admired. He was, in the parlance of the times, a fine figure of a man. His thoughts tried to circle away from the one he didn’t want to contemplate: that she rejected him because she sensed his dark secret, somehow felt that his life wasn’t wholly his own.

  She’d intimated as much during their last encounter. Even with all the strange things he’d endured since his collection that one made his eye want to twitch. He didn’t try to wonder how that had happened. The device used to control him didn’t like extended wondering of any kind.

  If she did sense the dark heart that controlled him, how did he blame her for repudiating him? And yet, he admitted, he did. He missed their conversations, her bright, interested gaze, the scent of lavender that drifted in the air around her. Could he, when push came to shove, fight the imperative to collect her and the Professor, when the moment came? It was why he hadn’t tried very hard at the Professor’s warehouse workshop, when there’d been no answer to his knock. His master couldn’t wholly control him here. His orders—other than the final outcome—had to have some built-in latitude or he couldn’t act.

  Now he looked up at the brownstone where Twitchet’s youngest sister lived. In the past—his head twitched with pain because he wasn’t sure if it had been the past or the future—she’d been kinder to him than the others. She’d even, he tugged at the neck of his period shirt, flirted with him. In this time, a married woman had more latitude than a single one. He pulled at the shirt again. How far might he have to go to find out what he needed to know? Could he do it? Would the device let him not do what was necessary? Necessary hadn’t yet been in this direction, but he was about to find out. And if it helped him protect Olivia? His chin lifted, his view narrowed. In his head, he heard the words of one of the women scientists from a deployment.

  Women need a reason. Men just need a place.

  With her help, he could approach the Professor while Olivia wasn’t present, get her to smooth the way, then it wouldn’t be his fault if he missed her. The master might sense his duplicity, but he wouldn’t be able to prove it if the Professor corroborated his story. And if Angeline had a reason, well, he could manage placement. He had a reason, too.

  He rang the bell, removed his hat, and waited for the maid to appear.

  * * * *

  The alternate EAD was on when Robert picked it up. Instinct told him to leave it on until he was back inside the bug. He pulled down a chair for Emily and pushed her into it with gentle force, while his brain spun with theories and thoughts—and he faced the realization he owed her an explanation even if she hadn’t asked for it.

  Her skin was naturally pale, but that gray cast was new. Her eyes were huge and bruised looking. He considered what to tell her while he checked the red ball—it was still dull, like it had lost its oomph the same as Emily—and then checked the gauges—quiet, too—before returning to the parlor. His brain twitched at that thought. He detoured to the “kitchen” and filled a teacup with water, then returned to Emily. He handed her the cup, then used his free hand to lower his chair and then himself into it. Only then did he look at her.

  Her eyes were still big, but her color had improved. She sat straight, her coat making a white pool around her, her boots dark against the metal of the floor. His mind split tracks, freeing one to slide into the memory of holding her, of kissing her. He still tasted her, smelled her, wanted to go back to that moment and make a better decision, one that didn’t involve letting her go so they could look outside.

  He lowered the tiny table between their chairs, extracted the original EAD and compared it to the still humming one. They looked exactly the same. He shut the new one off, tensed a bit, but when nothing happened he set them both on the tea tray next to the empty sugar bowl. Emily picked one up, turned it over as if looking for differences. In theory, it appeared likely that he’d left it there. Which meant that the anchoring plan hadn’t worked. It also meant they might be backtracking their own time line. And creating a possible time paradox.

  Time paradoxes are bad.

  Not a news flash to a guy who had access to Delilah’s memories, including the one where she almost destroyed the fabric of time. Twice. He could grab Emily, activate the beacon and get pulled back to the Kikk Outpost, but it felt like the wrong move. He had reasons to stay, like not leaving the device sitting here for Smith to find, but this was gut level, no ostensible reason, wrong move feeling. Whether he went or stayed, he needed to brief Emily. His Delilah instincts gave a twitch bigger than the device’s gauges. Not all of it, just enough to take that look out of her eyes.

  That look of fear, Wynken asked.

  Because telling her she’s traveling through time won’t scare her more, chipped in Blynken.

  Nod…Nod seemed content to let the others do the talking. Robert had that sense of missing something again, some change in them, but still didn’t have time to pursue it. He felt their happiness at his lack of time. Were they plotting? Could they plot?

  Yes, we’re trying to take over your body and then this world.

  His
mental apology was a bit sheepish and it didn’t let him postpone the moment of limited truth facing. She took him by surprise when she stood up.

  “I need to…” She nodded in the direction of the loo, then headed that way without waiting for his response. He was relieved at the delay, though he knew—before the prompt from the peeps—that she had demonstrated an impressive mental agility and situational flexibility. In fact, her adaptability exceeded his own by a sum he didn’t want to compute. He allowed himself the indulgence of pondering her adaptability instead of his upcoming explanation. She’d let him kiss her on her mouth, let him hold her close and had seemed to like it. He believed—and hoped he was correct—that she’d not only liked him kissing her but had encouraged it.

  He felt the peeps sigh, despite their lack of lungs. You are correct. She liked it. She likes you.

  You can’t know that, he protested, even as his mouth tipped up at the edges. The move felt more natural this time.

  You are teachable.

  None of them added while still too slow, but they didn’t need to. Where would he have learned about social interactions? From parents intent on maximizing his IQ? In the mental hospital? From his little sister who was now older than him?

  You have anger issues.

  He opened his mental mouth to argue, but he couldn’t. I shouldn’t be angry. Delilah plucked me from the jaws of hell. She restored me to a life worth living. You did that, too.

  Change is challenging.

  And you fear to lose it again.

  Was that true? Both he and Delilah had grown up with them snapping at their heels. Oh, he knew there was no them, not really, but the way their minds worked, it felt like they had to run to stay ahead of too much happening in there. Neither had managed it—though Delilah had kept it at bay better—until the peeps. They…stabilized…them both, allowed their mental processes to maintain their high rate of function without pain or total meltdown.

  It was true he feared going back to before. He felt the lost time, felt the jagged edges of that loss, though Delilah had given him back as much of it as she could. Her life, her choices had made her pragmatic in a manner that amazed him. She’d made a better job of fighting back against their mutual weakness. That weakness in the face of her strength was a wound that kept the rest of him from healing. Was he jealous of his own sister?

  You are embarrassed.

  Embarrassed was too kind. He was ashamed.

  You warned her. You helped her be strong.

  She was strong. I did nothing but let her down. And Emily? He’d probably let her down, too. He needed to keep his distance, refrain from kissing and hugging—

  The bug shifted in a stomach-clenching blur. “Emily—”

  The loo hatch opened and she emerged, her mouth once again that dark red that deepened the contrast with her skin.

  He grabbed her shoulders, telling himself it was to steady her. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, a hint of color in her cheeks when she added, “I went before…” Her voice trailed off. Her eyes got impossibly wider. Robert almost didn’t want to turn around and see what had made her go that pale. He kept one hand on Emily’s arm as he made the slow turn toward the still open hatch. Felt his grip on reality waver at the sight of the figure lying in the sand in the spot that the EAD and the skeleton had taken turns inhabiting. He wanted to tell her to wait, but if the machine shifted without them—

  He towed her with him, lifting her down from the bug, then tugging her toward the figure. He stopped first, Emily taking the two steps needed to reach his side. The figure—it had to be Professor Twitchet—wore a dark suit that Robert assumed was correct for his period, though his clothing appeared more work oriented than fashionable. He did have a jacket, loosened, and a top hat half shielded his face from the waning sun. It was…disconcerting to have seen him as a skeleton and now to see him—was he still breathing or a corpse? As one, he and Emily dropped to the ground, their knees hitting dirt at the same moment. Robert reached for the brim of the hat and eased it up, almost falling back when eyes eerily similar to Emily’s stared back at him, bracketed by a fierce frown.

  “Where the blazes is Miss Carstairs?”

  In another galaxy and another century was the honest answer. “It’s complicated,” Robert said, instead.

  His irate gaze shifted to Emily. “I suppose you’re one of those suffragettes, too.”

  “You’re Unc—Professor Twitchet.” Emily sounded dazed.

  Irate eased into almost pleased. “You’ve heard of me?”

  “Yes.” Emily looked as dazed as she sounded, but Twitchet didn’t appear to notice.

  “Well, don’t just stare. Help me up.”

  They both took one of the extended hands and pulled. He came up, his height falling somewhat shorter than both of them. His hair was mostly gray, right to the sideburns jutting into his jowls. He bent and picked up his hat, dusted it and set it on his head. Upright, he appeared a bit grumpy gnome, a bit imperious circus ringleader. The gold chain to his pocket watch traversed an ample paunch before disappearing into a pocket. Robert patted the pocket with the watch he’d picked out of the skeleton, its shape not reassuring.

  Twitchet brushed his trousers, then turned to the bug with obvious satisfaction. There was something a bit bug-like about him as he fussed up to the stairs. He found the dent, running a finger around it, before hopping inside. Robert pulled Emily after him, lifting her inside and then jumping in. No surprise the Professor had headed straight for the water. It felt right, so Robert closed the hatch, securing it for transport. If anyone could get the bug somewhere, it should be the Professor.

  Emily’s silence worried Robert, though he thought he understood it. He’d expected to stumble across the professor, though he was learning that expecting something didn’t take away the shock value when the expected happened. In fact, it felt a lot like the unexpected. Emily was better equipped than most for dealing with the unexpected, but what could prepare anyone for a meeting with a not-dead great uncle?

  Is he undead then?

  Robert gave the peeps mental permission to rummage through his memories. He lacked the energy to produce anything vampire related that might be lurking in there. Instead, he pressed Emily back into her chair and crouched in front of her.

  “Are you all right?” He should come up with a new question, but it seemed as relevant as the last time he asked it.

  “I’m the one who spent the day in the blasted desert,” Twitchet said. He settled in the other chair without comment or apology and directed a fierce stare at Robert. “Explain complicated.” And then, before Robert could, continued, “I should have known a woman couldn’t handle the stress of a complex scientific endeavor. If the results have been contaminated—”

  The time shift had him clutching at the sides of the chair to prevent getting flung the opposite direction of the shift. Before Twitchet could get more questions out of the round circle of mouth beneath drooping mustaches, Robert and Emily said at the same time, “Engine room.”

  He beat her to the hatch handle, turned it quickly and then eased it back. She started to edge past him, but he blocked her. “Wait.” His instincts were kicking as hard as his heart at her nearness.

  She settled for leaning full on against his back again and peering past his shoulder. At first glance the steam engine appeared unchanged, except the Abram’s ball had found its glow again. The scorch marks had neither increased nor diminished. The tools they’d brought in were scattered all over the room.

  “We should pick those up,” Emily said. “Can’t be good to have them flying around banging into stuff.”

  “Wait,” he said again. Something was wrong. He felt it in his gut, surprised he could. He was surprised his gut was still with him. One of the tools lay on the floor about two feet from the opening. It was an odd looking hammer, with a shortened shaft—

  Half of it was gone. He carried that hammer in and it had been longer. A cursory look at the rest
of the tools showed they had been similarly mangled, probably due to contact with the anomaly. How had they all managed to slide past the small patch of anomaly on the opposite side of the engine? That’s when he saw it, the ripple, not just in the engine, but in the space to their right.

  “It’s expanded.” He could see the edges of it now, rippling space and matter. It hadn’t reached the red ball, but if it was expanding…

  While we can’t be certain, it is our opinion that any intersection between the Abrams’ ball and the spatial anomaly would be detrimental to all of us. And the bug.

  He eased to the side, so Emily could see while he still blocked her from entering.

  “Scary, but cool. Like the bathroom only a lot more.” She tensed against him. “Steam is building again.”

  Robert heard the hiss of it as the Abram’s ball pulsed bright red, felt it in the increased rumble underfoot. He backed them out with instinct driven force. He pushed her down the short hall, driving them into the parlor. Twitchet looked up from his perch, a teacup in hand. The oddness of his pose, the parlor and bug looked silly, so it was a shock to see intelligence in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” He made a move toward the engine room, but the bug moved first. Robert wrapped his arms around Emily, taking them to the floor in what he realized might be a vain attempt to shield her from something he didn’t understand. It helped that he now had the data to compare previous leaps with this one. This was different from the first, somewhat different from the last. The basics were there: stretching, light bending, but the angles and duration differed.

  Time is persistent.

  Would it persist in taking them back to their starting point, or was the bug going where it had gone before? The sides expanded and then contracted in on them, coming so close Robert thought the side touched his shoe, though he couldn’t be sure. At one point it appeared that Twitchet cartwheeled past them still holding the teacup and saucer. If they survived this trip, it had to be their last. He felt peep agreement with a hell yes that was new and still missing something…