All rights reserved — a Crescent Moon Press publication
One thousand feet below the Desert Casino, Las Vegas:
Darius speaks
"Body scan. Initiate." It was the artificial female voice of the Lighthouse master computer.
"Hello dear," I replied. I held my arms out as the red lights flashed over me. I didn't even look around the Warp Chamber. They were all the same, whether it was 1493 or 2093. Bright white, airtight, and utterly sterile.
"Temperature. 99.1 degrees. Pressure. 110 over 62. Heart rate. 49." There was a short pause from my staccato friend, a sure sign the year I had dropped into was prior to 2025. "Dropper. Number. 33. Pass. You are. In excellent. Health."
"Today's date, please."
"May the first. 2010. AD."
"Thank you."
"This is mission control." Another voice, this one human and male, crackled through the chamber. "Darius, welcome back to the 21st century."
"Thank you," I repeated. Guess he knew about my prior assignment in 1863.
"We're going to open the doors now and send you through decon."
A hiss. Then the impervious steel doors slid open. Mist poured out of the chamber as I stepped into the much warmer decontamination area, leaving my pod behind as the doors slid closed. I began to shed the uniform of the confederate soldier. I would keep the boots, I had decided, no matter what they tried to dress me in. They were good shoes, and comfortable enough. Besides, I needed something to hold onto, and these boots would be an inconspicuous souvenir.
An hour later, after I had been 'normalized', I was led through the control room, which was lit up by the enormous LCD screens and holographic panels playing over the workstations of the Lighthouse Techs. The largest screen, colossal and complicated, took up the front wall. It was part radar, part map of the Drop Duration juxtaposed over the land mass of 2010 America. I glanced at it before sitting in the briefing room across from the Drop Manager for the West Coast. Bill Whick introduced himself and we dispensed the polite formalities.
I was hardly paying attention to him while he fired off questions. There was only one person I was looking for-one person I needed. And he, or she, was not present.
"Where's my Tracker?" I interrupted.
Bill Whick frowned. "Scheduling conflict. She will meet you at the hangar. They're prepping your plane as we speak. The Eastern Beacon is expecting you."
"She?"
"Nicolette Stone. Your Tracker."
I had been assigned a female Tracker. They were an interesting breed, as a rule. Nothing like their male counterparts. Whick slid a folder over the conference room table toward me. I opened Nicolette Stone's Track Record. A photo was paper clipped to the top of the file. Something indefinable tickled at the recesses of my hardened heart as I stared at the picture of my Tracker.
"It doesn't do her justice." Whick smirked. "She's all human, no genetic enhancements."
I didn't appreciate the humor of this tasteless man. I glanced at my new watch and wondered how much longer I would be waiting for my car.
"We're well acquainted," Whick continued.
He reminded me of slick don. I made up my mind then and there that disliked him. "I am sure she's well qualified."
"Oh, very."
I studied him, weighing the implications of his words. He was bluffing. I knew his kind. He didn't know my Tracker the way he hinted he did.
"I don't do small talk."
Whick, nonplussed, stood. "Well, then. You can wait upstairs."
He set off to get someone from security to "watch me." How I hated this part. I wasn't free to roam. Ever. I went from one Lighthouse employee to another, so they could carefully make certain that I had a minimal, if not invisible, Footprint. I didn't belong to an era anymore. My world was dead and gone, and I was never to return to it, but I was also unable to make my home in another place and time. I had learned to be comfortable with this eternal purgatory.
In twenty minutes, I had an entourage of Lighthouse attendants and we strode onto the casino floor of the Desert Hotel, a thousand feet above the Warp Center where I had Drop In. We moved through the jammed game room. I smiled to myself. These were still the heydays of Las Vegas.
I became aware of the stares. The people weren't looking at my Lighthouse posse disguised as my friends (a group of guys at a bachelor party). The patrons were gaping at me… It's my job to blend in, and here I was, standing out.
Was it the attire they had chosen for me? Or perhaps the sunglasses? I couldn't take them off, even though we were inside. My pupils were still completely discolored in the most disconcerting-- and obvious way.
"Heavens to mergatriod," a little woman in a funny hat squeaked as I walked by.
What did that mean? What a silly expression. Lighthouse taught us little about popular culture. The subject matter was too vast to make a dent when time is endless and each era had its own customs. So they gave us Trackers to take care of the deficit.
A cocktail waitress paused, and then winked at me as she moved by swiftly. Next, someone from the Asian continent snapped a picture in my face. I was startled, but held tight onto my most professional manner.
I began to understand. They thought me a celebrity. Now that was a first. I wanted to laugh, but I had no trouble suppressing the emotion. The effects of the meds were still strong in my system.
Besides, I'd need all of my restraint when it came to my Tracker. From the moment I'd seen her image, a vague unease crept over me. Had I known her before? But that was ridiculous, right? Droppers, like the Lighthouse Archives, remembered everything. We didn't have the kiss of memory loss when time was altered as the rest of the human race.
Nonetheless…I had been struck by this Nicolette Stone.
Las Vegas Airport
Nicki speaks
I waited for him in the hangar, sitting in the back of a black Mercedes coupe with tinted windows. My black pinstriped suit was crisp and professional, and I wanted to keep it that way even though the trip to New York would be a long one. Using starch on clothing, in my opinion, was one of the greatest ideas of all time.
And I needed all the help I could get. I exercised no discrimination when it came to the external appearance aids when I was working. I meant to make a serious impression on my Dropper. Superficial appearance makes up for a lot of unnecessary work in creating an image. Showing up in my usual thermal with a flannel and jeans would give him the wrong impression of my work ethic. Hence the designer duds and matching pumps, which were so expensive they could have been a down payment on a car.
Not that money was a problem of course. Lighthouse Companies knew how to take care of their employees. And I was more than an employee. I was one of their foster children. Literally. I owed my entire existence to the leviathan which was Lighthouse.
The slick black Escalade finally arrived. I got out and slammed the door behind me with my hip. The chauffer took his cue to get my bags from the trunk and bring them onto the private jet adjacent to the car. I leaned against the Mercedes and glanced at my watch. 7 am. Right on time.
The truck rolled to a stop. I stood, shifting my weight on my right side, arms folded over my chest. I wondered what this one would look like. He was supposedly an assassin from the twelfth century AD. Actually, an Assassin with a capital A. Part of an elite society of murderers. I snorted to myself. His physical appearance was really the only mystery. All the Droppers had the same, droll, robotic thing going on. After years of time travel, anything that had made them unique was rubbed away by the harsh sands of time.
Just then, the door opened.
I suddenly understood the expression "getting hit by a ton of bricks". For a half a second, the world surely tilted on its axis before righting itself again.
He was dressed even better than I was. Good looking too. He'd probably had about fifty wives in his time. I could just see him as some kind of sheik in a luxurious desert palace. Camels and dancing girls, gems so large you could bowl with them. The poor fool had no idea what Lighthouse had in store for him. Then again, he shouldn't have been so good at killing people. If he wasn't, the Watchers wouldn't have found him so easily. He could have been dead for a thousand years and sleeping in peace instead of jumping through time.
He beckoned to me, but I refused to move. He could come to me this one time. I was about to spend an indefinite amount of my days chasing after him.
He laughed and shook his head, then strode toward me, his gait athletic and easy.
Huh? Was I a joke to be laughed at, as if I were a stubborn child who refused to listen to her parent? Now I wished I had approached even before the Escalade parked. At least then I would have seized control of the situation.
"Are you my time cop?" A gravelly voice. Sexy. And a pair of sunglasses equally dark as mine.
I lowered my shades to the tip of my nose and peered at my Dropper. "I guess you can say that." I glowered. "Is there a problem?"
"No," he said simply. "You're actually quite beautiful."
"Thanks." I was stunned at the personal remark. Of course, there was no interest in his tone whatsoever. No male agenda, no angling to get under my skirt. He wasn't built for that. Neither was I. Lighthouse had seen to it. "I know that won't be a problem for you."
"That is correct."
"So I assume you don't need meds?"
"Not right now," he replied. "I had them before the Drop. You can check the record, if you wish."
"No, it's fine." Maybe I was the one who needed my pills. Suddenly, I felt myself blush. Had I implied that I thought he might become attached to me? Havoc raced through my system. What an idiot I was.
The corner of his lip quirked, almost a smile but not quite.
"I didn't mean what you think I meant," I sputtered.
"No, it's fine." He removed his shades. "By the way, I am Darius."
"I know."
That was my cue to officially introduce myself, but I was confused by the electricity running between us. We studied each other for a moment. He was tall, dark and gorgeous, all right. Nicely proportioned, well muscled, his face more handsome than I originally thought. It was tanned, rugged, with a bit of a five o' clock shadow. His eyes were green, ringed with gold…and appeared human, thank heaven. I hated how Droppers looked when they Dropped In. (Yellow, beady eyes and pupils the size of pin dots… it gave me chills thinking about it.) All in all, he seemed to suit 2010, looking very much like he could blend in without my help. Though, he was too fine, perhaps, to really fit anywhere in any time. He didn't have a detectable accent, but he hadn't said much. And if he was typical Dropper, he wouldn't.
I smiled to myself. It wasn't fair for me to have such contempt for this poor soul whom I didn't really know. Sometimes I wondered if my meds from Lighthouse tampered with a lot more than the detachment hormone. Perhaps my cynicism was just a byproduct of being a Tracker.
Then I realized he was still assessing me. Heat rushed my cheeks. A slow smile spread on his lips. Cordial, not personal.
"Did you bring any of your things?" I asked him. "Do you need to get them from the trunk?"
"I didn't bring anything." He shrugged. "The last place I was…" He looked away for a beat, then back. "Most of my things would have been out of place. Can't be too careful bringing things back and forth."
"Right," I teased. "Then what's the deal with those boots? You trying to redefine vintage?"
He didn't laugh. He didn't even take umbrage. It was as if I said nothing at all. I imagined this would be the first of many silences to settle between us. Eventually, I cleared my throat.
"Shall we?" I prompted, lifting my tracking monitor.
"Of course." He stepped into my personal space, offering himself to me, his left arm slightly extended to his side. "Sync away."
I inhaled at his sudden closeness but took the miniature black device from my pocket and held it near his armpit so that it could sync up with the homing chip embedded inside his body. Both of us looked away as my Time Trekker and his found one another. A simple beep alerted us to the fact that he was now officially on his Tracker's radar. My radar. I took the Time Trekker and synced it with my Blackberry as he straightened his collar. He was my responsibility now. I would know where he was even if he didn't.
"You don't have to worry." He smirked. "I won't try to lose you."
"I heard you were smart, so I didn't think you would." I smirked right back. "Besides, the mainframe knows where you are even if I don't."
"But what a pain fibbing those Track Reports would be if I made things difficult."
Sarcasm? This guy was a live one. I began to walk toward the plane. He followed.
"Have you made the necessary arrangements?"
"All of them," I replied. "Right down to your toothbrush."
How much I hated that part. Tracking the Dropper was one thing. Keeping them in line, making sure they didn't go off course or mess with the future, recording their actions, all part of the job. However, having to accommodate their personal needs. Well, I always felt it was beneath me. But who better to be a Dropper's touchstone than their very own Tracker?
Soon after we boarded, the jet took off. We sat facing each other, and in no time at all I found myself staring at my Dropper every bit as intently as he stared at me. Strangely enough, he fascinated me. Instinctively, I knew the feeling was mutual.
Did he know that scorn welled within me? I didn't think so. We were programmed to ignore these kinds of emotions. So why did this dizzying wave of anger mixed with attraction flush through me as I sat across from him?
Perhaps I knew. I was jealous. Jealous of everything he could do. Of his travels and the things he got to accomplish and see. But most of all I was envious of the enhancements that he got as a Dropper, enhancements Lighthouse would not give me. On top of all that, he was quite frankly the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
His dark brows lifted. "Are you comfortable on airplanes?"
"Are we making small talk now?"
"Small talk," he parroted. "No."
"Why don't I just tell you the game plan?"
"Very well."
I cocked my head. "First things first. You already know, but my name is Nicki. Nicki Stone."
"Nicki?" He seemed bemused.
"Nicolette," I explained.
"Right." He grinned.
If I didn't have a total disconnect between my heart and my brain, I would have probably warmed up to him. He had that kind of smile. The kind that can light up a room.
"Nicolette, are you really this difficult?"
My jaw dropped as a little puff of air came from my mouth. A moment of silence. I thought my feelings were hurt, but then I realized that they weren't. "It just makes my life easier."
"Is working for Lighthouse all that bad?"
"As far as you are concerned, I am Lighthouse," I retorted.
He chuckled. "If that's your wish."
Freak. There might have been some kind of mistake with him when they put him through the genetics lab. He wasn't robotic enough for his job description.
"So where will you be keeping me?"
"I have a room for you in my house. I usually keep one just for my Droppers. It will have everything you need."
"What is your home like, Nicolette?"
"My home?" I lost my train of thought just looking at him. The way my name curled off his tongue made it sound like a magic spell. "I live in Sea Bright. It's a little beach town in New Jersey."
He didn't respond. He was waiting for me to continue. Too patiently, unnerving me with his critical gaze. I drew in a deep breath and let it out. "It works out well for me. I'm a short drive to New York City, and Lighthouse has their headquarters in Red Bank, a nearby town. Everything is on the water, but close to the major highways. It's a real convenient set up."
"And the closest pod with a Warp Center?"
"Not far. Atlantic City." I smiled wryly. "Don't worry, I haven't had a Dropper miss his window yet."
"You do know of the time constraints, don't you?"
I retrieved my Blackberry. "Let's go over them."
"Yes." He deftly took out one of the Lighthouse mobile devices from his breast pocket. "The last natural time window to the year 2800 is precisely 3:06 pm on May 31. The next window falls after time is set to loop on the LPT. So May 31 is the last viable portal."
I frowned. He said that dispassionately, as he should, but I shivered. How unlike me. Yes, I needed to take my pills. I was feeling way too much. Had I forgotten to take the usual dose? I couldn't concentrate long enough to remember.
"What is the last recorded date of history on this Line?"
"As it stands, June 5, 2011."
More silence.
"May 31," I mused. "That doesn't give us a lot of time to get the rogue Dropper and you back."
"It's ample," he clarified before rubbing his eyes and leaning back on the headrest. "William did quite a job." He exhaled and the faraway look in his eyes spiked my interest. "He almost completely destroyed the space time continuum. The Archivists say this is our last chance."
I comprehended the gravity of the situation at once. If time were to loop, or worse, cease to exist, my Dropper would be nothing but dust right now. I didn't even want to think about what failure meant to me. My stomach churned. If we were not successful, it would be very, very personal. I shuddered involuntarily.
"Are you unwell, Nicolette?"
"I'm fine."
"You say that a lot."
"My, you're observant," I mumbled.
His brows knit together and his gaze perused me as if I were a bunch of puzzle pieces he was fitting together. Then the expression on his faced faded and he was stoic once more.
"You know, they chose you because you are the best at what you do." He glanced out the window. "I, myself, was the natural choice for this mission. William and I were contemporaries."
"I didn't know that." Hmm. Mental note to get to the Watchers Department at headquarters and pull up his complete record. In fact, I would have if this assignment wasn't so last minute. I didn't want Darius to know what a loss I was operating at, but the fact remained, I was ill-equipped. "I'm usually much more prepared for my Droppers." I focused on my hands. "Forgive me."
"We are still human."
I shrugged. Me more than him. He had more genetic tweaks than I had. I cleared my throat. "We last heard from Petra this morning. They are somewhere in the city."
"Petra? William's Tracker?"
I nodded. "She's his hostage. Petra is the one giving us information." I rubbed my temples. God, I was tired. "When she can."
"That is why this is so delicate." A flash of understanding in his green gold eyes. "They didn't tell me all the details."
"Yeah, well, that's why you have me." I laughed. "So I am telling you now: save the world and the hostage."
He laughed too. It was a wonderful sound. And I felt a little short of stable.
"Why didn't you meet me at my Drop?" he asked, his voice suddenly low. His darkened gaze shot through me like a spear.
"My flight was delayed, otherwise I would have been there. I got off my plane and they ferried me over to wait for you in the hangar."
"I was expecting to see you as soon as I arrived. I was surprised when they told me that my Tracker wasn't waiting for me."
"For what it's worth, I am sorry." I meant it.
I could swear his eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "You have no idea how important a Tracker is to a Dropper."
"I am your anchor, Darius," I assured him. "I won't fail you."
He nodded, his eyes unreadable. I had to turn away. The undercurrents between us were becoming too intense.
