Time Salvager (Time Salvager #1)(4)

“How far from the future?” she finally asked.

Swails smiled. The shimmer from the strange yellow shield faded, and then his face began to erase itself line by line, as if a recording of someone drawing a face was being played backward. She watched each feature recede until there was nothing more than a bald empty mass of skin where the face should be. Then the entire head disappeared, replaced by a lighter-toned, white-skinned man with an unfashionable display of facial hair.

“Twenty-sixth century, High Scion.” He bowed nearly down to his knees. For a second, it gave her hope that the Technology Isolationists had prospered into the future, if her position was still honored. “How did you know?” he asked.

Grace tsked. “Your disguise only fools a few of the senses.”

He bowed again, this time not quite so low. “The legendary Grace Priestly. You’re exactly as you’re revered.”

Grace studied him more closely. He was a tad thin for Grace’s taste; she liked her men a little larger than perfection standard. He had a handsome face, symmetrical, at least, with features at approximately 70 percent facial ratio of optimum. The intruder had a long thin face, sunken cheeks, and other imperfections associated with a spent soul. Within seconds, those brown eyes, slightly curved nose, and distinctive chin told her everything she needed to know about his background.

“How fares mankind three hundred years in the future?” she asked, studying his every facial movement.

His skin was almost translucent in the light of her cabin. Had this man ever felt direct sunlight? He had the look of a spaceborn: pale, tall, and lanky, typical of someone who spent his entire life between the planets. His brown hair was unruly, leaving him looking dirty and disheveled. Strange, she had assumed someone from the future would be better groomed. By Technology Isolationist standards, he wouldn’t look like someone allowed into the communes, let alone her ship.

“If only I could bring good news,” he said.

“Of course, you won’t be able to tell me anything, seeing how that might change events.”

He shook his head. “News of the future wouldn’t matter in this case. The charter’s second law…”

“‘Travel to the past is restricted to truncated time lines and within appropriate lengths for the chronostream to heal in event of ripples,’” she recited.

“Yes. You remember.”

“I wrote it last night.”

“It’s the second-highest Time Law.”

The realization of what his words meant struck Grace like a physical blow. “The High Marker is to be my grave then.”

She did something uncharacteristic and ground her teeth. It was a childhood habit she had broken as a teenager. Now, all she wanted to do was make up for all those lost years and grind them to their roots. “I knew we were doomed; the probability of surviving was slim, yet it feels different when all doubt is removed.”

Then all the feelings she suppressed behind her cold facade leaked out of her. Grace sat down on her bed, unsure whether she was angry or sad. Her body shook with conflicting emotions. She wanted to laugh, scream, and burst into tears all at once. For the first time in decades, she didn’t know what to do next. She closed her eyes and dug her nails into her palms. She was the High Scion! Revered, even hundreds of years from now! That was worth something, yes? Right now, though, the honor felt hollow.

She looked up at him. “Why are you here?… Of course. It was you who drained and stole the High Marker’s power source.”

He nodded. “And the charter. It’s a desired relic.”

“So this time travel agency I envision exists? It prospers?” Grace’s chest swelled with pride.

He hesitated, then gave her a halfhearted smile. “The agency is cherished and loved. It’s all that stands in the way of humanity’s collapse, High Scion.”

A lie, or at least a truth he did not believe. It mattered little. With her death around the corner, Grace didn’t care about splitting hairs. “I see. Very well, then. You may take it.”

He bowed again. Bowing must be common in the twenty-sixth century. No one ever did that now. Grace kind of liked it. She watched as he strolled to the desk and picked up the charter, hefting it in one hand. For such a supposedly desired relic, the time traveler didn’t treat it with what she thought was proper reverence.

He made a gesture with his other hand and a black circle materialized in the air next to him. She watched, fascinated, as he deposited the charter into the hole. Then the circle blinked out of existence.

“How did…?” she asked.

“Inflationary theory applied,” he said.

“Alan Guth?”

He shrugged. “I only use it. I don’t know how it works.”

“I see.” Grace looked out the window. “At least science has progressed by leaps and bounds then. I am heartened by that.”

“Unfortunately, no. I wouldn’t lie to you, High Scion.”

She stood up and walked up to him. “Now what? The ship is doomed, you say. You have the charter and have siphoned the power source. Now you abandon the time line?”

“As per your directive.” He seemed almost resigned to her fate.

Grace seized on the slim opportunity. “Take me with you,” she blurted out, clutching his wrists. The time traveler’s resolve wavered; conflict flashed across his face. “Even in the future, there must not be many like me.”