Marlene Dotterer - Shipbuilder

It was not the same in 1906.

“Where are we?” she asked again. A whisper.

He prevaricated. “We’re in the Botanic Garden, miss.”

Her head moved sideways. “No. I’m a horticultural student. I know that garden like my own name. This is not it.”

“The Palm House is there,” Sam said, his chin jutting to the right, where the familiar hulk was framed against the sky.

Her glance turned into a stare, and when she brought her attention back to Sam, her face was tight with anger. “Start explaining, mister.”

He rubbed his forehead with both hands. “Right,” he said. “You’re right—something did happen. I was doing an experiment,” he turned to gesture at the small tree, but at his sudden movement she brought her hands up in a self-defense posture. The pose looked quite professional to Sam, and he held his hands up, standing very still. “It was only supposed to involve the tree.”

She didn’t change her position. “Do you work for the city? Who gave you permission to experiment in here?”

“It’s a public park.”

Her eyes narrowed and she took a step toward him. The movement was fluid and controlled. Sam moved back, eyes on her hands. Her voice was hard. “Answer my questions, mister. Who are you?”

He bowed his head. “Dr. Samuel Altair. I’m a physicist.”

Her eye twitched. “Why are things different? I don’t remember going anywhere. Did you drug me?”

He winced at the fear and rage in her voice. There’d been date rape drugging going on around the university, and her fear was understandable. But why had she been alone in the park, so late at night? He couldn’t help feeling annoyed that he was now having to defend his honor, when he’d done nothing wrong.

Nothing along those lines, anyway.

“No, I promise you,” he said, his voice firm. “I did nothing of the sort. You understand I have as much right to be in the park as you.”

“Damn it, mister.” Her voice squeaked and she took a deep breath. “I swear,” she said, her voice stronger, “if you don’t start giving me some straight answers, I’ll put you in the hospital.” She changed positions, her eyes roving over his body. He felt himself assessed, saw her confidence. He suspected it would hurt if she attacked. “Tell me the truth,” she demanded. “What did you do?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “We’re still in the gardens.”

Her movement was sudden and harsh, her leg swinging out and around before he had time to blink. She kicked his legs out from under him and he fell with a startled yell. Pain lanced his back as he hit the ground, but she gave him no time to think about it. She grabbed his arm, forcing him to his side and twisting it behind his back until he yelped with pain.

“We are not in the garden!” she yelled into his ear. “Stop saying that. Tell me the truth.”

He gasped, the fingers of his free hand scrabbling uselessly to reach her. “I’m telling you what I know,” he said, gasping again. “It’s just not easy to explain. I’m a researcher. I work with time.” He moaned and she loosened her hold a fraction.

“Go on.”

“I’m studying time distortion. Time travel.”

He couldn’t see her face, but after another pain-filled moment, she released him and stood back. He groaned, bringing his arm around to cradle it against his chest, as he sat up. He looked up at her through tears of pain.

She hooted. “Time travel? You’re going to have to do better than that, Mister. That’s lame.”

He shrugged the uninjured shoulder. “Look around. You said yourself everything is different.” He stood, protecting the injured arm as best he could. “I was trying to send the tree back a hundred years, to 1906,” he said. “I need a chance to look around. I need to verify where and when we are. I need a chance to think.”

She stared at him. He watched her, saw her struggle with confusion. When she moved again, he flinched, but relaxed when she flipped open a cell phone and pressed a button. In the silence of the dark night, he heard the faint recording telling her there was no service available. The light from the screen revealed her dismay.

“All right,” she said, dropping the phone back in her pocket. “Look around. Think. Verify. While you’re doing that, I’m going home.” She turned around, scooped up her backpack, and walked quickly away.

Sam jerked in astonishment. Where was she going? Well, she’d find out soon enough that home wasn’t there.

But what would she do then? Could he count on her to come back? No doubt she could take care of herself in 2006, but would she know what to do in 1906? Bollocks, he didn’t know what to do. Afraid to lose her, he started after her.

He found her just outside the garden gates, staring in shock at the dark street before them. He felt the same shock, looking at a peaceful residential street with ornate houses, stone walls, and trees. She turned to him, small and frail in the half-light from gas streetlamps, although his aching arm put the lie to frailness. Her eyes reflected the light, revealing her fear.

“Where is my apartment building? Where are the traffic lights and the signs and the cars?” Her voice trembled.

He shook his head, afraid to speak. “They aren’t here in 1906,” he said, trying to believe it himself. “We really are back in time.”

She sat on a bench, wrapping her arms around herself and scrunching down. She rocked a bit, either from cold or fear. “I don’t believe you.” Her voice sounded small and defiant, but her next words were nothing but fear. “Can you get us back?”

He hesitated, then sat on a separate bench, wondering if this was a bus stop. He didn’t know if they had buses in 1906. “I don’t know,” he answered her, watching her rock. “Miss, what’s your name?”

Her eyes shot to his face and she regarded him doubtfully, but finally answered, “Casey. Casey Wilson.”

“Casey, I’ve been working on time travel for a long time, but I have to tell you, it’s still a big mystery. Never, never have I attempted to send a human back.” He rubbed his face, trying to think clearly. “My equipment is in the future. I needed a quantum computer and satellites to do the equations for this. I don’t have any of those things here. I don’t know if I can make them.” That might have been funny if he were in the mood for humor. As if he could build a computer or launch a satellite!

“What do we do?” Her voice was stronger.

“It’s cold,” he said. “We need shelter. Neither of us has any money printed before 1906, so we can’t just go to a hotel.”

She nodded, looking down the street. He watched her get control of herself, looking less frightened, and more like the girl who held him at bay with karate threats. He was impressed.

Her eyes narrowed as she spotted something. “Okay, come on,” she said, and took off across the square toward the church whose steeple was visible around the corner. Sam followed her without argument. She tip-toed to the back of the building and paused, looking around to get her bearings.

Sam caught up to her. “Where are we going?” he whispered.

She turned her head to speak through chattering teeth. “Everything looks different. But somewhere, there’s an entrance into a storage area near the rectory. At least we’ll be out of the cold for the night, and I am really freezing. Ah, there it is.” She slipped across the lot to a small door near the corner of the building. Before opening it, she turned to glare at Sam. “You saw I know karate. Don’t try anything.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m an old man.”

Doubt showed on her face. “You’re not that old. And I’m not an idiot.” She tried the handle. The door opened without sound, and they slipped through.