“What do you know about the Benefactors?” I say as I follow Nico back to the main deck.
He settles into the Commander’s chair and flips through pre-departure checklists. “You know as much as I do. They hire us to steal things and they pay us well. They’re anonymous because when you’re sponsoring illegal time travel, you want to avoid the authorities as much as possible. They also break into apartments on occasion to get a target’s attention.”
“You know people who move in those circles. Haven’t you heard gossip about the Benefactors that’s not common knowledge?”
“After the visit from the Brute Squad last night, I can see why you’re curious. In all the time I’ve known you, the only thing you’ve ever been concerned with is when the Benefactor payment will hit your bank account.”
“Not this time. Something feels...off,” I say, fiddling with a lever on the console.
Nico’s brow furrows and he hisses through his teeth at me. “Don’t touch anything in Betty’s cockpit unless I say it’s okay,” he says, smacking my hand away from the controls.
“Betty?” I laugh. “You named the ship’s AI program after a girl?”
“Pilots naming ships after beautiful women is a time-honored tradition, and no woman was more beautiful than Betty Grable. She was the sexiest pin-up girl alive when I was a pilot during the war.” Nico strokes the sleek curve of ship’s command console with his fingertips. “She is the most sophisticated artificial intelligence set-up I’ve ever seen. Watch this. Betty, display Château d’Amboise, the royal residence of Francis the First of France. Year: 1532.”
“Image onscreen now,” Betty replies, her voice is soft, seductive. Nico ignores my raised eyebrow.
A small three-dimensional holographic model of rolling green fields and an enormous palace hovers on the display pad above the cockpit console.
Nico continues. “The old ships have two-dimensional maps, not these kinds of holographic images where—”
“We have holographic images everywhere. That’s not new technology.”
“Think so, huh?” He leans back in the chair and cocks his head to the side. “Betty, magnify image of the people walking toward the palace.”
“Magnifying image by a factor of one thousand, honey,” Betty replies.
Honey? I mouth at him and snicker.
“I am programmed to emulate the soothing tone Commander Garcia prefers. Your commentary is rude and unprofessional.” Betty replies with what I swear is a hint of resentment. If I didn’t know better, I’d say its feelings are hurt. “Nico, honey, shall I lock this human out of systems access?”
“Did the computer just scold me?” Artificial intelligence got a lot snarkier after programmers included personality infusion as part of the customization package.
“You could be a little nicer,” Nico sniffs. “I’ve programmed your access to all non-engineering systems at priority level one. You also have back-up emergency access to critical ships’ systems in the event I’m incapacitated.” Then, to the computer, “Betty, I expect you to be nice to Dodger. Don’t give her any lip.”
“If you say so...Doll,” Betty replies, the resentment slides into grudging obedience and the emphasis on the term of endearment was—I’m sure—meant to further stake a claim on Nico.
The image swirls creating contrails of green and blue—the mingling of the earth and sky of a late summer afternoon—as Betty manipulates the image to magnify the young couple. A canopy of bright green leaves sways gently with the breeze as the pair, dressed in French Renaissance clothes, pass beneath them. Their mouths move wordlessly as they stroll through the meadow.
“When I get the sound working, we should be able to hear their conversation,” Nico says, studying my reaction. He chuckles under his breath when my mouth drops open in confusion.
“Why would a navigational program include human representations in the hologram?”
“Because it’s not just a navigational program,” he replies. “What we’re watching are real French people taking a lovely afternoon stroll in the year Fifteen Thirty-Two.”
We watch as the man pulls his companion into an embrace, then turns her around and walks her backwards, claiming her mouth with bruising until she’s backed into a tree. He pulls the long skirt up to her knees and slips his hand beneath it. Her mouth opens in what I assume is a moan.
“Got popcorn?” I ask. “This is getting good.”
When the man lowers his britches, Nico leans forward and, with awkward throat clearing, zooms the camera out to a respectful distance that blurs the action.
“You don’t like watching?” I tease.
He gives me a double-take, frowning at my ear-to-ear grin. “What if Fagin walks in while we’re watching Renaissance porn.” He taps the controls and the scene changes to a clergyman leading a daily mass in the royal chapel.
“Yes, this is much better,” I say, giggling.
He slaps the enviro controls and a blast of frigid air shoots out of the overhead vents. “Damn cabin is always overheating,” he says. He gestures at the hologram with a flat hand. “Focus, please. This is bleeding-edge technology. No one has ever before watched live-action footage from hundreds of years ago as it’s actually happening.”
“That’s real time?”
“Real people. In France. Right now.”
A beat. “Bullshit.”
“Not bullshit. Look at this.” Nico cycles through several other images. The cooks in the kitchen preparing the king’s meal; the queen of France, and her ladies playing a game of cards; finally, King Francois meeting with his advisors.
“I’ve heard about this technology,” Nico says, “but I’ve never seen it in action. Observer missions used to record events they witness and bring them back to study. Now we can observe real people in our target environment even before we get there. The Benefactors must’ve spent billions on this ship.”
“The Benefactors or the military.” I peer at the scene playing now: King Francois, deep in conversation with his noblemen. The reality of what I’m watching sinks in and its power is astounding.
Conscious now, of the significance of what he thought was just
