“Copy that,” comes the reply.
I lift my window shade because watching the launch never gets old. The light inside the hangar is dull and gray, creating dappled shadows against the concrete walls as the ship glides toward the launch queue.
“Open hangar doors,” T-Jump commands, and the doors groan open, pre-dawn light streaming into the structure through the ever-widening gap. We hover for a few minutes as Nico and the command crew work through the final launch sequences. When T-Jump is satisfied the launch window is fully open—with no impediments or show-stoppers—she gives the command, “Commence launch sequence. Proceed to time vortex portal and hold there.”
“Launch sequence, phase two. Acknowledged,” Nico says, and we accelerate through the open hangar doors. The pre-dawn sky is an ombre of dusky purple, orange and yellow.
Within minutes, we’ve streaked across green pastures filled with livestock, tall prairie grasses, a patchwork of farmland and, finally, the dark black-blue waters of Lake Powell.
Past the Northern shore of the lake, the shuttle slows. We hover in place, waiting for clearance to time jump. The ship is smooth and balanced and there’s no bone-shaking shudder that rattles my teeth—a nerve-wracking experience common on the dilapidated buckets of bolts mercenaries often use.
From my crew seat, I see a sliver of the open cavern ahead of us. The entrance is enormous, making it feel as it always does at the start of a time jump: like the mountain is about to swallow us whole and spit us out in another time.
That’s an accurate, if inelegant, layman’s description of how this method of time travel works. From what I’ve been told, it’s different on other planets. Interstellar time jumps use temporarily stabilized wormholes, which is dangerous because no one knows when one of those things might collapse. This cavern, and others on Earth like it, is built to harness and focus dark matter and energy coursing through the mineral and gemstone deposits embedded in the cavern walls. When a time jump sequence initiates, a fissure in the fabric of time and space opens and allows us to slip through the cracks between our world and other times, other places.
Dark matter is some serious shit.
“Awaiting clearance for phase two launch, T-Jump,” Nico says.
“How does it look from your end, Nico?” T-Jump replies.
“Instruments show all green. No showstoppers. Looks like we’re ready to rock, so to speak.”
A snort comes over the speakers. “Rock on, brother. Not into the rocks, if you please. I don’t want to write that report.”
“Copy that, T-Jump,” Nico says, laughing.
“We’re clear on this end. It’s all yours, Nico. We’ll keep the lights on for you guys. Come home safe, crew.”
“Thanks, T-Jump. See you on the other side.”
“Commence launch phase two on my mark.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Launch in three, two, one. Mark.”
Through my window, I watch the cavern walls refract prisms of light in long streaks of kaleidoscopic color as we blast through the tunnel. There’s a deep hum building, like a wind turbine ratcheting up to a higher speed.
Flashes of light drift by my window in slow, lazy waves, like a ripple on pond water when a stone is tossed into it. The closer we get to the time jump in the vortex, the faster the ripples travel. There’s an enormous burst of light and color as we slip the bounds of the twenty-sixth century, then a darkness so deep, it’s hard to believe that moments ago, we were surfing a rainbow of brilliant light waves.
There’s a nauseous feeling bubbling in my belly, but biometric filters prevent the sometimes-fatal side effects that were once a dangerous byproduct of time travel.
“Betty,” Nico’s voice is calm and steady in the dark. “On re-entry, initiate exterior camouflage program.”
“Affirmative, honey,” Betty answers. “Re-entry in ten seconds.”
At the end of the countdown, we emerge from the vortex into a vibrant blue sky. “Camouflage initiated and fully intact,” Betty says.
Fagin and I move to the cockpit. Fagin speaks first. “Confirm date and location coordinates.”
Nico swipes two screens out of the way and pulls up a holographic image of our destination. “Date and location coordinates: 47.5532° N, 1.0105° E, which puts us right in the middle of France’s Loire Valley. The date is...” He air-taps a screen to his right. “First of August, Fifteen Hundred Thirty-Two.”
“The location of our first base of operations should be in the computer,” Fagin says.
“Got ‘em right here.” Nico pulls the coordinates up and a three-dimensional image of a gray stone manor house, surrounded by lush gardens. “Pretty fancy joint.”
“Things will move fast after we land. We have a lot to do before contact with the locals.” She pats Nico on the shoulder. “First order of business is to set up security systems.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nico replies. Then he smiles at me. “Welcome to France.”
Chapter 10
I’ve heard it said that wine colonized the world, and humans were merely the vehicle for its migration. Since the advent of the oldest known winery in Armenia, cultivated in 4,000 BC, wine production has done more to promote good international and interplanetary relations than all the adventurers, politicians and kings who ever lived. Without the humble grape, civilization would be, well... less civilized.
I may be exaggerating, but probably not much.
As I prowl the perimeter of the chateau’s salon, watching the Vicomte d’Auvergne and his wife cast snide, sideways glances at Fagin as they judge the quality of the drink, I wonder if there’s a problem that can’t be resolved over a collegial glass of exceptional wine. My predicament with this mission answers that question with a resounding “yes.”
I take a deep breath. I hoped once I was in Papa’s and Mama’s ancestral homeland, I would feel a new connection to them. Something that would give me strength, or at least ease my restlessness as this heinous mission begins. We’ve been in Paris for twenty-four hours. I’m still as jumpy as a puppet on a string.
That’s an apt job description for a time thief: The Benefactors’ bitch. Must perform for their demented pleasure.
The Vicomte is tall and regal
