Fagin glances at my barely touched cassoulet and her own full plate. “Looks like you’re the only one with an appetite, Carter.”
“And likely to regret it,” Nico says. “Re-entry was a little rough last time we jumped. Doing it on a full stomach might have you reliving that meal a few times.”
Carter wipes his mouth with a napkin—at least he didn’t use his sleeve—and says, “Tell me again what happened. You were knocked unconscious? Serious time travel side-effects were eliminated generations ago. Why would they hit you out of the blue like that?”
“It was more than just passing out,” I say. “It felt like floating outside my body and then being stuffed back into my skin. Pretty freaky.”
“The nausea after you regain consciousness is where you might regret having dinner,” Nico says.
“Like Carter said, time travel side effects were eliminated decades ago,” Fagin says. “What could cause them to resurface?” Fagin asks.
“Let’s find out,” Nico says. “Betty, are the safety protocol reports done yet?”
“Yes, Commander, honey.” the computer answers. “My analysis is complete and the reports are ready for display.”
“Honey?” Carter laughs at the AI’s term of endearment. “You need a real girl, Garcia.”
Blushing, Nico’s gaze flits toward me. “Fuck off, Carter.” He grabs a data pad and swipes a finger across the display screen. “Tell me what you’ve got, Betty.”
“The time portal’s dark matter and energy have become highly unstable. Energy spikes outside the portal’s normal operating parameters occurred on several star dates in your query,” she replies.
“Are the spikes before or after the premature death of Anne Boleyn?” Carter asks.
“They occurred after the fixed point in history changed,” she replies. “In each of the three time events in question, one or more algorithms established to ensure safe time jumps were insufficient to buffer the energy’s impact on humans.”
“Hypothesis?” Nico asks.
“Comparison of correlating historical documents with the available quantum data suggest the anomalies exist because Drs Joseph Pesce and Katherine Johnson—the physicists who developed safety protocols that eliminate time travel side effects—do not exist.”
“What does she mean they don’t exist?” Fagin asks.
Carter exhales an exasperated huff and motions to Nico to surrender the handheld tablet. Nico glances at him, settles back in his chair, and takes his sweet time scrolling through the results. Nico finally puts the device on the table in front of him, requiring an irritated Carter to rise from his seat to retrieve it.
“It means safe time jumps are now crap shoots because those scientists were never born,” Nico says, not looking at me.
Frowning as he reviews the data, Carter agrees. “Because they were never born, the GTC hasn’t perfected the safety protocols time portals use to protect us. Wild energy fluctuations in the portals can exceed the stress load of our ships’ bio-filters and safety protocols.”
“Betty,” I say, “if ship safety mechanisms are compromised, what are the current statistical odds of injury during time jump?” Cosmic changes to both the universe and my boobs weren’t something I bargained for when I shoved my better angels in a closet and barricaded the door.
“Current odds of time travel-related injury occurring are approximately one in three time travel events. Minor symptoms such as nausea, vomiting, and migraines, and potentially serious adverse side effects such as blindness, paralysis, or lack of reunification can occur.”
“Define lack of reunification.” Nico’s voice is anxious, like he knows exactly what she means but doesn’t want to know the answer.
“Lack of reunification occur when a travelers’ consciousness does not integrate with the physical body. This results in a permanent vegetative state.”
Fagin gasps. I nod slowly, trying to absorb the information. A living death. Maybe that’s what Nico meant when he thought he’d lost me.
“Anyone on your ship get sick?” I say to Carter.
“After we touched down, three out of twelve crew members experienced flu-like symptoms” he says.
“Dodger experienced more serious side-effects. Took her a while to come around,” Nico said.
“Computer,” Carter says. “Are there physical variances between the two Timeships that may account for differences in physical side-effects between our two crews?”
The computer remains silent long enough for Carter to roll his eyes. “For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, throwing both hands in the air in frustration.
“Betty, answer the question, please,” Nico says.
“Four temporal filter settings in my programming differ from Commander Carter’s ship,” she says. “This may account for symptom severity variations if the temporal protection buffer is drastically compromised.”
Carter fires a blazing look at me. “We have to set the timeline straight before this gets worse.”
I can’t look him in the eye. I know there are other Observers, other travelers, risking comas and death trying to get home from their missions. For a moment, I could swear I had a river of blood running off my hands.
“Arseneau? You with us?” Carter snaps his fingers in front of me. When I look up, he must see the anguish in my eyes. Whether it’s pity or pragmatism, his expression softens. “You look like you need a break,” he says. “Garcia and I will analyze, and adjust, the temporal filters to align them for both ships. That might improve our odds of getting everyone to 1532 in one piece.”
“My team will work with you to modify both ships’ programming. How long do you need?” Carter says to Nico.
“Depends. Check back with us in an hour and we’ll have a better estimate.”
Carter turns his attention to me. “Catch a nap, if you can. Make sure whatever’s going on in that noggin of yours gets sorted and you’re ready to go when I give the word.”
“Check back in an hour,” I say with a grim smile, knowing it will take a hell of a lot longer than that to sort out the guilty noise in my head.
As I suspect, sleep is impossible. I settle for rehearsing my part of the plan to stop Trevor from planting her version of the letter—which
