“Be prepared for a strong updraft of air when you arrive, Miss Fernández,” said Javier, the transport technician. He bent his knees and leaned back as he strained to open the thick gold door.
I stepped through the doorway into an empty chamber the size of my parents’ living room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were plate gold. A row of red lights on the ceiling were reflected on every surface. I gripped my tote bag and clutched the hem of my tunic. I said with a firm voice, “I’m ready, Javier.”
“First you feel a vibration beneath your feet and then you depart. I’ll see you when the group returns tomorrow. Be safe.” He put a shoulder to the door to push it closed. It locked with a solid clunk.
I felt a tickle on the soles of my feet. Then at once my eyes were dazzled by the glare of sunlight as I fought to keep the bottom of my tunic from blowing higher than the limit of modesty. I shouted in triumph, “Yes! Hallelujah!“
I took a deep breath of cool air and looked east toward Old Denver. The downtown city area, with its haphazard skyline, seemed unexpectedly small. The city was surrounded on all sides by a broad carpet of featureless green suburbs. What a ridiculous amount of water devoted to grass!
Old Denver seemed merely a crude sketch for the glorious architecture of the future Denver City-State. This contrast between past and future made perfect sense: I had traveled as far back in time to Old Denver as the duration separating the great imperial city of London in the late-Victorian era from the modest, mostly medieval town of Shakespeare’s London.
I was grateful that time appeared to have no effect on the natural scene. The Mount Falcon trail beneath my feet was unchanged. The scrub oaks bordering the trail on the hillside and, above them, the pines – all this was reassuringly familiar to me. Beside the trail on the eastern side, in the thin lip of weeds before the downslope to the valley below, were distant ancestors of the tiny white wildflowers that I enjoyed in my own time. Behind me was the level patch of wild grass that our Fernández extended family used for our picnic area. This time destination, with all its happy associations, was surely Uncle Luis’s suggestion.
The memory of my childhood picnics was easy to recall. The men and a few older boys were the pack mules, their backpacks loaded with everything needed for the meal. They carried loose furnishings in their hands: camp seats for the older adults, tarps for the rest of us to sit on, a small flap-tent where the food would be arranged, and a small camp stove. While the adults were setting things up, we children rushed across the weed patch and ran around the great slab of rock at the back, which the older children declared was the hull of a Spanish galleon.
Even now, through adult eyes, the rock still seemed impressive. As high as my shoulder and four meters long, this great galleon had drifted imperturbably with the stream of time for centuries.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned about to see a man crouching behind the concealing branches of a scrub oak, scouting me. He was about my own age. He was dressed for rough terrain and wore a backpack and a blue cap with the picture of a horse’s head on it. His eyes were serious and intelligent.
I nodded to him. He broke cover and approached warily, stopping three meters away from me. “Are you an angel?” he asked.
I laughed. “Neither angel nor devil, or at least no more so than any ordinary woman. I am Luz Elena Fernández, usually called Lucha.”
“Ordinary? No, I saw you suddenly pop into sight from nowhere! That’s not ordinary. Where did you come from?”
I pointed toward Old Denver. “From over there, but three centuries hence.”
“Hence? You mean the future?”
“Exactly. Please excuse my formal speech. I learned my English from an automated tutor.”
“If you are from the future, why are you dressed like a statue of a Greek goddess? Athena or Aphrodite or somebody.”
“Artemis would be closest to the mark. But, all the same, I have never aspired to be a statue. The tunic’s fabric is a matrix of calcite that indeed resembles gleaming marble, but somehow feels wonderfully light and soft.” I gave a quick shimmy to prove my point, but instantly regretted it. I could almost hear my mother saying, Dignity, Luz Elena, dignity. “The tunic is totally impractical for a time traveler, who is expected to remain inconspicuous. But my trip began on the spur of the moment, and I didn’t have time to pick up the appropriate period clothing and facsimile currency. I improvised a solution, however. I would like to give you this gold in exchange for covering my expenses for the next twenty-four hours.” I reached down into my tote bag and brought out the rod of gold. I held it out to him.
He cautiously stepped forward to take the rod. He scrutinized it and then gently bounced it in his hand to judge its heft. “It looks like a push rod for a heavy-duty truck engine. It’s a lot heavier than steel. I guess it could be gold.”
“Oh, it’s real gold. I don’t know the exchange rate here, but this much gold should easily cover my needs for clothing, food, and tonight’s lodging. Can I count on your help, sir?”
“You’re a mystery, but I don’t think you’re a danger. And I don’t suppose that you came all the way from the future just to make a fool of me. So, yes, I will help you for a day.” He put the rod in his pack, from which he pulled out a balled up red garment and smoothed out the wrinkles. “Here, put on this shell for the time being. It will make you a bit less conspicuous and keep you a bit warmer. What was your name again?”
“Lucha.”
“My name is Ernest Taylor. Call me Ernie.”
I put on the shell gladly; my tunic wasn’t adequate for the cool mountain air. I said, “I must do my historical observations today and then join up with other time travelers tomorrow. We will depart from this exact location on the trail. Do you have the local time?”
“Local time? Oh. It’s 10:30 in the morning here.”
“Thank you. It is essential for me to be back here no later than 10:30 tomorrow. A bit earlier would be safer. We can remember this big rock as a landmark.”
“The rock is easy to remember. When I was young, my family often hiked this trail. My brothers and I would play tag and run around the rock.”
“Easy for me as well. My family loves coming here for picnics. When I was a little girl, I somehow climbed on top of the rock while no one was watching. I tumbled off and suffered cuts and bruises. I still have a scar under my chin.” I lifted my chin by way of demonstration.
Ernie squinted at it and said, “Nearly invisible.”
“Medical care in the future is excellent.”
“I’m parked at the eastern trailhead. We need to go this way.”
We started our hike down the trail. Soon we reached a fork in the trail. “In my time each of these two trails ends at the trailhead. Is that still the case?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s right. I recommend taking the Castle Trail on the right. It’s more direct.”
“In my time we call it the Falcon Trail. The other trail is Snake Trail, because it winds around. Why do you call this one the Castle Trail?”
“Because if you go back the way we came, you eventually come to the burned-out ruin of a great mansion that was built on high ground more than one hundred years ago. Only the stone foundations, walls, and chimneys remain.”
“No such ruin exists in my day. What do you call this other trail?”
“That’s what we call the Turkey Trot Trail.”
“Oh, I like that, Ernie. That’s a happy sounding name. However, I have seen snakes on that trail, but never wild turkeys.”
We headed down the familiar switchbacks of the Falcon Trail. Ernie led the way at a good pace. He seemed lost in thought. To kindle some conversation, I asked Ernie what he did for a living.
He slowed to fall in beside me. He said, “I’m an over-aged school boy right now, attending the Colorado School of Mines in Golden. I enlisted in the Army right after high school, scored high on the Army’s mechanical maintenance sections of the vocational testing, and was assigned to work as a mechanic on vehicles ranging from Humvees, which are a sort of huge Jeep, up to the massive transport trucks.
“What is a Jeep?”
“You’ll soon see with your own eyes.”
Conversation, mostly about the scenery, ebbed and flowed in proportion to the difficulty or ease of the terrain. My knees reminded me of the effort involved with trudging down these long switchbacks.
The trail wound down at last to a wide field of brown weeds. Near the end, the trail teased us with several dips into gullies hidden in heavy brush until we popped up within sight of the eastern Mount Falcon trailhead. Soon we were in the parking lot, walking past dozens of shiny vehicles until we stopped in front of an ugly relic with its seats open to the elements.
“Oh, my. Your vehicle appears to be missing some parts, Ernie.”
“This is The Mighty Jeep. Bought for a song and slowly being restored. The exterior needs to be freshened up, but it’s safe and mechanically sound. I take the doors off for extra visibility whenever I might want to go off-road on tight, rocky trails.”
He helped me into the passenger seat, He leaned in as he explained the process to latch my restraining belt. Then he handed me his blue cap. “The wind will whip your hair around like a tornado. I’ve seen some women gather their hair in back and twist it into a bun. Then they push the bun through the hole at the back of the cap.”
“Yes, that’s one way. I know what to do, Ernie.”
“Okay, sorry.”
He took his seat, latched his belt, and inserted a key. “The Mighty Jeep wakes up angry but quickly calms down. Ready?”
I rechecked that the cap was secure. “Ready.”
The motor roared to life. Ernie eased the The Mighty Jeep out of the parking area. After a few twists and turns through a residential area with fancy log cabins, we were soon hurtling down the highway toward Old Denver. I looked over at Ernie. He looked relaxed but purposeful as he concentrated on the road ahead. I wondered whether this composure came naturally or was instilled by his military discipline. Raising my voice to be heard over the road noise, I asked Ernie what he was studying.
“After my four-year stint in the Army, I used the government subsidy based on my military service to enroll in mechanical engineering at the Colorado School of Mines in Golden. I have one more year to go for my degree. Does the Colorado School of Mines still exist in your time?”
I hesitated before replying. “No, I’m sorry that neither the Colorado School of Mines nor the city of Golden is still in existence.”
“Well, I’m sorry that I asked the question. You said that Denver still exists, right?”
“In a sense, but it has been totally rebuilt, enlarged, and improved beyond recognition. Denver was redesigned to be a great garden city. The streets, buildings, parks, and walkways were planned with the goal of enhancing livability by integrating nature wherever possible. Every flat roof or high-rise building patio is a garden: including vegetables and grape vines and berry bushes and dwarf fruit trees and flowers everywhere. All the plant life is a pleasure to look at and a great help in keeping the city cooler in the summer months. I am very proud of all this, because I work as an assistant in the water distribution department. Useful work, although not particularly exciting. This is the sort of work one ends up with when one decides to take one’s studies in history."
“Thank you for an optimistic view of the future Denver, Lucha. Here in the twenty-first century we seem to be short of optimism. We have worries about even the next few years.”
“Oh, Ernie, a time traveler is not allowed to give specific, actionable details about the near future. You can guess the guidelines, Ernie. No investment advice. No future winners of sports championships. No talk about the advent of sudden wars or political upheavals. And it’s not because this information could actually change the future. That can’t happen, and I’ll explain why later. But injection of near-term future information can get people stirred up for no good reason. It would be unkind for time travelers to make a mess during our time visits.”
“All right, even if I don’t understand this, I won’t pester you about the near-term future. But people here also worry about the longer term.. One current worry is that Artificial Super Intelligence will cause human extinction.”
“Really, Ernie, do I look extinct? I’m sorry, that’s too flippant. It’s not a foolish worry. Over the coming centuries Artificial Intelligence will grow to be an incredibly powerful and pervasive tool for ingesting knowledge and ferreting out patterns that are too subtle for humans to see. Plus, adding sensory inputs to Artificial Intelligence, which started with the so-called Natural Evolution theorists, eventually will allow machines to be aware of their surroundings and skillfully interact with the physical world – for both good and evil. Especially evil. Lightening-fast attack robots, attack and surveillance drones, and those nasty scorpion devices greatly magnified the carnage of the Resource Wars. But humans provided the plan, not the machines. Thankfully, that horrible period is over.”
“Mankind eventually banned war?”
“Not exactly. In my time, there is no global authority able to enforce a ban on war. But a world composed of isolated City-States has reduced the incentives for war. For instance, a self-sufficient City-State does not typically hold a large storehouse of wealth that an aggressor might be tempted to loot. Our wealth is in our infrastructure and the productivity of our people. And while I doubt that there is less hatred in my world on a per capita basis – people are still people – the great reduction in world population has put more space between antagonists. Ernie, It would be much better for me to give you an orderly historical overview of the next three centuries in quieter surroundings. I’m starting to get hoarse from having to talk over the noise.”
“Okay. We’re close to the Park Meadows Mall, a large shopping center south of Denver. We can talk there. Also, you can buy twenty-first century clothes and eat a twenty-first century lunch.”
As we drove along, I observed the passing scenery: the buildings, the open spaces, the occasional wooded areas. I had a growing sense of the total unreality of it all. It was all part of the time bubble, a temporary disturbance of the flow of time. The highway was not real. The buildings were not real. Even the kind and helpful Ernie in this time bubble was not the real Ernie. I thought to myself: I am the only thing that is real, the only thing that will persist after the time bubble ends.
We arrived at the Park Meadows Mall, a sprawling agglomeration of connected buildings surrounded by peripheral restaurants. Ernie parked The Mighty Jeep in a multi-level parking structure in front of the food court. We went inside and Ernie guided me to the restroom area. He said, “Here is our twenty-first century solution to a timeless need.”
I was happy to find that the woman’s restroom was not as barbaric as I feared.
The food court was vast and noisy. The cathedral-like ceiling amplified the background drone of countless conversations until it rivaled the road noise of The Mighty Jeep. I felt small and out of place. Many scores of people queued up in front of the dozen food booths or sat to eat their food at one of the multitude of tables in the center of the food court.
“Ernie, can we shop for clothing first?”
“Sure. There are a lot of women's clothing stores inside the mall.”
Ernie led me out of the food court, down an escalator, and out into a broad hallway. This was the heart of the legendary twenty-first century consumer paradise. Rows of individual stores mounted large, ornate name plates and clamored for attention with placards and posters on their windows. To me, the storefronts seemed obtrusive and vulgar. The prospective clientele walking the hallway paid no attention to the aggressive advertising. Moreover, in many cases, the prospective clientele did not even appear interested in adult clothing. I asked Ernie, “Why are so many grown people, women included, wearing these odd and unflattering clothes?”
“Sports tee-shirts and jerseys are very popular. The people are showing the world that they support a particular sports team or a favorite athlete on the team. Also, some people have tee-shirts with pictures of their favorite singer.”
“Why would the world care about any of that? Is that why you bought your blue cap with the angry horse head?” I felt slightly foolish to be still wearing Ernie’s cap.
“Not really. It’s true that the cap is merchandise for the Denver Broncos football team. I simply needed a cap for hiking and this one was the least ridiculous cap I could find. But I suppose many people wear sports clothing as a way of displaying their individualism.”
“Individualism – that is such a sore point with me. I have been told that I am prone to flaunting my individualism. This has never been true. The truth is that I am extremely curious and have an active temperament.”
“I believe you,” he said with a laugh. “And I’m glad you are this way. This adventure with you would never have happened if you were mousy.”
“It’s in my blood, Ernie. My surname, Fernández, comes from the Visigoths that settled in Spain in the Fifth Century, after sacking Rome. The Gothic name Fernández itself means “Bold Voyager.” I sometimes fancy that I am a throwback to my Visigoth ancestors.
“All the pieces seem to fit, Lucha.”
“Oh look, that woman knows how to dress.” I pointed to a Hispanic matron with a tasteful embroidered dress. I rushed to meet her. “Pardon me,” I said to her, “I noticed your lovely dress. I have just arrived in Denver, and I need to buy clothes. Please tell me where you bought your dress.”
She gave a quick glance at the red shell and the bottom of my shiny tunic peeking out below. “I can help you, dear. My dress is from a store called Johnny Was. It’s down this hallway, right next to Macy’s. The store is known for traditional craftsmanship. Of course, there are many other stores offering styles more popular with your age group.”
“Regarding my age group, I am a bit of an outlier. I am more interested in quality than in current styles. Thank you very much for your information.”
Ernie and I hastened to Johnny Was. Ernie said, “I’ll take a chair out here. When you decide what you want, call me in and I’ll pay the bill.”
“I’ll try to be quick.”
“No, no. Don’t try to be quick. Take your time and find something that suits you.”
I handed Ernie back his cap, shook my hair out, and then marched into Johnny Was. It turned out to be fortunate that Ernie was patient. I certainly wasn’t quick.
I told the saleswoman that I had just come to Denver and had no clothes but those I was wearing. She assumed that I had flown into Denver and my baggage did not arrive with me. I was happy to let that assumption stand. She made some measurements to determine my size and then pointed out a dozen candidate dresses. I thought six of them were marvelous, and tried each of them on. After the saleswoman and I deliberated over the merits of each dress, I narrowed the candidates to two dresses and tried each of these on again. After some fretting and vacillation, I finally picked the winner. The saleswomen seemed relieved as she put the dress in a bag. She said, “We don’t carry undergarments; but if you go into Macy’s, you can find whatever you need. My friend Linda should be on duty in that section of the store.” Looking through the store window out to the hallway, the saleswoman said, “Is that your man sitting out there?”
It was convenient to agree. “Yes. I’ll bring him in to pay the bill.”
“He’s going to like you in this dress.”
I went to bring Ernie into the store. He paid the bill by tapping a device on the counter with a small plastic card. He didn’t pay attention to the price.
We returned to the hallway, and I told Ernie that I needed to go into Macy’s for a few more things. He returned to his chair with good grace. After selecting twenty-first century undergarments and various toiletries, I got permission from Linda to use a dressing room to put on all my new clothing prior to paying the Macy’s bill. (Having a bath first would have been preferable, but time travelers must be adaptable.) I stowed the shell and my tunic in my tote bag and donned my twenty-first century apparel.
I rushed to make my appearance in the hallway. Ernie saw me and rose to his feet. He said, “Wonderful! You were conspicuous this morning as Lucha, the Future Girl. Now you are conspicuous again as an elegant woman in a beautiful dress.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll settle up with Macy’s and then we can get a bite to eat.”
We went back to the noisy food court. Neither of us was very hungry, so we split a box of chicken pieces called tenders. I observed the people moving past us and shared my impressions with Ernie. I said, “It makes me sad to see how many women, young and old, have disfigured themselves with tattoos, to say nothing about the ones with wires in their noses. Symptoms of cultural distress, I think. Milton wisely wrote: Thus shall they pass, and in their luxury and plenty fade away, till a deluge come.”
Ernie agreed with me concerning the wires or “piercings”, as he called them. Concerning the tattoos, he was less bothered. “I myself don’t care for tattoos. But at least some of the women have tattoos that are artfully drawn.”
“My view is that skin is not the appropriate canvas for visual art. It’s a bad idea. And a bad idea, even if skillfully executed, is still a bad idea. The root problem is that these poor women do not know who they are. They can be and should be alert, poised, and confident – in a word, healthy. And health brings its own loveliness. In my era we have a saying: Lose your women, lose your culture.”
Ernie grinned and replied, “You’re rather conservative, aren’t you?”
This comment nettled me. “Ernie, I have studied all of the twenty-first century’s political dichotomies – Liberal and Conservative, Socialist and Capitalist, Populist and Globalist, and the other political marketing ploys – and I reject them all. The historical record is clear that none of these ideologies were successful in promoting the continuing vigor, family stability, and work satisfaction of the people. Do you disagree?”
“No, I guess I don’t.”
“In building the Denver City-State, we were forced by harsh circumstances to zero in on the well-being of the people and shape our social and political principles to meet their needs. Pragmatism was a messy trial-and-error process at first, but it yielded a very robust society. I have more to say about this, but can we find a quieter place to talk?”
“I know just the place. It’s called The Vistas.” Ernie led me through the mall to the doors leading to an outdoor area with restaurants, patios, and a scenic walkway around a long recirculating water course meant to simulate an alpine stream.
“Oh, this is so nice,” I said.
Ernie took me over one of the little wooden bridges that spanned the water course and we made our way to a bench beside the water. I spotted an orange and black fish swimming close to the water’s surface.
“Ernie, you asked me earlier about the Denver City-State. I think that it will be clearer to start with a quick historical overview, speaking as a historian of my era looking back over three centuries. Jump in with any questions you have. And, of course, realize that everything that I refer to in the past tense is still in the future to you.”
“Got it.” He leaned back against the bench and looked at me expectantly. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“The history is very sad. It is not entertainment.”
“No, of course not.” He sat up straight.
“All right. The bad times began with a sudden upset and then led to a long grinding period of decline. Global trade was nearly extinguished, and there was significant de-population in many countries. I won’t elaborate on the horrors. Historians named this period The Desolation.”
“How did your ancestors survive, Lucha?”
“At the very start of The Desolation, they fled from the United States to Mexico before Mexico choked off border crossings. Some survived, at least my own spindly branch of the family tree. Very much later, my father’s ancestors came north when Denver began to be resettled. They were tough-minded people according to family oral history, and had a motto that they lived by: Trust God and move forward.”
He nodded.
“After The Desolation came a period of partial global recovery. The major powers that were still somewhat intact began a frantic competition around the globe to secure remaining energy feedstocks and key industrial commodities. This sparked what historians call The Resource Wars, disastrous conflicts which drove the already impaired health, prosperity, and physical security of the world’s peoples to new lows. The subsequent slow climb back to a greatly reduced, but sustainable, world economy has been called either The Great Simplification or The Reconstitution. Ultimately, after the destruction and waste of The Resource Wars, there were few remaining resources worth fighting over, and the competing powers had exhausted their ability to equip and maintain effective militaries. Power devolved from the nations themselves to isolated City-States within these nations. My Denver is one of these City-States. We are largely self-sufficient and trade only with other City-States: Salt Lake City, Kansas City, Albuquerque, San Antonio, and, to a lesser extent, Monterrey in Mexico.
“This has been my superficial summary of many decades of history. Now I’m ready to give you a picture of my Denver City-State.”
Ernie said, “Thank you for telling me all this, Lucha. It’s grim but fascinating. For you it’s history; for me it’s prophecy. So, when I think about it, you’re kind of an angel after all. Now please foretell some hopeful things about your future Denver."
“Let’s start with a comparison. Imagine that you could take the urban area of your present-day Singapore and lay it down to cover the entirety of your present-day urban Denver and parts of its adjacent suburbs. Then make a broad ring of surrounding farms and pastures, which provide the great majority of our food, supplemented by our house gardens. We eat what we grow locally, except for some intermittent and expensive delicacies that we buy from our partner City-States. This is a rough picture of the Denver City-State geography.
“Now a larger perspective: the entire population and commerce of Colorado are now gathered into the Denver City-State, apart from the water reservoirs and coal mining locations. When I talk about things being gathered into the Denver City-State, I include the massive effort to reclaim resources – machinery, building materials, wiring, piping, and a hundred other things – from all the abandoned towns and cities across Colorado, western Kansas, and Wyoming up through Cheyenne. We stripped out everything useful and brought it here.
“Much like your present-day Singapore, the Denver City-State is run as a one-party, pragmatic, authoritarian bureaucracy. My uncle, Luis Fernández, is on the Executive Council of this bureaucracy. This makes me a sort of bureaucratic duchess. There are scant privileges associated with being a bureaucratic duchess, I am sorry to say.
“I’ll finish with our civic catechism. The driving purpose of our bureaucracy is summed up in three short phrases that approximately translate to Optimum Health, Optimum Effectiveness, and Optimum Order. This translation probably sounds too Spartan. Our word for effectiveness also includes an aspect of a team working to get things done. Our word for order also includes aspects of harmony and balance. All this is wrapped up in our slogan: A good life for good people.”
Ernie asked, “Okay, does this mean that the people must be good in order to expect a good life? Or, does it mean that the government is expected to promote a good life for its people?”
“Certainly both.”
“Sounds ideal to me.”
“No, not ideal. I’m not saying that my Denver is Heaven on Earth. Our society is single-mindedly structured toward defending physical wellbeing and social harmony. If someone is troublesome about wanting a particular ethnic or religious group to gain more influence in the public square, he will be warned and then, if he continues making trouble, banished. Our leadership’s hard restraint of factionalism has resulted in overall tranquility, although some might possibly argue that there is an inhibiting effect on cultural flourishing.”
“We call that ‘tough love’ in the Army. Thanks, that helps me put things in perspective. Now I would like to hear about time travel, please.”
“I can’t give you a technical explanation of time travel. I studied history, after all. My physics courses only progressed through classical relativity; I never got to quantum dimensional effects. Anyway, time travel theory was developed during the early stages of The Resource Wars. The initial motivation for creating an operational machine was the chance discovery of a professor’s diary from the long ago 1950s that mentioned a conversation with Albert Einstein, who lamented that the research of R. Thomas Haverson was never carried forward. Haverson was interested in a way to render inert the fissionable material inside nuclear weapons. Various clever tricks based on bombarding neutrons with fluctuating radiation were involved, as I recall. The United States desperately wanted this capability. Based on the theoretical quantum groundwork for time travel, talent and funding was mobilized to build a working time machine prototype. After some trial-and-error calibration – sometimes with unfortunate results – a time traveler with a photographic memory was dispatched to find Haverson in the past, memorize Haverson’s calculations, and bring them back. Sadly, the calculations proved to be a mirage.”
“That was clear and succinct, like a good military briefing. Thank you. Now what can you say about time travel paradoxes? You know, accidentally killing your own grandfather when he was a boy and so forth.”
“I’ll try, but a physicist would probably consider my explanation simplistic at best. I have been told that our three-dimensional universe can be mapped mathematically to a two-dimensional hologram – think of an infinite sheet. Now think of time travel as a disturbance, a small bubble, that branches out from the space-time structure of the universe at a particular location and time on the sheet. Physicists call this a ‘bifurcation.’ I caused a time disturbance when I arrived this morning.”
“So you are Lucha, the Time Disturber.”
“Time Disturber. Oh, I like that! It’s more forceful and impressive than other things I have been called, such as ‘reckless’ and ‘headstrong’. The Time Disturber am I! Now where was I? Oh yes, the time paradoxes. All of these worries about reverse causality and so forth were put to rest by an early time travel experiment. A time traveler was given a sledge hammer and sent back in time to a location near an vacant rental house. He smashed every window on the first floor of the house. Then he returned to our time. I would have loved to carry out this scientific experiment: no math and a lot of exercise. Next he was sent back to the same location a day later. Every window was intact. This proved that every action inside a time bubble – even slaughtering all your grandparents – would be reversed when the bubble collapses at the end of the time visit. Ernie, you look skeptical.”
“No, just confused. I honestly can’t get my mind around this business about holograms and bubbles. But there are two things I do know. I know that I saw you appear suddenly on the Mount Falcon trail. That is a solid fact. Secondly, I have decided that you have a good character, which makes me want to trust what you say. However, regarding all these future events, it doesn’t really matter if I understand or not. I’ll adapt to whatever events come my way. The Army taught me that it is more useful to focus on the here and now. Live in the real world, I was told. However, there is one thing in your distant future that I would like to know: how you came to be chosen for this time travel journey.”
I felt a flush of embarrassment. I replied, “All right, I’ll give you the painful truth. First, understand that time travel uses up a horrendous amount of energy to send people to the past, to sustain the bubble while they are there, and to bring them back. Consequently, time travel is authorized only for crucial historical investigations or for brief time visits to honor great benefactors of the City-State. I could never hope to qualify for either of these categories. But I had a fierce and abiding curiosity about time travel, and had even learned your ancient language in preparation. I decided that if I could never be worthy of a trip, I would resort to trickery. It would be like stowing away on one of your early moon flights. This will probably undermine your confidence in my character.”
He looked amused. “It’s safe to say that I will never be summoned as a witness against you. So you may speak freely.”
“Here is my confession. My uncle Luis and other dignitaries who had done fine service to the City-State were to be honored with a time visit. When I learned that my uncle intended to decline the trip because of pressing family obligations, I went to the technician in charge of setting up the visit details and lied to him, saying that my uncle had delegated his place on the visit list to me. It helped that the visitor manifest showed only the first initial of the given name and the surname. I said that my substitution had already been approved and that “L. Fernández” on the manifest meant “Luz Fernández” instead of “Luis Fernández.” Compounding my transgression, I also shamelessly sweet-talked the technician into letting me bypass the formal departure briefing and check-out procedures and to go out by myself a day early. I wanted a stolen day of freedom before having to face my consequences.”
“What were you so curious about?”
“I was curious about your present United States of America. The history books say that the country is enjoying the very peak of technical advances, energy sufficiency, and aggregate affluence. I was curious to see how your people have reacted to these great advantages and to see what level of decadence may have crept in. Historians like to scrutinize everything. We analyze the official narrative and then check for a worm in the apple. Also, I truly wanted to observe a different, less structured, form of living. Life is tranquil in my era, so very tranquil – sometimes too tranquil for me.”
Ernie held his peace about judging my misdeeds. He suggested a walk around the water course. I saw four more fish.
He asked, “Are you ready for dinner?”
“Yes, I’m getting hungry now. I would like an authentic twenty-first century meal.”
“We need to clarify our definition of authentic,” Ernie said. “Most restaurants nowadays are owned by large national corporations. Therefore, defining authentic in terms of the most prevalent twenty-first century restaurants would send us to McDonald’s. Do you have McDonald’s fast-food restaurants in your time?"
“No, I’ve never heard the name.”
“That’s just as well. We can do much better than generic food. I would like to recommend a fine family-owned restaurant that serves traditional Mexican dishes.”
“That sounds very good. I can get in touch with my Mexican roots.”
“We’ll have a good time, but don’t be surprised if you happen to notice some young Hispanic men giving me sour looks. They don’t like to see Anglo men poaching their pretty Hispanic women.”
“Anglo? Like Anglo-Saxon?”
“Related. It’s a general term used by some Hispanics for white non-Hispanics. It’s like a tribal differentiator.”
“I see. In the coming hard decades, the Hispanic tribe will become increasingly prominent. Their close-knit families and religious faith will give them great resilience. I wish that I knew some Spanish words. Earlier, I mentioned the old Fernández family motto, dating from our time in Mexico. My father had me memorize the motto in the original Spanish: Confíe en Dios y siga adelante. Teach me some courtesy words in Spanish, Ernie. Start with please and thank you.”
“Okay, please is por favor.”
“Por favor. Favor. Do me a favor. Por favor. Got it.”
“Thank you is gracias.”
“I know that one. Now give me hello and goodbye.”
“Hello is hola. Goodbye is adiós."
“Hola. Hola. Hola. Adiós I know. I should be able to remember por favor and hola.”
We returned to The Mighty Jeep. I borrowed Ernie’s cap again. The Mighty Jeep roared to life and carried us away to sample authentic twenty-first century traditional Mexican cuisine.
We drove through the suburbs. The traffic was busy. I saw the sign saying La Fonda as Ernie swung The Mighty Jeep into the parking lot. “What does the name mean?” I asked.
“The words mean ‘The Inn’” he replied.
We went inside and were escorted to our table. A basket of corn chips and a bowl of tomato sauce with slivers of onions and peppers were waiting for us. The dining room was about half full. Most of the clientele looked Hispanic. I noted that all the waiters and waitresses looked Hispanic. This seemed like a good sign.
Ernie asked what beverage I wanted. I said water to keep things simple.
Our waitress joined us. I said hola. She spoke rapid Spanish and gestured toward my dress. Ernie was quick with a reply: “Yes, it is a lovely dress, isn’t it?” I took this as a cue to smile and say gracias. I was pleased with myself. Ernie said that we both wanted water and the waitress went to fetch it.
Ernie said, “I usually have their signature enchilada platter. Are you familiar with enchiladas?”
“In my era an enchilada is a heritage meal dating all the way back to the Mexico sojourn. It’s a corn flatbread wrapped around a meat filling and covered with sauce. I like them.”
“I’m glad to hear that the enchilada will stay popular for centuries. Now let’s discuss the process of ordering a meal in a formal setting. The old standard of traditional Mexican courtesy, seldom observed in our unrefined society today, required the man to order on behalf of his lady guest. Would that be all right?”
“Certainly. I would enjoy that courtesy. The same tradition is still followed by the better men in the Denver City-State.”
“Great. I’ll order each of us the La Folda enchilada platter, which consists of three different enchiladas in corn tortillas, rice, and refried beans. The waitress will probably ask you directly if you want spicy or mild salsa. Salsa is the word for sauce.”
“Which is more authentic?”
“Spicy is more authentic, I suppose. The Spanish word for spicy is picante. However, spicy can be quite fiery here. You may want to say suave, which means mild.”
The waitress returned with two glasses of water and two menus. Ernie waved away the menus and said, “The lady would like the La Fonda Enchiladas.”
The waitress turned to me and spoke her rapid Spanish again. In the torrent of words, I heard the word picante rush by. I said, “Picante. Picante, por favor.”
Ernie added, “I too would like the La Fonda Enchiladas. Make mine mild, please.”
As Ernie and I waited for our dinners to arrive, anxieties about tomorrow’s meeting with the time visit dignitaries began creeping into my thoughts. My only defense was to give my bountiful sense of curiosity free rein. I began coaxing Ernie to tell me about his upbringing, his brothers, and his parents. He had just finished a story about his family’s first camping trip to Yellowstone Park when the waitress brought our platters.
The enchiladas smelled heavenly. I took a big bite. A fiery shock! I coughed and lunged for my water glass. As I was recovering, Ernie quietly swapped our platters. I took a cautious taste of a mild enchilada, which I found flavorful and non-incendiary, and said, “Thank you, Ernie.”
“You’re welcome.”
As we ate, I continued asking Ernie about his family. At the end of our dinner, he spoke of his mother and praised her for her unending encouragement.
I said, “Love should be faithful and true. My favorite song has a line adapted from a Shakespeare sonnet that summarizes this: Love changes not with brief hours or weeks, but endures to the edge of doom."
“A touching line.”
“Lines from other ancient sonnets were also incorporated to create this tragic song of love and loss. The song has three parts: first, an initial hymn to the sweetness and power of love; next, a depiction of the pain and isolation when love is gone; and finally, a resolution of acceptance and peace.”
Ernie said, “Twenty-first century music rarely deals with such serious stuff. Would you sing the song for me?”
I felt stage fright well up, but got it under control. “I have never dared to sing in a public place, but I will put aside my petty insecurities for your sake. You may find our future language to be interesting. It’s a funny pidgin of Spanish, English, a bit of German, and a smattering of several indigenous languages native to the northern coast of Sinaloa. One of our investigative time travelers was on a case in the 1930s and ran into a professor of linguistics. When the time traveler demonstrated our language, the professor judged that the sounds were like a Dutchman speaking broken Spanish or else a Spaniard speaking broken Dutch. You can judge for yourself.”
I took a sip of water, cleared my throat, and began to sing. The family at the next table stopped talking and turned to look. The only way to quell my self-consciousness was to gaze steadily into Ernie’s eyes and sing only to him.
Fortunately, the first part of the song, concerning how love grows, was easy to sing. The tune was sweet and light-hearted. I grew more relaxed. I tried my best to sing with warmth, hoping that Ernie would feel the emotion even though he could not understand the words.
The somber second part of the song shifted to a minor key and a slower tempo. The aching sadness of the lyrics struck me as especially troubling tonight, and I nearly choked up as I sang the lines:
I yield the hope that kept me bound to you,
And loose my fingers from a ghost’s embrace;
Accepting what is broken, what is true,
And letting time enshroud your precious face.
I regained my poise for the final part of the song. The lines spoke of peace gained from hard-won acceptance of loss. It was beyond my ability right now to convey peace, but I managed to sing with dignity, I think. I finished the song and received polite applause from around the dining room. Ernie reached across the table to grasp my hand. “Thank you, Lucha.”
Ernie paid our bill and we left La Fonda. After taking my seat in The Mighty Jeep and arranging my hair under Ernie’s cap, I said, “I’m getting tired, Ernie.”
“I’m not surprised. It has been a very full day. Near my apartment in Golden, there is a small hotel that I think you will like. I’m told that it’s quiet and comfortable. And it will be a convenient place to pick you up in the morning.”
“Please, no. I don’t want a hotel. I would be less anxious tonight if I could stay in your apartment. Do you have a place where I can sleep? I know that I am imposing, but I feel a need for a haven.”
“Well, okay then. You know best about what you need. I am happy to put my limited hospitality at your disposal."
Ernie drove us to a boxy apartment building near the Colorado School of Mines. He escorted me to his apartment on the second floor. He opened his front door and we walked into his living room. The first thing that caught my eye was the sight of the two doors of The Mighty Jeep lying on a tarp.
Ernie said, “Please stay here while I set up your accommodations, such as they are.”
The living room was humble but had a certain hominess, if one overlooked the Jeep doors. There were two mismatched chairs and a worn sofa. In the corner was a desk covered by objects that I surmised to be text books, in contradiction to the assumption by future historians that physical text books were obsolete by Ernie’s time. Three photographs were mounted on the wall above the desk: a photograph of an older couple, which I took to be Ernie’s parents, and flanking photographs of young men, which I took to be Ernie’s two brothers.
The kitchen was a step below humble. The clutter of dirty pans on a battered kitchen table resembled a bivouac area where a soldier might eat field rations.
Ernie came into the living room carrying a blanket, clothes, and what appeared to be a clock. He laid them all on the sofa. “The bed now has clean sheets and a clean pillow case. I put fresh towels and soap for you on the little table next to the bed.”
“Where will you sleep?"
“Here on the sofa. I have dozed off here many times. I’ll be setting my phone alarm and a backup alarm on the clock. If you wake up early, go ahead and wake me. We will have a leisurely morning, with time for you to have a shower and a nice breakfast. And then we will go hike up Mount Falcon and arrive at your time travel location with plenty of time to spare.”
I made an effort to smile placidly as I said, “Will we be eating here?”
“We can if you want to, but I would rather take you to a breakfast place I like in Morrison, not far from the trailhead.”
I hid my relief and calmly replied, “I would be happy to try your breakfast place. I’m going to get ready for bed now.”
After cleaning my teeth and brushing my teeth, I went immediately to the bedroom, undressed, and got into the bed. The pillow case smelled fresh and clean. Before I drifted off to sleep, I thought about Ernie and the time bubble, Yes, Ernie has a time-bubble life of just twenty-four hours, but it is a real life all the same. I know him, and he is not some bifurcated copy or an illusion of physics. I must show him the kindness he deserves until the time bubble collapses, sending me home.
I woke with the light of dawn and gathered clothes, towels, and soap and stole to the bathroom. The cramped bathroom had no bathtub, just a narrow shower with plastic walls instead of tile. I reminded myself once again that a time traveler must be adaptable. Anyway, it was no worse than using a camp shower made of a hose attached to a water-filled bladder hanging from a tree.
After getting myself passably clean, I used the twenty-first century cosmetic implements and elixirs purchased at Macy’s to make myself presentable. Then I donned my prized embroidered dress and spent some indulgent minutes admiring myself in the mirror above the sink. Now it was time to face the day. I opened the bathroom door and walked quietly to the living room.
Ernie was gone.
I hurried to the front window and looked for The Mighty Jeep. I breathed easier when I saw that it was still where we had parked. Ernie was beside it, manhandling a door into place. I went outside and called down to him, “Can I help?”
“Thanks, but I’m almost done with this second door. I just need to reconnect the electric wiring harness and put the hinge bolt back in and we’ll be ready to go in style.”
Within minutes he ran up the stairs and joined me in the apartment. I grabbed my tote bag, which held the shell and my tunic. Ernie grabbed his cap, jacket, and backpack. We clattered down the stairs and into The Mighty Jeep, which now looked more like a proper vehicle than just a skeletal box of tubing set on wheels.
Ernie said, “We’ve got time to take a quick spin around Golden. It would be a pity for you to only know Golden as it is in your day, a sad junkyard used for scavenging raw materials."
First up was the Colorado School of Mines campus. Ernie pointed out his engineering buildings as we drove past. Then he took me down the main street of Golden. As a lover of architectural history, I admired the territorial-period brick buildings with their cornices and ornate detailing along the roof lines. The tour ended with a view of Clear Creek, which flowed under a historic bridge at the edge of the downtown area. And then off we went to get breakfast in Morrison.
The historic Morrison main street was similar to Golden, but its old buildings had a more rough-hewn pioneer look. Ernie found a convenient parking spot near his chosen restaurant, The Cow. We walked in. Ernie asked for a table in the back patio. “The patio sits right beside Bear Creek,” he said to me.
A waitress took us to a patio table by the window. The view of Bear Creek was very picturesque. The waitress asked if we wanted coffee. Ernie replied, “I’ll have a small brewed coffee.” He turned to me, “You might be interested in the mocha coffee, which they make with coffee combined with hot chocolate.”
“Oh, that is a double delicacy where I’m from,” I said. “Yes, yes. A mocha coffee for me, please.”
The waitress brought us our coffees. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my mocha coffee was topped with whipped cream. She gave us our menus. Ernie chose the Cowboy Casserole. I wanted lighter fare and chose a cup of oatmeal.
It was so peaceful to look at Bear Creek and quietly sip our coffees. Then Ernie stood up and said, “Forgot something. Be right back.” He walked quickly into the main restaurant area. Several minutes later he came back proudly carrying a small bowl, which he placed in front of me. The bowl held exotic fruit from faraway lands: slices of an orange, rounds of a banana, and chunks of some mysterious yellow fruit.
“What a special gift, Ernie. Thank you so much. What is this yellow fruit?”
“Pineapple.”
I was still nibbling on my extravagant fruit when the waitress came with our breakfasts. As Ernie and I ate, we chatted about our families. I told him about my little sister, the well-behaved sister. He told me about his two younger brothers. And then we compared notes on the burdens and responsibilities of being the oldest sibling. It was enjoyable light conversation and helped me keep at bay the encroaching anxiety about meeting the group of time visitors on Mount Falcon.
When we finished breakfast, I took my tote bag and found a restroom in which to change back to my tunic. My embroidered dress was part of the time bubble and would not depart with me. I put the shell over the tunic once again to keep from attracting attention.
The trailhead was a short drive away. I was starting to feel nervous and requested that we hike up Falcon Trail, to save time. Ernie tried to reassure me that we had plenty of margin. But my nerves made it difficult for me to think clearly. I fussed, “What if I trip and sprain my ankle? What then?”
Ernie replied patiently, “I’ve kept up my physical training from the Army. I can carry you up the trail if I need to.”
Our trip up the mountain was uneventful – not a single sprained ankle or snake bite or mountain lion attack. Still, I pushed the pace until I was breathless. When we reached my familiar picnic area with the huge rock behind it, I could finally relax. I said, “I’m sorry, Ernie. My mind was running wild with imaginary calamities.”
“No problem. In the Army we have an old saying: hurry up and wait. It’s good to be early.”
We looked out over Old Denver. Ernie said, “If we had had the time, I would have shown you some interesting things. There is wonderful scenery in the mountains that is only accessible by rugged Jeep roads. And, since you have an appreciation for plants, I would have taken you to the Denver Botanic Gardens near downtown. Look at the Denver skyline and now look just to the right. That patch of green is Cheeseman Park. It’s right next to the Botanic Gardens. In the park there is this white marble pavilion in a classical Greek style. People would go crazy if they saw you walking through the marble pavilion in your marble dress.”
“As a matter of principle, I try to avoid crazy people.”
Ernie described many other city attractions that had vanished by my time. I responded with questions and comments intended to keep the conversation cheerful and carefree.
We heard a whoosh of air and turned to see the time visit group pop into view, seven people in all. One old woman, who had not prepared for the updraft, squealed and fought to cover her skinny white legs. They all were wearing long silver robes and carrying an object of silver cloth in their hands. I was alarmed to see my Uncle Luis in the middle of the group, busily trying to get everyone organized.
Ernie said, “Is this their idea of ‘inconspicuous’?”
“I have no idea what is going on.”
At this moment an elderly couple using hiking poles came wobbling up the trail. They eyed the silver-gowned group and then approached Ernie. The old man used a pole as a pointer and said, “What is all this about?”
Ernie replied, “My guess is Druid sun worshipers.”
I smiled at the old man and woman. Opening the shell to show off my tunic, I declared, “Hello, I’m Lucha, the Future Girl. I’m called The Time Disturber.”
Puzzled stares and silence.
Ernie added, by way of explanation, “They’re not from around here.”
The old man said, “California, I bet.” He nodded to his wife, and they pushed off with their poles and wobbled forward up the trail.
Lucha said, “I really must face my Uncle Luis.” I walked forward and caught his eye. “Uncle Luis, I really want —”
“— No time for apologies or reprimands, Lucha. We are less than 10 minutes away from the meteor strike.”
“The Desolation! This is madness! Why have we come here?”
Uncle Luis, “Speak quietly please. We honorees, being well along in life, had an urge to return to the very beginning of things. We arranged to witness the violent birth of our new world order.” He reached into a leather satchel at his feet and pulled out a silver robe and what I now saw to be a silver hood with a shiny black panel in front. Uncle Luis put these things in my hands. “When I discovered that you had departed ahead of our party, I got you a thermal robe and a hood for eye protection. The robe is a precaution but the hood is essential. The dark viewing window prevents the light burst from the meteor strike from burning your retinas. First, put on the robe.”
I hurriedly pulled the robe over my head. I said, “What about Ernie?”
Uncle Luis labored to stay calm. He said, “Have him cover his eyes. Lucha… Lucha dear, surely you know that very soon it will not matter.”
“Ernest Taylor matters to me! What can we do for him? He took care of me.”
Uncle Luis looked over at Ernie and frowned. “Very well. Have him shelter behind the big rock. His palms must be tightly pressed on his eyes for the first four minutes. Even reflected light could be damaging. Earthquakes start soon after. The eastern sky will not be safe to look at without protection until the ten minute mark, when brief glances can be made. I’ll give the signal for this. Go, get him settled and then get back here quickly, with your hood on.”
I ran to lead Ernie behind the big rock and told him about covering his eyes securely. I promised that I would join him in a few minutes. I rushed back to the group and put on my hood. It shut out nearly all light, enclosing me in darkness and dread.
I heard Uncle Luis announce in a commanding voice, “Remember what we were told. The curvature of the earth should protect us from the thermal blast at impact. However, the light will be blinding. Eye protection is absolutely crucial. At the five minute mark, the first earthquake waves will arrive. Stronger, rolling waves will arrive shortly thereafter. The light intensity of the eastern sky will diminish after about four minutes, but the hood must still be worn until the ten minute mark. At that point, if you choose to remove your hood, take only quick glances at the eastern sky, as you would if you were looking at the sun. Steady viewing will damage your eyes. Before the twenty minute mark we depart, well in advance of the horrific heating from ejected material falling down from the upper atmosphere.”
We all waited in tense anticipation. Suddenly, hellish light appeared in the east. Soon a brilliant fireball rose above the horizon like a second sun. I heard people cry out. I kept silent. I didn’t feel awe or excitement at the monstrous release of energy. I felt nothing at all.
At the four minute mark, Uncle Luis announced, “Four minutes. You can see that the intense light has begun dispersing to a broader glow. But the light is still dangerous to your eyes. Keep your hoods on. The first earthquakes will hit very soon. Be ready.”
I turned around and carefully lifted the hood just enough to see the ground right in front of me as I made my way around the rock. I sat next to Ernie and removed the hood.
Ernie smiled at me. He waited for a moment and then spoke slowly and carefully, “Lucha, when you talked with your uncle, it seemed clear to me that you were pleading on my behalf. This made me start thinking. I don’t have the impression that your uncle is a callous man.”
“No, he is a very good man.”
“His first priority is to keep the group safe. He would put much less priority on me if he knew that my existence was tied to the time bubble. You can see where I am going with this. I think that I am like that rental house with broken windows in the experiment. When the bubble ends, I end with it. Is this true, Lucha?”
I couldn’t speak or even look him in the eyes. I looked down and nodded my head.
He continued, “Therefore, I am some sort of temporary copy of the real Ernest Taylor.”
This terrible statement jolted me into speaking up. “No, that’s not true. You are the real Ernest Taylor that I know and trust. I will take precious memories of you back to the future. You will stay part of my life.”
“This is hard to adjust to.” He mulled this over for a minute and then gave a hint of a smile. “Well, we had a fine twenty-four hours, didn’t we? I’ve never had twenty-four hours so completely interesting. I feel sorry for the other Ernie; he’ll never get to meet you. And he’ll have to deal with the nightmare to come.”
I said, “He’s a very capable man. He’ll survive.”
“The other Ernie is still in the Army’s Individual Ready Reserve and will be called to active duty for this national emergency. He’ll have his hands full.”
We felt the first light tremor. I said, “Uncle Luis said that there will be light earthquakes at first, followed by more powerful rolling earthquakes.”
By the time the rolling earthquakes came, I was almost in a panic. Ernie took off his backpack. He pulled me tightly against him. With his free arm, he held up the backpack as a shield to protect me from rocks tumbling down the slope.
Uncle Luis announced the ten minute mark. Ernie and I stood and looked over the rock, making short, cautious glances at the eastern sky, which glowed like a burning ember. Uncle Luis motioned for us to join him. We came around the rock and went to him.
Uncle Luis had me translate: “I am thankful that I have the opportunity to meet you, Mr. Ernest Taylor. You have my gratitude for your kindness in caring for my niece.”
Ernie said, “Tell your uncle that I was happy to help you.” I translated Ernie’s message and added some sentiments of my own. The two men shook hands. I was on the verge of tears.
And now Ernie and I stood side by side, holding hands, making occasional quick glances at the smoldering sky. After a time, Ernie pointed out a mushroom cloud near the horizon. I said that it looked more like an anvil. The top was flat and stretched out on one side. This was as much conversation as I could muster.
Uncle Luis called out, “Be ready.” I turned to look up at Ernie’s face and was heartstruck to find myself looking at the golden ceiling of the time machine chamber. My fingers grasped only air. I shouted, “No!”
Uncle Luis and the others froze for a moment to look at me and then began shucking off their silver robes. Javier entered the chamber and gathered the robes and the hoods as the time visitors silently filed out. Stopping at the door, Uncle Luis turned and said, “Go straight home, Lucha, so your parents can stop worrying. You and I will need to discuss how we will work through this matter. Be in my office at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.” I felt bereft as I watched Uncle Luis leave.
“Well, look at this,” said Javier. He shifted the hoods and robes to one arm and then stooped to pick up the rod of gold, lying on the floor beside my foot. “We were looking all over for that spacing rod. Funny how things get mislaid and end up in unexpected places. Miss Fernández, I suppose that your uncle is furious with you. Toward me, his feeling is simply contempt. ‘Negligent’ was the mildest thing he called me when he learned that I had sent you back in time a day early.”
My mind was so scattered that it was difficult to reply. I said, “My uncle is right to be furious with me. I will explain that I am the one to blame because of my scheming and lying.”
“I listened to the trip planner present the visit briefing this morning. Amazing – the great meteor catastrophe itself. It must feel great to be back home.”
“Yes, be it ever so tranquil, there’s no place like home.” I gave Javier my hood and then removed my silver robe and handed it to him. The shell underneath was gone. Not a trace left, I thought. Only memories.
“Was the trip worth it?” Javier asked.
“It was more precious than I can say.”
