Jim Baen's Universe

Science Fiction Stories

Canaan

Written by Matthew Rotundo

Illustrated by Bob Greyvenstein

1.

Eric Baines lost his virginity that night to the mystery girl, in the rear of the SUV that his parents had given him for his sixteenth birthday.

They did it in Overlook Park, up in the bluffs, where the top attraction was a scenic turnout that afforded a view of the city spread out below. Eric knew of a secluded spot off the park's main road, hidden by a grove of oaks, easily reachable with four-wheel drive. In the darkness, with the headlights out, the black SUV became invisible from a distance. Not an ideal locale, maybe, but by the time he had gotten her there, he was too befuddled by a fog of lust to care.

Her name was Tanya. He had wanted her from the moment he'd met her, just two weeks ago. God, she was gorgeous: black hair, olive skin, and large brown eyes that turned his brain to jelly whenever he looked into them too long. She dressed in skintight jeans and spaghetti-strap tops, on colder days augmented with a white button-down shirt that she never buttoned. She was nineteen, or so she had told him—two years his senior. She had approached him at the multiplex one night—he and his friend Renny Lewis had just gotten out of a movie—and point-blank asked him if he was the guy who could get her a new ID, a good one.

With one glance at Renny, he had answered in the affirmative. And things had progressed from there. She had offered to pay cash, but after a few days, he would have been perfectly willing to do the job for nothing. She paid him, anyway.

The sex itself was urgent, ungraceful, sloppy. He barely had time to spread a blanket over the folded down rear seats before Tanya attacked him. Fingers fumbled as they undressed each other. He groped her too hard and muttered apologies; she stuck her tongue so deep in his mouth that he gagged. As they coupled, the blanket got tangled between them, becoming a nuisance. They tried working into a handful of different positions, but the SUV's interior fought them at every turn. Once they settled into the trusty missionary, Eric soon lost what little control he had, and then they were gasping and covered in a sheen of sweat, and the SUV's tinted windows were steamed, and it was all over.

It was, in a word, glorious.

Afterward, snuggling in the crook of his arm, her legs intertwined with his, she said, "That was nice, sweetie. The nicest time I've had since I got here. Thanks." She kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," Eric said, still panting. And then, before he could stop himself: "It... uh, it was my first time."

Tanya propped herself up on one elbow. "No way!" She punched him in the shoulder. "You're shitting me, right?"

He smiled sheepishly, feeling stupid for telling her that. "Sorry. Afraid not."

"Oh, God." She lay back down, laughing. "I've corrupted a preacher's son. I'm such a bad influence."

"No complaints here." He pulled her closer and kissed her.

When it broke, she pulled back a little. "We should probably get out of here, before the cops find us."

"I told you, they hardly ever look back here. Besides, we both have ID's that put us over twenty-one. Too old even for National Curfew."

She sat up and groped around for her underwear. "Yeah, well, this 'National Curfew' shit is for the birds. Knowing my luck, we should get going."

He ran a hand through his mass of curly dark hair. "Uh... sure. Okay. Where do you want to go?"

She slipped into her bra. "Just drop me at my place."

And there was an entire conversation waiting to happen—one of her many mysteries. He'd never seen the inside of her apartment. It would have been perfect for tonight, but she had balked, claiming her roommate wouldn't stand for it. Eric had never met the roommate, either.

And for the latest development—she talked about National Curfew as if it were a foreign concept, as if she'd been asleep for the past fifteen years.

She caught him staring, and smiled as she pulled on her jeans. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing. I... can't believe what we just did."

She leaned forward, slipped an arm around his neck, and kissed him deeply, her tongue gently probing. He felt himself stiffening again.

She pulled away. "You're sweet. Let's get moving, okay?"

A pang of loss stung him, but he rolled with it. Reluctantly, Eric began to dress.

They rode most of the way to her place without speaking, letting music from the stereo fill the silence. The freeway was deserted at this hour; it was a Wednesday night, after all. Eric would be a zombie at school in the morning—but at least tomorrow was a Friday, and he was past caring, anyway. His head spun; his nerve endings tingled as if electrified. He had so much he wanted to say to her, but he was still nervous about asking—even after what they had just shared.

As they exited the freeway, he turned down the stereo so he could talk. "So—think that ID will work for you?"

She bent to retrieve her purse, which had been knocked over at some point during their trysting. She patted its side. "Hope so. You do good work. Thanks again."

Hacking and cracking had been Eric's hobby for the past two years, but fake ID's had become his specialty. All his friends had them. Now, so did Tanya. He had a sweet setup hidden in his basement bedroom at home, a hacker's heaven. Armed with a specially-modified laptop loaded with numerous scripts of his own devising, and a wireless router with its own hardware mods, he could count on a secure, untraceable Internet connection capable of bypassing the Internet Monitoring Authority's protocols. He could launch incursions or access sites blocked by the IMA. Even now, it amazed him how much of the Web the IMA had deemed off-limits to the public. Not just overseas porn sites, but tons of political stuff, too. Most people had no idea. But mostly, Eric used it for generating new SSN's and state ID numbers.

In addition, he had a laser printer complete with a holography kit, a compact laminator, all the makings. All well hidden, and all paid for with the allowance his father gave him. Naturally, the mighty Reverend Ellwood Baines had no idea what his son did with his monthly allotment of the family fortune.

For Tanya, Eric had created a girl named Debbie Holmquist. Debbie was twenty-one, of course, but Tanya never expressed interest in going to clubs. She claimed she didn't like crowds. Which led him to yet another mystery—why she'd wanted the ID in the first place.

"Listen, I want to ask you something," Eric said. He licked his lips, still hesitant even after what they'd just shared. "Are you... in some kind of trouble?"

"Trouble? Like what?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

He wasn't lying, strictly speaking. He didn't know what kind of trouble she might be in... but he had an idea. It might have something to do with the books that had mysteriously turned up in his high school library. The books everyone was talking about. The books that described, in great detail, the long-discredited theory of evolution.

"I mean," he said, "you're new in town. You don't seem to know anybody here. And you're willing to ask a complete stranger to make you a fake ID. It just seems... a little weird."

In the shift of light and shadow, he had difficulty reading her expression, but he thought he glimpsed the hint of a smile.

"What's the matter?" she said. "Don't you think I can take care of myself?"

He chuckled as he turned a corner and slowed. "Sure you can. But... I'd like to help."

"You already have."

"Is it serious?"

"It's nothing."

Ever the mystery girl, she was.

They approached her apartment complex. Eric turned in and wound his way through a sprawl of identical three-story structures built to look like Italian villas, or something. Most of the curtained windows were dark with the lateness of the hour. Streetlights resembling old-fashioned lampposts lit the way. He pulled into an empty space in front of her building and took the SUV out of gear. With the engine idling, he said, "You won't tell me, huh?"

"Nothing to tell, sweetie." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "It's nice of you to ask, though."

"Do you really have to go?"

"Yes. You have school tomorrow, anyway."

"After tonight, I don't even give a shit."

They kissed again. The warmth of her lips and the soft floral scent of her hair dizzied him. He reached for her, but she pulled away. "I'll call you tomorrow." She winked. "Pleasant dreams."

She opened the door and slid out of the SUV—then paused. "It was really your first time?"

Eric nodded.

"Wow. Unreal." She blew him a kiss, shut the door, and headed toward her building without looking back.

Again, the pang of loss struck him. He watched her depart. If asked, he could always claim he just wanted to ensure she got in safely, but the truth was he literally could not look away.

She passed under the arched façade and into the building without incident, and was lost to sight. Eric leaned back against the headrest and exhaled a long breath. "Sweet Jesus."

He put the SUV in gear and drove out of the complex, headed for home. It would take him a good twenty minutes to get there. With any luck, his parents would already be in bed by the time he arrived. His bedroom was in the basement—hell, his bedroom was the basement—and it had its own entry. Getting in and out unobtrusively was usually not a problem, but he'd been unlucky once or twice.

Such concerns seemed trivial. And he was probably foolish to be so worried about her. As she said, she was certainly capable of taking take care of herself. The memory of the evening buoyed him like helium; he wondered that he didn't float around the interior like a balloon.

He glanced at the seat Tanya had so recently vacated and caught a glint of silver in his peripheral vision, something small and unfamiliar on the passenger's side floor mat. At the next red light, he leaned over and picked it up.

It was a flat metallic rectangle, the size of a credit card, but surprisingly heavy. He turned it over, spotted some sort of image engraved in the lower right-hand corner—a set of branching lines that resembled a tree. It was the only detail on the thing's shiny surface.

He had never seen it before. It had to be Tanya's, some trinket that had fallen out of her purse during their adventures, or maybe afterward, when she'd been scrambling to dress.

A horn sounded behind him, two short honks. Eric started. The traffic light had changed. Eric hung a quick right, allowing the car behind him to proceed; its driver peeled out of the intersection, honking at him one last time for good measure. Eric turned the SUV around in a driveway, and headed back toward Tanya's complex.

He arrived there in minutes, once again winding through the pseudo-Italian-villa apartments. Pulsing light shone up ahead, alternating red and blue, reflecting off the fronts of the buildings. Police flashers, coming from around the last bend in the road before Tanya's place.

Eric's heart started racing for no good reason.

He rounded the bend and stopped. Ten yards up was a pair of big black sedans, the source of the flashers. A group of men in dark, featureless uniforms stood in the road. But they weren't police—at least, not any police Eric had ever seen. They carried no visible weapons, wore no hats, and their uniforms bore no badges. Two of them had hold of someone—a girl, hands cuffed behind her back, who struggled mightily as they escorted her toward the nearest of the sedans.

Tanya.

Eric stared, unbelieving. She was putting up a good fight, twisting and kicking and yelling every inch of the way, but they were too big for her. They forced her into the back seat of the sedan, banging her head against the roof as they did so, and slammed the door shut. The heavily tinted windows hid her from view. The car bounced on its springs, presumably from her continuing struggles.

Eric went numb. Without thinking, he pulled over and got out of the SUV.

The two uniformed men who had wrestled Tanya into the car got in the front seat. The others, four in all, headed for the further sedan. They walked easily, in no apparent hurry.

Eric called to them: "Hey!"

They stopped, turned, exchanged glances. One of them, the tallest, said something to his compatriots, who nodded and continued on their way. The tall one walked toward Eric.

The near sedan's engine revved into life. Its headlights came on and it pulled out, carrying away Tanya.

"Hey!" Eric started to run. "Wait! What the hell is—"

The tall one intercepted him, stopped him in his tracks with a firm hand to the chest. Eric staggered backward.

"Careful, son," the tall man said. He was broad through the shoulders, with narrow eyes, squarish features, and incongruously gentle smile. "You shouldn't go running down the street in the middle of the night like that."

Eric regained his balance. His gaze alternated from the receding sedan to the guy in the uniform. Eric suppressed an urge to take a swing; the man had fifty pounds and six inches on him. "What's going on here? Who the fuck are you people? Where are you taking her?"

The man's gentle smile remained unperturbed. "Friend of yours?"

"None of your business."

The man took a step forward. "I asked you a question, son: was that a friend of yours?"

Eric's bluster downshifted a notch. He began to question the wisdom of getting out of the SUV.

The man's uniform was not entirely featureless; a patch on the right breast depicted a set of branching lines, black against a white background. The design matched the symbol on the silver card-thing Tanya had dropped.

Eric went cold. "Are you a cop? What did she do?"

"Answer my question, or you're going to take a ride yourself." Smiley nodded toward the other sedan. "I don't think you want that. It's after curfew. So tell me, was that a friend of yours?"

The curfew threat was nothing to Eric; his own ID put him over twenty-one. He stared the man down—or up, actually—and said, "Yeah, she's a friend of mine, asshole. And you're no cop."

Smiley remained serene. He glanced over Eric's shoulder, in the direction of his SUV. "No, I'm not. And you should pick better friends."

With that, he headed for his car. The others had already climbed inside. Smiley opened the driver's side door and paused. "And do try to watch your language, son."

He got in. The car started and pulled away. Eric could only stare.

****

By the time he arrived home, the shock had worn off, leaving his insides clenched and cold. In his mind, he continually replayed the encounter, watching helplessly as those black-suited bastards forced Tanya into the car. He winced as he recalled the way she had hit her head. He should have acted sooner to stop them. He should have insisted on walking her in. He should have—

It occurred to him that whoever they were, they had been waiting for her. They had undoubtedly staked out her complex. In that case, they would have gotten to her sooner or later. If not tonight, the black suits would have nabbed her some other time—when he was at school, maybe. She would have disappeared, and he would have been none the wiser.

Nothing to tell, sweetie, Tanya had said. Right.

The Baines estate nestled on the west end of town, in the exclusive Regina subdivision. The estate covered five acres, much of it wooded, with winding, intertwining footpaths. The Reverend Ellwood Baines, founder of Lifespring Ministry, enjoyed communing with nature while he contemplated scripture. Eric and Renny had been known to pass a Saturday night or two getting drunk in those woods.

The driveway wound from the security gate, through the woods, and finally to the house—brightly lit, with a pillared entryway crowned by tall gables. The familiar cross-and-flowers Lifespring logo adorned the oaken doors. Eric had his own garage around the back. A breezeway led from the garage to his space in the basement. As he'd hoped, the house was silent when he entered.

He had considered calling the cops, but decided against it. He would have to tell them his real name, for one thing, and would have a hard time explaining what he had been doing in that neighborhood. Not to mention that if and when the media got wind of it, the story would not be about Tanya, but about Eric Baines, son of Lifespring founder Ellwood Baines. But the most compelling reason was also the most troubling: Tanya had clearly known the black suits were after her, and she hadn't gone to the cops.

She had come to him.

Aside from some storage space, the entire basement belonged to Eric, and had since he'd turned fourteen. It included a bedroom, bathroom, and living area complete with television and a couple of second-hand couches. Unlabeled CD's, computer components, wiring, and other electronic paraphernalia lay scattered about, in addition to the typical teenage piles of dirty laundry. So long as he kept his grades up, his parents were content to respect his privacy. It allowed for a lot of hiding places. The drop ceiling panels over his bed, for instance.

Eric sat on the edge of his bed—king-sized, the sheets and blankets a perpetually tangled mess—and pulled from his pocket Tanya's metallic card. He examined it more closely, especially the branching tree logo, whatever that was.

You should pick better friends.

That was nice, sweetie. The nicest time I've had since I got here.

From where?

She had told him she'd come from the D.C. area. Presumably, the black suits were from there, too.

And who the hell were they? Who would go to so much trouble for some goddamned books? Was it about the books?

He turned the card over and over while he ruminated. On the third or fourth rotation, he noted a tiny hole in the underside, so small he had missed it earlier. It was about the size of a pinprick, maybe even smaller.

Eric glanced around his room, spied a stray length of stripped wire curled on his desk. He picked it up and inserted it gingerly in the hole. The wire barely fit.

With a barely perceptible snick, the short end of the card extruded a small square of what looked like a piece of clear film, printed on one side.

Startled, Eric pulled the film free. There was a hairline slot in the edge of the card; it hadn't been there before.

The silver thing was a protective case, he realized. He reinserted the film (or whatever it was) into the slot; an unseen mechanism drew it into the case, which resealed with another snick, becoming seamless again.

He poked the wire into the hole, reopening the case and removing the film. He held it up to the light.

It wasn't film, exactly, but a flimsy plastic, printed with bar codes, a thumbprint, biometric data, and a holographic photo of Tanya. Across the top was printed the legend UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF TIMELINE MANAGEMENT, accompanied by the branching lines logo. Beneath this was Extraodinary Immigrant Passport.

Printing along the bottom edge read, This document is the property of the United States government. If found, please return to the nearest USDTLM office.

In that moment, several mysteries became clear. Disbelief slowly settled over him.

****

2.

Breakfast was something of a Baines family tradition. One missed it at one's own peril.

Eric dragged himself into the kitchen after only a few hours of fitful sleep. He wore only an old T-shirt and sweat pants over his lanky frame. He hadn't bothered to shower or even comb his unruly mass of hair. The rest of the family was already assembled. His mother stood at the stove, scrambling eggs, while his sister Catherine, five years his junior, poured batter into the waffle iron. The mingled smells woke a raging hunger in him.

His father, Reverend Ellwood Baines, sat at the dining room table, poring over his morning's work, per his routine. He wore a dress shirt and tie printed with a pattern of multicolored crosses. Even seated, he seemed to loom—tall through the waist, with a thin face that accentuated his height. He wore reading glasses as he scanned through his PDA, occasionally tapping keys. His hair, dark but heavily salted with gray, was cropped short, the antithesis of his son's.

Eric took his customary place at the table and stared straight ahead, unseeing, dazed by everything that had happened. Not even the normalcy of breakfast could shake the dreamlike sense of unreality that had stolen over him in the night.

Catherine, still dressed in her robe and pajamas, glanced over her shoulder, saw Eric at the table. Her freckled features twisted. "It was your turn to make waffles this morning. I was planning to curl my hair." It was pulled into a thick ponytail, which she flipped for emphasis.

Eric grunted in response. His father glanced up from his PDA. "He'll do them tomorrow. And for the weekend."

Catherine flashed a triumphant grin and turned back to the waffle iron.

Reverend Baines looked over Eric's disheveled appearance.

"Out past curfew again?"

"Maybe a little."

"Or maybe a lot." Catherine brought Eric his plate, loaded with eggs, two strips of bacon, and a waffle. She set it in front of him and moved away quickly, as if afraid he would lash out at her. On any other morning, he would have.

"I can't have it, Eric," his father said. "You know that. We've talked about it. The last thing I need is for you to get picked up by the police, even for a minor charge. It's—"

"—bad for the ministry, I know." Eric stuffed a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

The precious bloody ministry. His father had built it from scratch. Lifespring's weekly radio program had the fastest-growing market share in the Midwest, and a nationwide syndication deal was in the works—timed to coincide with the Reverend Baines's first book. His influential columns had been quoted often by politicians who had pushed through the Twenty-eighth Amendment, repealing Article Six of the Constitution. Lifespring was a big deal, and growing bigger daily.

His mother Josephine, a vision of Catherine in her late forties—complete with the freckles—scooped the last of the eggs onto a plate and turned off the stove. She wore red today—a power color, one she usually reserved for fundraising functions. "And who were you out with this time?"

"Just friends."

"Renny Lewis again?"

Eric groaned at the mention of his partner in hacking crime. It would serve as answer enough. And it was better than having them suspect the truth.

Catherine took her place across from Eric. She was still smiling. Very clearly, she mouthed Tanya.

He glared in response.

His parents didn't know about Tanya. But one of Catherine's little friends had picked it up through the grapevine, and naturally had passed the word to her. Since then, she had delighted in dangling the threat of exposure before him. He doubted she would actually go through with it; certainly he knew enough damaging information about her to keep her quiet. Even so, he was in no mood for it.

Reverend Baines said, "Was there... any trouble last night?"

Eric looked at his father, then away. It was an odd question, one he had never asked before. "No. No trouble."

Baines stared at him over the tops of his glasses. Eric kept his gaze fixed on his plate. The silence stretched, became uncomfortable.

His mother came to the table with her plate. "What's your schedule today?" she said to her husband.

Baines watched Eric a moment longer, then turned to her. "Advisory Council. We have a full agenda. Three movies and fifteen books to review. You?"

"Friends of Lifespring Luncheon. We'll have a dozen new donors there. Any chance you can put in a brief appearance?"

"I doubt it, but I'll try. I still have Sunday's sermon to—"

Eric's attention wandered. He stared at his food, no longer hungry. The familiarity of breakfast had turned into a minefield. His chest felt weighted.

He stood and left the table, taking his plate with him. "Excuse me. I'm running late." He dumped the food into the sink and washed it down the drain, running the garbage disposal for good measure.

"Hey!" Catherine said. "How come he gets to—"

"Just eat your breakfast," Josephine said.

Eric fled to the safety of the basement. His father watched him go.

****

Walker High School was on edge when he arrived. He threaded his way to his locker through hallways abuzz with low-voiced conversations, rather than the usual giggly gossip and boisterous give-and-take. Uniformed students glanced furtively around, clustered tightly in their cliques. The few snatches of conversation Eric picked up in passing were of the I-heard-this-well-I-heard-that variety.

The books again, no doubt. At least ten copies had been found. Worlds of Science, it was called. Though he had not personally seen any of them, he knew a dozen kids that had been pulled into the principal's office and grilled. Even his father had gotten involved. The school board had asked the reverend to make Sunday's radio sermon about the lie of evolution and the truth of Intelligent Design. Baines had been happy to oblige.

Renny Lewis, Eric's best friend, the one who had introduced him to the fine art of hacking, waited at Eric's locker, looking particularly slovenly. Half of his uniform shirt was untucked; his tie was loosely knotted, and hung askew over his ample belly. An acne-scarred face completed the ensemble. "You look like shit," he said.

"Look who's talking." Eric opened his locker and stuffed the books for his morning classes into his backpack. "What's going on?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

Renny nodded in the direction of the entryway to the back hallway. A man in a black uniform stood there, hands folded over each other at the waist, watching the activity in halls, as if presiding over them.

Eric gulped reflexively. It was the same uniform worn by Smiley and his cohorts. His left hand stole to his jeans pocket, feeling the outlines of Tanya's silver case.

"Who the hell is that?"

Renny shrugged. "No one knows. I've seen at least three of them. They've got the school staked out. We're supposed to just leave them be, let them do their jobs—whatever that is. Word is that it's some sort of top secret terror alert."

"Jesus." Eric shut his locker and rested his forehead on it, eyes closed.

"I pity whoever they pick up," Renny said. "If it's a Patriot Act thing, that person will just disappear."

"It's not a terror alert. That's a smokescreen."

"Yeah? You know what's going on?"

Eric opened his eyes and focused on the black suit. "I might." He hesitated. "Ren, those assholes took Tanya last night."

Renny's eyes went wide. "What?"

"Keep your voice down."

The black suit turned at the sound of Renny's voice. His gaze locked on Eric.

Renny's gaze alternated between the two of them. "What the hell's going on?"

Eric went cold, but he wouldn't let himself look away. The black suit broke the staring contest first. He pulled a cell phone from a pocket, pressed a button, and spoke into it briefly. Then he left his post, heading for the back hallway.

"Eric?" Renny put a hand on his shoulder. "Are they after you?"

"Maybe. But we can't talk now." He thought for a minute. "It'll have to be at lunch. Meet me in the library, by the rear carrels. Make sure none of those black suit guys see you."

"In the library? When am I supposed to eat?"

"After we talk. It's important."

"Wow. Like some kind of spy mission, huh?"

"Hope not." He hefted his backpack. "Come on. Don't want to be late for morning prayers again."

****

Over the course of the day, Eric saw two other black suits, and they spotted him. Each time, they spoke briefly into their cell phones—reporting in, probably.

They didn't talk to him, didn't even approach him.He tried telling himself he was just paranoid, but it wouldn't wash. The dreamlike sensation that had dogged him since before breakfast started to fade. He missed it. The situation felt all too real now.

From various sources, he heard the terrorist rumor at least ten times. He also heard that they were pulling suspects out of classes and arresting them on the spot. As lunch hour neared, a counter-rumor sprung up—that the black suits were the terrorists, operating with fake government badges, and were planning to take the entire school hostage.

At noon, he took a roundabout route to the library, sticking close to larger groups of students. When there were no black suits in sight, he headed for the main gym, ducked down a side hallway, and came to the library by the little-used north entrance. He went straight to the study carrels in the rear. Renny was already there, sorting through his backpack. The rest of the carrels were empty; it was lunchtime, after all. Renny and he would be out of earshot of the librarian, as long as they were reasonably quiet.

Eric pulled a chair over to Renny's carrel and sat. Renny removed a bag of chips from his backpack and opened it. Crunching discreetly, he said, "All right, spill already. What happened?"

Eric took a deep breath and related his encounter with the black suits. It came out in a rush, something that had been pent up inside him. He was glad to finally let it out.

Renny absorbed the story in silence, nodding in the appropriate places, breaking into a grin as Eric mentioned his trip to Overlook Park with Tanya. But as the tale went on, Renny's grin faded. His chewing gradually slowed, stopped. By the time Eric related his conversation with Smiley, the bag of chips lay forgotten. Renny's mouth hung slightly agape.

"Jesus Christ. Man, this is serious."

"Yeah."

"Over a friggin' book? That's crazy. It doesn't make sense."

"Right. The book." Eric paused, unsure how to proceed. "There's more... but it gets pretty weird."

"You mean it's not weird enough yet?" Renny's stomach gurgled. He took another handful of chips.

Eric looked around, making sure no one was eavesdropping. He reached into his pocket, removed the silvery case. "Tanya was carrying this. It fell out of her purse."

Renny wiped a hand on his shirt and took the case. He peered closely, turning it over a couple of times. "It's heavy."

"See that logo? It's on the uniforms of those government spooks out there."

"Never saw it before."

Eric dug in his other pocket for the length of wire he had used the previous night. "Here. Give it back for a second."

Renny complied. Eric opened the case, held out the passport. Renny frowned as he examined it. Then his eyes went wide.

"She's an Extraordinary Immigrant? An EI? She's from another goddamned timeline?"

"Looks that way."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah."

They were silent for a moment. Renny read and re-read the data on the passport. "I didn't think... I mean, do people really do this?"

"Someone must. Remember the video we saw in Physics class? Those portals?"

Renny nodded slowly. "Quantum Interface Conduits. They have 'em in Tokyo, Paris—"

"And D.C."

Great hulking things, those conduits had been, Eric recalled from the video. Cylinders of steel set on their sides. You walked into them, and the machinery fired up, taking you... elsewhere.

Timeline travel had been discovered over a decade ago, by a research team in California. It had been a stunning validation of many-worlds theory, but beyond that, had little practical use outside of academia. It was fun to dream about, but the reality was that it cost a lot of money, the screening process was intense, and the stories that had been told about those other universes—unchecked violence, total anarchy, primitive living conditions—made you wonder why anyone bothered maintaining the portals in the first place.

"Wow," Renny said. "All those other universes..."

"Yeah, but who would want to visit them?"

"Tanya doesn't seem like some psycho savage to me."

"Well, there are screening procedures. Otherwise she never would have gotten a passport. And maybe she's from a place that's not so bad."

"So you're thinking—what? That she brought those books here from another timeline and planted them? And that's why those Timeline Management guys took her?"

"Something like that."

"But—" Renny's brow wrinkled. "Why? Why would she do it? Why would she go to the trouble of coming here, if she was just going to get herself arrested?"

"Don't know. But I mean to find out." Eric shook his head. "Damn it, Ren, they took her. Just grabbed her off the street. Now they're stalking around here."

"So they are after you."

"I'm the one who mouthed off to them last night. And she's carrying a fake ID that I made for her."

"That's not all." Renny waggled the passport. "They'll be looking for this, too."

The thought had occurred to Eric at some point in the night. It had kept him awake longer than he would have liked. "Yeah. Especially if she's got an ID that says she's someone else. The passport might be the only proof they have against her."

Renny whistled. His stomach gurgled again. He patted it sympathetically. "So what do you want to do?"

"Figure out what she was up to, if we can. Do some digging. See what we can learn."

"Fine. Nothing we haven't done before. When?"

"My place. After school."

"Right. And what do you want to do with this?" Renny held up the passport again.

"Keep it hidden, I guess."

"Want me to hold onto it? I mean, if they're looking for you..."

"Well—" Eric hadn't wanted to ask. He didn't like the thought of endangering another friend. But the black suits knew nothing about Renny. "Just don't lose it, okay?" He handed over the case.

"No fear." Renny reinserted the card and put the case in a zippered side pocket on his backpack. "Your place, after school."

"Yeah."

He stood. "Great. Let's eat."

"You go ahead. I'll catch up with you after school."

"Gotcha." Renny pursed his lips. "You know, this is actually kinda scary."

"If you'd rather not be involved—"

Renny cut him off with a curt shake of the head. "Too late for that. I'm in."

"Thanks, Ren."

"Stay out of trouble." He clapped Eric on the shoulder and left.

****

Late in the lunch period, Eric emerged from the library, got a sandwich from a vending machine and wolfed it down on the way back to his locker.

When he got there, he found a small knot of students clustered around it. He slowed his pace, trepidation mounting with each step. One of the onlookers spotted him coming, nudged a friend. They all turned to look at him, and stood aside as he approached.

His locker door hung open. All the contents were gone.

"Fuck." He checked the lock and the door mechanism for signs of forced entry. They were undamaged.

The PA system came to life: "May I have your attention, please. Eric Baines, please report to the office. Eric Baines, to the office. Thank you."

All eyes focused on him—not just of those gathered at his locker, but of everyone in the hallway, it seemed. One of the onlookers, a wide-eyed freshman girl with a mouthful of braces, said, "Don't go. They'll take you. Run."

A scrawny sophomore boy elbowed her in the side. "Don't be stupid. That's Reverend Baines's kid. They're not gonna do anything to him."

Eric thought the freshman probably had it right. But running would be a waste of time. They would have the exits blocked.

So he went to the office.

Two black suits awaited him there. He thought they might have been on the scene the night before, but it was hard to tell. They escorted him out the front entrance of Walker High, where a black sedan with heavily tinted windows had pulled up to the curb, idling.

The rear passenger door opened. Smiley sat there, looking as beatific as he had the previous night. Eric stopped in his tracks.

The big man climbed out of the sedan, stretching himself to full height, and smiled down at three of them. He nodded to his compatriots. They shoved Eric against the car, forced him to stand with his legs spread and his hands flat on the trunk. They patted him down rudely, turned out his pockets, and confiscated his wallet and keys. One of them handed the wallet to Smiley, who gave it a cursory once-over.

"All right," Smiley said. The two black suits backed off. To Eric, he said, "You really should pick better friends, son. Get in."

****

"My name is Agent Strauss," Smiley said as the sedan pulled away from Walker. The other two black suits rode in front.

"Thrilled," Eric said.

"Now, there's no need for this to be unpleasant or confrontational. You're not under arrest. A few questions, and you'll be on your way home."

"If I'm not under arrest, why the hell did you search my locker? Where are my books?"

"They'll be returned to you."

They drove him to the Homeland Security building downtown—a black granite edifice that looked like an anachronism among the towers of steel and glass—parked in a reserved space, and got out. Rows of American flags lined the walkway to the revolving door at the entrance. As they passed through it, Eric said, "You guys aren't Homeland Security."

"No, but we work with them closely in cases like this." Smiley—Strauss—paused, waiting for the other two black suits, bringing up the rear. "This way, please." He led them across a tiled foyer to the elevators.

They got off at the fifteenth floor, wound through a bewildering array of carpeted corridors that were strangely quiet. They passed very few people on the way, and none of them did more than glance at Eric and his three escorts. All the doors had security keypads; cameras were mounted at every corner.

Finally, they stopped at a door marked Conference 15-B. Strauss punched some numbers on the keypad, and the door popped open. To the other two black suits, he said, "Thanks." They nodded and went on their way, leaving Eric and him alone.

The room was dark as they entered. Strauss flicked on the overheads. The door closed with a thud and click that to Eric sounded very final.

An oblong table with a wood grain finish and a conference phone in the center filled the room. Padded chairs with tall backs surrounded it. A large whiteboard hung on one wall; the rest were bare and gray. A darkened teleconference monitor topped with a camera for the video feed stood in one corner.

"Have a seat, Eric," Strauss said.

Warily, Eric complied. Strauss sat opposite. "We need to talk about your friend Debbie."

"Where is she?"

"She's fine. She might have a few bruises, but that's only because she fought so hard. The agents were just trying to get her into the car. In the end, they had to force her. Believe me, she's not been mistreated in the least."

"What did she do?"

Strauss chuckled. "And here I thought I would be the one asking questions. I'm afraid we suspect she's something of a security threat."

"Bullshit. You're not Homeland Security."

Strauss's omnipresent smile faded. "Please watch your language, son. I don't care for that kind of talk."

"She's no terrorist, and you know it."

"We suspect she doesn't belong here, that she has infiltrated this timeline illegally. And that's pretty serious during wartime." Strauss's smile returned, a faint upturning of the corners of his mouth. "Now then—when did you meet her?"

We suspect, Strauss had said—meaning they didn't know. Eric saw no reason why he should help them. But he had to pick his lies with care. "Hard to say. I've seen her around for years."

"Seen her around? Really?" Strauss raised an eyebrow. "That's interesting, since she's never been a student at Walker High. Where have you seen her?"

"Here and there."

"Can you be more specific?"

"The mall, the movie theater. Maybe a party or two."

"Last night, you said she was a friend of yours."

"We've gotten to know each other recently."

"How recently?"

"It's been a few months, I guess."

"Did she ever tell you where she's from?"

"I always assumed she was from around here. Why? Where does she say she's from?"

"She doesn't say anything. Does the name Tanya Worthington mean anything to you?"

"No. Who's that?" But his face grew hot. He hoped it didn't show.

"How about Elsie Lutz?"

"No." That much was true, at least. He'd never heard the name before in his life.

"Eric, did... Debbie... ever give you anything?"

"Like what?"

"Any little gifts? Trinkets?"

Like a silver carrying case, you mean? His face grew warmer. "No, she never gave me anything."

"Never? You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Strauss regarded him blandly for long moments, all traces of his sickening smile gone. Eric looked back at him with what he hoped was his best poker face.

Strauss settled back in his chair. "I see. Well. That's too bad."

"What's too bad?"

"That you've chosen to be so uncooperative."

"I'm cooperating."

"You're lying to me." He said it calmly, without rancor, as if commenting on the weather. "I can appreciate you wanting to help a friend—really I can—but this is a serious situation, Eric. It's not a game. We know for a fact that an illegal immigrant has been operating in this area. We have hard evidence to prove it."

He could only be referring to the textbooks, Eric thought.

"We also know of an illegal who slipped into this country via the Washington, D.C. facility—a girl, about the age of your friend. And the description we have is a match, too. Her profile indicates that she would be just the type to pull the shenanigans that have been going on around here."

Strauss paused. His face remained neutral, his smile apparently gone for good. "You're just delaying the inevitable. We're going to nail her sooner or later, with or without your help. She's caught, and she's not going anywhere."

Eric recalled what Renny had said about Patriot Act detentions. Homeland Security could make her disappear for a long time—no phone calls, no lawyers, no trial. There was always the possibility that Tanya might crack. Her toughness could not be doubted, but everyone had a breaking point.

"Eric, would it make you feel any better if I told you that at worst, she'll be deported?"

"Deported. Great. And what would happen then? What would they do to her on the other side of ... wherever? Fine her? Arrest her? Throw her in jail?"

"If she's a repeat offender..." Strauss shrugged. "Not much I can do about that, I'm afraid. It's not our jurisdiction."

Eric paused, pondering what Strauss might mean by repeat offender. "She hasn't done anything. She's not who you think she is. You guys have made a big mistake. Wherever those books came from, she's not the one who planted them."

Strauss shook his head. "We're wasting time here. Tell you what: would you like to speak with her?"

"Huh?"

"To show you I'm on the level, that she hasn't been mistreated. I want you to trust me."

Under better circumstances, Eric might have laughed. "You take her off the street for no good reason, search through my locker, haul me out here... and you expect me to trust you?"

Strauss stood. "Come on. See for yourself."

****

Strauss took him to the sprawling basement of the Homeland Security building, to a corridor lined with secure metal doors—holding cells, Eric guessed. At the last door on the right, Strauss swiped a cardkey through a reader slot; the door popped open. He stood aside. "Take as much time as you like. There's an intercom inside. Call when you're ready to leave."

Eric hesitated, then went in.

Tanya lay on a cot, still dressed in the same clothes she'd worn the previous night—skintight jeans, black spaghetti-strap top, and white button-down shirt, unbuttoned. Her black hair seemed duller, and her eyes were marked with dark circles that aged her ten years, but she looked otherwise all right.

She sat up abruptly when she saw him.

His breath caught. Emotion welled up in him, surprising in its power. He hadn't realized until that moment just how worried he had been that he would never see her again. His eyes stung, and would have overflowed with tears if he had let them.

The door closed behind him.

They stared at each other in silence for long moments. Then Eric said, "Hi."

The cell wasn't as bad as it could have been: windowless but well-lit by overhead fluorescents, cinder block walls painted white, a single cot, sink, and toilet. No steel mesh cage or bars. Mounted on the wall next to the door was the intercom Strauss had mentioned, a small black unit with a red LED power indicator. The cell was scrupulously clean, smelling vaguely of disinfectant, walls bare of graffiti.

Rigid, Tanya edged away from him, eyeing him warily. "What are you doing here?"

So much for the tearful reunion, then. "They came for me at school today. They've been asking me questions. Strauss let me in to talk to you."

"Yeah? And how did Strauss track you down?"

Eric considered. It was a good question, actually. "Not sure. My license plates, maybe." He recalled Strauss glancing at his SUV the previous night.

"Strauss said you were the one who ratted me out."

"He's a lying sack of shit."

She sighed, and the rigidity drained from her posture. "Yeah, I thought so. Just trying to rattle me into saying something incriminating. And he's still trying." She looked around the room, then back at him. "They're listening, right now. Understand?"

Eric nodded. He spoke for the microphones: "It doesn't matter. Like I told Strauss, they arrested the wrong person."

"That's what you told him?"

"Sure. He's, uh... looking for something, and I guess he thinks I have it. I don't know what the hell he's talking about. I think they'll have to let you go."

A faint echo of the smile she'd favored him with last night tugged at her mouth. "You're sweet. I'm sorry about all this."

"No." He sat next to her on the cot and took her hands in his. "You didn't do anything. They did. They've screwed up big time. But it'll be over soon." He squeezed her hands. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Aside from the fat old bitch who conducted the strip search, and the never-ending mind fuck from that smiling asshole." Her eyes shone. Her voice dropped to a whisper: "I'm scared."

"No one's going to deport you. They can't do it without proof, right?"

"They could always manufacture it. And they will, if they get desperate enough."

Eric's eyes went wide with alarm. He hadn't thought of that. We're going to nail her sooner or later, with or without your help, Strauss had said.

Eric looked away, staring at the cinder block wall opposite him, concentrating. "All right, then. We've gotta get you out of here."

"No." She put a hand on his cheek, turned his head so that she could look into his eyes. "You can't. You don't want to get any more involved than you already are."

He smiled. "Too late for that. I'm in." On impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her. She hesitated, then kissed him back, pressing her lips hard against his. When it broke, she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. He held her for long minutes, neither of them speaking.

At last, the embrace relaxed. He pulled back from her a little. Still mindful of the microphones, he said, "You know what everyone always tells us about those other universes?"

She wiped at her eyes. "Bad places, right? Dangerous. Scary."

"Yeah." He caressed her cheek. "I'm beginning to think some of those timelines might not be so bad, after all. There might be some pretty amazing people over there."

"Maybe." She smiled. "Maybe... maybe the government in this timeline just lies about what it's like so that people don't get curious and go exploring. Maybe they wall themselves off so that no one comes in, either—like some kind of closed loop. And maybe other timelines... other timelines aren't like that at all."

Her words stirred a wistfulness in him. "You think so?"

"Maybe."

They embraced again. He breathed in her scent, still tinged with a hint of floral perfume. "Hang in there, okay? You hang in there. I'll think of something."

She nodded, her face pressed against his shoulder.

Eric took as much time as he wanted. When he was ready, he didn't bother with the intercom. He just raised his voice: "Strauss, I'm ready to go now."

He held her until the door clicked open a few minutes later.

****

"Very sweet," Strauss said. "Very touching."

They stood waiting for the elevator that would take them from the basement level. The corridor of holding cells stretched behind them.

"Glad you enjoyed it," Eric said.

Strauss was smiling again, damn him. "You know, I'm actually quite an admirer of your father. He's a good man. And I know he's very busy, what with his ministry, Advisory Council meetings, everything he does for the community. It would be a shame to burden him with any undue stress. But—" Strauss shrugged and opened his hands in a what-can-I-do gesture.

"Is that supposed to be a threat? What are you going to tell him? That I was out past curfew last night? He already knows."

"You're a smart kid, Eric; I'll grant you that. Blinded a bit by a pretty face, I think, but reasonably bright,