A Chronetic Memory (The Chronography Records Book 1)
Read A Chronetic Memory (The Chronography Records Book 1) Online
Authors: Kim K. O'Hara
Tags: #Science Fiction
A Novel
Kim K. O’Hara
© 2014 by Kim K. O'Hara
All rights reserved.
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Cover design by Sam O’Hara
www.samofsorts.com
To Mom,
who always encouraged me
to follow my dreams.
I wish I had finished this
while you were still alive to see it.
My thanks to
Kellianne Rumsey
, who has encouraged me with just the right blend of belief and ultimatums, and without whom this novel would never have been imagined, continued, completed, or published; to my husband,
Michael O’Hara
, for doing without me for long hours as I worked to complete this book and carrying many family obligations on his own during that time, and also for being a sounding board for my ideas and questions; to my daughter,
Sam O’Hara
, who read my final draft, gave me feedback, and showed me how much she believed in me by pouring her considerable creative talent into my cover design; to my other daughter,
Jennifer O’Hara
, who inspires me with her own writing; to my twin sister,
Kathy Kreps
, who offered me practical feedback during numerous stages including reading the entire final draft; to friends
Kermit Kiser
,
Daniel Myers
,
Annie Bouffiou
,
Peggy Holstine
, and
Zerna Beebe
, who served as my beta readers and proofreaders and gave me both corrections and suggestions (which undoubtedly improved the book you hold in your hands); to
Grace Friberg
, who graciously donated her time for the cover photo shoot; and to the
NaNoWriMo
community as a whole for inspiring this venture in the first place.
Collision
HARBOR AVENUE, Seattle, WA. 0120, Monday, January 20, 2205.
A helicar horn blared at the bottom of Fairmount hill and kept blaring. For seven long minutes, it cut through the icy early morning air. A blast of wind hit an icicle-encrusted evergreen branch. The brittle limb gave way and plummeted earthward. With an ear-shattering
whump
it hit the hood of the crumpled red helicar. The horn stopped.
The faint sound of emergency sirens crescendoed. Helicars with flashing lights landed carefully on the frozen roads. Their occupants emerged and swarmed away from the red helicar, focusing instead on a larger blue vehicle that lay crushed on the beach below.
After a few moments, one of the rescuers backed away from the blue vehicle and peered around. He spotted the other car and pointed toward it, yelling. Another paramedic joined him, and the two began picking their way up the icy slope, heads down.
They didn’t see it when a gloved hand with metal rescue knuckles smashed through the back passenger window of the helicar. Brushing the glass aside, it grasped the front door handle and yanked. The door opened. A lone woman lay slumped over in the driver’s seat. The stopsafe force field that had saved her life had deactivated after the impact, settling her against the cushioned wheel.
The man who had opened the door shook her shoulder. “Marielle.”
She opened her eyes and blinked. “Wha—?”
He had taken out his hand scanner to check for nerve or spinal damage. It whirred for a few seconds, then turned green. He stuffed it back in his coat pocket. “Marielle, can you move your legs?”
“Yes, I thi—wha—happ’nd?” Her mouth wasn’t working right. “Am I drunk? I feel drunk.”
“You were in an accident. You overshot the landing and hit another helicar.”
“No! Were they—was an’body hurt?” She struggled to get the words out.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Iss so dark. Izzit late?”
“So late it’s early. What were you doing out at one in the morning?”
“I—don’ know. Can’t ‘member.”
“You don’t remember hitting the helicar?”
“No. Nothing. Who—who was in it?” The grogginess was dissipating. If she concentrated, she could make her tongue cooperate.
“It was…” He hesitated, looking at her carefully, assessing her ability to hear the answer.
“Who was in it?” she demanded.
“Marielle, it was Elena and Nicah.”
“Are they— are they okay?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Nicah didn’t make it. Elena is hanging on, just barely. They’re taking her to the hospital. Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Let me help you to my car.
I’m taking you home.”
Isolation
RIACH CAMPUS, Alki Beach, Seattle, WA. 0740, Monday, June 5, 2215.
Danarin Adams threaded her way through the holographic picket signs on her way to work. As she bumped and jostled between the sign holders, she muttered quiet apologies to most, with friendly nods for those she recognized. Some of them had been there almost every day of the six months she had worked at the institute. There were even a few of the protesters she‘d call friends.
Oddly enough, she couldn’t say the same of any of her colleagues. The research scientists reminded her daily, in a thousand little ways, that she was only an intern. She might have found friends among the interns, but they were all isolated from each other by individual
task
lists.
“Hey, Dani!” Katella Wallace waved amid the sea of signs. “Are we still on for lunch today at that new sandwich place?”
Dani laughed to see that Kat had changed her own sign into a giant waving hand to get her attention. “I’ll be there,” she replied, “and I want to hear all about Jored’s game last night.”
Kat made a face as Dani caught up to her and started to check through the security gate. “I’m not sure you do. It was even worse than the last one.”
“Tell me anyway. He’ll expect me to know.” She paused to let the irisscan identify her while her bag went through the scanner. The gate opened. She waved to her friend. “See you later.”
The noise of the protesters died away as she walked the thirty-five
meters from the gate to
the main entrance. On her left, block letters identified the
massive
building as the headquarters of the Research Institute of Anthropology & Chronographic History, home of the famous TimeSearch project. Chronographic history was a window to the past, one that had fascinated her ever since the first reports of the breakthrough had played on her family’s
viewwall.
In
those days, all the newscasts had been optimistic. “Inventors Seebak and Howe,” they said, “have patented a device that will allow us access to the past in ways we are only beginning to imagine.” The details were even more intriguing. Any inanimate object could generate sensory streams of events that had occurred near it
when researchers tuned in to
selected times from its
past.
Talk shows interviewed scientists on national broadcasts, and soon such phrases as “chronetic energies” and “temporal quantum entanglements” were common household words, though few knew the science behind them.
It hadn’t taken long before the business community jumped on board. As a child, Dani wasn’t even aware of
businesses
vying for sponsorship opportunities. It wasn’t until later that she found out about the plans of a performing arts center to recapture the sights, sounds, and smells of Shakespeare’s openings or the plans of packed vacation resorts to offer the sensory inputs of a long-gone pristine beach, forest, or mountain. Universities wanted the new technology for research. Law enforcement and courts wanted it to find and convict murderers and kidnappers. But Dani didn’t know all that back then.
Eleven-year-old Dani knew only that her teacher laid aside his lesson plans in science to explore the new possibilities. In history, they discussed what historical events should be recovered first.
She heard about a national essay contest for high school students: What object would you choose? What moment would you recapture? The winning essay writer would be flown to Seattle with his or her parents to watch the chronograph in action.
Dani smiled, remembering how much she begged to enter that contest. At that age, she wasn’t eligible, but that didn’t stop her from trying. She sent in her essay anyway.
The heavy iron doors of the institute swung open at her approach, and her smile faded. With a last, wistful look outside, she entered the
cavernous maw
to begin her workday.
RIACH LABORATORIES, Alki Beach, Seattle, WA. 0750, Monday, June 5, 2215.
The
door whooshed to a close behind her as the lights adjusted from “dim” to “softly lit,” a preference she had indicated at her initial orientation, when her bosses were still acting as if she would be a valued employee. She reached into her bag for her lab coat, powder blue to mark her status as an intern. It was a smooth routine by now, putting on the lab coat, pressing her left temple to switch her connexion device from the city’s nexus to the institute’s private one. Signals from outside didn’t reach well through the thick cement walls without a boost.
On the opposite side of the entry, a small segment of the viewwall shimmered into focus to reveal her daily task list. She knew the task list would be repeated when she got to the
chronolab
, but she looked at it anyway, out of habit, while she donned her lab coat.
