Induction Day: Book Two in the Butterman Travel Series (20 page)

“Good to see you have your determination back.” Tristan squeezes my shoulder.

Frowning, I re-examine the data on the dashboard’s holo-screen. “I’m not sure determination is enough. It won’t repair a damaged time tunnel.”

“You’re not gonna let that stop you, are you?”

I don’t know how to answer, or admit defeat.

“You’re smarter than Garth, you know that right?” Tristan says. “That’s why she’s on top of you all the time.”

I’d love to believe that’s true, but doubt has a way of slithering over my ego with its toxic sludge.
Future Buttermans are depending on me.
I wish I could know what’s expected of me. Why didn’t Evangeline say more back at Bethel? Forget the PFs. These time puzzles and mind games are way worse!

“Garth wants to continue her father’s work, which is to end private time travel,” I say out loud, in hopes of unknotting my thoughts. “It contradicts everything my family stands for. Ever since I was old enough to speak, my parents have taught me science is for everyone, and no one can monopolize it, not even the government. I’ve grown up with the hopes that time travel can someday be affordable for everyone, not just the upper class. The government prevents that with all their taxes and regulations. When Evangeline and Evan breeched the time string in 1969, it was about more than rescue—it was a sign that the possibility of fair and affordable time travel is a reality in the future.”

Tristan lightly kneads my shoulder. “When this happened back at Woodstock, the DOT used a—what did they call it—mirage thing to make the time-port appear closed, so it looked like you needed their help.”

“A GTD—Gravitational Time Dilation to fold space back on itself. What about it?”

“It wasn’t there the second time around. And neither were Evan and Evangeline, or Garth.”

I pause. Tristan’s analog recall must be confusing for him. “The timeline was altered. We skipped Manhattan and all the violations. It was a full Rewrite.”

“Isn’t that a violation, though?”

“Only if they know about it. I took an unlogged time trip to change our present course, using T-cube technology that hadn’t yet been invented. They wouldn’t have found out about that soon enough.”

“Couldn’t the future DOT investigate through their satellites?”

“Theoretically yes, if they can pinpoint exactly when and where something happened, like they must’ve done with Woodstock, but like you said, Woodstock was a CCL. I can’t imagine how long it took them to research it. But if the DOT doesn’t control future time travel, they may not have access to the same technology they do now.”

“Man, I need a drink.”

I shoot him a glare.

“Of water. Sheesh.”

“Oh. Well, drink. We both need to hydrate.” I return my gaze on the time-port pie graph. It’s on its final countdown to closure.

Tristan hands me a water pouch and rips open the tab from another one. “It’s so messed up, you know? The memories get all mixed up. Like meeting Boris Butterman two different times.”

The memory of my teenage great, great grandfather is oddly fresh in my mind. I could never forget his long dark hair and green eyes, or that look of total shock when he realized we’d really traveled there from the future.

Tristan continues. “He was so giddy that second time when he realized his cosmic rift discovery was right on. Like a kid in a candy store, kept saying how he never once expected science to offer shortcuts, but how it made so much sense when he realized it.”

“Holy hell.” My fingers freeze over the dashboard’s holo-keys. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“He’s right. Science
can
offer shortcuts. That’s exactly what we need.” I expand the launch status screen, which enables a separate hologram of our vessel.

“I don’t follow you.”

“I’ve read about it for years, but it’s totally unapproved by the DOT, so Dad’s never even considered letting us use it.” My fingers fly over the keyboard now, calculating numbers. “The Cosmic Shortcut Theory. If handled correctly, it allows the traveler to inject themselves into the middle of a time tunnel, but it’s never been attempted before.

That we know of, anyway.”

“You wanna try something that’s never been done before? Are you mad? How is something like that even possible?”

I let out a maniacal laugh, glancing once at Tristan, then back on-screen with a new found resolve sprouting through me. “T-cube science, that’s how.”

“
I
t won’t win
me any points with the DOT,” I say, my hands nimbly calculating the necessary equation. “But it could get us the hell outta here, and right now, that’s all I care about.”

“What do you have to do?” Tristan watches over my left shoulder.

“If I can figure out a way for us to T-cube while inside Essence, we won’t have to explain why we left the time-craft in a different decade when we get back to 2069.”

Just the fact that I borrowed future technology that hasn’t yet been discovered
.

I continue, “Problem is, her exterior. With a rip the size she has, the time tunnel could shred her.”

“Which is why you’re gonna patch it.”

I access the maintenance database and run a scan for repair alternatives and supplemental materials. “I have a bad feeling it’ll need more than just a simple patch up. Sorta like stitching a hole in a sock before you play tug-o-war with it. It won’t last. Essence should be nuked to refurbish the entire area surrounding the rip, or she’ll never sustain warp drive.”

“Can you do that from here?

My body heaves a sigh. “Truth is, I’ve never tried. The Launchpad is equipped for this type of maintenance, but here … if I could find some way to regenerate the properties ...” I trail off, going over the data on-screen again, scrutinizing for any nugget of possibility.

“It sucks she took such a beating.” Tristan’s looking over me now. “You need to keep her in a bubble so she stays in one piece.”

My fingers freeze over the holographic keys.

“What is it?” Tristan asks.

“Holy hell, that’s it. Tristan, you’re a genius.” I gawk at his blank face.

“I am?”

“A bubble. It’s so obvious I couldn’t even see it!” I return my focus on-screen, entering data.

“What, you’re generating a bubble?”

“If I can manipulate the atmosphere utilized by the cloaking device and enhance it just enough to withstand the time tunnel, it should give us our bubble. Like a protective membrane. But … I can’t be sure how long it’ll last.” My attention is still on-screen. “If I can energize our cellular properties for a full sixty seconds, that’ll give us just enough time to teleport into the part of the time tunnel that’s not damaged, and with a gravity lock on the home port, Butterman Mission Control will override our systems and pull us in.” I pause, look at Tristan. “I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s dangerous. The bubble could burst. We could be ripped—”

Tristan holds up a hand. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, Butterman.”

I smile, then return to my work on-screen. “This is so completely DOT unapproved. It’ll be a groundbreaking maneuver—one that confirms my knowledge of T-cube science, but we can deal with that once we’re in our own time string. That is,
if
it works.”

“It will.”

Tristan’s confidence in me gives me a little rush from my belly to my chest, but I ignore it. I continue crunching numbers and examining holographic diagrams. From my peripheral I catch him trembling in his buffersuit and I adjust the thermostat the tiniest bit higher. It can’t be for long. We need every ounce of power if I’m going to turn this attempt into success.

On that thought, I stop, turn to Tristan. For a second, there’s only the sound of the wind howling past the outside of the vessel. “I just wanna say, in case anything happens and I don’t get to later, thank you.”

His eyes twinkle with a strange light.

This could be the last time I ever speak to him, and my challenges with intimacy have no purpose in this moment.

I take a deep breath. “When you walked into my life a couple months ago, I had no idea what it’d mean. None of it made any sense.” Instinctively, my eyes lower. “I couldn’t save
Titanic
back there, and I may not be able to save us, but—”

“You’ve already saved me, Bianca Butterman.” Tristan kneels at my side, forcing my gaze on him. “Okay? I was on a one-way bullet train to nowhere when I met you. You gave me hope, and purpose …” He lets out a little laugh. “And irritated me just enough to make me prove I could be something again. Whatever happens, remember I came because I wanted to, because I needed to.”

He looks so sincere, my cheeks go hot. Impulsively, I run my fingers over his tangle of bangs. “Thank you, Tristan.”

“
S
tandby to engage
,” I say, leaning back in the pilot chair, my eyes fixed on-screen for the countdown. In the next five minutes I could be shattered to smithereens all over the cosmos. Or, I could be in the same place I am now 157 years later.
Home
.

From the rearview mirror, I catch Tristan nod. He has so much trust in me right now—it’s comforting and freakish at the same time. How can I give into doubt when he’s so sure of my abilities?

“Departure in ten, nine, eight …”

I count off robotically, my heart thumping double time. Glancing down once, the slight bulge in my pocket beneath my buffersuit catches my eye. Quincy’s pocket watch. It’s a huge violation to travel with a relic, but after reading the inscription, there’s not a chance in hell I’d let go of it.

My voice falters on number three. I swallow hard, steeling myself for departure, something like numbness consuming my chest, sucking it inward. My entire body trembles with such a mélange of emotion, I can’t distinguish one from the next. Peculiar and indescribable.

“Two, one …”

Gripping the armrests, my knuckles crackle into a painfully white shade. I find my focal point.

Pressure. So much pressure.

I can’t watch. My lids squeeze shut.

There’s a tight pulling in my chest, like a vacuum from within. I know that sensation—it means we’ve left the ground.

Holy hell, here we go …

Spinning. Quaking.

The vessel jolts with cavernous thunderbolts, rigid and sharp, as if we’re bouncing off angles, not shooting through tunnels. I’ve just ejected us halfway into a time tunnel, but what if we didn’t make it all the way past the radiation feedback? We could burn even through Essence’s cloak.

Or we could fall, be lost in space and time with no way home. What was I thinking?

Sperrrrluuuunk ….. crunch …. errrraaaaattttt ….donk, donk, donk …..

Voices screaming. Is it in my head?

Or from me?

Where is Tristan?

Why am I all alone?

Why is it so dark?

No, please … I’m falling …

“
B
ianca
!”

My eyes pop open and I’m shrouded in soft white haze. My shoulders quiver, out of my control. Hands are at my neck. Angels? Is this the end?

I tilt my head back, squinting my eyes.

An echo-y voice fades in until, finally, it’s clear enough to make sense. “Honey, are you okay?”

Dad’s voice.

Focus
.

Slowly, his blurred image becomes clear, his green eyes wide with concern.

“Dad? I’m … home?”

He unfastens my seatbelt and guides me to my feet, an ironic laugh bursting from his lips. “Yes, you’re home. Thank God.” He wraps his arms around me.

We made it.
Tristan
?

Pulling back from Dad, I turn to the passenger seats where Tristan is slumped forward.

“Bianca!” Mom climbs into the vessel, hugs me.

There were a few minutes there across the universe, when I feared I’d never feel her warm embrace again. “That was the worse cosmic climbing of my life. I thought …” My voice cracks.

Mom strokes my hair. “You’re fine. You’re home.”

The realization hits me so bluntly that tears burst out of nowhere and stream down my face, followed by an unattractive snort that quickly turns into sobs. I’m blubbering. But it’s such a release. I bury my head in Mom’s neck to hide my whimpers.

“Oh dear. I know. You’re all right now. What you managed was … remarkable.” Mom squeezes me, talking over my head. “No matter what happens, you remember that, okay? It was an achievement beyond anything I’ve ever seen.”

Her unexpected words quell my weepy state and I pull back to look at her. “What do you mean?”

As if surprised by the question, she studies me, her blue eyes softening with a light all her own. Protective and warm.

Dad slips his arm around my shoulders so they’re both embracing me.

“What you did out there was second to none.” He lets out another strange little chuckle. “There we were, waiting and watching the screen ‘round the clock—bloodshot eyes desperate for a blip that’d show you entering the vortex from a damaged time tunnel. It was so hopeless and preposterous to believe it could happen.”

“We never stopped believing though, sweetie,” Mom says, tears welling in her eyes now. “Agent Garth told us to close up shop, get some rest—”

“Your mother and I wouldn’t hear of it.” Dad grins, smile lines spreading across his scruffy face.

“Anyone in the mood for sourdough pancakes?” Tristan appears at our sides, groggy-eyed and off-balance. “Hello Buttermans.”

“Tristan, are you okay?” I hold his arm, searching his goofy expression.

He burps as if he’s been drinking. “Sure. Better than okay. I’m in one piece. Just please tell me it’s 2069.”

Mom gives him a little hug. “Yes, and I’m afraid—”

A commotion outside the vessel draws our attention. Clamoring. Voices shouting, flouncing off the exterior.

“People are out there?” I ask.

Dad groans and heads for the time-craft door. “Just the surveillance screen picking up activity outside the Launchpad.”

“The media is still here then,” I say.

Mom flashes me a proud smile. “They’re here because they want to celebrate, announce your success to the world.” She clutches my arm for emphasis. “You’ve made quite a stir—more than any of us ever would’ve expected. Everyone in town has been rooting for you, talking you up on interviews.” She shakes her head. “I can’t say the same for Agent Garth. She’s been an unconscionable killjoy. Once we detected the chute destruction, she suggested to the press that chances were slim and they should conclude their stories. It was all Dad and I could do not to barrel her over with the snow plow.”

Sounds like Garth overstayed her welcome. Good.

“No one would leave or give up though,” Mom adds.

The look on Mom’s face suggests I should feel touched, or proud. Instead, dread burrows down into my stomach to form a pit, heavy and hard. I don’t want to make a thing out of this. Not after glimpsing disaster and death and gut-wrenching fear. The memory of
Titanic
is too fresh.

“What do they want?” I ask.

Mom flashes me a funny look, as if she doesn’t get my question. “To support you. And celebrate your success. Both of you. People around the world have been watching every minute. Fans have been lighting candles and posting messages of hope—even though the DOT led them to believe it was hopeless.” Mom beams. “They gave Dad and me strength in a way I can’t explain.”

Fans?
I have fans now?

“Mom, I don’t feel like celebrating. There was no success. People were dying.”

Her head tilts with what must be clarity washing over her. “You saw more than you should have. Honey, I’m sorry. But you made it back in one piece, with your passenger, and with Essence. That’s a success, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

For a few seconds, I want to curl up and cry in her arms, tell her all the horror I witnessed, the hopelessness I felt at leaving all those people to die. But I brace myself, jutting my chin forward. “Garth can’t be trusted. She set me up. All of it.”

Mom puts a finger to her lips. “She’s still here. You should’ve seen the look on her face when we told her the radar picked up Essence nearing Port Butterman. Wiped that smirk right off of her smarmy little lips.”

My mouth drops open. “
Mom
. What’s gotten into you?”

She half shrugs. “No one tells
me
what my daughter can or can’t do.”

A fuss sounds off from the surveillance screen, then grows louder with what must be the bay door opening and closing. I’m not ready to step out of the vessel.

“Is it, uh, safe to go out there?” Tristan asks, his lids still heavy over his glassy eyes.

“I think you should speak to the press and get it over with,” Mom says. “They’re hungry for details. Let them share this accomplishment with you and they’ll be on our side if the DOT decides to crack down.”

Dad pokes his head in the vessel. “About those details your mother mentioned. How about sharing them with dear old dad first?” He shrugs, smiling faintly. “I’m eager to know how you pulled it off. Time tunnel damage that severe would take months, maybe years to correct itself. If ever.”

“Man, you shoulda seen it,” Tristan raises his hands. “Like something out of a sci-fi film, only, so real it gave me goose bumps.”

Inside now, Dad joins us, eyes wide with interest. “And the 1912 time string?”

“Unaltered, most likely,” I say. “
Titanic
still went down. We saw all of it.”

I don’t mention the fact
Titanic
hit the berg sooner than recorded, speeding up the event. That will have to be dealt with and researched later. Quincy’s pocket watch is still in my pocket. Maybe he made it out alive. Maybe the timeline was meant to be altered, so he could survive.

“Once you missed the time window, I had a horrible feeling you didn’t make it off the ship,” Mom says.

Tristan scoffs, but it has a chilling ring. “We almost didn’t.”

Mom and Dad stare at me, eyes full of question.

“It was down to the wire,” I say. “We launched before the window closed, but hit some kind of magnetic storm over the Atlantic, never made it out of the time tunnel. We were here in Alaska all along. Right
here
.”

“But in 1912,” Tristan says.

“Astonishing.” Dad rubs his chin.

“We almost froze to death,” Tristan adds. “And Bianca was sick … and—”

“Just a bad case of time lag, that’s all,” I’m quick to add. No reason to alarm them with TDS right now.

“Then how did you launch? Travel through the tunnel?” Dad asks. “We saw the damage to the vortex, and it was impaired beyond use.”

I hesitate, wondering if Dad will even believe me. “A Cosmic Shortcut.”

Mom looks to Dad for clarification. Dad just stares at me.

“Bumpiest effin’ ride of my life, but holy shit did she deliver.” Tristan’s voice jumps an octave.

I arch a brow at him.

“An unapproved, never-been-done-before maneuver using teleportation science?” Dad’s still staring at me. “That’s how you accessed the time tunnel?”

All I can do is nod. He knows about T-cube science, but only from what I’ve shared from Evangeline and Evan Butterman.

He lets out a flabbergasted gust of air, begins pacing, though there’s barely room for it.

“What does that mean, Gavin?” Mom asks, following him. “Unapproved?”

He stops, turns to Mom. “She used the T-cube equation to launch the vessel midway into the time tunnel, bypassing the radiation damage. It’s a technique only in theoretical stages—no proof of any success. But then, teleportation hasn’t been invented yet either.” He turns to me. “Bee, you know what this means. And you know how I feel about using borrowed science … It’s dangerous, and unethical, and—”

“The only way she could’ve saved our lives,” Tristan says. “We were doomed to die out there … out
here
.”

“
And
what I was going to say,” Dad’s gaze lingers on Tristan’s a few seconds before finding mine, “is that although it’s entirely presumptuous, it’s also in this case, a brilliant solution to saving the time-craft, as well as your own lives.” Dad lays his hands over my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length. “You’ve proven you’re a true time traveler, Bianca, even if we can’t put this one in the books. I’m proud of you.”

A little lump forms in my throat. “Dad, my Induction Day failed.
Titanic
… it ...”

My voice hitches. It’s still so fresh in my memory—the fear, the loss, the bellows of the ship ripping apart beneath our feet ...

Dad smiles, scuffs the top of my head. “Consider yourself fortunate. You got to see the real event, and since this was just a trial run, you’ll get to see it again. Next time, you’ll know what to do.”

Right. It’s a thought that should fill me with hope. Dad can’t understand that what I experienced isn’t so easily cast aside.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Dad continues, “you’re more than capable. After the time tunnel has had a chance to repair, you can—”

The intercom buzzes from the bay to signify someone wants in. Mom and Dad exchange glances, then step out of the vessel. Tristan and I follow, where we find Garth’s polished image appear on-screen.

“If you’ll allow me in, we can commence with procedures,” she says, although her former phony smile has been replaced with an impatient frown.

For some reason, at the same moment, my body twitches—knees wobbling, head spinning, as if my strength was zapped by Garth’s words.

Tristan grabs my arm. “You okay?”

I massage my temple. “Yeah, just … wow. Guess it’s catching up with me.”

This is the second time I’ve T-cubed. Evangeline warned of the mental issues it can initiate without proper post conditioning, but she had to know there were no means for it in this decade. Still, she didn’t know I’d use it more than once. Or did she? It doesn’t help that I caught a severe case of TDS on top of it all.

“You need to lie down,” Mom says, moving in to prop me up.

I wobble again, this time my eyes falling closed for a moment. My head suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.

Tristan bolsters me upright.

The docking bay’s door slides open and voices grow louder. Two hover-cams zip into the time-craft doorway, but stop there, motionless, their lenses gaping wide-eyed and blank. Mom and Tristan help me out of the vessel, shooing the hover-cams away with their hands.

My stomach stirs, now that I’m outside Essence. Slowly, my gaze lifts from the metal grated floor of the docking bay to the hooded parka dusted in snowflakes standing before me. Gloved hands pull back the fur-lined hood and Garth’s pale face hones in on me.

“Well, then,” she says with a flippant little smirk. “I suppose we should get right down to it.” She pulls out her device and projects the holo-screen. “An investigation is underway. My superiors have agreed to take your statement now and give you a chance to come clean on any violations before the press has an opportunity to obtain details.” She eyes me. “It would be in your best interest. The DOT will consider your cooperation when issuing any citations.”

Mom points a finger at Garth, moves in toward her slowly. “Bianca is safe and sound, thank you so much for your extraordinary concern, Agent Garth.”

Garth freezes a few seconds, maintaining eye contact with Mom, then resumes her on-screen activity. “The DOT is relieved to hear that, Mrs. Butterman, I assure you.”

“Are they?” Mom asks, a slight hiss to her tone. “Because it sounds like you’re more interested in charging her with a violation.”

Garth doesn’t look up. “We have a professional obligation to uphold, Mrs. Butterman. You were aware of that when you agreed to go public with your daughter’s Induction Day. The world is watching, and the DOT has a job to do.”

Dad steps in. “Agent Garth, you’ll have to excuse my wife, she’s been out of sorts for the past twenty-four hours. Surely you can understand that, given the fact we didn’t know whether or not we’d ever see our daughter again.” He forces a little smile, seemingly having switched roles with Mom and assumed her diplomacy. “We’d never ask you to ignore your obligation, we’re asking you to consider the very simple fact that our daughter saved her own life, as well as the life of her passenger. That should count for something.”

“Point taken, Mr. Butterman.” Garth moves around him toward Essence, begins inspecting.

Mom and Dad exchange glances with me. Tristan’s struggling with the zipper of his buffersuit. I give it a tug, tremors pulsing through my brain for a few seconds that I try my best to ignore. I grab onto Tristan’s torso for support til his zipper is all the way down.

“Your time-craft is no longer up to code,” Garth says, squatting next to the rip in the siding. “Quite the damage here.”

“It can be fixed,” Dad says.

“That’s debatable,” she answers without meeting his gaze. “This material is outdated. You’ll have to upgrade. And at the cost of exterior replacement, you may as well rebuild the entire vessel, which you’ll need a permit for. But we can start the process before I leave. Takes a few weeks time.”