Lyon's Legacy: Catalyst Chronicles, Book One (5 page)

“I don’t.” I got up to start the dishwasher. “But I’m a victim of Jackass’s credits too.”

“Ah.”

It was hard to read what she meant by that one sylla
ble. Was she indifferent, or disappointed in me? I swallowed and wished I’d never set foot in the genetics lab. Sabotage was easier to contemplate when you didn’t know the people who would be affected by your actions.

For a couple of minutes, the only sound in the lab was the dishwasher starting its cycle. Lizabeth put the chairs back and turned off all the equipment not in use. “Well, I hope you and George can work things out. Only a couple more weeks until you visit t
he other Earth. Are you excited about that, at least?”

I wasn’t in the mood to be excited over anything.

After she left, I reviewed George’s biography on the
Sagan’s
personnel roster, then cross-checked records on the institutions where he’d studied. I did find a reference to a professor being dismissed from a university for falsifying data, but there were no mentions of George in the article. I’d have to wait until the return leg of the trip, when we were closer to Earth, to dig deeper.

Or I could just as
k George himself. I gritted my teeth. Why hadn’t he told me about this himself, if it was so important to him? But how could I approach him without revealing Lizabeth had shared his secret? And would this make any difference in how he viewed my mission—and me?

My handheld dinged with a message. “Ms. Lyon, please report to the mess hall for a TwenCen presentation.”

George and I were going to have to go a little longer without talking to each other, but we were due for a long conversation.

* * *

“Hurry up, Ms. Lyon,” Pluckenreck said as she grabbed my arm. Her spectacles slipped off her nose as she tried to pull me towards the shuttle. “We can’t miss our launch window.”

We’d come as close to the other Earth as we dared. TwenCen tech was puny compared to wh
at we had, but it was still capable of picking up signals from the
Sagan
. A smaller shuttle, though, would have a better chance of approaching the other Earth undetected. All the other travelers were already on board, but I was waiting to see if George would show up. Since our argument, we only talked to each other in the lab, and then only when it was necessary.

It doesn’t matter if he comes or not. We had some fun times, but it wasn’t anything special.
I couldn’t even lie to myself; I turned my head as soon as I heard him call my name from the doorway.

“George!” I twisted out of
Pluckenreck’s grip.

“Ms. Lyon, we have two minutes before they depressurize the shuttle bay,” Pluckenreck said.

She intended to hurry me into the shuttle, but I chose to interpret her words as giving me a minute thirty seconds with George. Now I wished we hadn’t wasted the time we’d had together earlier. Slipping out of my pumps, I sprinted across the cold metal deck to him. The floor was so smooth that when I tried to stop, I slid into him instead. He caught me, and I put my arms around him. “I’m sorry I swore at you,” I whispered into his ear. I didn’t have time to pussyfoot around. “Lizabeth told me about that cheating prof of yours. This isn’t like that....”

“I know; you were r
ight. I’m sorry for what I said too.” He squeezed me tight. “We’ll talk about the...project when you return. And mine. Just come back safely. I know you don’t like your famous ancestor, but try not to kill him. You’ll ruin the travelers’ timeline.”

I let o
ut a short laugh at that, the first time I’d laughed since I’d heard about Mom.

George and I kissed, but it felt like it hardly started before the computer announced, “One minute to commencement of shuttle bay depressurization. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight....”

As much as I wanted more time with George, I had to leave. No one else was in the shuttle bay. I squeezed him one last time and whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jo.” He kissed me again,
then released me. “But you’d better hurry!”

I ran as fast as
I could without risking a fall. My pumps weren’t where I’d left them. Panic flared within me, but I didn’t dare stop to look for them. I dashed inside the shuttle with less than thirty seconds left. The door slid shut, cutting off my last glimpse of George. A silent, thin-lipped Pluckenreck glared at me through her glasses, but a few of the other travelers applauded. Winnie waved my pumps over her head; relieved, I dropped into the empty seat next to her.

“Now, remember, travelers,” Pluckenreck said, clutc
hing her spectacles as the shuttle accelerated out of the bay and into space. “While you’re on alt-Earth, always stay within your assumed identities; in fact, it wouldn’t hurt to start using them here.” That wouldn’t be much of a problem for me; I got to keep my name. “And please remember to be extremely cautious about what you do or say. We’re still not sure how this timeline differs from ours, or what a careless slip of the tongue might change.”

She continued to lecture us all the way down to alt-Earth, r
epeating points she’d said in our shipboard classes. After a while, I tuned her out to think about George. Even after that fight, he still loved me? Could we have a future after this trip? How could we make that work when he was stationed on the
Sagan
and I lived on Earth? It would be easier for him to return to Earth than for me to get a permanent position on the spaceship, but I didn’t want to ask it of him.

We landed in a cold, dark desert. I didn’t have time to appreciate the clean air or the myriad of
stars—and the invisible
Sagan
—above us before they brought us underground into what had been an abandoned mining tunnel, now dug out, reinforced, and partitioned into rooms. Winnie and I, along with half a dozen other female travelers, were shown to a long room with rows of cots where we could sleep until morning. We chatted for a while about our initial impressions, but we didn’t have much to discuss yet. Still, I stared at the ceiling for a long time, listening to faint snoring from the woman next to me, as I realized soon I would encounter Sean. Not the world-famous musician my uncle idolized, not the ancestor who’d ignored his first son by his longtime girlfriend and overcompensated with his second son and only wife, but a guy my age who wasn’t known outside of a few Chicago clubs. How bizarre to think of him as a human being, not some larger-than-life legend overshadowing everything I was. How was I supposed to tell him off when he hadn’t done anything yet and I wasn’t supposed to reveal his future? What was he really going to be like?

Suddenly I had a feeling maybe I didn’t know as much about Sean as I thought I did.

After breakfast—fresh fruit and real eggs tasted decadent after months of the
Sagan’s
supplies—Pluckenreck shoved my luggage, tickets, and purse of money at me, then ushered me into a car along with a few other travelers. We were all silent as we headed for the airport, staring out the windows at the other Earth. The desert gradually gave way to small towns.

“Well, so far, it’s not much dif
ferent from home,” I said. A couple of the travelers smiled, but no one seemed inclined to talk.

At the airport, Pluckenreck took each traveler aside to guide them to their gates and give them last-minute advice. She left me until last.

“Now remember, Ms. Lyon; maintain your cover. Don’t tell him when you’re from. And don’t forget,” she narrowed her eyes, “that DNA sample is your ticket back onto the
Sagan
. Your uncle doesn’t want you returning home without it.”

So, George was right; even though Jackass was in another universe, he was still trying to control me. I forced a tight smile. “I understand.” If only I understood how to thwart him without stranding myself in this world. “You know, we never went over how I
’m supposed to introduce myself to Sean.”

She looked scornfully at me. “You’re his cousin.”

“But why am I meeting him?”

“That’s up to the individual traveler to decide.”

“How come no one told me that sooner?”

“We covered it at the very first session, the o
ne you missed.” She smirked. How could she keep taking that mix-up so personally? “If you don’t have a plan by now, Ms. Lyon, you’d better think fast. Good luck.”

She turned on her high heels and strode off for the exit. “Fuck you too, bitch,” I whispered.

I decided not to worry about meeting Sean for now and focus on catching my flight. I was a little worried
about my documents, but the clerk accepted them without question. No one worried about terrorism in these times. I found another surprise at the bottom of my purse: an audiorecorder. Did they expect me to bring back music too? Too bad I couldn’t bring Sean himself back for Uncle Jackass; he’d probably hand over all of his credits to hear one note from Sean’s lips.

I was too tired to people-watch, so
I bought a zine at a kiosk. The paper pages felt flimsy, like they would tear if I touched them, and there was no way to block all the silly ads on every page—the zine was more ads than articles. Even the articles were stupid, full of nothing but advice on men. I looked for something that would help me with George, but there was nothing. Besides, I already knew I had to solve my Lyon problem before tackling my Harrison problem.

I was so tired I slept most of the flight to Chicago, despite the uncomfortable
seat. The closer I got to Great-Granddad, the more I wondered if this really was a good idea. It didn’t seem right to clone him without his permission, but I couldn’t ask for it without giving myself away.

It was mid-afternoon in Chicago when we arrived,
windy and much colder than I expected. I stopped into the women’s restroom to inspect myself. All the practice wearing skirts and sweaters was paying off; I looked halfway presentable. I straightened my stockings, retied the long pink scarf restraining my hair, and buttoned up my coat. Then I hailed a taxi to take me to Sean Franklin Lyon.

Chapter Five

As the taxi took me from Midway Airport to Morgan Park, the South Side neighborhood where Sean lived with his grandmother, I gawked at the city like a tourist. This Chicago was much different from the one I knew. Even though this city was younger than mine, the buildings seemed older, built out of brick and steel instead of reinforced plastic and glass. The cars were bigger, noisier, and dirtier. The people seemed odd in their similarity; the men all wore suits, and the women dresses. There wasn’t much variety in their skin tones or hairstyles. Ethnic stores and restaurants were hard to spot. Chicago neighborhoods weren’t as diverse in this time as they were in mine, so that made sense.

After a while, I leaned back against the patched seat to figure out how to approach Sean. How could I tell him I was a cousin he’d never heard of and make him believe me? Maybe I could pret
end I was new to Chicago; I could tell him that I was looking for a job. Or graduate school; I was applying to one of the colleges in Chicago. Which ones were around during the TwenCen? The only one I could think of was the University of Chicago. They still did research there in my time; I hoped they did so now.

We finally arrived in the Morgan Park neighborhood. Despite the cold, children jumped rope or played games on the sidewalk. They eyed me curiously as I stepped out of the cab in front of Sean’s hous
e. It looked just like any other one on the block. This neighborhood had been bombed out before I was born, so I’d never seen it. The rose bushes Sean’s Grandpa Patrick had planted under the windows were brown in the late fall, but I’d read about how Sean used to play in front of them when he was a boy.

I took a deep breath as I faced the house. Time to see if my unplanned plan would work. I wished I had a letter of introduction or some other way to convince Sean’s grandmother I was a relative. All I had t
o rely on were my looks—and my memory. I hoped I had all my ancestors correctly linked.

I dragged my suitcase over the steps and knocked on the door. As I waited for someone to answer, I wiped my sweaty palms on my coat. Sean’s grandmother, his mother’s mo
m, opened the door partway. She looked a little younger than she did in the 2-D pictures I’d seen of her. Her hair was more gray than dark brown. Her plain blue dress did little to accent her features, but even though her mouth was sternly closed, I could see a few faint laugh lines at the corners.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Murphy.” I smiled as politely as I knew how. “I’m Joanna Lyon, Sean’s cousin.”

Her eyes were flat with distrust. “His cousin?”

“My father was William Lyon, James Lyon’s brother.” I was pleas
ed I got the lie out smoothly, but my cheeks grew warm.

“I know Jamie.” Her voice was cool. Sean’s father had joined the Army after getting his wife pregnant, but from what I knew of family history, he’d done so to get out of raising a child instead of to
defend his country. Mary Murphy stared at me again. “Where are you from?”

“California. I’ve come to Chicago for graduate school.”

“You sure do look like a Lyon.” Now she opened the door enough to let me inside. “Where are you staying? Why don’t you come in for a while, and I’ll make you something to eat. You must be hungry, traveling all that way.”

She led me down a dim hallway to the kitchen. A calendar of saints hung on one wall, and white lace curtains lent dignity to the scratched table
and well-used pots. Grandma Mary—she insisted I call her that—gave me a cup of strong tea and a plateful of greasy meat and overcooked potatoes. With the food, the pollution, and the second-hand smoke, this trip was going to cut at least ten years off my life. Still, I was so hungry even the grease tasted good. I ate as best as I could while answering Grandma Mary’s questions about “the family out West.”

“And what does your father do?” she asked as I finished my meal.

How do you explain two mediocre albums, a handful of holo appearances, and a share in a celeb PR firm to a TwenCen person? “He’s an entertainer,” I started to answer. At Grandma Mary’s frown, words came to me. “But he’s given that up; he never was much good at it. These days he’s part owner of a business.” Not that he needed to work, with his own share of Great-Granddad’s money.

“Well, at least he’s respectable, then.” Grandma Mary examined my appearance as if she still wasn’t sure about me. “Where are you going to school?”

Our heads both turned as something dark flashed by the window, followed by a man at the back door. I clenched my fork as if it were a weapon. Was it Sean, or his grandfather? Judging by the black hair, it had to be Sean. My great-grandfather, as large as life and twice as intimidating. Why had I ever thought meeting him was a good idea?

Grandma Mary pursed her lips as he stepped through the door. I couldn’t tell if she disapproved of his outfit—not just a leather jacket, but black leather
pants as well—or the cigarette smoke that clung to him. I’d never smelled it before, but it was so foul it couldn’t be anything else. How could he tolerate, let alone enjoy, such a filthy habit?

“I just got word of a gig downtown tonight, Grandma.” He unzipped his jacket. “It’ll run late, so
don’t wait up.”

He didn’t even look in my direction as he threw the jacket at my face. I caught it, but the stench made me sneeze. Grandma Mary gasped. “Sean Franklin Lyon, haven’t I taught you any decent manners? You don’t treat your cousin like that, esp
ecially when she’s come such a long way!”

“Cousin?” He turned toward me and raised his eyebrows. Frowning, he leaned forward. I knew he was very nearsighted—and too vain to cover his dark blue eyes with thick-framed glasses. “Who are you?”

I let him come a little closer before whipping his jacket at him. Even with his poor vision, he still raised his hands in time to protect his face.
Too bad.
“Call me Jo,” I said.

“Jo What?”

“Lyon.”

He stood very still. “I hope you’re lying about that.”

I had to phrase this carefully, or else he’d sense my falsehood. I tilted my face to meet his. “My name really is Lyon, and I share one-eighth of your genes.”

Sean and Grandma Mary stared at me with curious faces. I wanted to slap my forehead; how much did the average person
of this era know about genetics? Sure, Watson and Crick had figured out the structure of DNA by now, but that didn’t mean everyone knew it.

“She’s your Uncle Will’s daughter, Sean. She’s here for school.” Grandma Mary reached past Sean to
take my plate. “You still didn’t say where you were studying, or what. Teaching, maybe, or nursing?”

“Thanks. And I’m not interested in nursing or teaching. I’m going to study genetics at the University of Chicago.”

Now the stare of horror from Grandma Mary made me wonder if I’d sprouted another head. “You can’t go there, Joanna! That’s a bad neighborhood!”

Oops. In my time the university still existed, but it was surrounded by vertical farms, research labs, and housing. Some of the areas were off limits, but it wasn’t any
more dangerous than anywhere else in the city. “I didn’t know that. But I’m sure I can take care of myself.”

Sean raised an eyebrow, but I wasn’t sure if he was impressed or scornful. “What
kind of music do you like, Jobanana?”

Great; he thought I was fru
it. If he kept that up, he’d be wearing a banana. Would that change the timeline?

Frowning, Sean asked, “Don’t you like music?”

Focus, Jo. Don’t let yourself get distracted. Just play along for now.
I shrugged. “I listen to all types of music.”

“Including
rock and roll?”

“It’s...all right, I guess.”

He scowled, and I suppressed my delight at annoying him. “You’ve probably never heard anything good. Do you want to come hear me play tonight?”

Uncle Jack had specified I get live cells from Sean to make sure th
e DNA wasn’t degraded. I wouldn’t be able to take a sample at the concert, but it would be a good place to use my audiorecorder. And I could piss Sean off even more afterward by insulting his playing—but I’d have to be careful not to make him give up.

“Su
re.” I smiled, but then I remembered my suitcases. “But I haven’t found a place to live yet. I’ll have to go downtown anyway and book a hotel—”

“Nonsense.” Grandma Mary shook her head. “You can stay with us. Sean, she can have your room.” She batted him li
ghtly with a wooden spoon. “And for Heaven’s sake, clean up in there. Pigs would be ashamed to call that mess a sty.”

“Yes, Grandma.” He pitched his voice into falsetto range. “Oh, please, not the spoon! Anything but the spoon!”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Sean had a sense of humor, but I didn’t want him to think I found him funny. One joke wasn’t going to make up for a lifetime of anger.

Sean looked at me, stuck his tongue out, then grabbed my suitcases and lef
t while Grandma Mary told me every horror story she could think of about the neighborhood surrounding the university. I nodded earnestly, as if I meant to take her advice. When she finally let me go to Sean’s room, my suitcase lay in the center of the unmade bed. I kicked my way through dirty socks and shirts to stare at the Elvis posters and crate of record albums and 45s. In a few years, teenagers would surround this house, drooling at a chance to see this room, and Grandma Mary would learn to be less trusting of strange girls. But as I stood in Sean’s bedroom, not much bigger than my room on the
Sagan
, the thing that impressed me most was how ordinary it seemed. His clothes looked so different from modern ones, and the only personal electronics device he had was a tiny radio, but I could picture Sean in here, strumming away the dreary Chicago winters with his plans to make it big. I thought about myself back on Earth, reading journal articles and dreaming of a Ph.D. Some things, like dreams, transcended history.

Someone knocked on the door. “Hey,
Jobanana, if you’re coming, let’s get going. I need to meet with the band before the show.”

“Just a minute,” I called back. I considered wearing my red dress, but it reminded me too much of George. Instead, I chang
ed my sweater for a white blouse and ran a comb through my hair. After checking on the recorder, I left the room. Sean had a new shirt on under his jacket, but otherwise he hadn’t made any preparations that I could see. He grabbed his guitar case and waved at Grandma Mary, who stood at the kitchen sink, her hands covered in soap bubbles.

“One moment, you two.” She dried her hands on a towel. “We should get a picture for the family album while you’re all dressed up. Now, where did I put the camera?” She put
tered over to the hall closet and peered at the inside. “No, not here. Must be in the bedroom....”

“Grandma, can’t it wait?” Sean yelled at her as she disappeared. “We’re
gonna miss the bus!”

I was no more eager to get my picture taken with him than he was
with me, but a couple of minutes later, when she returning brandishing some electronic device as big as my hands, beaming with pleasure, neither of us had the heart to deny her. She gestured at us to stand near the fireplace, then to put our arms over each other’s shoulders. I tried not to grimace at touching Sean’s jacket. Then we had to force fake smiles while she flashed a bright light at us, not once, but twice.

I knew they didn’t have digital cameras in this era, so once I could see again, I asked, “W
hen will the pictures be ready?”

“Oh, I’m not even halfway through this roll yet,” Grandma Mary replied. “I’ll probably finish it for Christmas,
then I have to have it developed.”

I should be headed back to my universe by then. It was a little disappointin
g that I’d never see the picture, but I didn’t think it would be a very flattering one, even if it was only 2D.

“Come on,
Jobanana.” Sean grabbed his guitar. “Looks like we might have to run for it.”

He bolted out the door without another word to his grand
mother. I waved at her, then followed.

* * *

Sean didn’t say much on the bus ride back into downtown Chicago. The sun had already set, but lights illuminated a few office buildings. I was surprised by how much I missed the city I knew: the sleek, sculptured buildings; the speedy monorail system; the variety of restaurants. I wondered what Mom would have thought of this place, and I squeezed my eyelids shut.

“You must really hate Chicago if you can’t even bear to look at it in the dark,” Sean commented.

I willed my hatred into a laser beam, but when I opened my eyes, he didn’t disintegrate. “It’s not that.”

“Did you leave someone behind?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“That’s a load of
cr—of nonsense. Who’d go for an over-educated girl like you?”

“I don’t
know, maybe someone a lot smarter than you?”

The bus stopped. Sean rose so quickly a couple of people got between him and me. I hurried to follow him. Once outside on the street corner, Sean lit a cigarette as if it was a guide to our destination.