The Time Travel Chronicles (31 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said, not wanting to cause her any pain. “I just thought I was going to get to go out there and get on with my life.” He paused, then threw up his hands and added, “Maybe take a pottery class or join a book club or something.”

The smile she gave him was patient and understanding, but as usual, also a little baffled at his strange ideas. “I understand. I really do. But this is the way it’s done. Before retirement, people come here or another place just like it for their transition period. That’s just how it is.”

"You're sure this is normal?" he asked. His sense that something was off was still there, nagging at the back of his mind. But everything was so different in this world that he'd felt like this about everything else and, so far, there had been no reason for his suspicions.

Genarae reached again for his hand and ran her fingers along the back, her touch warm and inviting. It made him want to turn his hand over and clasp her fingers in his. Instead, he pressed his fingers into the table-top to stop himself.

She said, "I'm a Transition Counselor. That's my job. I've also handled your waking and one for another man, long ago, when I was first starting out. So I see lots of transitions. There’s nothing at all to be alarmed about. The change from a life spent working, raising a family, and attending to outside responsibilities to a life of retirement is a big one. It needs guidance and attention. Other transition counselors handle the transition from childhood to adulthood. And you can see that works out well for everyone. Everything is fine."

Darren understood her words, took them in, and found nothing suspicious. But that didn't silence the voice in his head that whispered to him that something was wrong.

* * *

Transition appeared to consist of doing a whole lot of nothing unless Genarae was nearby. All around him, people were constantly being visited by family, taking outings to interesting places with friends, reading from tablets for hours on end, or listening to music and swaying in their chairs. They walked the gardens and took naps and ate far more than he had ever seen any person here eat.

And the food. The food! It was night and day compared to what he found at the hospital or even out in town. It seemed limitless. Twenty-four hours a day, fresh hot food. He’d even popped in during the deepest part of the night after a bathroom visit just to try to see if he could catch them with less abundant offerings, but no, full service was available with no limit even then.

And the portions were staggering. He was a bigger man than most of those around him, in both height and overall structure, so his meals from restaurants came with fuller plates than others. Even that was accounted for by whatever system they used. But not here in the Transition Center.

It was almost disgusting to see how much food this collection of not-exactly-old people could shovel down their gullets. He’d watched one woman eat six full entrées in one sitting and then unapologetically belch with a long, satisfied croak. Then she’d grinned at him and said, “You might as well take advantage of the benefits of transition. Am I right?”

Even with the quantity and quality here, Darren preferred to take his meals out in town and forgo watching the almost debauched way the transitionees feasted. There was no meat except chicken and fish—cattle and pigs had been wiped out by some disease long ago—but even that was regulated to exacting portions so many times a week, except here. He wouldn’t have missed steaks even if they were available. The food of this future was beautiful as well as tasty, almost like edible art.

He’d asked Genarae how they managed that. In his time, the desire for promotion or more pay spurred people to make effort. It was a given that communist regimes would always produce shoddy work. No gain meant no effort.

Genarae had laughed at him like he had said the silliest thing in the world, “What, and just be retired instead of working? Why would anyone retire early rather than do their best? I'm known for my abilities at my job. I wouldn't want people to think poorly of me.”

"What happens to people who retire early?" he asked.

She shrugged prettily and said, "I imagine they do what all retirees do. But I can't imagine anyone thinks very highly of those who choose that." She started as she remembered something and snapped her fingers. "Wait, you know that other man I told you about, the one that woke from Life/Time when I first started apprenticing?"

He nodded, eager to hear anything about anyone from his time.

"He retired early! I remember that they couldn't find anything that kept his interest and he wanted to have some sort of say in the way things are." She frowned a little, clearly trying to bring up details. "Anyway, once a person retires you can access some of their records. You should look him up."

Darren was delighted to hear that. Genarae could see him fidgeting and took pity on him. "Oh, fine. Let's do it now." Her fingers make quick dashes around her tablet's surface for a moment and then a face appeared, scowling into the lens of whatever camera took the photo.

Darren let out a loud laugh and said, "I know who he is! He was a politician—young guy, full of beans and opinions—when I went into Life/Time." He shook his head. "Looks a lot older there."

They watched his transition interview, his declaration that he intended to put some things right, get this world moving in the right direction. Darren found himself shaking his head right along with Genarae at the bitter sound in the man's voice. It exhausted him just to watch the former politician.

As the weeks passed, Darren found himself almost eager for retirement. It was a novel experience, this desire to plan days that had little in the way of productivity built into them. His list grew by another place or activity to explore almost every day.

Rather than fade away and leave him on his own, Genarae had turned into a friend, as well as his guide to this new world. At least, Darren thought that’s what was happening between them. For his part, he worried he was growing too attached. What were the rules on age differences in this time?

Everyone was so friendly and touchy it was hard to be sure if her affection was real, but her laughs seemed genuine and her smiles touched her eyes. He hoped she wasn’t sticking around simply because he was the only one at the center that didn’t have a constant parade of family and friends visiting.

Darren tucked his shirt in and examined himself in the mirror. One of the ladies at the Transition Center could sew like the best tailor in old New York City and she’d offered—actually offered, no trades, no favors asked—to alter one of his outfits to fit more like the clothes he remembered. It wasn’t perfect, but the shirt had buttons that went all the way to the bottom and a collar he could relate to. There was even a pocket, though it was plain and had no monogram.

The pants, well, those were another story. The soft cotton couldn’t be given structure no matter how skilled the seamstress or how hot the iron. Not that he’d been able to find an iron anyway. It seemed those too had gone extinct. He turned to one side and then the other, frowning and smiling into the mirror by turns. It would have to do.

“Time,” he called out into the empty room and the friendly, androgynous voice of the computer told him. Just fifteen minutes until Genarae was supposed to arrive, and she was always on time. Darren waved off his still unsatisfactory reflection, smoothed his new collar flaps down, and left the room. Tonight it was his turn to show Genarae something new.

Chapter Five – And Italy

“I’m not sure about this,” Genarae said, trying to peer through the small window inset into the door to the kitchen proper. She looked worried, almost like she felt she was doing something wrong.

“No, no,” Darren replied, waving away all her concerns and tugging her hand so she’d follow him back toward the dining room. When she turned to look at him, he pushed on. “I checked with dietary. They’ll treat this like any other meal. It’s fine! I promise.”

She followed, though her footsteps weren’t her normal eager staccato taps, but more the reluctant clomps of a kid going to the dentist. “It doesn’t sound like it’s good for me. I mean, I’m hungry. I want a full meal, not a couple of bites.”

Darren knew what she was talking about. Beautiful food or no, the diets of these new humans were strictly controlled based on more criteria than Darren could even take in. Not satisfied with just defining calories based on height, weight, and age, it was further refined by metabolic rates, activity level, hormonal fluctuations, health indicators, and so much more. Except for those in transition like himself, who were exempt from restrictions. Rich food was available, but the portions might be so small as to be unsatisfying and that’s what Genarae was referring to. She didn’t need to worry.

When he pulled out her chair at the table, she gave him a sharp glance, a little less patient with his antiquated ways than usual, but she took her seat. He sat, scooted his chair closer to hers in a series of squeaking hops, and took her hand in his. “Listen, I thought of everything. You’ll get a belly full of food.”

His voice had taken on a pleading tone he didn’t like. Darren Gordan didn’t plead. He bit back the rest of his words, some of the pleasure of this treat he’d planned so carefully slipping away. Even the collared shirt didn’t seem so special anymore.

Genarae seemed to sense just then that she’d wounded him in some way and her face softened. “I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t expect it. That’s all. And you look different. And, well, I just thought you’d adjusted to the world so nicely…” She trailed off there, her chin a little shivery, as if she might cry.

It was that tiny chin quiver that finally got through to Darren. She hadn’t taken his surprise as a thank you, but rather as a reversion. And that meant failure for her. He felt terrible. This was not going at all the way he’d envisioned it.

“Oh, Gen, I’m sorry. You misunderstand. There’s nothing wrong. I’m happy. See?” He lifted his hands, gave her his widest smile, and indicated the dining hall around them. She lowered her brows at him skeptically, so he winked, which brought the smile back to her face.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really, really,” he confirmed. “You’ve done so much, showed me so much. I just wanted to give you a little peek at something from my time that was good.” He leaned forward again, this time with a mischievous grin that took twenty years off his face. “And believe me, eggplant parmesan is one of the best things from the past.”

Just then, almost as if it were a planned punctuation to his words, the smell of the sauce wafted their way. Both of them lifted their heads to sniff the air like animals scenting prey. That shared instinct made them both laugh and the awkwardness lifted, nothing now between them at the table other than utensils and napkins.

Genarae swiped her bracelet—the one everyone used for every transaction—across the shiny black spot on the table with a grin. Her nutrition profile was now in the hands of the chefs. Darren followed suit and said, “I guess that means we eat!”

* * *

“So this is eggplant parmesan?” Genarae asked as she swiped up the last of the sauce on her plate with her finger. Manners of the future were just a little more lax when it came to fingers and food.

Darren nodded and said, “More or less.”

He’d spent an enjoyable morning with the kitchen staff, trying to figure out ways around the various differences in cooking to achieve something like the dish he remembered. Without parmesan cheese and only minimal use of olive oil and salt, it wasn’t the same, but it was close enough.

“And that was a common dish from your time?” she asked, looking at her plate. It was now almost so clean he could barely tell it had been used. He grinned. She’d liked it. It made him far happier than the simple act of preparing food should have. When she looked back at him, he could tell she felt the same. Whatever was happening between them, he liked it. He cleared his throat and shook those thoughts away. That was for later.

“Sort of, depending on your family, I suppose. My dad was Irish but my mom was Italian, and she did the cooking, so this was something I grew up with. It’s Italian. We didn’t have a lot of money, but she grew eggplants, tomatoes, onions, and garlic in the garden, so we had this fairly often in the late summer.”

He sighed then, remembering their overheated house, the curtains barely moving in the August air as his mother cooked and sweated over the hot stove, while he played under the house in the crawlspace where the temperature was lower.

Genarae touched his hand, familiar now with his wanderings back through time and the way his face changed expression. “Thank you for showing me. It was delicious! I’d like to have it again.”

“Well, they have it in their databases now, so you can. Maybe you’ll start a trend,” he said, suddenly delighted with that thought.

“You said it was Italian? What was that like?” she asked.

“What? Being Italian?” he asked, unclear.

“No, Italy,” she clarified. At his alarmed expression, she added, “I mean in your time.”

“Ah, well, it wasn’t much different than any other place when it comes right down to it. I traveled only for business and the inside of a hotel room is much the same no matter where you are.”

She seemed a little disappointed, but then brightened, “Well, at least you’ve brought us Italian food. That’s something.”