Rewinder

CHAPTER EIGHT

For the first time in several weeks, the other trainees and I are gathered together in the lecture hall. Or, I should say, some of us. Twelve — exactly half of our class — are missing.

We whisper among ourselves, asking each other if we know what’s going on. But no one seems to know anything.

At precisely eight a.m., the door at the front of the classroom opens and Lady Williams enters, followed first by Sir Gregory and Sir Wilfred, and then by Marie and the personal instructors of the other trainees present.

After greeting us, Lady Williams says, “Congratulations are in order. You are the chosen.”

We look around at each other, confused. Well, most of us. There’s a satisfied sneer on Lidia’s face, like she already knows what’s going on.

“I’m sure you are wondering why several members of your group are missing,” Lady Williams says. “That’s because the twelve of you have excelled at your studies and have shown us that you will make the best personal historians. The other twelve have not left the institute. In fact, they will play a very pivotal role in your coming career. They will become your Chaser companions, and each of your devices will be permanently linked to one of theirs.”

I have no idea what a Chaser companion is. I was under the impression that, with the exception of the first nine months when we’d be working with supervisors, we would each be traveling alone. Having someone accompany us would double the chances of something going wrong.

“Starting tomorrow,” Lady Williams goes on, “and every day from now until your training ends, you’ll be traveling with your trainer, putting to practical use the lessons they have taught you by rewinding family histories that are already known to us. This will allow us to better judge and focus your efforts when need be.”

She continues, rehashing some of the things Marie has already taught me, and then wraps up with the warning that if our performance fails to meet expectations, we can still be removed from the program. “But I’m certain you will all do just fine. You are on the cusp of a great adventure, and for that I envy you. You’ll be seeing what no others can. You’ll be witnessing history. It’s an honor so very few will ever have. Never forget that.”

With that, she turns and walks out the door, followed by Sir Wilfred.

We sit silently for a moment before Sir Gregory moves up to the lectern. “As I call your name, please join your instructor. Hayden Adams.”

Hayden, sitting in the row in front of me, gets up and heads down the stairs to the front of the room. When he reaches his trainer, they exit through the same door Lady Williams and Sir Wilfred used.

One by one, the process repeats until I’m the only one left.

“Denny Younger,” Sir Gregory says. As I walk by him to where Marie waits, he smiles and pats me on the shoulder. “I’m very impressed with your work, Denny. I knew you would do well.”

“T-t-thank you, sir.” I’m caught off guard by the compliment.

As soon as Marie guides me out of the room, I ask, “What are we doing?”

“You’ll see” is all she tells me.

We turn down several halls and descend a flight of stairs to a level I have never visited before. We soon come to a set of double doors that cuts off the hallway.

As Marie opens one side, I can see that the room beyond is small and unlit. “Step in but don’t go any farther,” she says.

I do as told. When she joins me and shuts the door, we’re plunged into complete darkness.

Marie moves past me and I hear a handle turn. Dim light streams in from another room.

“This way,” she says.

Worried that I might trip on something, I carefully follow her shadowy form through the doorway and into what turns out to be a large, rectangular room. Doors line all the walls but the one at our end. Their close proximity to each other reminds me of our trainee instruction room, only these doors are constructed mostly of glass.

Down the center of the room are two long, parallel counters divided into dozens of data stations, all but a few occupied by individuals wearing headphones and staring at their screens. I also spot a couple of fellow trainees and their instructors standing behind the data operators.

“This is the companion center,” Marie says. “One of four at the institute.”

My brow furrows.

“Come.”

She leads me behind one of the manned data stations. I can now see that the user has two monitors in front of him. One is displaying moving digital graphs, while the other is showing an alternate spectrum shot of someone lying on a bed.

Marie whispers, “This man’s job is to monitor one of the companions.”

“What—” The word comes out louder than I intended, and a few people sitting nearby glare at me. “Sorry,” I whisper, then look back at Marie. “What exactly are companions?”

She motions for me to follow her again, and we head over to one of the glass doors. Though it’s dark on the other side, there’s enough light bleeding in that I can make out a narrow, occupied bed.

Marie moves to the next door. After checking through the window, she opens it and ushers me inside. The room is exactly like the one before, only the bed is empty.

“Was that a companion?” I ask, more confused than ever.

“Yes.”

“What was he doing? Sleeping?”

“Basically.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what his job requires.” She sits on the bed and urges me to do the same. Once I’m beside her, she says, “We’ve talked about the pain of time travel.”

I nod. She’s told me the longer the trip through time, the more pain a Rewinder will experience.

“The effect is considerably worse without a companion. When it’s paired with another Chaser, the device deflects onto the companion a considerable amount of the pain its Rewinder would otherwise experience.” She sees I’m having a hard time following her and says, “Let’s say you travel back five years, like we did the other day. You experience, at most, a minor headache. Your companion, resting here in one of these rooms, will have a headache, too, only a much stronger one.”

“But I didn’t have a companion when we went back.” I pause. “Did I?”

“You were slaved to my device, so my companion served both of us. Since we weren’t going back too far, it wasn’t difficult for her. All right, so now let’s say you go two hundred years into the past, taking it in a single jump. Your head would pound and you’d likely be sick to your stomach, and it’d be an hour or so before you feel normal again. Your companion, however, would be consumed by a migraine and muscle spasms that could last all day, if not longer. If you didn’t have him, all that pain would be on you, and you’d arrive unable to function at all, meaning the chances of you being discovered skyrocket.”

“So we don’t make trips without companions,” I say.

“Technically, it’s possible, but I wouldn’t try it if I were you. Especially since your companion serves the second and perhaps even more important role of being your beacon home. The farther you have to travel to get back here, the less accurate you become. Not in time. You’ll always get the time right. What I mean is physical location. A jump of a few hours or even a couple of days, and you can land precisely where you want without any help. Even a week or two will get you within a few feet of your desired location. But when you stretch that to years — again, like two hundred — no matter what location you’ve entered into your device, you could end up hundreds of miles away without your companion. Which, on a bad day, might put you in the middle of the ocean. The Chaser is able to use the companion’s gene signature — which is what the devices use to bind together — to deliver you directly into the arrival hall here at Upjohn Hall.”

I feel as if I’ve fallen through a magic hole into a dreamland where nothing is real. And yet I’ve traveled through time myself, so is this really that much more to accept?

Someone taps on the door and then opens it. It’s one of the data monitors.

“We have a departure in a couple minutes,” he says.

“Ah, good. Thank you,” Marie tells him. She turns back to me. “This is what we came to see.”

I peek over the shoulder of the attendant, careful not to get in the way of Lidia or the other two trainees who have joined us. On the video screen is an alternate spectrum shot of a female companion lying on her bed. The colors of the image range from white-blue to dark blue to black. After a few seconds go by, another person enters the room and connects some wires to the reclining woman’s head and upper chest, then straps her arms and legs into padded restraints.

“Those are for monitoring her vital signs,” the data attendant says, then points at the other monitor. The graph on it was flat when we arrived but now has sprung to life.

I look at it for a moment but can’t even pretend to understand what the lines mean, so I focus back on the other monitor.

“And the restraints?” David, one of the other trainees, asks.

“Just watch,” his instructor tells him.

A small square opens on the lower left portion of the main monitor, displaying another camera feed, this one originating from what I recognize as the departure hall. It’s focused on a man probably twice my age standing on one of the platforms.

After the man gives a hand signal, the data attendant leans forward and says into a microphone, “Stand by.”

The person in the companion’s room checks the restraints. When he waves at the camera, the data operator touches a button and says into his mic, “Taylor, clear.”

On the departure-hall feed, the Rewinder nods and lifts a Chaser.

The very instant he disappears, the companion arches on her bed as if shot through by a jolt of electricity. She then drops back down and writhes on the mattress, her hands clenching and unclenching as her arms jerk against the restraints. This only lasts a few seconds before she arches again.

The process plays out four times before she lands back on the bed and stays there. With skill and speed, the room attendant plunges a syringe into her arm. After a moment, her tremors begin to subside and she falls back, either asleep or unconscious.

Marie steps forward. “Can you play back the event please?”

The data attendant does so, and it’s no less disturbing the second time around.

“There are two stages to each jump,” Marie tells us. “Pre-arrival and post-arrival.”

The attendant runs the video once more, this time pausing on a frame in which the companion is arching her back.

“Pre-arrival,” Marie says. “The GO button has been pushed and the Rewinder is in transit. We call this the journey arc.”

She nods at the attendant and the video moves forward, pausing again when the woman is twisting on the bed.

“Post-arrival. The shot she was given helps mitigate the pain and allows her to rest.”

“Why wasn’t it given to her before the jump?” I ask.

“Because that would reduce her ability to deflect the pain,” the attendant says.

“Idiot,” Lidia whispers in my ear.

“You saw four journey arches,” Marie says. “This is because the Rewinder is going quite a distance back, and has used the automated controls to make the journey in smaller hops. This helps alleviate much of the pain he would feel upon arriving at this destination if he did it all in one jump.”

“How far did he go back?” I ask the attendant.

“One hundred and fifty-three years.”

Incredible—1861.

“So a short trip wouldn’t be so bad on a companion, right?” Kimberly, one of the other trainees, asks.

“The post-arrival phase would be less painful,” Marie says. “But for the journey arc, the pain is consistent no matter the span of time traveled.”

“Even just five years?” I ask, thinking about our trip to Chicago.

“Even just five years.”

Marie and I witness two more departures before we leave the companion-monitoring center.

Once we’re alone, I ask, “Do the companions have to stay in those rooms all the time?”

She shakes her head. “If their Rewinder isn’t traveling, their time is their own.”

I’m relieved to hear this.

“Who will my companion be?” I ask.

“One will be assigned at the end of training. You’ll find out then.”

I was kind of hoping she’d say I would never find out. I’m not looking forward to knowing who it is I’ll be putting through agony every time I jump.