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  He couldn't find the keys for his father's Citroën, which seemed odd, since they were always in the top left-hand drawer of the desk. Or were they in the desk in a previous continuum? He closed his eyes, struggling to focus his conscious awareness. I can't lose myself to this continuum.

  He went outside, thinking maybe the keys had been left in the car. A red AutoPod, like the ones he had seen on the streets, sat parked behind a car covered by a black tarp. He placed a hand on the door of the AutoPod, which responded to his biometrics by flipping upward with slow deliberation, as if spreading its wings. Stepping into a cabin large enough for two people, he settled into a form-fitting seat, and pressed a button labeled START. As the wing-door closed with a barely perceptible thut, a luminescent, digital screen filled with icons came to life at eye-level. He tapped a map icon, bringing up a navigation screen. Now what?

  A disembodied woman's voice filled the cockpit. "Please state your destination."

  "Cameron Grimes."

  "Seattle or Northern Hemispheric Alliance?"

  "Seattle. His office."

  "Cameron Grimes, Grimes Building, Level eight-seven. Navigation initiated."

  A three-dimensional heads-up map displayed near the lower left corner of the windshield, and tilted ninety degrees, a blue line snaking down his neighborhood street.

  He had directions, now how did he get this AutoPod to move? He tried "move" and "start" without success, then conjured up a Star Trek memory. "Engage."

  The female voice liked the word. "Engaging automatic transit system."

  He didn't want to be driven around on autopilot. "Manual."

  The console screen display changed to an image of a sliding control labeled T. The vehicle's voice confirmed his command. "Manual engaged. Insurance for manual operation required. Manual engaged."

  He searched for some form of directional control, but the cabin was devoid of a steering wheel or touchpad control. He leaned back in frustration and the AutoPod snaked backward down the drive, missing a lemon-yellow AutoPod by inches, the owner pivoting to give him the finger and a few choice words swallowed up by his vehicle's soundproof shell. At least some things hadn't changed. Addison offered a weak smile and shrug of the shoulders.

  He didn't know whether to trust Maya or not, but if he could look Cameron in the eye, maybe he'd see either the loyalty of a friend or the betrayal of murderer. Moving the throttle slide up, the AutoPod's liability module declaring insurance limitations, he accelerated down the street and toward Cameron's downtown building.

  Cameron's office took up most of the top floor of his eighty-seven story Grimes Center in downtown Seattle. The guy from building security didn't appear to be a police academy dropout or an overweight ex-cop supplementing his income. Addison stood across a glass, black marble and steel reception counter from a man who could have just parachuted in on a special-ops mission. He looked like the kind of hard guy who would just as happily kill Addison as talk to him, depending on the mission and his orders. His chiseled face and cold-gray predator eyes scanned him, making a risk assessment. Addison figured he must not appear immediately dangerous, since the guard smiled.

  "How can I help you, sir?"

  "I'm looking for Cameron Grimes."

  "Do you have an appointment?"

  "No. But I think if you let him know I'm in the lobby, he'll be interested in speaking with me."

  "And you are?"

  "Addison Shaw. Cameron…Mr. Grimes knows me."

  The guard squinted, as if reassessing Addison's presence in his lobby. He made a few quick strokes on a screen, and tapped an earpiece.

  "Yes, Mr. Addison Shaw. Yes sir." He tapped his earpiece again, looking Addison's way. "Mr. Grimes will see you. I'll need a retinal ID."

  After scanning Addison's retina with what looked like a penlight and directing him to sign the visitor log with his hand print, Addison received a building sphere. The guard must have registered Addison's confusion.

  "Small town guy, eh? Hold it in your palm and it will do the rest."

  He placed a sphere the size of a small marble in his palm, which levitated above his hand. A woman's voice with an Australian accent emerged from the floating object.

  "The elevators are to your right. We will be taking the middle elevator to the fortieth floor, then the executive elevator on the far left. Grimes Industries provides the products and services which make the world a better place to live. For these times, you need Grimes."

  Addison followed the sphere up both elevators, arriving on the eighty-seventh floor after enduring the sphere's 3-D holographic presentation of Grimes Industries' far-reaching endeavors in aviation, energy, communications, space exploration and nanotechnology. The elevator doors opened to another reception desk made from a single, twenty-foot long, six-inch thick slab of some kind of giant tree. A normal human would be swallowed up by the sheer scale of the furnishings. However, he forgot the desk as soon as the receptionist came into view. The male stereotype of perfect feminine beauty, something between a supermodel, an elite athlete, and a porn star, sat behind the behemoth desk. Her flawless, extremely white smile flashed at him like a spot light at an airport guiding planes in through the darkness.

  "Mr. Shaw. How are you today?" Even her voice flowed velvet chocolate.

  "I'm fine, thanks."

  "Mr. Grimes is engaged at the moment. If you'll take a seat, he'll be with you as soon as possible."

  ***

  Cameron stood in a private washroom adjacent to his office when his receptionist notified him of Addison's arrival. When Cameron learned the time continuum had been shifted a few hours ago, he had wondered if an Inker named Addison Shaw would wander through the Tempos Refúgium into his world. Sometimes the realities of continua aligned—with certain events, technologies, people remaining unchanged—and sometimes those variables differed significantly.

  Addison hadn't visited him in over a year, so his presence in reception today was no coincidence. Would this Addison know the truth? In a futile attempt to regain his friend and colleague, Thomas, he had done everything he could do to keep the Addison in this continuum away from the ink. But what can any man do to gain forgiveness for killing another man's lover, no matter how justified the cause?

  Cameron splashed water on his face, and toweled off. He closed his eyes, attempting to stave off the memory, but the evening of Rebecca's death, thirteen years ago, flooded his mind. He had waited at her door for long minutes, reviewing the events leading there.

  Kairos has inked her and threatens to destroy us. No, this has to be done. Thomas will never be able to do it. When Rebecca opened her door, he paused. He was committed to his plan, but Rebecca Shaw, barefoot in a long tee-shirt, milky skin, and light blue eyes, had more texture, more life to her, than any other woman he knew.

  He pushed his way into her condo, forcing her into the study where he found a tan and red tooled leather box resting beside a black push-button phone on a Danish-modern teak desk. "Where's the key?"

  She stood behind a leather desk chair, silent, her eyes following his every move. He took a step toward her. She smelled of lavender and his eye caught a small gold chain falling across her collarbone. There was a time before Thomas when he would have hung diamonds from her long neck to rest between the curve of her breasts.

  "The key."

  Jaw set, she glared with a hardness. Kairos, inked into her, spoke with her voice. "I don't know what you are talking about."

  He frowned, thrusting his hand down her shirt, shoving her against a wall, as he tore the chain from around her neck. "This key." He tossed it on the desk, the small, bronze, patinated key clattering across the surface, coming to rest at the box. "Open it."

  She scowled, her eyes intense, as if she could cut him in half with a stare. Tiring of her resistance, he grabbed a handful of her shirt, pressing closer to her. So close, he could either kill her or kiss her with ease.

  "Open it."

  He pulled her away from the wall. She h
altingly padded the remaining distance toward the desk, opening the box with a turn of the key. Stepping back, her chest rose and fell with Kairos' rage, the slightest twitch of an eyelid hinting at Rebecca's fear. He motioned to an engraved gold pen inlaid with blue stone resting in the box's black velvet interior. "Sit down and pick up the pen."

  She gazed at him, an awareness igniting in her eyes. Before he could act, she slammed her face into the desk, bone cracking, blood spraying as she bashed her face again and again. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing Rebecca's head back. Her nose broken, several teeth shattered, her face bloodied and bruised.

  "No die back for you, Kairos. Not yet." He needed to force both Rebecca and Kairos to ink a dying girl, then kill Rebecca's physical body before Kairos could die back to her. Kairos would be destroyed, since the doorway to his own primary die back, Rebecca's living body, would be closed to him. And to Cameron's eternal regret, Rebecca would also be dead.

  "Pick up the pen."

  She glared at him, defiant.

  He shut the door to his feelings about Rebecca, Thomas and their boy, Addison. Kairos proved himself to be a strong adversary. Rebecca had to help if they were going to have any chance at destroying Kairos. "Rebecca, you know why I'm here. I need you to help me. I need you to be an Inker."

  "No!" She slashed at him, raking her nails across his face. He took a step back, having let go of her hair, and backhanded her across the face, knocking her into the desk. She gasped from the impact, reaching up with a trembling hand to her bloodied, broken face.

  "I know you're in there, Rebecca. I'm sorry. But you know I have to do whatever it takes. Thomas won't act. Not against you."

  Her eyes filling with tears, she begged. "Please, please don't do this. Give me a chance to find another way. Please, I'm begging you, for the sake of my child." She fell to the floor weeping, her body heaving.

  "I'd like to hear what Rebecca has to say about it."

  Her heaving body froze. She glared up at him, spitting blood from swollen lips, her eyes calculating. Rebecca lunged for his feet, wrapping her arms around his ankles, then rising to flip him hard to the floor. She leapt up, diving for the only weapon in the room, a silver letter opener on the desk. As she moved the blade to her throat, Cameron took her off her feet with a powerful sweep of his leg. Clawing his way over, he grasped her wrists, slamming her knife wielding hand repeatedly into the hardwood floor until the letter opener bounced away. Rebecca threw a knee at him, rolling him onto his back, straddling him. They struggled for control. He let go of a wrist, punching her in the face with his free hand. Before she could recover, he lifted his feet up, capturing her head in the vise of his legs. He pulled her backwards, flipping her screaming, over and away from him. She rolled getting to her knees, but he had already recovered, planting a powerful kick into her chest, her body catapulting across the study and into the wall, where she crumpled to the floor.

  The physical violence seemed to weaken the evil within her, the confident defiance replaced with fear, as she bit her lip, her eyes darting, looking for an escape route. She rose to her feet, steadying herself by placing both hands on the desk, blood staining her shirt. When their eyes locked, he knew it was Rebecca who spoke. "Please, do what you have to do. I can't last much longer."

  "Sit down and pick up the pen."

  She moved around the desk, sitting down in front of the box cradling its antique writing instrument. He admired her courage, how her left hand, even now, grasped the fountain pen without shaking. Reaching into his jacket he unfolded a sheet of paper, placing the document in front of her on the desk.

  She read the paper, and glanced up to him. "Who's Joanna Blount?"

  "She died of the plague in 1348. She was two years old."

  "My god, The Black Death?"

  He had been there too long. "Yes. Now write the name."

  "Please, Cameron. Kill me now." She rose, but he slammed her back into the chair.

  "You know I can't, Kairos. If I kill you now, you'll just die back. Once you're inked into this girl, your only path to die back is through Rebecca."

  "Yes?"

  "But if Rebecca is dead, you will die with her."

  "You won't kill her. You don't have the balls for it. God damn you!"

  "Rebecca, ignore him. You know it has to be this way."

  She hesitated, then grabbed the pen as if holding a blade, a tremor now beginning in her hand.

  "Rebecca, fight him. In time, Thomas will accept what has happened. And I will make sure Addison wants for nothing. As a friend, you have my word. Now write the name."

  She softened her grip, her hand more steady. He leaned in close, his lips almost touching her, the heat of her skin reaching out to him. "Write the name. For all of us."

  A quiver moved through her body as she rested the pen's gold nib on the paper. Kairos turned her voice harsh like a cold arctic wind. "You will not get away with this. I will destroy you. All of you!"

  Green ink flowed from the pen as she scribed the date—June 12, 1348, and then the name, Joanna Blount. Finished, she sat transfixed, as if hypnotized. With tears streaming down his face, he wrapped his left arm around the neck of the woman he had once hoped would be his lover, taking a firm grasp of her shoulder, and with his right hand he grabbed her chin.

  "Forgive me, Rebecca."

  With one quick motion, her neck snapped. Nausea knotted in his stomach. He hadn't anticipated the loud popping sound Rebecca's breaking neck would make. She sat slumped over her desk, green ink staining her left hand, her chin awkwardly angled behind her shoulder, her bare legs splayed under the chair. He reached over her, releasing the blue and gold fountain pen from her lifeless hand, screwing the cap back on, and placing the writing instrument in the small, leather-embossed box. Cameron Grimes put the box under his arm, opened the front door, took the emergency stairwell to the ground floor, and slipped out of the building under a darkening sky.

  For the sake of the League and the security of the time continuum, he had murdered the wife of his best friend and the only woman he had ever truly loved. Now, thirteen years later, an Addison from another time continuum was about to walk into his life. Of course, his visitor could be the Addison he knew, the one he had helped Thomas keep out of the League. But with the recent time continuum shift, his intuition told him the past was about to come back to haunt him.

  ***

  Addison sat on a Danish-leather chair in Cameron's reception area. Digital tablets spread like a hand of cards across a teak coffee table featured Fortune, Digitalia, Nanotech Journal, Wired and Roboticon. Grimes happened to be on the cover of Fortune's November issue. He stood on planet Earth in a black suit and black turtleneck, arms crossed. The subtitle read, "Lessons from the Master of the Universe."

  Velvet chocolate looked up from her vid screen. "Mr. Grimes will see you now."

  The Amazonian receptionist moved from behind her desk, her long legs hypnotizing Addison as she swayed along, while he, like a tiny Chihuahua, scampered underfoot. She guided him into a large room taking up probably a quarter of the eighty-seventh floor. Glass surrounded them on two sides and where the glass met at the corner, a brushed steel and glass desk rested. The chair behind the desk was empty. Addison turned to check with the Amazonian, but she had shut the door. Chihuly glass, in a rainbow assortment of translucent vessels, lay scattered on shelves and tables like knickknacks. Kandinsky, Picasso and Rothko hung from the walls, alongside other paintings and photographs. A yellow motorcycle from the early 1900's with white tires and the name "Flying Merkel" on the gas tank stood on an angular stand giving the impression of motion. The photos tended to be shots of Cameron with presidents of this country and leaders of others, sports stars, actors, politicians and super-models. Addison picked up a baseball on the desk with "Shoeless" Joe Jackson's signature, when a section of the wall opened like a door and out stepped Cameron.

  "Addison. Good to see you."

  "Hello, Uncle Cameron." He lifted the baseba
ll in his hand, turning to Cameron. "Joe Jackson. How did you get ahold of this?"

  "Oh, you'd be surprised what a little money will do."

  "So, more of an investment."

  He strode across the office to Addison, hands casually in his pockets. "I bought the ball as a reminder. In business, unlike in baseball, the achievers don't play by the rules. The winners are the ones smart enough to make their own rules and get everyone else to play along."

  "He did get caught, you know." Addison remembered his father telling him how the White Sox threw the 1919 World Series, earning the infamous name Black Sox. A low point in the game.

  Cameron laughed. "You need to study your baseball history. Joe Jackson, Hall of Famer who still holds the record for career batting average? He brought the Sox six straight World Series."

  Addison wasn't a baseball fanatic, but he did know the important stats of the game. "What about Babe Ruth?"

  Cameron's brow furrowed, a hint of disappointment crossing his face. "I don't think I'm familiar with a woman player whose record beats Shoeless. Mary Wakowski's close, back in 1951, but no one's played the game like Joe."

  He reached over taking the ball, and placed it back in its stand on his desk. "You're not from around here, are you?"

  Joe Jackson's memory lives in the Baseball Hall of Fame and Babe Ruth never played the game? Right, the time continuum shift. And Cameron knows it.

  "Maybe."

  Cameron smiled. "Your memory of Joe Jackson, this Babe—"

  "Babe Ruth."

  "Yes, Babe Ruth. In your world those things are different. You've come through the Tempos Refúgium and landed in a new time continuum. Do I have it right?"

  Addison stared at him. "Yeah, pretty much."

  "How did this shift come to pass?" Cameron stepped around the glass and steel desk, taking a seat and motioning for Addison to sit across from him in one of the leather chairs.