Robert Westland checked his watch for the fifth time in half as many minutes, then went back to scanning the restaurant. A harried-looking man who was asking the hostess something caught his eye. The man returned his glance and made straight for Robert's table, pushing past the hostess in mid-sentence.
The man pulled out a chair and sat down. His eyes darted around the room before locking on Robert's.
"I want to get this over with as quick as possible," said the man in a reedy and nervous voice. "Just give me the money, I hand you the photos and we both forget about this."
"Have a seat, Lieutenant Gables," the grey-haired general said motioning across his desk. "Let me congratulate you for making it through the preliminary stages of SSC training. Most men can't hack it this far."
The young, blonde-haired Lieutenant sat down, casting his eye across the photographs that lined the general's walls. Many showed him standing beside race cars of various vintages. Most of the rest were shots of him next to other generals and officers. One was simply a photo of a horse.
"Well, thank you, sir," responded Gables, "And may I say, General Wilkins, that I have no end of respect for your career."
"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus."
As my response, I shot Douglas the dirtiest look I could muster. I recognized the reference to the classic 2D film of course. It had recently been redone in our own time/space by an Alpha Centauri tri-D company and had been critically acclaimed, though personally I thought it would have been improved by leaving out the Centaurian equivalent of a Greek chorus. Still, far be it from me to quibble over the cultural preferences of alien races. I had troubles enough of my own, here and now.
"I realize that," I retorted with a roll of my eyes, choosing not to dignify Douglas' reference with further commentary. "It's the rest that I'm finding difficult to believe." Granted, we'd encountered some odd attempts to alter the history of Earth time/space 227, but this had to be the most ridiculous yet.
My father killed my mother when I was fifteen. We never talked about it. I knew he had to, that he was protecting me from her. But mentioning it, putting him through it again... I couldn't do it. Not even to tell him it was alright.
From an early age, I knew I was different. My family was different. My dad was a meek man who loved both of his girls. George Lilly was an accountant, a good one. He provided for my mother and me pretty well. But my hero, the person I looked up to? That was my mother.
Beatrix Lilly was driven by a wanderlust. I like that word. From time to time she would leave us for weeks on end. We'd receive postcards from all around the States. They never told us what she was up to. She'd return with souvenirs, but no stories.
It was in the year Eighteen-Hundred-and-Ninety-One, in my twenty-third year, that I met Mister Arno Fairfax, shortly before our conductor's head was removed by a rock from the heavens.
I was touring the country by locomotive at my father's request, prior to joining him at his accounting firm. I do not know if it was because he thought I needed the benefit of experience or because he wished to be rid of me for some time. In truth, I had always been a homebody. But I'd go somewhere if someone else told me to. I think Arno appreciated that about me. I think.
Arno Fairfax was always a hard man to read. Never more so than when I first laid eyes on him, as my cabin mate. He was a dark, thin man of uncertain age. He might have been a bit younger or a bit older than I was. He had black hair, slicked back, that matched his long black overcoat. There was a presence of authority about him, but it was vague, possibly self-appointed. I passed some time inventing outlandish histories for this strange, quiet man. For nearly an hour, we sat in silence. Then, he spoke:
Hitomi swore viciously in Japanese. She clicked her com and whispered urgently, "CJ! Siege, are you there?"
No answer.
She swore again and poked her nose around the cargo container, not seeing her assailants. She grabbed a rock from the small pile she'd been gathering and tossed it against a container across the aisle. As it clanked loudly, the container was hit with a hail of bullets.
