shelves for the sacks of chowder mix and grab one. My device is now fastened to the back of my hand in transport mode and I check it again to make sure I haven’t missed a message. Still nothing. Where is he ?
Cradling the sack like a baby in the nook of my left arm, I access the phone app and call his number. The screen grays out with no answer and clicks off. His avatar didn’t even pop up. Why isn’t he connecting?
Did I say something wrong during the interview? Quickly, I replay the details in my head, but it’s a blur of nerves and stress. Come to think of it, I’m not sure what I even said—something about fingernails and beaten reputations …
Before Garth stepped in to save me.
----
I move the salad around in my bowl, but I can’t bring myself to take a bite. Not with Garth sitting across from me, playing buddy-buddy with the woman who gave me life. They spend minutes discussing the town and the media crowding the inn, while Garth slices her cherry tomatoes in perfect halves and arranges them symmetrically on top of her lettuce and croutons like some kind of preconsumption ritual.
Dad seems as annoyed with the mindless chit-chat as I am and says nothing while he polishes off his chowder and clinks his spoon into the bowl as a final encore. “Agent Garth, we appreciate you being here, and as you know, we’ve canceled bookings so that we can clear things up. Do you have a timeframe as to when we can get back to business as usual?”
“I understand your concerns,” she says, licking her lips once. “I did mention it to HQ. They’re quite pleased with how Bianca’s interview went, and from what I can tell, the ratings are favorable.”
Ugh, I don’t want to know what the gossip sites are saying. With no word from Tristan or Kayla over the last hour, I’ve been blissfully tuned out. I know it’s probably killing Kayla not to call with the latest gossip, but she’s respecting Dad’s specific request.
“So they do believe Bianca, then?” Mom asks Garth. “And the competency of the agency?”
“See for yourself.” Garth swivels her device toward Mom and projects the holo-screen at an angle that allows us better visuals.
WNN’s home page opens up and Garth gesture-scrolls to the recent interview ratings and polls page. My interview is still front and central, paused on my faux-rosy face in an awkward mid-word pose. Beside it is a real time poll with questions on everything from what I was wearing, to how believable my answers were.
Garth selects the results tab and a graph populates. “About 40% of the public believe she’s telling the truth. Could be better, but it’s a start.”
“How come not more than that?” I ask, cracking my neck.
“Considering everything in Tristan’s past, and the speculation and gossip on the interwebs, 40% isn’t bad. Trust has to be earned from the public, which is why my chief officer believes a publicized time trip will be good for you, and the agency.” Garth flashes me an almost believable smile.
“Earn their trust?” I say. “Why? They’re not booking time trips—most of them can’t even afford it. Who cares if they don’t believe me?” I
look to Dad for reassurance.
He’s studying the numbers though and doesn’t notice me. “Only 22% believe Tristan won’t use again. Not very optimistic.”
Garth sighs. “Like I said, trust has to be earned, and Tristan still has some work to do.”
“But he hasn’t done anything wrong to anyone,” I say.
They ignore my comment.
“54% believe Bianca knows how to pilot and command a time-craft,” Mom says. “That’s not bad.”
“76% believe Butterman Travel is a safe, reliable operation,” Garth says. “The DOT would like that to be 100%. But we’ll settle for 95%. Question is, how do we get these numbers up?” She lets her gaze drift over our faces, one by one.
“But this is just one poll, from one site,” I say.
Garth tilts her head. “True, but Web World News is the head
Cradling the sack like a baby in the nook of my left arm, I access the phone app and call his number. The screen grays out with no answer and clicks off. His avatar didn’t even pop up. Why isn’t he connecting?
Did I say something wrong during the interview? Quickly, I replay the details in my head, but it’s a blur of nerves and stress. Come to think of it, I’m not sure what I even said—something about fingernails and beaten reputations …
Before Garth stepped in to save me.
----
I move the salad around in my bowl, but I can’t bring myself to take a bite. Not with Garth sitting across from me, playing buddy-buddy with the woman who gave me life. They spend minutes discussing the town and the media crowding the inn, while Garth slices her cherry tomatoes in perfect halves and arranges them symmetrically on top of her lettuce and croutons like some kind of preconsumption ritual.
Dad seems as annoyed with the mindless chit-chat as I am and says nothing while he polishes off his chowder and clinks his spoon into the bowl as a final encore. “Agent Garth, we appreciate you being here, and as you know, we’ve canceled bookings so that we can clear things up. Do you have a timeframe as to when we can get back to business as usual?”
“I understand your concerns,” she says, licking her lips once. “I did mention it to HQ. They’re quite pleased with how Bianca’s interview went, and from what I can tell, the ratings are favorable.”
Ugh, I don’t want to know what the gossip sites are saying. With no word from Tristan or Kayla over the last hour, I’ve been blissfully tuned out. I know it’s probably killing Kayla not to call with the latest gossip, but she’s respecting Dad’s specific request.
“So they do believe Bianca, then?” Mom asks Garth. “And the competency of the agency?”
“See for yourself.” Garth swivels her device toward Mom and projects the holo-screen at an angle that allows us better visuals.
WNN’s home page opens up and Garth gesture-scrolls to the recent interview ratings and polls page. My interview is still front and central, paused on my faux-rosy face in an awkward mid-word pose. Beside it is a real time poll with questions on everything from what I was wearing, to how believable my answers were.
Garth selects the results tab and a graph populates. “About 40% of the public believe she’s telling the truth. Could be better, but it’s a start.”
“How come not more than that?” I ask, cracking my neck.
“Considering everything in Tristan’s past, and the speculation and gossip on the interwebs, 40% isn’t bad. Trust has to be earned from the public, which is why my chief officer believes a publicized time trip will be good for you, and the agency.” Garth flashes me an almost believable smile.
“Earn their trust?” I say. “Why? They’re not booking time trips—most of them can’t even afford it. Who cares if they don’t believe me?” I
look to Dad for reassurance.
He’s studying the numbers though and doesn’t notice me. “Only 22% believe Tristan won’t use again. Not very optimistic.”
Garth sighs. “Like I said, trust has to be earned, and Tristan still has some work to do.”
“But he hasn’t done anything wrong to anyone,” I say.
They ignore my comment.
“54% believe Bianca knows how to pilot and command a time-craft,” Mom says. “That’s not bad.”
“76% believe Butterman Travel is a safe, reliable operation,” Garth says. “The DOT would like that to be 100%. But we’ll settle for 95%. Question is, how do we get these numbers up?” She lets her gaze drift over our faces, one by one.
“But this is just one poll, from one site,” I say.
Garth tilts her head. “True, but Web World News is the head
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