Read Online The Curiosity Killers by K W Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: K W Taylor
Ads: Link
went out the window under the intense pressure of the situation. Her heart pounded, louder and louder, the blood rushing against her eardrums. Fallon felt her face flush hot, red. She laughed, too tired to protest anymore. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she admitted.
The young woman frowned. “Come, you are tired,” she said. She put her arm around Fallon’s shoulders and steered her into one of the huts.
Inside, much to Fallon’s shock, was a white man, but his clothes weren’t those of the colonists. Instead they looked centuries newer, though perhaps not as new as the twenty-second century. If Fallon hadn’t worried she was half-crazy with fear and hunger by this point, she’d have thought the tall, slender man was a subject of Queen Victoria, with his dark wool suit and wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Well, you weren’t one of mine ,” he said, looking Fallon up and down. His accent was Midwestern, which was impossible, given the Midwest didn’t precisely exist yet.
The man smirked, revealing near-lupine teeth and making his thin face look more skeletal in the firelight. “Vere must’ve sent you. Do you work for him?”
Vere. The man from the travel agency, the physicist. It could be another tourist, Fallon supposed, but she wasn’t sure how to respond.
“The fact that you chose to come here speaks volumes, miss.” He chuckled. “I’ll have to find you later. Yes, indeed.” He withdrew a pen from his pocket, held it in front of himself, and squeezed it. Fallon thought she saw a small flash of light.
“Did you—was that—”
“Your imagination,” the man said. He drifted off to speak to one of the natives, and soon a young woman brought her a bowl of hot liquid. The Victorian man exited the hut.
Not Victorian . American. Rénartian, in point of fact, if he is from the Midwest.
Jonson and Vere had led Fallon to believe only the New British Empire had time travel, that their agency was secret to keep the tech out of RAA hands.
The young native woman was expecting Fallon to drink, and so she pulled herself out of her reverie and did. It was a broth, and she was grateful at the heat and sustenance. “I didn’t even know I was so cold,” Fallon told the woman.
More women appeared beside the first one. “This will return you,” the first woman said. “That man, he says this will work for your kind, those who dance on the stars. Soon you will be called home and disappear. He says you will sleep now and awake in your own time.”
Wait, what? No, I can’t leave. And how can they make me? How—
She felt pressure on her left palm.
Darkness. And then a rushing like a train, like a thunderstorm, water echoing in a seashell.
The sea, I have to stay close to the sea…
Thursday, August 19, 2100, Avon, Vermont, NBE
“Oh, shit, Ben, the client’s back, but she’s unconscious.” It was a young woman’s voice. Fallon couldn’t peel her eyes open.
Footsteps. Someone patted her face. “Kris, go get Eddy.” It was a man, the younger one, Fallon knew.
“He’s no medical doctor,” the girl protested.
“Go.”
When Fallon opened her eyes, the young man’s face was above hers. He smiled, his thick black eyebrows relaxing in relief to see her awake. “Welcome back to the twenty-second century, Ms. Fallon.”
It was gone. Her one and only chance, and Fallon blew it. She wept.
~
Whispers behind closed doors. A first-aid exam by the older of the two men in charge of the agency. Finally, Fallon was given cups of tea and bland, stale little circular things halfway between crackers and cookies to nibble on. A gray and white tabby cat stared silently at Fallon from a bookshelf. Fallon could only muster weak smiles for the young woman called Kris who continued to dote on her and ask if she was all right. Kris returned from some secret corner of the building to ask if Fallon felt like debriefing the staff.
“You don’t have to,” Kris assured Fallon. “Doctor Vere at least
The young woman frowned. “Come, you are tired,” she said. She put her arm around Fallon’s shoulders and steered her into one of the huts.
Inside, much to Fallon’s shock, was a white man, but his clothes weren’t those of the colonists. Instead they looked centuries newer, though perhaps not as new as the twenty-second century. If Fallon hadn’t worried she was half-crazy with fear and hunger by this point, she’d have thought the tall, slender man was a subject of Queen Victoria, with his dark wool suit and wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Well, you weren’t one of mine ,” he said, looking Fallon up and down. His accent was Midwestern, which was impossible, given the Midwest didn’t precisely exist yet.
The man smirked, revealing near-lupine teeth and making his thin face look more skeletal in the firelight. “Vere must’ve sent you. Do you work for him?”
Vere. The man from the travel agency, the physicist. It could be another tourist, Fallon supposed, but she wasn’t sure how to respond.
“The fact that you chose to come here speaks volumes, miss.” He chuckled. “I’ll have to find you later. Yes, indeed.” He withdrew a pen from his pocket, held it in front of himself, and squeezed it. Fallon thought she saw a small flash of light.
“Did you—was that—”
“Your imagination,” the man said. He drifted off to speak to one of the natives, and soon a young woman brought her a bowl of hot liquid. The Victorian man exited the hut.
Not Victorian . American. Rénartian, in point of fact, if he is from the Midwest.
Jonson and Vere had led Fallon to believe only the New British Empire had time travel, that their agency was secret to keep the tech out of RAA hands.
The young native woman was expecting Fallon to drink, and so she pulled herself out of her reverie and did. It was a broth, and she was grateful at the heat and sustenance. “I didn’t even know I was so cold,” Fallon told the woman.
More women appeared beside the first one. “This will return you,” the first woman said. “That man, he says this will work for your kind, those who dance on the stars. Soon you will be called home and disappear. He says you will sleep now and awake in your own time.”
Wait, what? No, I can’t leave. And how can they make me? How—
She felt pressure on her left palm.
Darkness. And then a rushing like a train, like a thunderstorm, water echoing in a seashell.
The sea, I have to stay close to the sea…
Thursday, August 19, 2100, Avon, Vermont, NBE
“Oh, shit, Ben, the client’s back, but she’s unconscious.” It was a young woman’s voice. Fallon couldn’t peel her eyes open.
Footsteps. Someone patted her face. “Kris, go get Eddy.” It was a man, the younger one, Fallon knew.
“He’s no medical doctor,” the girl protested.
“Go.”
When Fallon opened her eyes, the young man’s face was above hers. He smiled, his thick black eyebrows relaxing in relief to see her awake. “Welcome back to the twenty-second century, Ms. Fallon.”
It was gone. Her one and only chance, and Fallon blew it. She wept.
~
Whispers behind closed doors. A first-aid exam by the older of the two men in charge of the agency. Finally, Fallon was given cups of tea and bland, stale little circular things halfway between crackers and cookies to nibble on. A gray and white tabby cat stared silently at Fallon from a bookshelf. Fallon could only muster weak smiles for the young woman called Kris who continued to dote on her and ask if she was all right. Kris returned from some secret corner of the building to ask if Fallon felt like debriefing the staff.
“You don’t have to,” Kris assured Fallon. “Doctor Vere at least
Similar Books
