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Book: Time's Mirror: A CHRONOS Files Novella (The CHRONOS Files) by Rysa Walker
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Authors: Rysa Walker
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the mirror. But I don’t try it on. I tell myself it’s because looking like Little Fuzzy below the knee would totally ruin the effect, but that’s only a tiny part of it.
I miss Deb. Half the fun of going anywhere was sharing it with her.
“Octavia, could you play the top 100 songs of 1983, in reverse order, please?”
“I’m sorry. If you pick a year after 2100, I’d be happy to comply.”
Oh well. Worth a shot.
“Do you have a specific artist—”
“Michael Jackson.” I say without hesitation. “1982. Thriller album.”
When the first notes of “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” hit my ears, I sink down onto the bed. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m back in our room and this has all been one long, extended bad dream.
Almost.
O BJECTIVIST C LUB, R OOM 1013
W ASHINGTON, EC
December 31, 2305, 9:11 p.m.
“Tate Poulsen has just exited the lift,” Octavia announces. “Shall I let him in when he arrives?”
“Yes, please. And change the music to…um…Spandau Ballet. 1983. ‘True.’ Lower volume twenty percent. Oh, and dim the lights.”
Since I’d prefer that Tate doesn’t know I’ve been sitting on the couch staring at the door for the past twenty minutes, I duck into the bedroom and check my reflection one last time. My makeup is perfect after a little bit of trial and error in the Juvapod. The “shaving” was also easy and painless, although if I’d followed the instructions of the jerk at the information desk, I’d have been bald from head to toe. I’m not entirely convinced that his misinformation was accidental. The man looked like he’d swallowed cat poop when he saw my name on his screen.
The butterflies in my stomach are buzzing around like they’re on speed. I’d feel much better if Deb were here to confirm that this is the most fantastic I’ve ever looked.
Come on, Pru, you can do this.
Ten slow, deep breaths before I walk in.
And…Tate’s facing the other way, toward the window, which completely ruins my grand entrance.
He looks really good, although he could use a haircut. The navy blue suit sets off his unusually broad shoulders. If Tate lived in my time, he’d never be able to buy anything off the rack. That chest would split J. C. Penney’s shirts faster than the Hulk. And the cut of the pants is different these days. A little more like something a football player would wear. Not shorter, just a bit more formfitting.
I wait a few seconds, hoping he’ll sense me standing there, but whoever tweaked his genetic makeup must not have been worried about other Vikings sneaking up on him.
And then I notice the headphones.
They look like my headphones.
He doesn’t look up until I tap him on the arm. His eyes move from my face down my body, the welcoming smile fading along the way. Then he takes a step back and pulls off the headphones.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I try to keep my face from falling, but it’s no use. “You don’t like it.”
“No! No…you look great, Pru. It’s just…I thought I was the one with the big surprise, and you’ve aced me. That dress just…” He exhales loudly and shakes his head. “Let’s just say it makes me wonder what happened to the kid I left here a few hours ago.”
I give him my best sexy smile. “She wasn’t actually a kid. You just weren’t looking close enough.”
“I guess not. And judging from the music, I see you’ve learned to navigate the entertainment options. You may not even want this.”
“You fixed my headphones?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my Walkman, no longer shattered. “I swiped it from the side pocket of your bag today when you were in the lav…hope you don’t mind? I’d have asked, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You found batteries? Coralys said they don’t make those anymore, that they couldn’t even replicate them.”
“Well, not exactly. A guy I know over in historical tech wedged something in there that will work as a
I miss Deb. Half the fun of going anywhere was sharing it with her.
“Octavia, could you play the top 100 songs of 1983, in reverse order, please?”
“I’m sorry. If you pick a year after 2100, I’d be happy to comply.”
Oh well. Worth a shot.
“Do you have a specific artist—”
“Michael Jackson.” I say without hesitation. “1982. Thriller album.”
When the first notes of “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” hit my ears, I sink down onto the bed. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m back in our room and this has all been one long, extended bad dream.
Almost.
O BJECTIVIST C LUB, R OOM 1013
W ASHINGTON, EC
December 31, 2305, 9:11 p.m.
“Tate Poulsen has just exited the lift,” Octavia announces. “Shall I let him in when he arrives?”
“Yes, please. And change the music to…um…Spandau Ballet. 1983. ‘True.’ Lower volume twenty percent. Oh, and dim the lights.”
Since I’d prefer that Tate doesn’t know I’ve been sitting on the couch staring at the door for the past twenty minutes, I duck into the bedroom and check my reflection one last time. My makeup is perfect after a little bit of trial and error in the Juvapod. The “shaving” was also easy and painless, although if I’d followed the instructions of the jerk at the information desk, I’d have been bald from head to toe. I’m not entirely convinced that his misinformation was accidental. The man looked like he’d swallowed cat poop when he saw my name on his screen.
The butterflies in my stomach are buzzing around like they’re on speed. I’d feel much better if Deb were here to confirm that this is the most fantastic I’ve ever looked.
Come on, Pru, you can do this.
Ten slow, deep breaths before I walk in.
And…Tate’s facing the other way, toward the window, which completely ruins my grand entrance.
He looks really good, although he could use a haircut. The navy blue suit sets off his unusually broad shoulders. If Tate lived in my time, he’d never be able to buy anything off the rack. That chest would split J. C. Penney’s shirts faster than the Hulk. And the cut of the pants is different these days. A little more like something a football player would wear. Not shorter, just a bit more formfitting.
I wait a few seconds, hoping he’ll sense me standing there, but whoever tweaked his genetic makeup must not have been worried about other Vikings sneaking up on him.
And then I notice the headphones.
They look like my headphones.
He doesn’t look up until I tap him on the arm. His eyes move from my face down my body, the welcoming smile fading along the way. Then he takes a step back and pulls off the headphones.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I try to keep my face from falling, but it’s no use. “You don’t like it.”
“No! No…you look great, Pru. It’s just…I thought I was the one with the big surprise, and you’ve aced me. That dress just…” He exhales loudly and shakes his head. “Let’s just say it makes me wonder what happened to the kid I left here a few hours ago.”
I give him my best sexy smile. “She wasn’t actually a kid. You just weren’t looking close enough.”
“I guess not. And judging from the music, I see you’ve learned to navigate the entertainment options. You may not even want this.”
“You fixed my headphones?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my Walkman, no longer shattered. “I swiped it from the side pocket of your bag today when you were in the lav…hope you don’t mind? I’d have asked, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You found batteries? Coralys said they don’t make those anymore, that they couldn’t even replicate them.”
“Well, not exactly. A guy I know over in historical tech wedged something in there that will work as a
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