Destroyer (Rewinder #2) Page 4

  The chaser sits in a cloth-lined cubbyhole at the top of the safe. In the large section below it are the stacks of cash we took from Munoz. I grab the device, shut the safe, and return to the others.

  The thick briefcase is now also open, but instead of containing more bits and pieces of electronics, it holds tools. There are movable dividers, with slots on each side filled with screwdrivers and wrenches and the like. There are also several electronic devices with meters on the front. One of the devices is sitting on the table next to the items RJ had removed from the other case.

  “Ah, great.” RJ extends his hands toward me. “May I?”

  I touch the spot that unlocks the lid and then give him the device. “Be careful.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry.”

  Like he did at our first meeting, he examines every inch of it. When he is through, he sets it down and picks up the black box with the meter on it. There are two wires leading out of it, each ending in a metal tip.

  When he starts to move the tips toward the power socket on the chaser, I say, “That’s not going to hurt anything, is it?”

  “This? No. It only receives. Doesn’t emit anything.”

  Iffy slips her hand into mine and gives me a squeeze. Her message is loud and clear. We asked for RJ’s help, and we should let him do what he needs to do.

  For the next several minutes, we watch him take measurements with the meter and write things down in a black-covered notebook. When he finally finishes, he picks up a two-inch-square, clear plastic pouch that is sitting next to the pile of wires. Inside are several small metal items. He opens the top of the pouch and pours the pieces into his hand.

  “If I’d had some modeling clay with me last time, I would have taken an impression,” he tells us. “But since I didn’t, I had to make some guesses.”

  I’m not sure what he’s talking about until he takes one of the metal pieces and tries to fit it into the chaser’s power socket. He eventually works his way through each piece and then drops all but one back into the bag. He holds up the remaining piece for us to see.

  “It’s not perfect and I’m not sure if it’s going to work, but it’s in the right ballpark,” he says.

  He demonstrates by placing the selected connector into the socket. It fits well enough, but does appear to be a bit loose.

  “Shall we give it a go?” he asks me.

  “I don’t know. You’re the expert.”

  He laughs. “That was rhetorical. Of course, we’re going to try it.” He sorts through the wires and picks one out. “This is going to take a few minutes. Any chance I can get a Coke or something?”

  “I’ll get it,” Ellie says.

  In my concern for getting the chaser powered up, I forgot that my sister is also here. The brightness in her voice surprises me, and I’m equally taken aback by the way she seems to almost drift into the kitchen. When she returns a few minutes later, she’s holding a soft drink can.

  With a smile that seems almost hopeful, she holds the can out to RJ and says, “We only have 7-Up. Is that okay?”

  “Better than nothing,” he says, taking it from her with only a quick glance.

  It takes me a moment before I realize what’s going on. My fourteen-year-old sister is infatuated by Iffy’s nineteen-year-old friend. I don’t even know how to react to this. Should I be the disinterested brother or the overprotective parent?

  RJ seems to barely even notice her, which is a relief and yet somehow annoying. Yes, she is way too young for him, but doesn’t he find her attractive? She has always looked older than her age, and though my opinion might be biased, I think few would disagree that she’s beautiful.

  In a moment of clarity, I mentally slap myself. What am I thinking? She’s my sister. I’m glad RJ isn’t paying her attention.

  I consider suggesting that she should go lie down for a bit, but I’m pretty sure she’ll just ignore me. I decide to let her have her little fantasy. As long as it stays only in her head, where’s the harm?

  I force myself to focus back on what RJ is doing.

  Using some melted metal—soldering, he calls it—he attaches one end of the wire to the special connector, and does the same with a different type of connector to the other end. This then is all hooked into a box about the same size as a small tin of mints, with a dial on top.

  As he grabs the end of the wire with the connector that fits into the chaser, he says, “Do you know what the power level is at right now?”

  I turn on the chaser’s display screen and point to the spot where the number is shown. “Forty-six point seven three percent.”

  “Okay, moment of truth.”

  He slots the connector into the chaser and looks at the display.

  “Is that it?” I ask.

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  All four of us stare at the battery level number. For nearly a minute nothing happens, then the number suddenly jumps to 47.19.

  “It works!” Iffy says.

  I’m numb and relieved and excited all at once.

  RJ, on the other hand, looks annoyed. He keeps his gaze on the power number until it changes again, this time to 47.51, and then turns on the screen of the rectangular device at the other end of the wire chain.

  Whatever he sees there increases the depth of his frown.

  “You did it,” I say. “It’s working. The level’s going up.”

  “Give me a moment.”

  He turns the dial on the small box between the two wires, and looks back at the chaser’s display. The power number stays at 47.51 for a few more moments and then changes to 47.83. He stares at it until it changes a half minute later to 48.07.

  He turns the dial again and once more watches the display. The number increases in a similar pattern to what it’s been doing to this point. Another turn of the dial doesn’t seem to change anything, including RJ’s frown.

  “What’s wrong?” Iffy asks.

  He unplugs the wire from the chaser. “It’s the connector. I just don’t have it right.”

  “But it’s charging,” I counter.

  “Yeah, but it should be doing it a lot faster. I started with a low power input, but even when I pushed it to the highest my rig can handle, it didn’t make a difference. The loose connector is making it take forever.” He picks up the rectangular device at the other end of the wire and then scoffs. “And then there’s the fact that the one and a third percent increase ate up nearly three times that from my power source. We’d have to recharge this battery again at least once just to get your chasing machine up to one hundred percent. Not very efficient.”

  “But we can charge it.”

  “I can do better,” he says. “This time I brought clay. I’ll make an imprint and build a better connector. Might be a couple days before I’m ready to come back.”

  He disconnects everything and starts putting it all back in the suitcase.

  “Hold on,” I say. “Can’t we use that in the meantime?”

  “This is just a prototype. I’ll make the real thing sturdier and easier to carry around.” He thinks for a moment and then shrugs. “But you’re paying the bills, and if you want to use this until then, have at it.”

  He pulls out the items that make up the prototype device and reconnects them. When he’s done he picks up the rectangular battery.

  “Two ways of charging this. You can plug it into the wall with this.” He hunts around in the large suitcase and pulls out an adapter. “But I was also thinking you might find yourself someplace where conventional power’s not available. You know, when you . . .” He pauses and shoots a glance at Ellie, then points behind his back a few times.

  It takes Iffy and me a moment to realize he means travel into the past.

  “RJ, she’s Denny’s sister,” Iffy says. “His older sister. So she’s clued in on the time travel thing.”

  He looks at Ellie and then at me and then back at Ellie. “How old are you?”

  She looks reluctant to tell him, but fin
ally whispers, “Fourteen.”

  He turns to me. “And you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  He looks between us again before focusing back on me. “She’s your older sister?”

  I nod. “By two years.”

  “That’s messed up, man.”

  He doesn’t know the half of it. “You were saying there’s another way to charge the battery?”

  “Right. Uh, so this side”—he turns the battery over so we are looking at the side opposite the display screen—“is covered with small solar cells. Just set it in direct sunlight, and it’ll charge up. Not nearly as fast as plugging it in will, but when you don’t have that option, it’ll do the job for you.”

  “This is genius,” I say, meaning it.

  A way to charge a chaser via the sun? It’s a wonder someone at the institute hadn’t thought of that. Of course, I hadn’t even heard of solar power until I came here. While some form of that technology might have existed in my world, I never saw evidence of it at the institute, and it certainly never trickled down to us in caste Eight.

  “Thanks,” RJ says, a sheepish smile on his lips. He hands me the charger. “Be careful. It’s just thrown together and not built to last.”

  He puts the rest of his stuff away and takes an impression of the chaser’s power socket with a small bit of clay from his tool kit.

  “I’ll let you know when I have it ready,” he says and heads for the door.

  “Good-bye. Nice meeting you,” Ellie says.

  RJ pauses long enough to turn and say, “Yeah. Same.” And then leaves.

  Both Iffy and I turn and look at my sister, our eyebrows raised.

  Her expression all innocent, Ellie says, “What?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next morning I accompany Ellie to an appointment at the hospital while Iffy runs some errands for her mother.

  It’s a quick visit, Dr. Roseth wanting to make sure she isn’t having any complications from the latest treatment she received. Like the past handful of times we’ve seen him, he’s very pleased with her progress, and while he doesn’t come out and actually say it, I get the strong sense he’s convinced she’s going to beat the disease.

  This experience is completely different than when she was sick in our original time line. I was twelve when the cancer had begun to affect her, and just a year older when it had taken her life. As lowly members of caste Eight in a North America still ruled by the British, proper medical care was not an option for us. The truth is, though, I have a feeling that even if we’d been born into the nobility¸ the empire’s doctors still wouldn’t have been able to save her. There was an inertia in our old world that throttled progress, much like the dial throttles the power output on RJ’s charger, and I don’t think medicine had come anywhere near as far there as it has here.

  I am feeling particularly optimistic as Ellie and I leave the hospital and take the bus to the restaurant where we will be meeting Iffy for lunch. The two things I’ve been most worried about are both moving in positive directions—Ellie, of course, and the power situation of my chaser. The latter is currently showing a battery level of 76.44 percent after I left it hooked to RJ’s charger all night. Even if RJ isn’t able to make a better connector, the problem has been solved.

  The restaurant in the Gaslamp Quarter of downtown San Diego has become a favorite of mine, and Iffy is waiting outside when we arrive.

  “So?” she asks Ellie.

  “He said I’m on track. I just need to keep doing what I’m doing.”

  “That’s great.” Iffy hugs my sister and then me.

  The hostess offers us our choice of tables, either on the front patio or inside. While Ellie wants to sit in the sunlight, I worry that the warm day will drain her too much so, much to her disappointment, we take a place in the middle of the dining area.

  I can’t remember the last time I felt as relaxed as I do now. The conversation as we eat focuses mainly on things Ellie wants to do when she’s finally given a clean bill of health—places she wants to go, foods she wants to eat, and activities she wants to try. She’s obviously been doing some research of her own about this world, because it’s actually quite a list. As little as three weeks ago, I would have steered the conversation in another direction, fearing we would otherwise be tempting fate. But it appears fate has decided to give us a winning hand, and I now see no harm in letting her dream a little.

  I’m feeling so good when we leave that I almost overlook the gray-suited man from the library sitting at a patio table. His presence is such a surprise that I can’t help but stare at him for a few seconds before grabbing Iffy’s arm and putting a hand on Ellie’s back so that I can hurry them out to the sidewalk.

  “What’s wrong?” Iffy asks.

  I say nothing until we walk around the corner and are no longer in the man’s line of sight. “It’s him.”

  “Him who?” Ellie asks.

  I hesitate. My sister knows nothing about the man shadowing me, and though I don’t want to unduly worry her, it would be better if she knew the truth. “A guy I think is following me.”

  “What?”

  Iffy asks, “Where was he?”

  “Sitting outside the restaurant.”

  Ellie starts to turn like she’s going to head back to the corner and take a look, but I gently grab her arm and stop her. “Why don’t you two go home?” I say. “I’m going to figure out who he is.”

  Ellie looks worried. “Is that a good idea? What if he catches you?”

  “He’ll never even know I’m around.”

  Iffy is trying to act unconcerned, but I can’t miss the unease in her eyes. I kiss her and whisper in her ear, “It’ll be fine. I’ll be home before you are.”

  “You’d better be.”

  While I earlier wrote off seeing the man at the library as a coincidence, I realize now that was a mistake. His presence at the restaurant cannot merely have happened by chance. He’s tracking me.

  So it’s time I return the favor.

  I find a spot behind a dumpster where no one can see me and set my chaser for a backward jump of seventy minutes. When I reappear there is a slight change in the angle of the sunlight and some of the cars parked along the street are different, but otherwise everything is exactly the same as when I initiated the journey.

  I make my way to a sandwich shop that sits almost directly across the road from the restaurant where we ate. I purchase a bottle of water and a bag of chips and then sit at one of the tables at the front window.

  Nine minutes later, I see Iffy arrive, and four minutes after that, Ellie and the earlier version of me join her. There was a time when seeing myself like this was unnerving, but I’ve had plenty of interaction with other Dennys since then, and it doesn’t faze me anymore.

  Thirty seconds later, I spot the man coming down the street from the same direction Ellie and I just did. He pauses a couple of storefronts away until the three of us go inside the restaurant and then begins walking.

  I watch as he is shown to the outside table where I will later spot him. When he’s occupied giving his order to the waitress, I slip out of the sandwich shop and find another quiet spot.

  This time I jump back fifteen minutes and position myself near the entrance to a liquor store, a half block from the bus stop Ellie and the earlier me will arrive at. I know the man wasn’t on the bus with us. Even in my good mood, I didn’t neglect to check my surroundings, and I’m sure I would have seen him. But he must have been following us.

  If he is from the institute, he would be using rewinder techniques and could very well already be somewhere nearby waiting for our bus to get there. I carefully scan the road but see no sign of him, so as the bus finally approaches, I focus on the vehicles behind it.

  There. He’s in a sedan two cars back.

  As soon as the bus pulls away and reveals Ellie and me walking down the sidewalk, the sedan swerves into the spot where the bus had been and pauses. Most of the parking spots along the street ar
e filled, but at the curb not far from where I’m watching everything, a car is pulling out. The man notices this, too, and is starting to swing his vehicle into a U-turn that will bring him over here.

  I duck inside the liquor store and pretend to be interested in the magazine rack next to the window. As soon as the man parks, he jumps out and jogs across the street after my sister and the earlier me. When he reaches the corner, he stops and looks down the road toward the restaurant, just like I’d seen him do when I was in the sandwich shop. Once he disappears, I exit the store and approach his car.

  Letters on the back spell out LEXUS. This is a luxury brand belonging to one of the large carmakers, but I don’t recall which.

  I pause momentarily as a memory flashes in my mind. Last night, when I went out for my walk, there was something . . .

  A car, with a man sitting in it. Right. I’d forgotten about that. His vehicle was a nice sedan. I didn’t check the brand, but an uncomfortable feeling on the back of my neck is telling me I’m looking at the same car now.

  Who is this guy?

  Looking through the windows, I spot three square white boxes in the backseat, and a toppled stack of loose paper in the well where a passenger’s feet would go. A gym bag and several files sit in the front passenger seat, while on the floor are several crumpled-up paper sacks from various fast-food establishments.

  I try the door, but it’s locked. Unfortunate. I was hoping I could learn his name from the vehicle’s identification papers. I could time hop inside, but the car is exposed and I can’t chance someone seeing me suddenly appear in the front seat. There is another way, though, a method I’ve utilized several times on my missions to obtain more money. I use my mobile phone to take a photograph of the Lexus’s license plate and then find an empty alley.

  My jump takes me into the office of Mason Evans, a supervisor at the Department of Motor Vehicles facility in the town of Oceanside. I’ve arrived in the middle of the previous night, and, as expected, am alone. Mr. Evans’s office has become my go-to destination for vehicle information. After searching around several bureaus, I’ve selected his for two reasons: the smaller town means less security than in San Diego or Los Angeles, and most importantly, Mr. Evans keeps his login password on a piece of paper taped underneath his keyboard.