Time's Jewel

My clients always insist on doing it in the reactor room. The pulsing of electrostatic forces is similar to making love on the beach in broad daylight, waves breaking over our intertwined bodies. More sensual, perhaps. And then there's the added thrill of knowing their fiancees are waiting for them not even a hundred meters away. They don't wait long, though. Ninety seconds on average, not nearly enough time to raise suspicions that I've had my way with their future husbands, once, twice, and sometimes again if their consciences don't start catching up. That's what I love most about the Pequat Reactor -- it nurtures inhibition and postpones regret, like a double shot of Everclear on the subatomic level.

Nearly every one of my clients fits a particular type. Rich, that goes without saying. Workaholics. Sexually repressed. Mommy issues. They want to be good husbands, but don't know how. They yearn to be liberated, but the ruthless structure of corporate life's got them by the balls. That's where my services as cruise director come in -- bending time and packaging freedom into little bite-sized chunks.

"And that, Mr. Thomas, concludes the tour of Time's Jewel," I say as we enter the ship's waiting room. Antwerp Thomas stumbles in behind me on rubbery legs. I give him a subtle glare and he straightens up before the lovely and well-kept Nadia Bishop notices.

"Well, dear, how was it?" Nadia says half-interested, not even ten pages into her Elle magazine. To her, we'd only been gone a couple minutes. She'd opted out of the behind-the-scenes portion of the boat tour and never would guess that beneath the frilly wallpaper and stark white wainscoting existed a maze of circuitry embedded into meter-thick alloy walls, anchoring the waiting room to Real Time.

"Absolutely amazing," Antwerp says, his voice cracking. I can tell he wants to look at me, but he keeps his eyes focused on Nadia like I told him. The other telltale signs of recent infidelity can be written off as side effects from the reactor.

I shake Antwerp's hand, then Nadia's. "So your honeymoon is all set. I've got the Assayer Suite reserved for you, fourteen days Ship Time -- two days Real Time. Room service, turn down service. Stocked mini-bar. Full gourmet menu. On-call masseuse."

"Two weeks, and you won't even miss a day of work, dear." Nadia squeezes Antwerp's hand. She's smiling, so giddy that she doesn't notice him slipping. He's staring at me. Hard. Regret's catching up to him. I bet he's wondering if he'll be able to stomach consummating his marriage in the same bed he and I shared. We'll see. Too late for him to back out now. The fifteen thousand dollar non-refundable deposit's already dented his bank account.

I've never believed in love. That's what happens when your perfect world implodes at the age of five. My mother became a serial monogamist shortly after she and my father split. She had her "friends" that stayed over. After a month or two they'd become my "uncles," and a few even lasted long enough for me to call them daddy.

When Rissa, my older sister, turned sixteen, she moved out and took me with her. She'd always been my anchor, shielding me from the worst of Mother's reckless decisions. We lived with Paul, my sister's boyfriend. He was twenty-four, smoked a lot of dope, and lived in a rat-infested hole of an apartment, but other than that, was a pretty decent guy. Ma pitched a fit and threatened to call the cops on him if we didn't come home. But then she met a biker named Raven with greasy sideburns and a thick southern drawl. Ma decided she liked riding him more than she liked being a mother, which was fine by me.

I'd put that mess behind me as much as any person can. A thousand miles and a decade for me, only six years Real Time. I take every shift on Time's Jewel I can get, thirty weekends a year. So technically, that means I'm now Rissa's older sister. A fact not lost when I see her walk into my office for an after hours appointment.

I feel my jaw hanging loose, and I shut it. Paul's with her, a clean shaven version of the guy I remembered.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything, Maddie?" As Rissa opens her arms to me, I catch the gleam of an engagement ring. Nothing impressive, but respectable enough. As kids, we'd pinky swore we would never get married. But things change. People change.

Paul rushes over and lifts me into the air as if I were still that wispy little girl who'd made a home for herself on his black vinyl couch. "Hey, squirt. Long time no see." He puts me down and tousles my hair. I grimace, but allow it. Anyone else who'd try something like that would lose a finger.

"Surprised to see us?" asks Rissa. She kisses me on the cheek, then takes a seat in front of my desk. Paul stands behind her, rubbing her shoulders.

"You could say that."

"Why don't you ever call? We miss you." Rissa didn't say it, but "we" included Ma. Somehow, Rissa had found it in her heart to forgive our mother for the hell she put us through. Good for her.

"Been busy working," I say. "Time flies ..."

Paul nearly chokes on his laughter. "I'll bet." He snatches one of the cruise brochures on my desk and leafs through it. "I'd say time is the one thing you have plenty of."

Soft jab. Verbal poke in the eye. That's how me and Paul used to show our affection, and baited, I fall right back into it. "Yeah, well I'd've bet a thousand bucks you woulda knocked Rissa up by now."

Silence snags the air. Paul's smile tumbles off his face. I remember they were trying for a baby three years back. Five years? My memories have become a slippery slope. Nothing firm to grab on to.

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

"We want to adopt," Paul says, taking the seat next to Rissa and putting his hand on her thigh. "So we're getting married at the courthouse next week. We've got a long road ahead, but we're hopeful. Rissa's got a steady job with the State. Construction's dried up in Pittsburg, so I'm taking a six month gig in Louisville. We've only got these three days to enjoy each other, and we want to make them count."

Rissa nods, casting her eyes down slightly in an attempt to hide her tears. "We were hoping you could help us stretch them. We've got some money saved."

Blood stagnates in my veins. Rissa means life savings, I'm sure, and I doubt it'll total enough to take a regular cruise, much less one through the turbulent seas of time.

"We're booked twelve months in advance," I say. "And even the wait list is a mile long. You know I would if I could..."

Rissa wrings her hands and glances at Paul then me. "It's okay. We knew we were asking a lot."

I bite my lip and hope the shame in my heart hasn't made it to my face. I owe both of them more than I could ever repay. There's got to be something I can do. Anything.

"They test run the reactor tonight. I can get you five, maybe six days," the words spurt out, uncontrolled. Reluctantly, I pull a keycard from my desk drawer and pray I haven't made an empty promise. I lock eyes with Rissa. We have the exact same eyes, we've been told. Eyes that witnessed the same horrors. Same love. "Take the Galilean Suite," I say handing my sister the key to the Jewel's most luxurious stateroom. I only wish there were more I could give her.

"Six days? Not possible. Maybe two," Art Castellanos, the ship's senior engineer, tells me for the third time. He crosses his arms over his chest as if my proposition is an insult to his moral fiber.

"Two days isn't enough," I say, trying to look intimidating, though Art stands a full foot taller. "That's hardly any time at all!"

Art and I play this game a couple times a month. He's a by-the-books kind of man, which is what you want when your business depends on warping space-time without destroying the planet. But sometimes I need my own private getaway, and Art helps me with that. I've probably logged another six months of non-sanctioned launches aboard Time's Jewel. Being cruise director does come with that benefit, and so far no one's questioned why Art's had three raises this year alone.

"Come on. It's not like I'm asking you to push the reactor past its limits."

"Theoretical limits," Art reminds me. "There are protocols for a reason."

"Well, if you don't think you can do it..." I purse my lips and look pensive, like I'm considering how to word my ad for a new temporal engineer in the Chronicle's Classifieds. Art uncrosses his arms, then re-crosses them. I've got him off balance, doubting himself.

"If anyone can do it, I can," he says.

I throw out some tempting salary figures and Art and I come to an agreement.

"Six days?" Art strokes the hairs on his chin. "I'll see what I can do."

I lead Paul to the suite, holding the door open as he hefts his and Rissa's luggage inside. Nearly two-thousand square feet lay sprawled out before him, furniture and accessories coordinated to a palette stolen from the last splash of color before sunset. Sheer curtains hang on floor-to-ceiling windows like a seductive veil leading out to the terrace. The view of the Galveston Bay leaves something to be desired, but when Time's Jewel sets sail, the Gulf's waters unfurl in a decelerated ripple. Peering out over the majesty of those roiling grey-green waves, anything becomes possible.

Paul tries to look unimpressed. He dumps the bags at his feet, then announces to no one in particular, "A little cozy, but this'll do."

"The Prince of Wales once stayed here," I say, propping my hands on my hips. "He had nothing but compliments, so I'm sure you'll find it adequate, your highness."

He smirks, then skirts the room, running his finger along the ornate armoire angled in the corner. "This antique?"

I nod. "Cuban Mahogany. Early nineteen century. And before you ask, yes, that's a real Picasso."

I check my watch. Half past seven. Still thirty minutes 'til show time. I'm anxious for Rissa to see the room. She'd run off to the corner store for some last-minute necessities -- mini powdered donuts, trashy romance novels, floss, sunscreen -- before I could tell her about the ship's duty-free shop. I laugh as reality strikes me.

"What?" Paul asks, foraging through the welcome basket on the coffee table, then falling back into the crush velvet sectional, a fistful of foil-wrapped dark chocolates in one hand and an amenities brochure in the other.

"Sunscreen. I just realized it's going to be nightfall your entire trip. The artificial lights and biolume sky will cycle, but no real sun on the decks. Not that you two lovebirds will make it out of the room."

I catch myself looking at my watch again. Nervous habit. The words I want to ask him are bottlenecked in my throat. "Paul?"

His smile fades. Maybe the quiver in my voice betrayed me, but he knows what I'll say next and spares me further discomfort. "Three miscarriages. Early second trimester. I think it's killed a little piece of her each time."

I take a seat next to him. I have no words that could soothe his pain, so I just lean my head on his shoulder.

"Rissa's better now, I think. She's got this adoption thing to keep her mind busy..."

"But?"

"You know as well as I do we've got a snowball's chance in hell. I'd probably still be in prison now if your mom had cared a little more about you guys. And those old drug charges keep creeping back up anytime things start going good."

"You and Rissa turned out all right. Considering."

He glares at me.

"So my sis was jail bait. But nine years and you're still madly in love. That's better than most people can claim."

"When'd you turn into such an optimist?"

From his tone, I can't tell if this is another jab, or if he's serious. I check my watch again. "She'd better hurry."

"Rissa won't be late. She's never late."

The floor hums underfoot as the reactor goes into the pre-test phase. "I've got some paperwork to get done," I say as the bulkheads begin to moan. I make my way to the door, steadying myself for the lurches to follow. "I'll call to check on you before I bunker up."

"Wait. You're staying Real Time?" There's fear in Paul's voice. Bending space-time has become so familiar, I sometimes forget the enormity of it all.

"Don't worry. Everything you need to know is in the welcome basket. There's no crew during the test, but the kitchen's open, so take whatever you like."

"Honestly, we were hoping to spend some time with you."

"Me, tagalong on your honeymoon? I still can't get the images of you guys sucking face in the back of movie theaters out of my mind."

"Seriously, Maddie. After what Rissa's been through, we've both learned how precious family is. We love you. We miss you."

I recoil, shove my hands into my pockets, and stare at my shoes. "I--"

"I know...you would if you could, right?"

Right. I suppress these inklings of emotion and steer the conversation elsewhere. "Remember, there's no lifeguard on duty, so tell my sis not to get too happy with the margaritas by the poolside."

Paul sighs in resignation. "Fat chance."

I brace myself in the doorway, and the lurches come like clockwork. If Paul hadn't teased me so much during my adolescence, I might have warned him. He stumbles, grabbing the back of a wingchair for balance. "That's normal," I say as I step into the hallway. "I'll see you guys in a few hours."

Paul manages a smile. "See you in six days."

I barely make it around the corner when a sharp grinding noise rattles the chandeliers in the hallway. Lights flicker, and for a long moment, they leave me at the mercy of pale orange running board lights. I brace myself against the wall in near darkness and wait for the tremors to stop.

They don't. They only fade enough for me to regain my footing and seek out the nearest call station. There's one twenty meters away, a beacon of soothing blue light, cut-out emergency figures, and block lettering.

I dial the extension to the control room, three decks below. "Art? What's going on down there?"

I wait for a response that never comes. I try once more with more urgency in my voice, twice more, a dozen times with the same result. Art's too obsessive to leave his station unattended, and too professional to pull a passive-aggressive prank, even if I did indirectly threaten his job. I check my watch again, still twenty minutes until the test launch.

I'm left with no choice but to pull the emergency override. I remove the tiny hammer from its holster, then ready my aim at the glass encasement. The sharp steel tip hovers an inch from impact, but if I interrupt the test, Time's Jewel won't be able to launch this weekend, and the thought of thirty-five angry bridezillas breathing down my neck is paralyzing.

Another set of tremors force me to face my fear. I take my backswing, but a deep warbling hum breaks my concentration. It's coming closer, quickening and rising in pitch. Static fills the air, prickling at my skin. Electric blue threads snap in and out of existence before my eyes, like currents jumping from Tesla coils.

My first instinct is to run, though I know there's no escape. The force corrals me back towards Paul's suite. As I check over my shoulder, my legs tangle and I hit the floor chin first. The world blurs.

Footsteps approach, then I hear Paul's voice. "Maddie! Maddie, are you all right?"

My mouth is tacky with blood. I scout the groove in my lip with my tongue. After a moment, images congeal, and I see Paul's worried face. My thoughts churn slowly, but I feel safe in his arms. "I am now."

The electrostatic tidal wave is about to crash over us. Paul stares at it -- magnificent and threatening. Beautiful and angry. He pulls me closer and whispers into my ear, "You think they would have mentioned something about this in the welcome basket."

Paul stands portside, staring over the railing as Rissa runs along the pier towards the boat. She's got a plastic shopping bag in one hand and is clutching a flimsy-rimmed sunbonnet to her head with the other. Both her feet are suspended in the air. They've been that way most of the day. Rissa's taken exactly three steps since the Jewel's malfunction, eleven days ago Ship Time.

Paul's only said a handful of words since I broke the bad news, though I've done a good job at keeping myself scarce. He barely eats. I approach silently, squinting under the intensity of the biolume sun and pale blue sky, tossed over the nighttime like a thin blanket. I set Paul's dinner on the deckchair next to him -- lasagna piled with enough Italian sausage to snap any man out of a lovesick coma.

I allow myself a moment beside him, looking out at the still life that is my sister.

"How much longer?" he says, eyes still affixed to Rissa. His voice startles me.

I'm hesitant about giving Paul another optimistic number that'll come and go. Three days, I'd said right after the launch. Then a week. Whatever Art did calibrating the Pequat Reactor, something had gone seriously wrong. From my best guess, we're running a Real Time Factor of .0000035. A normal launch clocks an RTF of about .18, which gives a week for every day. We're getting a week per second.

"Months," I say, expecting backlash, but Paul only nods. I find the courage to add, "At least three. Maybe four."

I'd finally salvaged enough wits to pull the emergency override, but with the enormous time lag, the fifteen Real Time seconds it takes for the reactors to disengage drag on like eternity.

"A watched pot never boils," I say to lighten the mood. At first I get no response so I turn to leave, but Paul reaches out and beckons me to stay.

"What can I say? I like the view." Paul almost smiles. He sits, loads up a forkful of lasagna, and sighs.

"She won't miss you at least."

"True. But I miss her enough for the both of us."

"I'm sorry."

There's a long, awkward pause, like he's struggling for the right words. "I don't blame you for this, you know. You tried to help us out. I'm not angry. Just miserable."

"Welcome to my world," I say, though I immediately wish I hadn't. I don't want him prying into my thoughts, wondering why I'm speeding through life like the first to the finish line wins. I don't want him getting close. I'd be lying if I said I've never had feelings for Paul. Schoolgirl crush, is all -- easily ignored if I keep a few decks between us. "I'd better go."

"I guess I'll see you for breakfast then?" Paul smirks, then bites down into his lasagna. Chewing. Swallowing. Licking his lips. "Not bad for a girl who could scorch the hell out of minute rice."

"Thanks, I think."

"You know, this kind of reminds me of when Rissa was going to night school, and you and me would stay up watching Flash Knightly reruns 'til she got home."

"Yeah," I laugh. To him I'm sure we were just wasting time, but watching those old grainy, two-dimensional action/comedies were some of the best moments of my life. For a few hours, I could forget about everything and concentrate on being a kid.

"Why don't you dig up a few episodes and meet me in our room in twenty minutes."

I like how he still calls it "our room" though Rissa's never stepped foot inside. It's enough to make me feel like she's here with us, just down the hall getting a manicure, or her hair done. Her presence gives me the confidence I need to let my defenses down for an evening. It'll give Paul a chance to get his mind off things. I owe him that.

I look over the railing once more before leaving, envying the sparkle in my sister's eyes.

"I still love her, you know." Paul feels the need to say it each time we're intimate. His touch is tender against my bare thigh, but I catch the implication behind his words. We could be stranded together for a million years without hope of seeing Rissa again, and he'd never love me. At least not the way I want him to.

I guess I can respect that, though I'll never understand it. I snuggle in closer, rake my fingers through his chest hair, and pretend I didn't hear him. I'll allow him his fantasies if he'll allow me mine.

We'd grown close over those first few weeks -- frolicking across the Jewel's deserted decks, skinny-dipping like carefree children under the moonlight, raiding the Duty Free shop for top shelf booze. I fought with every ounce of decency to deny the icy seductress within me, but an innocent caress swelled into something more, and we'd lost ourselves to unexpected passion.

Had it merely ended with that kiss, I could have forgiven myself, but I then set out to seduce Paul like I had all the others. I played him. Stroked his worst fears and plucked at his insecurities, and when his defenses had worn to nothing, I led him down the familiar path to the reactor room.

Through the double-set of sealed doors, we entered my web. The bait was tempting enough: a chance to see one of the five functioning Pequat Reactors in the world, like an eight-foot tall silver bullet nested in the middle of the room, a column of pure, blue-white light emanating from its tip. Its rhythmic warbling harmonizes with the soul, resonates with primal life forces, strumming up latent desires until Paul had no choice but to seek the comfort of my bosom.

Paul's nothing like my clients, though. He's the embodiment of the ultimate betrayal and at the same time, the pinnacle of thrill. And the shame? I've spent so many years burying mine, it hardly even registers.

I kiss his cheek, his shoulder blade, his chest, his navel. He flinches, then stops me. "We shouldn't do this anymore," he says, not for the first time, but there's an undeniable conviction in his voice.

"I know," I say, treading lightly around his guilt. "She doesn't deserve it. We shouldn't have let this go on for so long."

"It should never have happened at all."

His words sting. They wouldn't have two months ago, even two weeks ago. Tears well up in my eyes. Real ones.

"How am I supposed to face Rissa, huh? How can I ever explain this?"

"You can't tell her, Paul. We agreed on that in the beginning."

"I don't care. This isn't right. No matter how lonely I get, there's no excuse. No matter how hard I pretend, you'll never be Rissa. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to you." Paul smudges a tear from my cheek. "You deserve more."

I keep my burning eyes clenched. He wouldn't say those things if he knew all of the pain I'd caused, all of the marriages I'd doomed from the start. "I don't deserve--"

Paul presses his finger against my lips, then pulls me close. I bury my head into the crook of his neck and tell him the truth. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

"I know, Maddie." He kisses the top of my head, then squeezes me tight.

We both pretend to fall asleep.

For the next few weeks, Paul spends his time on the Newtonian Deck where he can keep an eye on Rissa, and I waste my days down in the bowels of Time's Jewel where I can keep tabs on the reactor. Our paths cross every once in a while in the confines of the main dining room. We're cordial, of course, and if either of us detects the other is going off the deep end, we'll share a meal together.

But for the most part, it's just me and the reactor and Art. I watch him sometimes through the six-inch porthole that separates the reactor room from the control room, where Art's bunkered up in Real Time. His face is twisted up in the most amusing expression, lips caught on a cuss word that'll last another three days.

Until recently, I also spent a fair amount of time leaning against the reactor, letting the wave pulses knead away the tension in my back, the flitters in my gut, and the hole in my heart. Art said it's perfectly safe, but after I realize I'm over a month late, I keep my distance just in case.

I'm in the middle of preparing an apple butter, pickle, and Godiva sandwich when Paul walks into the kitchen. I slap a slice of garlic bread on top to hide the evidence of this killer craving and make my way to the exit.

"How's it going?" I say as I pass, keeping a pace that'll allow two more exchanges at most.

"You don't have to stay down there by yourself."

"I think we both know that I do. Besides, I'm not alone. I've got Art keeping me company." I pause in the doorway, despite my better judgment. I've decided not to tell Paul I'm carrying his child. The last thing we need is more complications.

"Maddie, don't be too hard on yourself. I could have said 'No.' Men are capable of that, I hear."

Paul looks at me with a heavy brow, but the rest of his face is slack with indifference. I'd rather he hated me, felt something towards me. I retreat into the hallway.

"The reactor's nearly reached the deceleration threshold," I mumble. "Won't be much longer now. A few days, maybe a week."

Paul reels, shaking his head. "I don't think I'm ready to face her."

"Time's a bitch like that."

"I've been thinking," he pauses and stares at a spot just above my shoulder. "What if I don't tell her?"

I've waited so long for him to say these words. I never wanted to hurt Rissa. She's already gone through so much. Given so much. "We don't have to."

"It'd be easier."

"Especially for her..."

How effortlessly we delude ourselves. It wouldn't take long to perfect our cover story. Void our guilt. Bury the evidence. This isn't the first time I've had to make this agonizing decision, and I swore I'd never let myself get knocked up again. Oh, the risks the heart takes when the mind isn't watching! I've never wanted to be a mother, and yet here I am, a tiny piece of me wondering if I could make it work.

These frilly-minded thoughts are fleeting, however. I'm not ready to give up my lifestyle, my body, my sanity just to bring another life into this world. But I'm carrying this gift Rissa would love more than anything, and certainly more than I ever could. It's not the ideal way to repay my sister for being my savior all those years ago, but at this point, it's all I have to give. I only hope she'll find it in her heart not to hate me forever.

"Paul..." I swallow the insurgence of saliva, steady my nerves, and cradle my non-existent belly. "You might want to sit down for this."

Ten seconds after Art gives us the go-ahead to disembark, Paul is down the gangplank and up the pier, his arms wrapped around Rissa. I scuttle along behind him and get there in time to catch the tail end of a wet, passionate kiss.

"Wow," Rissa says, batting her eyelashes. "I told you guys I'd be back in time." She checks her watch. "Twenty minutes to spare, see?"

Paul turns around and smiles at me, speechless. It's then that I know we'll all be okay. Paul's already started to forgive himself, and Rissa's never been one to hold a grudge, even when she has every right to. Not that it'll be an easy course or a quick one, but if there's any relationship that can survive this, it's theirs.

"What do you say we all grab some dinner," says Paul, so much honesty in his voice, the truth ready to burst from his chest at any moment. I can't say I'm as eager as he is, but we've decided to tell her. Together.

"I know this Italian place just a few blocks north of here," I say. "Saltwater Bistro. My treat." It's the least I can do.

Rissa's eyebrows crinkle in on each other. For a second, I think she senses the truth -- that in the span of a few heartbeats, I had changed all our lives forever. I hold my breath, waiting for her to ask why my face seems slightly wider, my hair slightly longer, my aura slightly brighter.

"Dinner?" she says. "What about our trip?"

Paul wraps his arm around her waist, his smile becoming a wince. "It's sort of a long story..."

I grit my teeth, my heart aflutter. "Hey, guys. I've got a couple loose ends to tidy up here. Meet you there in twenty minutes?"

Paul nods distractedly, oblivious to my intentions. I'm not ready to face Rissa yet. The words are there, lodged in my throat, but I need more time. Though I guess if I can convince Art to give me enough of it, there won't be a need to say much at all.

The idea of going through this pregnancy alone has me tied up inside, but for me, speeding recklessly through life is hardly a new endeavor. This time, instead of merely running away, I've chosen my own destination. Besides, I'm not alone. Not anymore. There's also this child curled up in my womb, a little girl perhaps, with her father's smile and her mother's eyes.

Before I head back for my final voyage aboard Time's Jewel, I step up and hug my sister, as queasy as it makes me. I tell her that I love her, and she tells me the same. I don't let go. I want her to remember this moment. Just two sisters. Uncomplicated. For now.

Nicky Drayden is a Systems Analyst who dabbles in prose when she's not buried in code. She resides in Austin, Texas where being weird is highly encouraged, if not required. You can see more of her work at www.nickydrayden.com.