or Max could make themselves look like? Max sighed. This was the nub of the problem. For all he and Sierra knew, Tesla or Astor was Heron, and they had been talking to Heron right across that table, as Sierra sipped her brandy and Max his rum.
Could the DNA facial reconstruction make the recipient look much younger? Of course it could, that's how this surgery had started in the first place, and was still by far its most frequent usage in the 21 st century. Could it change the face of the recipient enough to make him or her look like a different gender? This was no doubt done for some number of people, too. But following through on what your new gender could do obviously would require a different kind of surgery.
Sierra had turned over in her sleep, and her hand was now resting right below his abdomen. He thought about waking her up, for a third go. But she needed her rest, and she was sleeping so peacefully. No, not tonight.
Maybe he wasn't as young as he used to be.
But her hand felt so good where it was. He carefully swiveled around, and glancingly kissed her sleeping lips. Hell, he still felt younger than most of the people in the world, in this or any time.
***
Sierra found a note under the door the next morning. She woke Max.
"He wants to meet us for breakfast in an hour," she said.
"Who?" Max rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Astor?"
"Yep."
Max got out of bed. "You showered yet?"
Sierra nodded.
Max walked into the bathroom, left the door open, and started to shower. "One thing I don't like about this guy is he yanks us around like puppets on his string," he said loudly.
"If we believe he's on our side, his wanting to see us so often could be a good thing," Sierra said, right outside of the bathroom door.
"You've softened your attitude about Astor," Max said. "Surely the symphony wasn't that persuasive."
***
The two joined Astor for breakfast. He was already seated at the table, and rose to greet them.
"I have news that might interest you," he said, after the waiter took their orders.
'Tell us," Sierra said.
"I have a report from one of my contacts that Heron may now be in 1899," Astor said. He lowered his voice. "Whatever 'now' may mean in this context." He laughed loudly.
"How did your contact come to tell you this?" Sierra asked.
"Traveled from there – 1899 – to where, or when, we are now," Astor replied. "All of this is happening in New York."
"And you're not going to tell us who your contact is, right?" Max noted with a frown.
"Not until I know the two of you a little better," Astor replied. "Let me be honest with you." He put out his hands, open palms, on the table. "I told you that Thomas O'Leary and I spoke. He was very thorough. He explained to me that the face he had when we were speaking was not his original face. He told me automata in the future can be fashioned with faces that look like specific humans. I won't pretend to you that I understood it all. But I comprehended enough to understand that the two of you may not be who you seem to be. Don't get me wrong – I believe that you are Sierra Waters and you are Maxwell Marcus. Certainly William Henry Appleton believes that, and he's in a much better position than I to know. But I just can't yet be 100% sure, and the stakes, as you know, are awfully high."
"I guess we should be grateful that we've found a champion like you," Sierra said, "especially with William declining. And I don't mean that the least bit sarcastically."
Astor bowed his head slightly. "Thank you. But I wasn't fishing for compliments."
"What do you think Heron is doing in 1899," she asked Astor, though she knew the answer.
"To wring what he can out of William," Astor replied, sadly, "including the Chronica , if it's not already under translation in other hands. Heron must know that William does not have many days left in 1899."
Sierra nodded, and thought again, does Astor know he himself will die on the Titanic in 1912? She controlled
Could the DNA facial reconstruction make the recipient look much younger? Of course it could, that's how this surgery had started in the first place, and was still by far its most frequent usage in the 21 st century. Could it change the face of the recipient enough to make him or her look like a different gender? This was no doubt done for some number of people, too. But following through on what your new gender could do obviously would require a different kind of surgery.
Sierra had turned over in her sleep, and her hand was now resting right below his abdomen. He thought about waking her up, for a third go. But she needed her rest, and she was sleeping so peacefully. No, not tonight.
Maybe he wasn't as young as he used to be.
But her hand felt so good where it was. He carefully swiveled around, and glancingly kissed her sleeping lips. Hell, he still felt younger than most of the people in the world, in this or any time.
***
Sierra found a note under the door the next morning. She woke Max.
"He wants to meet us for breakfast in an hour," she said.
"Who?" Max rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Astor?"
"Yep."
Max got out of bed. "You showered yet?"
Sierra nodded.
Max walked into the bathroom, left the door open, and started to shower. "One thing I don't like about this guy is he yanks us around like puppets on his string," he said loudly.
"If we believe he's on our side, his wanting to see us so often could be a good thing," Sierra said, right outside of the bathroom door.
"You've softened your attitude about Astor," Max said. "Surely the symphony wasn't that persuasive."
***
The two joined Astor for breakfast. He was already seated at the table, and rose to greet them.
"I have news that might interest you," he said, after the waiter took their orders.
'Tell us," Sierra said.
"I have a report from one of my contacts that Heron may now be in 1899," Astor said. He lowered his voice. "Whatever 'now' may mean in this context." He laughed loudly.
"How did your contact come to tell you this?" Sierra asked.
"Traveled from there – 1899 – to where, or when, we are now," Astor replied. "All of this is happening in New York."
"And you're not going to tell us who your contact is, right?" Max noted with a frown.
"Not until I know the two of you a little better," Astor replied. "Let me be honest with you." He put out his hands, open palms, on the table. "I told you that Thomas O'Leary and I spoke. He was very thorough. He explained to me that the face he had when we were speaking was not his original face. He told me automata in the future can be fashioned with faces that look like specific humans. I won't pretend to you that I understood it all. But I comprehended enough to understand that the two of you may not be who you seem to be. Don't get me wrong – I believe that you are Sierra Waters and you are Maxwell Marcus. Certainly William Henry Appleton believes that, and he's in a much better position than I to know. But I just can't yet be 100% sure, and the stakes, as you know, are awfully high."
"I guess we should be grateful that we've found a champion like you," Sierra said, "especially with William declining. And I don't mean that the least bit sarcastically."
Astor bowed his head slightly. "Thank you. But I wasn't fishing for compliments."
"What do you think Heron is doing in 1899," she asked Astor, though she knew the answer.
"To wring what he can out of William," Astor replied, sadly, "including the Chronica , if it's not already under translation in other hands. Heron must know that William does not have many days left in 1899."
Sierra nodded, and thought again, does Astor know he himself will die on the Titanic in 1912? She controlled
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