fire, at least, should be easier to deal with. We know when the fire starts, sort of. And we know that the fire sweeps through the north of the city. If we keep a close watch, we’ll be able to report the first smouldering before it burns out of control.
No danger to citizens, no risk for Mum, and no damage to the water-treatment plant. And no exposure for anyone who knows how to skip; warning the authorities about the fire has to happen without giving them a reason to target any of us again.
If everything goes to plan, no-one will ever know what might have been.
Except us.
A couple of blocks away from Mason’s house, I pull over to the side of the bike path and check for Boc on the grid. Good. He’s at the climbing centre, not sitting around thinking he’s some sort of hero looking for illegals.
I trigger the shortcut to the blocking script that I set up this morning and scroll back to the past hours in Mason’s garage. You can clearly see the gaps where Mason’s chip disappeared from the grid when he jumped, so I use those gaps as a guide and match a series of fake gaps to my timeline, rewriting history, like Alistair did with Mum. If Boc goes looking he’ll see exactly what he expects to see, as if I was jumping with the chip in my wrist, rather than realising it stays behind, tucked in the pocket where I keep it these days.
As soon as I get home, I fire up the comscreen and start writing the new code. Or more like rewriting. Mason already developed a linking code in the other timestream which he used to hide his parents’ time skips from the grid. I didn’t see any of the script but I know he got it working, so that’s a start.
It’s the exact opposite of the blocking script, but just as useful. At least, it will be if everything goes to plan. When the time is right, I’ll use it to remove all the gaps on Mason’s timeline on the grid. And mine. Echo and Amon don’t know how to skip yet, but I can keep an eye on them. To anyone watching the grid – like the Feds – it will look like we’ve never time skipped in our lives.
It’s easier to write my own version of this code than the other one, simply a matter of linking either end of each gap so it looks as if Mason was sitting in one spot. I test it once or twice to make sure it works, then clean up everything I’ve done.
It’s working, but I’m not ready for it yet. Boc still thinks I’m the woman in the cave, so for now I’m safe. But as soon as he does his first skip, I’ll be ready.
He won’t even know what hit him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
M Y COMPAD BEEPS late on Saturday morning: Sorry to bother. It’s Kessa. Want to meet up sometime? Maybe head to the park?
It brings a full-on deja vu, the way I felt when I saw those words, a total burst of possibility. I even recognise my own thought process as I form a reply: Sounds good! Looking forward to it.
Just like last time, we meet at the park near the school and settle into the same bench seat overlooking the playground and surrounded by high-rise flats.
The park is busy with citizens getting on with their lives, a distraction from the fresh awkwardness between us again. Other than waiting in line during the ID photos for school last week, we’ve barely spoken since we used to meet at the park when we were six years old. At least, from Kessa’s point of view, we haven’t.
As she finds a place next to me, I take a nervous breath, thinking about how it felt to admit to Mason who I am. All my life I’ve been scared of people looking at me as less, unworthy, but I’m tired of being scared. At least if I admit the truth, my secret loses its power. I gain control again over who I am.
And after seeing what happened to Mum in the fire, I don’t want to keep time skipping a secret from anyone I care about. For all I know, the truth I share might help keep her alive.
Kessa starts telling me about her twin Malena, who only made it into a tech school, so I nod and listen as I watch the parents
No danger to citizens, no risk for Mum, and no damage to the water-treatment plant. And no exposure for anyone who knows how to skip; warning the authorities about the fire has to happen without giving them a reason to target any of us again.
If everything goes to plan, no-one will ever know what might have been.
Except us.
A couple of blocks away from Mason’s house, I pull over to the side of the bike path and check for Boc on the grid. Good. He’s at the climbing centre, not sitting around thinking he’s some sort of hero looking for illegals.
I trigger the shortcut to the blocking script that I set up this morning and scroll back to the past hours in Mason’s garage. You can clearly see the gaps where Mason’s chip disappeared from the grid when he jumped, so I use those gaps as a guide and match a series of fake gaps to my timeline, rewriting history, like Alistair did with Mum. If Boc goes looking he’ll see exactly what he expects to see, as if I was jumping with the chip in my wrist, rather than realising it stays behind, tucked in the pocket where I keep it these days.
As soon as I get home, I fire up the comscreen and start writing the new code. Or more like rewriting. Mason already developed a linking code in the other timestream which he used to hide his parents’ time skips from the grid. I didn’t see any of the script but I know he got it working, so that’s a start.
It’s the exact opposite of the blocking script, but just as useful. At least, it will be if everything goes to plan. When the time is right, I’ll use it to remove all the gaps on Mason’s timeline on the grid. And mine. Echo and Amon don’t know how to skip yet, but I can keep an eye on them. To anyone watching the grid – like the Feds – it will look like we’ve never time skipped in our lives.
It’s easier to write my own version of this code than the other one, simply a matter of linking either end of each gap so it looks as if Mason was sitting in one spot. I test it once or twice to make sure it works, then clean up everything I’ve done.
It’s working, but I’m not ready for it yet. Boc still thinks I’m the woman in the cave, so for now I’m safe. But as soon as he does his first skip, I’ll be ready.
He won’t even know what hit him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
M Y COMPAD BEEPS late on Saturday morning: Sorry to bother. It’s Kessa. Want to meet up sometime? Maybe head to the park?
It brings a full-on deja vu, the way I felt when I saw those words, a total burst of possibility. I even recognise my own thought process as I form a reply: Sounds good! Looking forward to it.
Just like last time, we meet at the park near the school and settle into the same bench seat overlooking the playground and surrounded by high-rise flats.
The park is busy with citizens getting on with their lives, a distraction from the fresh awkwardness between us again. Other than waiting in line during the ID photos for school last week, we’ve barely spoken since we used to meet at the park when we were six years old. At least, from Kessa’s point of view, we haven’t.
As she finds a place next to me, I take a nervous breath, thinking about how it felt to admit to Mason who I am. All my life I’ve been scared of people looking at me as less, unworthy, but I’m tired of being scared. At least if I admit the truth, my secret loses its power. I gain control again over who I am.
And after seeing what happened to Mum in the fire, I don’t want to keep time skipping a secret from anyone I care about. For all I know, the truth I share might help keep her alive.
Kessa starts telling me about her twin Malena, who only made it into a tech school, so I nod and listen as I watch the parents
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