{"id":4805,"date":"2026-01-04T00:48:13","date_gmt":"2026-01-04T00:48:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/paradox-hotel-hart-rob\/"},"modified":"2026-01-04T00:48:13","modified_gmt":"2026-01-04T00:48:13","slug":"paradox-hotel-hart-rob","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/paradox-hotel-hart-rob\/","title":{"rendered":"Paradox Hotel – Hart, Rob"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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<\/span>QUANTUM ENTRAPMENT<\/h1>\n

Droplets of blood pat the blue carpet, turning from red to black as they soak into the fibers. The drops come slow at first, before turning to a trickle as the bones of my skull squeeze like a hand around my brain. My body yearns to release the tension in my shoulders, to let the pressure off my knees, to lay down and go to sleep.<\/p>\n

Except it won\u2019t be sleep.<\/p>\n

It won\u2019t really be death either. Something more in-between.<\/p>\n

A permanent vacancy.<\/p>\n

This moment has been chasing me for years. The third stage, when the strands of my perception unravel and my ability to grasp the concept of linear time is lost.<\/p>\n

More pats on the carpet. But the blood from my nose has stopped flowing.<\/p>\n

Heavier, from the other end of the hallway, getting closer.<\/p>\n

Footsteps.<\/p>\n

Maybe I can fight this. A handful of Retronim. A cherry lollipop. What if I scream? I open my mouth. Nothing comes out but blood.<\/p>\n

The footsteps get closer.<\/p>\n

This is the moment when my brain will short-circuit. That\u2019s the third stage of being Unstuck. No one really knows why it happens. The prevailing theory is your mind finds itself in a quantum state and <\/span>can\u2019t handle the load. Others think you witness the moment of your death. I don\u2019t give a shit about the \u201cwhy\u201d of it. I just know the result doesn\u2019t look pleasant: a glassy-eyed coma that\u2019ll last as long as my body holds out.<\/p>\n

The pressure increases. More blood. Maybe I\u2019ll bleed to death first. Small victories.<\/p>\n

In a moment I\u2019ll be gone. Probably reality too. The timestream is broken and I\u2019m the only one who can fix it, but instead I\u2019m dying on the floor. Sorry, universe.<\/p>\n

I slip again, memories rattling around my brain like rocks in a tin can. Sitting in my bed, the smell of garlic and chili paste frying in the kitchen, wafting upstairs. Graduating the academy, walking across the gymnasium stage, new heels tearing at the skin of my feet while I scan the sea of folding chairs.<\/p>\n

The first time I let Mena kiss me, the two of us alone on the balcony overlooking the lobby.<\/p>\n

That taste of cherries, and everything I ever needed.<\/p>\n

The footsteps stop.<\/p>\n

I feel it, the displacement of air, the gravity of another person, standing there, watching me writhe on this dumb blue carpet. Nothing I can do now. It\u2019s over. But I\u2019m not going to die on my hands and knees.<\/p>\n

With the last of my strength I push up\u2026<\/p>\n

\n
\u2014<\/div>\n

Tap-tap-tap<\/i>.<\/p>\n

Doctor Tamworth is holding his pen an inch above the flat expanse of his desk, looking at me like I might bite him. Which, the day is young.<\/p>\n

I take a second to situate myself. The fluorescent light is so white it\u2019s almost blue, to match the sky-blue walls and dark blue linoleum tile. So much of this place is blue, which is calming, or so I\u2019ve been told. The room is otherwise bare, save a small tablet on the desk, a diploma on the wall from a university in his home country of <\/span>Bangladesh, and a half-eaten deli sandwich in a cardboard clamshell container. I can smell the sting of the vinegar, the funk of the cheese. My stomach growls at it. Ruby is hovering in its usual spot over my shoulder, too close by half.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere were you just now, January?\u201d Tamworth asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight here, Doc,\u201d I tell him, which is only mostly a lie, because the place I slipped to is gone. Something about carpet? I reach for it, but it disappears between my fingers like smoke. Probably not important.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt didn\u2019t look like you were here,\u201d Tamworth says, his voice an airy, nasal pitch that seems determined to match the creak of his desk chair. \u201cIt looked like you were somewhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour word against mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tamworth sighs. \u201cNo behavioral changes. That\u2019s a start.\u201d<\/p>\n

He heaves his blocky frame to a standing position and turns to the cabinet. The rattle of the pill bottle lifts my soul. He places the orange tube of Retronim on the desk, just next to the sandwich.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m increasing your dose,\u201d he says. \u201cTen milligrams. One pill in the morning, one at night. If you\u2019re slipping a lot you can take a third, but no more than that in a twenty-four-hour period. Your weight.\u201d He raises his hand, spreads his fingers, waves them back and forth. \u201cFigure by the time we get to twenty milligrams in a day, there might be a problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of problem?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tamworth slumps in his chair. \u201cAggression, irritability\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI must be OD\u2019ing right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

He frowns. \u201cHeart palpitations, confusion, hallucinations. Not to mention your kidneys won\u2019t be too happy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGot it,\u201d I tell him, nearly snatching the sandwich, but instead palming the bottle and stuffing it in my pocket. \u201cTake as needed. Like candy.\u201d<\/p>\n

His face goes dark. \u201cDo you ever get tired of this?\u201d<\/p>\n

I offer him a shrug in response.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour latest round of scans came in. Let me show you something.\u201d <\/span>He reaches for the tablet, opens it, and tilts it toward me. The mushy oval on the screen is lit up in greens and blues and reds. \u201cThis is the brain of a woman your age who has never stepped foot in the timestream.\u201d Then he swipes, showing another scan with slightly less color around the center of the mass. \u201cThis is your brain. Do you see the difference?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not a doctor,\u201d I tell him.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s clear degradation in the hypothalamus. We\u2019re still not sure exactly how this works, but we believe the problem is related to the suprachiasmatic nucleus, which regulates the body\u2019s circadian rhythms\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

I put up my hand. \u201cDoc, don\u2019t tell me you don\u2019t know how this works, and then tell me you know what\u2019s wrong. I told you. I\u2019m still on the first stage.\u201d<\/p>\n

He taps the screen of the tablet with his pen. \u201cNobody with this much loss of function\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcept you don\u2019t know how this works, so how do you even form a benchmark?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stops and stutters. \u201cJanuary, I\u2019m doing this for your own good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got my pills, Doc,\u201d I tell him. \u201cAnd if I hit the second stage you\u2019ll be the first one to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

He slaps the tablet on the desk. \u201cRetronim isn\u2019t a cure. All it does is forestall the inevitable. I have serious concerns about you being here. I know it\u2019s supposed to be safe, but look at the clocks. There\u2019s clearly radiation leakage. You ought to be somewhere far away. Why not retire? You hit your tier. Find a beach community. Read books. Meet someone.\u201d<\/p>\n

I put my hands flat on the desk and lean forward, taking time to enunciate each word: \u201cDon\u2019t tell me what I need.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019re on to the second stage of this, you know what that means,\u201d he says, pleading.<\/p>\n

\u201cFirst.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJanuary, I\u2019m not an idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cYou may well be. And I like it here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally? Because it doesn\u2019t seem that way.\u201d Tamworth peers over my shoulder. \u201cWhat\u2019s your take on this?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby whirs a little closer. I consider whacking it against the wall. Not for any particular reason, just because I consider that a lot. It gives a soft beep and, in its genteel New Zealand accent, says, \u201cNothing worth reporting, Doctor Tamworth.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tamworth rolls his eyes. I don\u2019t have a good insult, nor do I care to formulate one, so I stand and pat the pill bottle in my pocket. It gives another optimistic shake. \u201cThanks for the lift, Doc. I\u2019ll see you around.\u201d I wave to the drone hovering at my shoulder. \u201cLet\u2019s blow, Ruby.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJanuary\u2026\u201d Tamworth starts.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looks at me again, ready to say something deeply caring and meaningful, probably. Then he thinks better of it.<\/p>\n

As I leave, I realize I could have handled that better.<\/p>\n

Could have taken the sandwich.<\/p>\n

I should feel bad. It\u2019s not like he\u2019s not wrong. I shouldn\u2019t be here.<\/p>\n

But how could I be anywhere else?<\/p>\n

I walk to the railing overlooking the hotel lobby and survey my domain.<\/p>\n

The swooping lines and rounded corners of the midcentury modern space give it the feel of being simultaneously retro and futuristic. The lobby is cylindrical and dizzying, starting a hundred feet below me and continuing up another hundred above me. Concentric rings of walkways start at the top\u2014the restaurant, the bar\u2014and continue down, level after level of offices and amenities. All of it linked by elevators and sloped walkways, like a shopping mall built vertically. The focal point is a brass rod hooked into the ceiling, which plunges into the depths of the lobby. At the end of the rod is a massive, brass astrological clock, hovering a few inches off the floor.<\/p>\n

Mena comes out of the spa across the chasm, in her black and <\/span>white waitress uniform, carrying an empty drink tray. Her wavy hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, and the precise swing of her hips reminds me of how a panther moves. My heart lurches across the empty space between us and I consider calling to her, but before I can open my mouth she turns a corner and disappears.<\/p>\n

Mena.<\/p>\n

I know she\u2019s not really there.<\/p>\n

But she\u2019s also the reason I could never leave this place.<\/p>\n

Because what if I do, and I never see her again?<\/p>\n

How do I explain that to Tamworth? To anyone?<\/p>\n

If I do, they\u2019ll make me leave for sure.<\/p>\n

And for the briefest moment, I think the same thing I think every time I see her: a five-minute tram ride. That\u2019s all it would take. I just have to be willing to break the rules I\u2019ve sworn to uphold and maybe destroy reality in the process.<\/p>\n

Some days, it seems worth it.<\/p>\n

\u201cBig snowstorm about to roll in,\u201d Ruby says. \u201cBlizzard warning. Hazardous travel conditions.\u201d<\/p>\n

Snatched from my daze, I exhale and turn to the drone, which looks like a floating pair of binoculars. It turns to me, rattling the googly eyes I glued to its lens.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou ruin everything,\u201d I tell it.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust doing my job.\u201d<\/p>\n

I should get to work. The lobby clock reads 9:17 a.m.<\/span> I watch the second hand marching across the face.<\/p>\n

\n

9:17:24<\/p>\n

9:17:25<\/p>\n

9:17:26<\/p>\n

9:17:25<\/p>\n

9:15:26<\/p>\n

9:15:27<\/p>\n

9:15:28\u2026<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/span>Movement around the lobby draws my attention. Lots of people dragging roller bags through the tunnel from Einstein. The lines at the three desks surrounding the clock are deep and getting deeper. Cameo is at concierge, and all the check-in slots are staffed. Still, everyone is in the weeds. Which is not something that makes me happy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s with the crowd, Rubes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt seems there are some issues at Einstein that have grounded flights,\u201d it says. \u201cAlso, I have a message from Reg that he needs to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all it says.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHaven\u2019t I asked you to not let people leave incomplete messages? You should have pinged him back and asked for more information.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby floats for a few seconds before responding. \u201cI didn\u2019t really care to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou made me like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

I swipe at it, but it dodges out of the way.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt would help if you were a little faster,\u201d it says.<\/p>\n

Whatever. I skip the elevator and take the winding, sloped corridors down to the lobby, where my canvas sneakers squeak on the marble floor. Hanging on one wall is a large oval screen displaying the upcoming trips.<\/p>\n

\n

QR3345\u2014Ancient Egypt\u2014DELAYED<\/p>\n

RZ5902\u2014Battle of Gettysburg\u2014DELAYED<\/p>\n

ZE5522\u2014Triassic Period\u2014DELAYED<\/p>\n

HU0193\u2014Renaissance\u2014DELAYED<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Today is going to be a day.<\/p>\n

As I\u2019m crossing to Reg\u2019s office, I clock a guy standing at the coffee urn. My antennae go up. He doesn\u2019t have a bag with him. He\u2019s surveying the room as he sips on a cup of coffee, looking for someone. Tall, <\/span>movie-star handsome, motorcycle boots, a leather jacket he actually manages to pull off. Could be a guest, but he\u2019s a bit too scruffy for this lot. His clothes are sharp but not designer. The men who stay here tend to look like they\u2019re dressed for an emergency yacht club meeting.<\/p>\n

\u201cRuby, see the pretty boy over there?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou understand that as an artificially intelligent construct I don\u2019t grasp beauty standards?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBy the coffee, dummy,\u201d I tell it. \u201cKeep an eye on him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAny reason?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGut.\u201d<\/p>\n

Reg\u2019s door is cracked so I push it open and find he\u2019s on the phone. He looks up from his disaster of a desk\u2014paperwork, food wrappers, who knows, maybe a cat?\u2014and shrugs at me, like, why can\u2019t you knock?<\/i><\/p>\n

I give him a little shrug in response, like, you\u2019re really asking me that?<\/i><\/p>\n

He goes back to the call, listening intently as I survey the clutter, focusing on my favorite piece: the Sicilian flag he keeps tacked to the wall. Red and yellow, with a woman\u2019s head surrounded by three disembodied legs, which, as I have told him many times, really ought to be the lesbian pride flag, but he does not agree.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I understand that,\u201d he barks into the phone. \u201cRight, but we\u2019re understaffed as it is and\u2026no, you listen\u2026okay, fine, fine. Fine!\u201d He taps off the call, slams the phone on the desk, and leans back, pressing his hands into his face like he wants to crush it.<\/p>\n

Reg played offensive line in college and while those days are long behind him, he still carries an intimidating thickness. And usually, his charm and personality match his size. Not today. His skin is gray and his white hair, normally gelled into slicked-back spikes, is disheveled. His lavender button-down shirt is wrinkled and he smells like he bathed in aftershave. He\u2019s giving off some real walk-of-shame vibes, but since the only thing he\u2019s married to is his job, I know a hammer is about to come down on both of us.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cJan, what was the biggest, bloodiest battle in all of human history?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had to track someone down after D-Day in Normandy,\u201d I tell him. \u201cThat was pretty gnarly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to book a one-way ticket. It\u2019d be preferable to this.\u201d He sighs. \u201cThose assholes moved it up to tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMoved what up to tomorrow?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe summit.\u201d<\/p>\n

I breathe out a large portion of my soul. The summit. A logistical nightmare that\u2019d been keeping me from sleeping restfully the past few nights, but at least I had until next week to prepare for it. Anger shoots through me like an electric current and I consider digging my thumb into his eye to make myself feel better, but there\u2019s no point taking this out on Reg. The poor guy is just the hotel manager. And clearly, he\u2019s no happier about the change than I am.<\/p>\n

This was a TEA call, so I know who to be mad at.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes Danbridge know?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe said to take five minutes to calm down before calling him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m giving him two, and that\u2019s generous.\u201d<\/p>\n

Reg leans back in his seat. \u201cI need a drink. Is it too early for a drink?\u201d<\/p>\n

I spot a lottery ticket on the corner of the desk. Reg likes to bet on horses, though he doesn\u2019t do a very good job of it. I give the ticket a tap and say, \u201cYou know, you\u2019d be better off putting your money in a pile and burning it. At least it\u2019ll keep you warm.\u201d<\/p>\n

He snatches the ticket with one hand, and with the other reaches for the tape dispenser, then affixes it to the bottom of his monitor. \u201cYou gotta have dreams, kid. This is the one that\u2019s gonna change my luck. I know it.\u201d He glances from side to side. \u201cBig jackpot. If I win, I\u2019m going to retire. Someplace down in Mexico. Beautiful women, colorful drinks. Never putting on a pair of full-length pants again.\u201d He laughs to himself. \u201cYou should come with.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>That earns a laugh in return. \u201cYou think a few drinks with umbrellas in them are going to improve my disposition?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI expect you to have the personality of a battle-ax until the day you die. But you can\u2019t stay here forever, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can try,\u201d I tell him.<\/p>\n

\n
\u2014<\/div>\n

Leather daddy is gone. The lines at the desks seem longer than they were before. Still plenty of blue bloods, but now flight staff too, in their sparkling red and green and purple uniforms. Which means we\u2019re going to hit capacity real quick. At least staff tends to be polite. Hooray for class solidarity. I slide up to Cameo, who as per usual, looks like a sculpture come to life, with their sharp, angular features, bald head atop a nearly seven-foot frame, and heavy jade earrings.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow do we look?\u201d I ask, craning my neck to look up at them.<\/p>\n

Cameo smiles at the elderly woman they\u2019re helping. \u201cI\u2019ll be with you in one moment, dear.\u201d To me, they say, \u201cWe\u2019re a little over half full already, but I\u2019m hearing flights are grounded for at least the day, so it won\u2019t be long until these people resort to cannibalism.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me,\u201d the elderly woman says.<\/p>\n

We both turn to her, and her pearl necklace and designer luggage and pink velour tracksuit.<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am, I\u2019m very sorry, as I\u2019ve said, these are not normal circumstances\u2026\u201d Cameo starts.<\/p>\n

Her voice is like a squeaky toy shoved into a garbage disposal. \u201cI\u2019ve already been told that the trip I planned more than a year<\/i> ago has been postponed and they can\u2019t tell me until when, and now you\u2019re saying I can\u2019t have the room I booked either. I reserved a superluxury room and I want a superluxury room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand that,\u201d Cameo says, with the patience of a saint, which is impressive because I already want to kick over this lady\u2019s expensive bag. \u201cI\u2019m deeply sorry for the inconvenience. I can comp your room as well as your meals for the duration of your stay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to speak to your manager.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>Cameo touches their ear. \u201cReg? A Miss Steubens would like to speak to you. Send her over? Right away.\u201d They raise a delicate hand, palm flat and unthreatening, toward Reg\u2019s office. The woman huffs, takes her bag, and trudges over.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid Reg really say to send her over?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d Cameo says, offering a sly smile.<\/p>\n

And then their face drops, like they were digging around their teeth with their tongue and came across the squished remains of a bug. I turn again to find an old white man in a linen tunic, a gold-woven band around the neck and a gold-colored rope holding it together at his waist. Probably prepped for that grounded trip to Ancient Egypt.<\/p>\n

To see people in period garb around here is not uncommon.<\/p>\n

The problem is the bronzer he\u2019s used to darken his skin.<\/p>\n

The costume designer, Fumiko, has a hard-and-fast rule about not doing any kind of skin alteration. The \u201cno blackface\u201d policy, she calls it.<\/p>\n

The worst part is he seems so proud, smiling like a kid who drew on a wall. Even with the way the makeup cakes and cracks around his wrinkles, the way he missed some spots on his neck, highlighting pale patches of skin.<\/p>\n

I glance at Cameo. With their aquiline features and almond skin, they could be from that region of the world. Or, like me, they\u2019re just wildly offended at a sight like this in the year twenty-goddamn-seventy-two.<\/p>\n

The old man seems to detect our discomfort, which isn\u2019t surprising because the two of us are frozen still as statues. He gives a little shrug and says, \u201cWhen in Rome, right? Or, Thebes I guess will be the case.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can see Cameo\u2019s jaw working as they chew on the words they want to say, before forcing a smile onto their face and nodding. The trouble with the clientele here is, push back too hard and they remind you that they \u201cknow someone,\u201d and the worst part is, none of them are lying.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cYes, sir,\u201d Cameo says, pushing the words out. \u201cHow can I be of service?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it says my trip is delayed, and I\u2019m hoping you might be able to give me an update, or at least call up to my room when something changes\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

I turn to Cameo, give a big I\u2019m sorry<\/i> shrug, and leave them to suffer. Not much else I can do. The withering look I get in return, it could be for the old man or it could be for me. Makes no difference.<\/p>\n

I wave to Ruby and don\u2019t have to ask\u2014a little compartment in its side opens and my earpiece sticks out. I place it in my ear, then twist to ensure a tight fit. \u201cDanbridge.\u201d<\/p>\n

He picks up almost immediately. \u201cWas that five minutes?\u201d<\/p>\n

I make my way toward the coffee urn. \u201cWhat in the hypotenuse fuck is going on, Allyn?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s funny.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s funny?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat you think I have any say in this.\u201d<\/p>\n

I grab a paper cup and hold it under the urn, my reflection in the gleaming surface distorted and pencil-thin. When I pull the lever nothing comes out. I tilt the urn toward me, and not even a drip. As I\u2019m putting it back in place, a sconce on the wall gives a little flicker. God, this place is falling apart. \u201cYou run the TEA,\u201d I tell him.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d he says. \u201cAnd Vince Teller cares about that. So does the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. You know all those groups that were planning to protest? They found out the date and were organizing a demonstration, so we had to pivot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought we were friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry, I\u2019m sending someone over to help.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, I guess we never were friends\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJan, you need a right hand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you come do it. Don\u2019t foist another trainee on me. Most of them can\u2019t count past ten without taking their shoes off.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t worry, this kid is good. He reminds me of you actually, if you weren\u2019t a huge asshole every single second of every single day.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI sleep sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Allyn laughs. \u201cYou\u2019re probably an asshole when you sleep. You probably dream of kicking people and taking candy from babies.\u201d<\/p>\n

I consider disagreeing but it\u2019s not like he\u2019ll believe me. Or that he\u2019s wrong?<\/p>\n

\u201cTell the kid to meet me in the Tick Tock. I need about six gallons of coffee. I\u2019ll send you the check.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before he can respond I pull the earpiece out and stick it back into Ruby. I give one last look around the lobby, my stomach twisted into a tight knot, because I know this is going to get far, far worse before it gets even a tiny bit less worse.<\/p>\n

And now I have to go upstairs to get my coffee fix. I whisper a little prayer, that Mbaye isn\u2019t in yet, but then realize, what\u2019s the use? That son of a bitch is always in.<\/p>\n

I reach into my pocket, pull out a cherry lollipop, and stick it in my mouth. Savor the sweetness\u2014there won\u2019t be a lot of free moments to savor anything in the next two days\u2014and head upstairs.<\/p>\n

\n
\u2014<\/div>\n

The Tick Tock is mostly empty. Just a few folks scattered throughout the grid of tables, swiping through tablets, sipping on coffee while they pick at ornate breakfast plates. Mbaye is sitting on the other side of the bar with an espresso cup and a half-eaten croissant. His hand is on his chin, like he\u2019s lost in thought, and the way his muscular frame strains against the white chef\u2019s apron, he reminds me of that statue. What was it called? The Thinking Guy?<\/p>\n

Not long ago, I would have called Mbaye a friend.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t remember much about those days.<\/p>\n

As I approach he jumps to his feet and smiles. \u201cGood morning, January! How are you today?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d I tell him. \u201cCoffee.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>A mug appears on the countertop as I pull out a stool, and by the time I\u2019m settled he\u2019s pouring steaming black liquid from a stainless-steel carafe.<\/p>\n

\u201cLeave the bottle, am I right?\u201d he asks, giving me a wink.<\/p>\n

\u201cYup,\u201d I tell him, making sure to sharpen the word as it passes my lips.<\/p>\n

His smile falters, but he pushes it back onto his face. \u201cWhat can I make you for breakfast? I have some specials I could tell you about, but it\u2019s slow so I\u2019m happy to whip up just about anything you\u2019d like.\u201d He points a finger at me. \u201cYou like blueberries, right? I just got a fresh batch. Beautiful. I could put out some blueberry pancakes, with a fresh bowl on the side.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mbaye is a world-renowned French-trained chef. His pancakes ruin all other pancakes. And Tamworth\u2019s sandwich definitely got my stomach\u2019s motor running\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cNot hungry,\u201d I tell him.<\/p>\n

He nods, starts to say something, but stops and turns away. As he\u2019s walking toward the kitchen I ask him, \u201cCould I have another mug, please? I\u2019m meeting someone.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nods, his mouth a flat, frustrated line, and he rummages under the bar, coming out with another ceramic mug, which he places down next to mine, like it might shatter. He fills it, then puts the carafe down. He lingers in the space and I pick up my coffee. It\u2019s still too hot to drink but I sip it anyway, singeing my lips, putting my focus into it entirely, so that he will take the hint and go away.<\/p>\n

After a moment, he does.<\/p>\n

I sit in silence for a bit, then hear a clack-clack-clack<\/i> sound. It makes me think of a roller coaster going up the tracks. I don\u2019t need to look around to see what\u2019s causing it; the little electric shock that leaps across my brain tells me it\u2019s a slip. Briefly, I wonder what it is, but ultimately can\u2019t be bothered. I\u2019ll find out soon.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m halfway through my cup and reaching for the carafe to warm it up when I hear, \u201cJanuary Cole?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>The white kid weaving through the tables looks more like an eager-for-applause musician than he does a federal agent representing the Time Enforcement Agency. Medium height, medium build, his blue polo shirt neat and tucked in, the stodginess of it offset by intricate tattoos down both forearms. Lots of flowers, some fish. All very colorful. He\u2019s wearing thick-framed glasses and his dark hair has that swept-back style that looks effortless, but probably takes all morning. He extends a hand. \u201cNik Moreau.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNik,\u201d I tell him, returning a firm, brief handshake. \u201cCoffee?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d He picks up the mug and presses it to his mouth, testing the temperature, not even bothering with the basket of sugar and creamers to his right, which I take as a sign of good character.<\/p>\n

\u201cDanbridge warn you about me?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

He takes a long sip before responding. \u201cHe said you were prickly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe did not use that word.\u201d The next few moments are going to be make-or-break. I\u2019m feeling generous so I give him a hint. \u201cHonesty counts. What word did he use?\u201d<\/p>\n

Nik laughs, a little burst of air through his nose. \u201cHe said you\u2019re one of the best agents he ever worked with, and I was lucky to be paired with you. He also said you were a huge bitch.\u201d<\/p>\n

I slap him on the shoulder. He\u2019s not anticipating it so he jerks forward. \u201cIf anything, he\u2019s understating.\u201d I turn a little in my seat and wave my arm around the empty restaurant, like a bored magician. \u201cWelcome to the Paradox Hotel. Been here before?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNope,\u201d Nik says. \u201cFirst time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll get the lay of the land in a second. First, do you know why you\u2019re here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Nik nods. \u201cDanbridge briefed me. The summit.\u201d<\/p>\n

The summit. More like a goddamn fire sale.<\/p>\n

Turns out, time travel is expensive. And this whole place\u2014the hotel, the Einstein Intercentury Timeport, all the land that comes with it\u2014is costing the government more than it\u2019s earning. Even with richy-rich assholes ponying up hundreds of thousands of dollars to see <\/span>the first-ever public showing of Hamlet<\/i> or visit the Library of Alexandria, it\u2019s not turning a profit. So the feds invited a bunch of trillionaires to make their pitches for taking it private.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it was going to be next week, right?\u201d he asks. \u201cWhy did they move it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA bunch of groups were planning a demonstration,\u201d I tell him. \u201cSaying the timeport shouldn\u2019t go private. And I\u2019m sure nobody involved with this thing wants to drive through crowds of people holding signs and yelling at them. It\u2019s now a variable I don\u2019t need to worry about, but it was also the thing giving me the least stress, to be honest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not bothered by a bunch of hippie lunatics trying to push through the doors?\u201d<\/p>\n

That\u2019s an interesting choice of words, and makes me wonder about his politics. The last thing I want to deal with is some thin-blue-line bullshit. \u201cThose \u2018hippie lunatics\u2019 have every right to protest such a boneheaded move. It\u2019s insane that we\u2019re going to hand the keys over to someone whose only goal with this place is to turn a profit.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nik shrugs. \u201cBut right now, aren\u2019t we just subsidizing a bunch of rich people\u2019s vacations? That\u2019s not sustainable. And anyway, the TEA will still be regulating it, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not just about vacations,\u201d I say. \u201cThere\u2019s a lot of world-changing technology across the way there. And yes, the TEA remains in place. I\u2019m sure whoever wins will make all the right promises about respecting the timeline and playing by the rules. But there\u2019s no way these guys don\u2019t look for any which way they can find to maximize their investment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd yet\u201d\u2014Nik says, searching for his words\u2014\u201cyou\u2019re going along with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

His body shrinks a little after he says this, and I don\u2019t know if he\u2019s feeling me out or directly challenging me. \u201cOur job is to babysit the toddlers trying to wreck the playroom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what\u2019s my role here?\u201d he asks, a little too eagerly, showing me his belly.<\/p>\n

<\/span>I throw him a little eyebrow before I say, \u201cGiven the complexities of all this, Danbridge decided I needed a hand. There are few people I trust in this world and Danbridge is one of them, so if he backed you, consider that a high compliment.\u201d<\/p>\n

His cheeks flush. He\u2019s an approval seeker. Good to know.<\/p>\n

At this point Nik notices Ruby hovering a few feet away. He tilts his head at it. \u201cAI drone.\u201d He leans forward in his seat to see the undercarriage. \u201cWhy does it have googly eyes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAftermarket upgrade,\u201d I tell him. \u201cGives me something to focus on when I talk to it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd it impairs my visual acuity,\u201d Ruby says.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou always manage to get out of the way when I throw my boot at you, so clearly it\u2019s not that bad,\u201d I tell it. \u201cSay hello to Nik.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHello,\u201d Ruby says.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t these things usually have female voices?\u201d Nik asks. \u201cAnd why does it have an accent?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause it\u2019s sexist that an assistant drone would come bundled with a female voice, so I changed it. The accent, I just thought that would be funny. Ruby, show him your party trick.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby whirs a bit closer. \u201cNik Gaston Moreau. Age twenty-seven, graduated at the top of your class from Stanford, degree in criminal justice. Two years with the TEA. Currently living in Watertown. You\u2019re allergic to shrimp, and you are currently participating in an online auction for a pair of vintage Air Jordan 13 sneakers, which for the record, I believe are counterfeit. You\u2019re active on a dating app, which you haven\u2019t logged in to recently, but you should, because you have a match with someone who seems to fit your profile quite well\u2014I predict an eighty-one percent chance of compatibility. I could tell you what kind of pornography you prefer, but I imagine it would make you uncomfortable. Or, more uncomfortable, given the current rate of your pulse.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of middle name is Gaston?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s\u2026I mean, my mom\u2019s dad. But\u2026that\u2019s creepily accurate. I know there\u2019s no such thing as privacy anymore, but shit.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s artificial intelligence for you,\u201d I tell him. \u201cRuby is like a floating secretary. Answers questions and reminds me of appointments and keeps notes and is just generally a pain in my ass.\u201d<\/p>\n

It also helps sometimes to let me know if I\u2019m situated in time or not, but I don\u2019t tell Nik that.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m only a pain in your ass because I do my job,\u201d Ruby says.<\/p>\n

I wave it off. \u201cLet\u2019s start the tour.\u201d I stand up and hold out my hand. \u201cThe Tick Tock. Headed by chef Mbaye Diallo, who designed the menu and all the food offerings in the hotel. Make sure to have the thieboudienne. Fish stew from Senegal. Out of this world.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been to Diallo\u2019s restaurant in Queens,\u201d Nik says. \u201cHad to wait three hours to get a seat.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThree hours?\u201d I ask, with a laugh that\u2019s probably a little condescending.<\/p>\n

He shrugs. \u201cI\u2019m a food guy.\u201d<\/p>\n

I glance toward the kitchen. \u201cIntroduce yourself later. Don\u2019t tell him I sent you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Nik doesn\u2019t say anything to that, which is good. I lead him out the glass doors to the circular balcony, the highest point above the lobby, so high it makes me a little dizzy to look down, but I do anyway, and those lines at the check-in desk are still pretty long. Fantastic.<\/p>\n

I lead him on a winding path and point out the various amenities, level by level. \u201cA lot of this is normal stuff you\u2019d find in a hotel. But we also have some things unique to the Paradox. There\u2019s a costumer on-site for period-specific clothing. We have a doctor and a medical suite that handles vaccinations and screenings. No sense in coming back with a plague. And we have a linguist, who hooks you up with an earpiece translator. With me so far?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLinguist, doctor, costumer,\u201d Nik says.<\/p>\n

We make it to the lobby. Cameo gives me a glance as another old man\u2014this one, at least, not a walking billboard for racism\u2014is arguing for another room. \u201cYou don\u2019t understand,\u201d the man is saying. \u201cMy room is haunted<\/i>\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cSir, I assure you\u2026\u201d Cameo responds, but the rest of the conversation tumbles into the din as we make our way toward the security office.<\/p>\n

I nod over my shoulder. \u201cThat tall drink of nonbinary water over there is Cameo. They know everything. If you need something, ask, you\u2019ll get a decent answer.\u201d I point across the way. \u201cThat\u2019s Reg\u2019s office\u2014he\u2019s the manager\u2014and next to it is the security office, which we will get to in a little bit.\u201d<\/p>\n

I point down the two hallways that lead to the wings. \u201cTo the right is the Atwood wing, and to the left is the Butler wing. Each wing has two hundred and six rooms. The room numbers in Atwood are even, in Butler they\u2019re odd. Got it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAtwood even. Butler odd. Four hundred and twelve rooms total.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, kid, you can math,\u201d I tell him. \u201cDownstairs is next.\u201d<\/p>\n

We get to the next level down\u2014underground now\u2014into the circular hallway around the ballroom, the outside of which is lined with hallways and meeting rooms and bathrooms and storage rooms. The inner circle is a giant oak wall that leads into the heart of the hotel. I take Nik inside the curved space, which is huge, empty, and dim.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is Lovelace, where we set up for events and tomorrow, for the summit,\u201d I tell him.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs this the bottom level?\u201d Nik asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a bunker below this, because when they built the hotel they wanted someplace safe to go in case the timeport blew up. Now we mostly use it for storage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat time does the party start?\u201d<\/p>\n

I try to remember the plan I was putting together, which until an hour ago was preliminary, but now I guess we\u2019re going with it. \u201cI\u2019m going to tell them ten a.m<\/span>. and they\u2019ll respond however they like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many people in here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRoom has a stated capacity of four hundred fifty-two and I\u2019ll tell them I want no more than a hundred max and they\u2019ll tell me how many they want.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cYou know what Danbridge didn\u2019t tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat you were such an optimist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo this job long enough and you and I will be on the same page.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\u2014<\/div>\n

We return to the lobby and as we step off the elevator, another electric spark jolts my brain. Then three dinosaurs roughly the size of chickens run across our path, their black claws clacking on the unforgiving floor.<\/p>\n

They look like baby velociraptors. One of them stops and looks up at me, tilting its head. I turn to Nik, who is surveying the lobby, and clearly does not see any dinosaurs. When I look back, they\u2019re gone.<\/p>\n

No sense in playing coy. \u201cI have a party trick too,\u201d I tell him. \u201cAt some point later I\u2019m going to make three dinosaurs appear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a weird trick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou work with what you got.\u201d We head toward the security office. \u201cDanbridge told you I was Unstuck.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe did,\u201d Nik says.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you think about that?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugs. \u201cI know it\u2019s rare. And I\u2019ve heard it sucks.\u201d He pauses, considering whether he should ask the question I know he wants to ask. And then he does. \u201cWhat is it like?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou remember the idiot\u2019s guide to time travel from the academy,\u201d I tell him. \u201cTime conforms to the block universe model\u2014everything that has happened or will ever happen already exists in a three-dimensional cube. We perceive events as linear because we travel through the cube on a straight line.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cArrow of time,\u201d Nik says.<\/p>\n

\u201cArrow of time. So when you\u2019re Unstuck, your arrow gets a little less straight. It zigs and zags, putting you in contact with past and future moments. It feels a bit like d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu. You see something that you feel like you\u2019ve seen before. Then it\u2019s gone. The flashes only last for a <\/span>couple of seconds. Sometimes up to a minute. It\u2019s not so bad. You get used to it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019re only on the first stage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s correct,\u201d I tell him, incorrectly.<\/p>\n

You also get used to stage two, eventually, though it\u2019s a lot less fun. And a lot more confusing. Because the zigs and zags get more severe, and your perception jumps entirely into past moments. You\u2019ll be going about your day and\u2014bam!\u2014<\/i>suddenly you\u2019re wandering around the halls of your high school, or on a bad date that still haunts you, or filing papers in the office where you worked ten years ago. It\u2019s hard to distinguish those slips from reality, and it\u2019s easy to get lost in them. When you snap out, no matter how long you were under, time hasn\u2019t really passed in the present. To anyone watching, it looks like you zoned out for a second.<\/p>\n

Sometimes your brain jumps into future moments too, but those are harder to remember once you come out of them. It\u2019s like waking from a dream, the memory dissolving the more you think about it. Because it\u2019s not really a memory since it hasn\u2019t happened yet.<\/p>\n

After that it\u2019s not long before you hit stage three. Your perception of time gets so out of whack that your brain fries. And there\u2019s not much you can do except stay away from the timestream, pop your Retronim, and wait for it to happen.<\/p>\n

Nik asks, \u201cDo you think it\u2019s safe for you to be here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you asking because you care, or because Danbridge brought it up?\u201d<\/p>\n

He doesn\u2019t reply, which is answer enough.<\/p>\n

A voice from behind us. \u201cJanuary.\u201d<\/p>\n

We both turn to the source. Brandon the porter. A goofy Black kid whose uniform, as always, is a little rumpled, one tail of his shirt untucked. He\u2019s got one earbud in, pumping music so loud I can hear the tinny thump of it. He\u2019s unwrapping one of the little candies he uses to combat what I figure is a near-constant state of dry mouth, popping <\/span>one between his lips as he shoves the small square of wax paper into his pocket. He does a bad job and it falls to the floor, so he stoops to pick it up.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

He comes up alongside me and eyes Nik. I do a quick intro and the two of them shake. Then Brandon asks, \u201cIs it true?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs what true?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat we\u2019re all going to be out of jobs soon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho told you that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust the word going around.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve heard that rumor too. Whoever wins at the summit tomorrow is obliged to play nice with the TEA, but the hotel and its staff don\u2019t get the same deference. Brandon nods to Nik. \u201cSo, uh, are you taking over?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just here to help,\u201d Nik says, eyes narrowing, picking up on the nervous vibe.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t get too worried,\u201d I tell Brandon. \u201cNo matter what happens, these assholes are still going to need people to change their diapers and tuck them in at night.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes narrow, like he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head. \u201cWell listen, lots of folks coming in today. I have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brandon hustles toward Atwood and Nik waits until he\u2019s out of earshot before asking, \u201cDrugs?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDude has never not been high. But he\u2019s good at his job. That a problem?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNope,\u201d Nik says, and I believe him. It makes up for his \u201chippie lunatic\u201d comment earlier.<\/p>\n

I hold my watch up to swipe into the security office and tell Ruby, \u201cMake sure you update Nik\u2019s clearances, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ruby beeps. \u201cAlready done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is belittling and inappropriate.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>We step into the office and I give Nik a quick tour\u2014the video feeds, the computer equipment, and the hologram table in the middle, where I pull up a 3-D schematic of the hotel. The main building looks like a bucket, wider at the top and narrowing slightly as it reaches the bottom. The two wings sprout from the sides, curving slightly away from the center in opposite directions, like if they continued all the way around they would create an infinity symbol. I push and pull the image with my hands, rotating and zooming, as we run through the basics of the floor plan.<\/p>\n

Once Nik has the hang of the table I let him play with the model to get a feel for the space. He zooms in on a superluxury suite and is examining the layout. I turn to Ruby and snap my fingers.<\/p>\n

\u201cPut word out to whoever is here already. Lovelace in one hour. I want to start meeting the chuckleheads we\u2019re going to be dealing with. Then pull a list of guests who have traveled to or will travel to\u2026which era had velociraptors?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLate Cretaceous.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo that. And keep a close eye on the camera feeds.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDone,\u201d it says. \u201cOne trip yesterday and another scheduled for tomorrow. I\u2019ll check the itineraries and look for anything suspicious.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m going to have to interview all those guests with tickets for the Late Cretaceous. Which is nice because I didn\u2019t have enough to do. I leave Nik to his study time and head into the lobby, walk past a long line of people, which is being jostled out of shape by porters dragging large pieces of shrink-wrapped furniture toward the Butler wing. It never ceases to amaze me that people will show up with their own furniture for stays that never last more than a few nights. It must be nice to have money.<\/p>\n

I make my way to the elevator bank of Atwood. An older white couple is waiting to get on: a man with silver hair and a silk navy blazer, and a woman who looks like she covered herself in glue and took a dive into a room full of pearls. I look down at my torn jeans and <\/span>white T-shirt and battered red blazer. I don\u2019t look like staff. I don\u2019t look like I belong here at all. I\u2019m pretty sure they cannot see me. I may as well be a ghost.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor what we\u2019re paying I would have expected more,\u201d the man says. \u201cAnd the staff here does not seem to be very responsive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, it\u2019s quaint,\u201d says the woman.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is what happens when you let the government run things,\u201d he says. \u201cDo you know how much this is costing me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, honey. But it\u2019s time travel. It\u2019s not like we\u2019re going to be late.\u201d<\/p>\n

She says it like she wants him to laugh, but he doesn\u2019t. \u201cAnd the menu. The reviews are good but the food looks a little too\u2026\u201d He glances in my direction. \u201cYou know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust say \u2018ethnic,\u2019\u2009\u201d I tell him. \u201cThat way you get to maintain a fa\u00e7ade of decorum.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d he asks. Less at what I said, and more that someone of my station would address him. The wife turns away from me, beet red, not wanting anything to do with our exchange. At this point I bail and head for the stairs. I don\u2019t want to be trapped in a confined space with these people, even if it\u2019s just for a few moments. The way things are going, the elevator would get stuck.<\/p>\n

As I\u2019m walking away I hear her comforting him with the kind of tone you would use for a disappointed toddler. \u201cI\u2019m sure they\u2019ll make you just a regular steak, sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\u2014<\/div>\n

The fifth-floor hallway is empty. I trudge across the blue carpet toward my room at the end, but stop halfway. Feel a little twinge outside room 526. Kind of like when I\u2019m slipping, but different.<\/p>\n

Instead of a bolt of lightning, it\u2019s a dull thrum. A toothache in my brain.<\/p>\n

The door to the room is cracked, so I give it a little knock. There\u2019s a shuffling sound from inside and Tierra opens the door, black hair <\/span>pulled back into a tight ponytail, carefully put together in her gray maid\u2019s uniform. She looks me up and down, confused.<\/p>\n

Then I get confused, because when I look past her, in the empty space between the doorjamb and her flank, I see someone lying in the bed.<\/p>\n

Why is she cleaning the room with someone still in there?<\/p>\n

Then I notice the trail of crimson blood spilling down the white sheet.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs everything okay?\u201d Tierra asks.<\/p>\n

Blood. Definitely blood. And Tierra is standing there like her biggest concern is that I\u2019m distracting her from whatever she\u2019s listening to on the buds crammed in her ears.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything okay with you?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

She looks around and shrugs, eyes sliding right off the body, then turns back to the room, wiping down the dresser with a rag. She leaves the door open, so I step in after her, navigating around her pushcart of cleaning supplies.<\/p>\n

Yeah. There is a dead body in the bed.<\/p>\n

And it\u2019s the guy. The leather daddy from the lobby.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I help you?\u201d Tierra asks, getting annoyed.<\/p>\n

It takes me a second. \u201cGuest says they lost an earring in here. Have you seen it?\u201d<\/p>\n

She knows I\u2019m not accusing her, but still she gets a little steamy, her Jamaican accent coming on stronger. \u201cI found a phone charger in 470. And a wallet in 312, but I took that right down to the front desk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay.\u201d I pretend to poke around, like maybe she overlooked it, which annoys her too, but it allows me to get closer to the body.<\/p>\n

The image is hard to process. The bed is clearly made and the guy is sprawled out on top of the sheets, staring at the ceiling, blood having seeped from a dark gash in his neck. But it\u2019s a bright, crimson red, a fresh kill, so it should still be oozing.<\/p>\n

<\/span>This must be a slip. I\u2019m seeing a future moment. He\u2019s probably still in the hotel.<\/p>\n

Which raises a fun ethical question. The rules of time travel are rooted in the idea that we cannot and should not interfere with anything that\u2019s already happened, lest we mess with the timestream, which could cause ripples and fluctuations that would be dangerous to the fabric of reality. But there\u2019s no rule for interfering with something that hasn\u2019t happened yet<\/i>. In part because we haven\u2019t cracked future travel, at least not beyond the occasional semischizophrenic mind trip. And according to the block model, any change I make to the future is one I\u2019ve already made anyway, right?<\/p>\n

Which raises a lot of disconcerting questions about free will and determination, but I\u2019ll leave those to the guys wearing leather patches on their elbows. I\u2019m just here for a good time.<\/p>\n

And I may be a miserable bitch, but I\u2019m not going to do nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m about finished in here,\u201d Tierra says. \u201cIf I find the earring I\u2019ll bring it down.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGreat,\u201d I tell her. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I leave and make my way down the hallway to my room, and when we\u2019re out of earshot I ask Ruby, \u201cWhere\u2019s the guy? The one I asked you to follow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStill searching.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have eyes on him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2026appears to be some kind of interference.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFind him, now. If he goes near an elevator or stairwell to this wing, lock him out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy the sudden interest?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo what I told you to.\u201d<\/p>\n

Baby dinosaurs and a soon-to-be-dead body and grounded flights and the summit. A recipe like that usually calls for the addition of tequila, so it bums me out that I don\u2019t drink anymore.<\/p>\n

I need a million more gallons of coffee. I need another Retronim.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m a little on edge when I step into 508, so I survey my room, just <\/span>to be sure it\u2019s the way I left it. I usually take stock before I leave in the morning\u2014a good mental exercise to keep me situated\u2014and find everything as I left it.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a fresh pile of towels and toiletries stacked just inside the door, thanks to Tierra. The towel I used after I showered is still hanging from the door. My toothbrush is lying across the drinking glass sitting on the edge of the sink. The bed is unmade, because what is the point in making a bed if you\u2019re just going to get into it again? The shades are drawn and the small armchair in the corner is sitting on the hem of the curtains, so they don\u2019t accidentally get undrawn. The pile of dirty clothes in the corner is roughly the same size, my favorite red hoodie still in a crumple at the top of it. Stuck in the frame of the bathroom mirror is the worn, weathered postcard showing the Georges Seurat painting A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.<\/i><\/p>\n

And like I do every time I enter the room, I cross over and touch it. Just to remind myself it\u2019s there, and to ask myself the question I still don\u2019t have the answer to.<\/p>\n

What are all those people crowded on the bank of the water looking at?<\/p>\n

Ruby asks, \u201cWhat did you see?\u201d<\/p>\n

I jump a little. The damn thing is so quiet it\u2019s easy to forget it\u2019s there. I take the fresh bottle of pills out of my pocket and set it on the corner of the sink. \u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

It knows I\u2019m lying. It can track my pulse, intonation, phrasing. Every single indicator it took me a lifetime to learn so I could tell a truth from a lie, it has built into an algorithm.<\/p>\n

Not that it matters. One of Ruby\u2019s jobs, which I didn\u2019t mention to Nik, was to report back to TEA Medical if I reached the second stage of being Unstuck. But when I was upgrading the voice, I managed to make it so it won\u2019t tell anyone anything I didn\u2019t give prior approval for.<\/p>\n

In the process, somehow, I made it lazy and sometimes annoying.<\/p>\n

\u201cCharge,\u201d I tell it.<\/p>\n

It floats down to its station next to the TV, and I toss my wallet and <\/span>phone onto the bed, then replace the torn jeans with some dark slacks, and exchange the sneakers for a pair of boots I can run in. In the bathroom I throw on some mascara, then consider doing something with my hair, but find I don\u2019t have the energy. I run my fingers through it to work out the bigger knots, but in the end pull on a wide-brimmed boho hat.<\/p>\n

I stick my knife into my boot. A black lockback that can still remove a fingerprint ten years later. Then I readjust my watches: on the left wrist, my security watch, which gives me swipe access to every door in this place. On my right wrist, the silver and black chronograph watch I got for graduating from the TEA. This one I rotate so the face is on the inside of my wrist.<\/p>\n

So you never forget the importance of time,<\/i> the proctor said to me, his voice heavy with sincerity, as he handed it to me along with my diploma.<\/p>\n

Yeah, until you forget to replace the battery,<\/i> I said, and he did not laugh at my funny joke.<\/p>\n

I load the pockets of my blazer with cherry lollipops out of the plastic industrial bin under the desk, then hear a faint rattle in the bathroom. It takes me a second to figure out what it is: the pill bottle.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s still sitting on the corner of the sink, where I put it.<\/p>\n

I must have heard the sound of putting it down a few moments ago.<\/p>\n

Part of being this far Unstuck is that sounds will sometimes be out of sync, or I\u2019ll catch random snippets of conversation in empty rooms, shortly before or after they happen. I\u2019ve gotten used to it, but it\u2019s proof I\u2019m slipping today a lot more than usual. Plus the weirdness with the body.<\/p>\n

I haven\u2019t taken my pill today. That must be it. I pop one and slide another into my breast pocket. I can have up to three in a day, right? I add a third, just in case.<\/p>\n

Then I check myself in the mirror and decide I look presentable enough to meet my low standards. Now I need to find leather daddy. A murder might mess with proceedings. I\u2019ll get myself pretty later.<\/p>\n

<\/span>I open the door and see movement down the hallway.<\/p>\n

The wings curve slightly, so you can\u2019t see the ends of the halls. A cool effect from a design standpoint, an absolute nightmare from a security perspective. There\u2019s a figure all the way at the end of the viewable space, peeking around the bend. It takes me a moment to figure out what it is.<\/p>\n

A girl, I think, long dark hair obscuring her face. She\u2019s wearing a green shirt and dark jeans and battered sneakers, which seem slightly out of step with the hotel\u2019s fashion trends. My heart stutters in my chest, because there is nothing on this green earth creepier than a little girl with dark hair hanging in her face. But the fear is quickly replaced by frustration.<\/p>\n

I hate when parents let their kids run wild in this place, like we\u2019re a bunch of babysitters. I\u2019m a goddamn law enforcement official. I turn to Ruby and tell it to follow, then make my way down the hallway, ready to wrangle the kid and send them back to their room\u2014with a stern talking-to for the parents.<\/p>\n

Then I pass room 526, and I get the same toothache feeling.<\/p>\n

Which\u2026should not be happening.<\/p>\n

The body should be gone. This was a stage one slip. The longest one I ever had lasted maybe a minute. It\u2019s been at least ten. I step closer to the door. Put my ear against it. Give it a knock. No one answers so I swipe my way into the room.<\/p>\n

Motorcycle boots. Crimson blood. Limbs stretched out. Staring at the ceiling.<\/p>\n

The body shouldn\u2019t still be there. And slips move<\/i>. But as I lean down close to the body I see something I didn\u2019t notice before: a fat bead of blood suspended in midair, in the inch or so of space between his neck and the bedspread.<\/p>\n

This isn\u2019t a slip. I\u2019m not seeing a past or future event.<\/p>\n

It looks like a moment frozen in time.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never seen anything like this before.<\/p>\n

And that\u2019s a problem.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

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Book Preview QUANTUM ENTRAPMENT Droplets of blood pat the blue carpet, turning from red to black as they soak into the fibers. The drops come slow at first, before turning to a trickle as the bones of my skull squeeze like a hand around my brain. My body yearns to release the tension in my … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4804,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[318],"class_list":["post-4805","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-rob-hart"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4805","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4805"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4805\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4804"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4805"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4805"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4805"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}