Skyline by Zach Milan

pushed them closed. Got up and gently set
her friend’s head on the earth.
    Maybe
this was what time travel meant. Dying in some time you’d never lived.
    But
time travel meant something more.
    Time
travel meant that nothing was set in stone.
    “The
Blast,” Charlotte murmured to herself. It was too big, too vast a problem. But
then, so was making an astrolabe that could travel through time. Leanor had
never set Charlotte a task that she couldn’t handle.
    That’s
why Leanor had tasked Charlotte with re-imagining her previous inventions. Then
had her work on little pieces of the astrolabe. When the big picture seemed too
big, it was best to start small. Do a little at a time. Learn about yourself,
learn about the small aspects, and then the big picture would snap into focus
all at once.
    And
then she had it.
    Not
any clue about what Leanor meant, who those people were, or whether she could
reverse any of this. Not yet. But she knew how she could collect a little more
data. Get some more guidance on how to start.
    For
the first time since their conversation outside Suni’s, Charlotte found herself
focused. Almost grinning . “Why don’t we just ask her?”
    •
• • • • • • • • • • •
    Standing at
one of the rare pay phones remaining in 2020, Charlotte paused. Tomorrow,
Leanor would go to her newly rented lab. Tomorrow, she would be confronted by
some blue-haired villain. But after today, none of that would happen. Leanor
wouldn’t die tomorrow.
    Right
now, Charlotte could do more than ask Leanor about the Blast. She could save
her, too. “Here goes,” she said, sliding several quarters into the machine and
dialing Leanor’s number.
    “Hello?”
came the fragile voice of Leanor. But her voice had been—would be—so strong
tomorrow, pushing through the pain as that man tortured her. Had the voice, the
hair, the wrinkles all be a lie?
    Charlotte
shook the thoughts away. “Leanor, you’re in danger.” It didn’t matter that
Leanor had thought—would think—that the Blast was more important than her life.
Charlotte could learn about the Blast as easily as she could change tomorrow.
    “Is
this—”
    “Charlotte
Osqui. Look, I know you don’t know me. Not really. Not yet.” She breathed,
trying to infuse her words with wisdom that Leanor would listen to. “You can’t
rent that space you’re thinking about. Don’t even look at it. Someone is after
you. He’ll kill you. He killed you.”
    “What?
What are you saying?”
    “Leanor,
I know . We finished the astrolabe, and I took my brother on a trip, but
when we returned, everything was different. We tracked you down, tried to stop
him, but there was this memory rewrite, and I saw you die. But you can fix it.
Stay away and—”
    “ Enough ,”
Leanor said. Gone was her feigned fragility. “You say the astrolabe works. I’ll
trust that you are the woman I interviewed yesterday.”
    “I
am. But what’s important is—”
    “Then
you know me. You know I’d have a backup plan. That I wouldn’t let someone else
stop me.”
    “You
said something,” Charlotte said. “Before you died. You seemed to know that we’d
met some woman at the base of the World Trade Center. You mentioned the Blast.
Told us to stop something, but he killed you before you finished.”
    “Listen.”
Leanor’s voice was sharp, commanding. So odd to know someone so well and be
treated as though they’d never met you. Charlotte never realized how much time
travel would ruin something she held dear. “This is up to you now, understand?
I can’t help. I can’t be there. I know, I mean, I’m guessing that we were
friends. That I took care of you. I saw a spark of it yesterday, with our easy
interview. But I can’t now. Like you said, I’m dead.”
    “No.” Charlotte’s voice was ragged. “You aren’t! You
answered your phone! You can stop this. You can stop him, join us.”
    “This
isn’t what you should focus on,” Leanor said. “I