Temporal Refugee
Author's Note: This story was written for a contest that required a very unusual premise. It had to be about a person who had been sitting in seat 14C on a flight from Tokyo to San Francisco in 2017 that flew through a freak worm hole 20 years into the future. The focus needed to be on technology, and it had to have a positive outlook. This was a very difficult premise for me, but I took a stab at it anyway. Needless to say, the story was not selected by the review panel. I suspect it was too dark, too likely, and not technological enough. Enjoy.
Louise gazed up at the only familiar thing in the aircraft hangar where the Red Cross had sheltered the temporal refugees of ANA Flight #008- a long, dingy fluorescent lamp suspended from the ceiling. All the other lights had been replaced by glittering LEDs, but this lone bulb had held out over the years, unchanged; just useful enough to remain, but old, tired, and out of place, just like her.
She had left for Tokyo on a sour note two weeks before, or rather, twenty years and two weeks before. Her breakup still stung, despite the fact she knew she had made the right choice. His burgeoning career was taking- had taken- him to Minnesota, and she wasn’t finished with graduate school yet. She didn’t have the time, money, or energy for a long distance relationship, not that it mattered now. He hadn’t contacted her after they landed. She wondered whether he even remembered she had been on that plane.
Her father’s voice on the slim ‘netphone’ had been rough, as though he had swallowed gravel, and their conversation had been stilted and mechanical. The shock to both of them was too great to spur any joyful reunion yet. Hopefully that would come once she arrived home.
“Attention everyone, attention please,” a voice called over a loud speaker to drown out the low buzz of volunteers handing out blankets, netphones, and nutrition packets to stunned refugees. “Seat 14C, report to the transportation desk. Your PCS has arrived. Seat 14C, please report to the transportation desk.”
Louise weaved through the rows of cots with all her worldly possessions- a battered rolling suitcase filled with dirty laundry and a laptop that could no longer access the internet.
That number, 14C, would dominate the rest of her life. She could never be rid of it. The Red Cross volunteers used it. The reporters who had met with all of them in a frantic round of journalistic speed dating had used it. The mayor had used it when he shook her hand. Even her best friend, now divorced with a kid in college, had used it when she contacted the makeshift shelter to offer congratulations for being one of the world’s first time travelers.
Louise Farber- valedictorian of the her high school class, summa cum laude biology major, graduate student in oceanography- was no more. She was 14C.
She shuffled up to the folding table marked ‘transportation.’
“Hi, I’m Louise Farber.”
The volunteer’s eyebrows creased. “Who?”
“14C,” Louise sighed, pushing her unwashed brown hair out of her eyes.
“Oh! Yes, 14C. Your PCS is here.”
“My what?”
“Your PCS.” The woman peered up at her. “Personal Car Service? It’s going to take you too…” She glanced down at the tablet in front of her. “Salt Lake City. Whew, that’s a long drive, but you specifically asked for a car.”
“Yeah. I think I’m done with planes for a while,” Louise explained.
“Oh, right. I guess flying would be tough after all this. Your PCS is right outside. It’s a tan Volt. Just get in and the car will walk you through the process. Have a safe trip!” She turned back to her tablet.
Louise found a sleek, tan car parked beside a large camper marked ‘Incident Command Center’ where police and officials busily tapped tablets and keyboards. The car was empty. She looked around for the driver, but no one was in sight. One of the officers leaned out of the camper and asked if she needed something.
“I can’t find the driver,” Louise said.
“Isn’t that a PCS?” he asked.
Louise nodded.
“Then there is no driver. Just get in, and it will take you where you need to go. The Red Cross should have entered the destination when they ordered it for you.”
She got into the driver’s seat because she couldn’t stand the idea of riding in a car with no one at the wheel, but it felt immediately strange. The steering column was pulled back into a notch in the dashboard and the pedals were drawn up too high for her to reach.
“How do I drive this thing?” Louise mused.
“Hello!” A bright voice came from nowhere. “I’m your PCS. You can call me Martha. Does anyone else in the vehicle have that name?”
“No,” Louise replied hesitantly.
“Great! Am I speaking to Louise Farber?”
“Yes.”
“And you are going to 642 Smiling Woods Drive in Salt Lake City, Utah. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let’s get going.” The car soundlessly came to life and headed toward the airport exit in the distance.
“Oh, this is so weird,” Louise commented.
“Is everything okay?” Martha asked.
“Uh, yeah. I guess so. I’ve never been in a driverless car before.”
“Really? That’s unusual. Eighty-five percent of registered vehicles are fully automated.”
“I evidently haven’t been in a car for twenty years.”
“Wow!” Martha exclaimed. “How did you get around?”
“I didn’t,” Louise replied.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Me either.”
“Okay. Would you like to talk during your trip?” Martha asked, changing the subject. “Or would you like me to be quiet?”
“Quiet,” Louise ordered as Martha accelerated on to the freeway.
“Okay,” Martha agreed. “If you want to go anywhere else while we are on our way, just let me know, but please be advised any diversions in the route will incur additional charges. You may use the touchscreen on the dashboard to find restaurants or other attractions, or to access something to read or watch. Or you can just call my name and ask me to search for you.”
“Okay, thanks,” Louise said, and then shook her head at how stupid she was to thank a computer.
“You’re welcome,” Martha replied.
The road side city was more familiar than Louise had expected the future would be. Strip malls, parking lots, subdivisions, traffic lights- the infrastructure was mostly the same. Here and there, newer buildings had been designed with garages at the back, and every parking lot had been retrofitted with rows of electrical outlets. The houses looked the same except the roofs glowed with an odd, metallic sheen. She soon realized they were all covered with the solar shingles she had read about in an article. Last she knew, it had been brand new technology, and now every house had them.
The cars running alongside Martha were streamlined, but not profoundly different than the cars of her day except for bands of white lights around the roof lines. Louise looked closer and realized the lights were off only when someone was sitting attentively behind the wheel. She saw a Honda Civic just like the car she had accidentally abandoned in 2017 whose bank of lights was clumsily attached to the roof with its disconnected power cable flopping in the wind.
In the automated cars, she saw people reading from netphones, watching videos on the dashboard screen, eating, or sleeping. Some of the cars had no one visible at all. Those upset her the most. Robots had no place rushing around the freeway as if they had somewhere to go.
Louise began to feel hot and sweaty, but the air conditioning chilled her too much. She rolled down the window to let wind rush over her face and arms, and she was surprised to find it more fresh and clean than she remembered freeway breeze to be. The cars cut the air with a breathy rush, their electric engines emitting nothing more than a low buzz. A semi tractor-trailer whisked by, but no exhaust spewed from pipes on the top. Instead, a large water tank wearing a hydrogen drive logo sloshed on the roof .
As Martha propelled her past a truck stop, Louise realized all the expected diesel signs had been replaced with hydrogen, and all the semis were pumping water out of their tanks as they fueled up. Most of the nearby gas stations no longer sold gas, but instead advertised battery exchanges. Station attendants directed small winches to replace depleted batteries from compartments in the hoods. A few stations still dispensed petroleum gas, and battered, old cars lined up at the pumps.
As the city suburbs fell away, Louise saw banks of solar panels tucked between vineyards and fields, and wind farms topped many hills in the distance, the enormous blades rotating lazily in the wind. The countryside looked busier with all the structures, but Louise could smell the difference.
“Louise?” Martha cut into her thoughts.
“Uh… yes?”
“Sorry to interrupt your trip. I’ve received a request for a shared ride from someone in Sacramento. If you are willing to share, I will reduce the charge for the trip, prorated for the time you’ve ridden alone.”
“Who would I be sharing with?” Louise asked.
“A woman who requested to ride with another woman. No further information is available until you agree to share.”
“Why not, I guess,” Louise agreed.
“I need you to state clearly whether you agree or disagree,” Martha directed.
“I- agree- to share- a ride,” Louise enunciated sarcastically. “At least I’ll have someone to talk to other than you.”
“Thank you for agreeing,” Martha chirped. “I will redirect us to pick her up at Sacramento State University. This will add about ten minutes to our drive time.”
A short while later, Martha pulled off the freeway and took them to an urban campus packed with buildings. Young people rushed around wearing slim backpacks, while others typed on laptops at outdoor tables.
A young woman trotted up to the car and started to get in the back seat, but noticed Louise and moved to the front.
“You sit up front when you PCS?” she asked as she buckled her seat belt. Her hair was twisted into corkscrews that bounced when she moved.
“I can’t ride in a car without a driver,” Louise replied.
“Why not?”
“I just can’t. It’s too weird.”
The young woman looked askance at Louise.
“Hello,” Martha said. “I’m your PCS. You can call me Martha. Does anyone else in the vehicle have that name?”
“No,” the young woman replied.
“Great! Am I speaking to Emma Okombo?”
“Yes.”
“And you are going to 93006 Yale Avenue, Salt Lake City, Utah. Correct?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Okay. Let’s get going.” Martha clicked to life and pulled out into traffic once again.
The young woman stuck out her hand. “Hi, my name is Emma."
“Louise."
“You heading to Salt Lake, too?”
Louise nodded.
“Where from?”
“San Francisco.”
“I went there on vacation last year. I’m hoping to go to architecture school at Cal.”
“I used to go to grad school there in oceanography. Not anymore, though.”
“Extra!” Emma commented. “That’s such important work. Did you get a Master’s?”
“No. My Master’s was almost done, but it’s been too long to finish it now.”
“Really? You don’t seem old enough for your work to be out of date.”
“I- I’m not. I was…” Louise paused, loathe to admit it, but she knew she would sound even weirder if she tried to hide. “I was on ANA Flight #008.”
Emma’s jaw dropped and she stared at Louise for a few seconds.
“Seriously?
Louise nodded. “Seat 14C.”
“That’s so savage,” Emma breathed. “I can’t believe I’m riding with a time traveler!” She started tapping her netphone. “I have to tell my mom.”
“Please don’t put it up on the internet, or anything,” Louise said. “It’s bad enough I had to be interviewed for the news. I really don’t want anyone there when I get to my parent’s house.”
“Oh, I’d never do that without your permission!” Emma insisted. “You know? I remember my parents warning me about that kind of thing when I was a kid. Don’t say anything online, or put your address up or anything like that. It’s better these days. The WorldNet Commission has strict rules for privacy protection. Plus, people are more courteous. I actually remember how crazy it was before the Neshti Incident ten years ago.”
“What happened?”
“This celebrity couple were out with their baby, and a fan posted about it. Some crazy stalker showed up and kidnapped the baby, and the guy, Neshti, found the stalker’s address online and killed him before they found her. The poor kid ended up dying of thirst locked in a storage unit the stalker had rented under a stolen identity. It changed a lot about how people think about sharing online.”
“That’s horrible!” Louise exclaimed. “We had been talking about internet privacy for years, even in 2017. I can’t believe it took so long for people to do anything about it.”
“Well, everything was just so convenient. It’s sad, but sometimes it just seems like it takes a tragedy to get people to think more critically about what they’re doing. Nothing is wrong until there’s a problem, right? It used to happen in engineering all the time when people would build things that stood up well enough until there was a windstorm or an earthquake, and then tons of people would die and insurance companies would lose billions of dollars. It’s so much easier to get information and predict outcomes now with WorldNet, we think about consequences more.”
“That’s one of the first good things I’ve heard since I got off that stupid plane,” Louise said.
Martha began the long climb into the mountains, her electric engine smooth and serene.
“So, are you from Salt Lake?” Emma asked.
“Yeah. My parents still live there,” Louise replied. “They’re so old now. It’s strange.”
“I can’t imagine. Were you close before?”
“Not really, but I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Emma frowned. “I can’t imagine not being close to my mom. She loves that I’m studying engineering, and I love making her proud.”
“My parents were proud of me, I suppose, but they didn’t really understand what I was doing. They were just normal people with normal jobs. Being a researcher, learning all those things- it takes so much time. They didn’t understand that I couldn’t call everyday and come home for holidays, and I had to go off on a boat all summer long.” Louise watched a buzzard floating on an updraft over the road. “It was my whole life, and now it’s over.”
Emma touched her arm. “Nothing is over. You’re still alive.”
“Sort of. We’re all in shock. My mother wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone. For me it’s only been a few months since I last saw them, but for them, it’s been twenty years! They thought I died having wasted my entire life on school.”
“I’m sure they didn’t think that,” Emma reassured her.
“But in the end, they turned out right, didn’t they?” Louise said bitterly, the words gushing out of her now as if the spigot holding them back had come unwound. “I can’t go back to grad school. Everything I lived for is gone. I have nothing but my parents who are treating me like some sort of zombie sent to torment their retirement. I’m stuck here in weird driverless cars that make bland conversation with this stupid disaster defining my future. Seat 14C. It’s all I can be, now. It’s like I’ve failed at a life I never even had a chance to live.” Louise wiped roughly at her eyes.
“It’ll be all right,” Emma reassured her. “You’re smart. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
“I just- I don’t,” Louise started, but she couldn’t form any more coherent thoughts. “I need to get out of this car. To go somewhere normal. Outside.”
Emma tapped the dashboard screen to display the map following their route across California. “We’re just about to a place called Emigrant Gap. How about that? Martha? What is there to see at Emigrant Gap?”
“There is a historical marker and scenic overlook. The overlook is better from the westbound side of the highway. We can turn around to access it with only an additional five minutes on our route.”
“Let’s do it,” Louise decided.
A few miles later, Martha pulled up to the Emigrant Gap overlook. A group of children nearby were clambering over some rocks with small tablets strung around their necks in clear pouches. Their teacher circulated around the area watching them and asking questions. They were peering under bushes and examining leaves, chattering about their observations as Louise and Emma got out of the car.
Little voices rose as two of the children argued over the type of bug they had caught in a blurry photograph before it flew away. Their teacher walked them through a species identification process Louise had used in a taxonomy lab she had supervised for undergraduates. The two children, no more than eight years old, tapped features of the bug into their tablets before settling on it being one of two species of beetle. They dictated their disagreement into the teacher’s tablet before running off to a cluster of bushes buzzing with bees.
“That seems awfully sophisticated for little kids,” Louise commented to the teacher.
“We’re just doing a bit of citizen science for their field trip,” the older woman explained. “The kids are collecting data for a National Academy of Sciences project documenting micro-regional species diversity.”
“Isn’t that what professional biologists do?” Louise asked.
“They organize the research and analyze the data, of course,” the teacher explained, “but it’s not necessary for a professional to be out here counting bugs. The kids can do that. We upload all the data live into the study database.”
“How do you control the parameters? The sample size?”
“We signed up for a predefined research tract, and the kids’ tablets notify them when they go outside the boundary. It’s pretty small since they’re so young. There are also live monitors for the database who can ask us questions or give us directions at any time.”
“It’s all run through WorldNet,” Emma added.
“The scientists use the kids’ data to form hypotheses that they can come out and test with more sophisticated methods. The kids love it because they’re participating in real scientific research, and the scientists come to the school once a year and present how they’ve used the data.”
“So you can get a good, consistent signal all the way out here?” Louise asked.
The teacher looked surprised. “Of course.”
“There’s no place on Earth not covered by WorldNet,” Emma explained. “My parents used to tell me about how they had to find something called Wi-fi to get online, or pay per kilobyte for data transfer on old cellular networks. Bandwidth is unified into a single system under WorldNet. No more telephones or televisions or radio. Now everything is just WorldNet.”
The teacher frowned, confused that a grown woman would need such an elementary explanation.
“She was on ANA Flight #008,” Emma told her.
The woman gasped. “You’re one of the time travelers? How exciting! What was it like? You’re sort of living history.”
“I guess, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” Louise demurred. “Your project, though. Letting kids do real research. That’s amazing.”
The teacher smiled and nodded. “Education has changed since I was a kid, probably about the same time you were. Since they have easy access to so much information, we really focus on active learning and using experience and interaction to supplement memorization of basic facts and structures. We try to make it so they learn the material more fluently by using it.”
“Sounds interesting. I wish I could have learned like that,” Louise said.
“Me too! Do you mind if I give you my card? If you feel like getting involved, or talking to the kids about your experiences, I’m sure they’d love to ask you questions. They’d probably love to teach you some things about modern life, too.” She finished with a laugh.
“Yeah, okay,” Louise agreed. The woman showed her how to exchange contact information on her netphone. “I don’t know how useful I’ll be to them, but I’m sure they could help me a lot. With enthusiasm if nothing else.”
“They are little walking fountains of hope.” The teacher smiled as she shook Louise’s hand. “Good luck with moving forward. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I know it must be hard. We’re all supporting you, though. The whole world. If you ever need anything, you feel free to get in touch with me.”
“Um, thank you. You’re too kind,” Louise stammered.
“Not at all. Have a great day!” She waved as she rushed over to stop a small boy from crushing a spider with a rock.
Louise followed Emma to the edge of the overlook and gazed out over a sunny valley dotted with boulders and evergreen trees. More wind turbines rotated slowly on a distant ridge.
She drew in a deep breath and exhaled in a great whooshing sigh. The freeway was nearby but not intrusive, and the children’s happy laughter calmed her frazzled nerves. She felt as she had looking out from an overlook on Mt. Fuji, the only tourist stop allowed by her frenetic conference schedule in Tokyo. Time shifted forward in a way that felt natural for the first time since that bump on the plane ride had thrust her unceremoniously into the future.
The world was the same, but in some ways, better. She knew Sacramento was beyond the mountains to the southwest, but the brown urban haze she expected to see marking the city was missing. A cool breeze ruffled her hair, and she smiled.
“Feeling a little better?” Emma asked.
Louise nodded. “Thanks for indulging me. I needed this. Something normal. Familiar. No talking cars or rogue worm holes. Just me and the wind.”
Emma smiled in return. “No problem. It’s nice to get away from the structures and planned spaces sometimes. I want to design buildings that use nature as inspiration. Flowing, unregimented. Not so stark and angular as modern architecture.”
“Hobbit holes?” Louise joked.
“Maybe not that natural,” Emma laughed. “I loved those movies when I was a little kid.”
“I loved them when I was in college,” Louise sighed.
“It’s so weird what you have to deal with,” Emma mused. “We’re not that far apart in age, but you seem so much older.”
“That’s not exactly flattering,” Louise observed.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Emma explained. “I’m just saying, you’re not more than three or four years older than me, but you talk like my parents. And you’re going to have to live in the world like a young woman.”
“I guess that’s true,” Louise agreed.
“So… I’m going to be in Salt Lake until the start of next term,” Emma said. “If you want to get together, just talk, get up to speed on how things work for us these days, I’d be happy to.”
“Really? You’d do that? Talk to an old fogey in a young woman’s body?”
“What’s a fogey?”
“Good lord,” Louise chuckled. “Yes, let’s do that.”
“Extra! I’m looking forward to it.”
“What does that mean, ‘extra’?”
“It means things are really great. Just slang,” Emma shrugged. “It’s kind of outdated now, but I still use it.”
“Even the old-fashioned slang is new to me,” Louise said ruefully.
“One of the many things we’ll talk about,” Emma predicted. “I won’t even get started on dating yet.”
Louise laughed. “That’s very far down my priority list. Now let’s get Martha going again. It’s a long way to Salt Lake City.”
