Norton and Travis were sitting in a donut shop.
Or its twenty-third century equivalent.
This was the first time Norton had been outside since his revival, and they were on the roof of a skyscraper which made the Empire State Building look like… like a donut shop.
“I thought you’d want to see the world,” said Travis.
Norton gazed down, but all he could see was mist. Or fog. Or…
“Are those clouds?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Travis. “You should have kept your eyes open during the ride up here.”
The building was a pyramid of golden glass, and they had reached the summit via a transparent outside elevator. In the distance, he could see the sun reflecting off other peaks, other immense buildings. They were the size of mountains.
“This isn’t Las Vegas, is it?” said Norton.
“No,” said Travis.
“New York?”
“No.”
“The United States no longer exists?” Norton was still cross-checking his information.
“Not the one you knew.”
Norton looked up, up into the sky. “It used to be blue,” he said.
The sky was yellow.
“That’s the roof,” said Travis. “It keeps the air breathable, keeps out the cold and wind, filters the ultraviolet radiation.”
Any lingering doubts Norton may have had about his temporal journey had vanished during his ascent of the glass pyramid. This sure wasn’t 1968. The world looked amazing.
And so did Colonel Travis.
Tall and broad, strong and muscular, he was dressed in what must have been a uniform, with epaulettes and ribbons and braid, badges and chevrons and insignia. But his loose tunic was bright orange with green pockets and was open to the waist, and his pants were wide and baggy, lime green with orange stripes. His belt and his boots were yellow, and he wore spurs on his heels and a sword on his hip. He could have been starring in The Arabian Nights.
Travis was black, but his shoulder-length hair was white, as were his eyebrows and eyelashes. His eyelids and lips, even his fingernails, were also white—because of his eyeshadow and lipstick and nail varnish.
Norton was wearing a reasonably smart sweater and not-too-crumpled slacks, but he was the one who looked out of place. There was no predominant clothing style amongst the other people on the roof, their outfits varying from beachwear to fantastically elaborate costumes. Every face was painted with gaudy makeup, and there wasn’t one natural hairstyle or colour to be seen. It was as if they were all at a bizarre fancy-dress party.
Spread around the roof were tables and chairs, almost like those of the twentieth century, except that they had no legs. People were sitting and eating, talking and drinking, just as they would have done in the twentieth century. (And they did have legs.)
Travis led Norton to one of the tables and sat on one of the floating seats. Very carefully, Norton also sat down. The seat took his weight.
“At one time,” said Travis, “people had to book months ahead to get a table here.”
Norton didn’t believe him. Who would book for a meal so far in advance? “They’d have starved to death by then,” he said.
Travis smiled. “That was before the Crash, of course. For a long time after that, no one could afford the prices here. If it wasn’t for those of us on the guest list, the place would never have had any customers.”
“The Crash,” said Norton, remembering what Mandy and Brendan had told him, “that was when the global economy took a nosedive?”
“Yes.” Travis nodded. “You can tell things are improving by looking around this place.” As he spoke he looked around. “Elite restaurants are an economic barometer.” He glanced at Norton. “What is a barometer? Did they have them in your time?”
“Yeah, they did. It was a kind of… er… a device for measuring the weather.”
Travis kept staring at Norton, and he nodded again. “So much has been forgotten,” he said. Then he shrugged. “Because most of it isn’t worth remembering.”
“That happened because of the Crash?”
“No, long before then. A hundred years ago. Or more. Or was it less? No one knows exactly.” Travis laughed. “There was a total data meltdown, a complete erasure of almost all the world’s information. The Crash was bad enough—we’re still living through it—but Day Zero must have been absolutely catastrophic. You want a drink?”
All Brendan had ever offered was water. Cold or hot, it always reminded Norton of being frozen. He shivered for a moment.
“How about a Coke?” he said. Surely some things were eternal.
“You’re cold?”
“What?”
“You want a coat because you’re cold?”
“No. I want a Coke. Or a Pepsi.”
“What?”
“Does cola still exist?”
“Cola, yes, of course,” said Travis. “Cuba Cola is the world’s most popular drink. With ice?”
“No,” said Norton, and he shivered again.
A waitress came over to their table. She was as tall as Travis. If he was Ali Baba, she was Scarlet O’Hara at the grand ball in Gone with the Wind —or almost. Her bodice was cut very low, her long skirt was flared out by numerous lacy petticoats, but the entire outfit seemed to be made of metal filaments which changed colour every few seconds. She carried an open parasol with the same iridescent effect, reflecting a random rainbow down onto her shaven scalp.
“One Cube,” said Travis, “and a vodsky. I’m on duty, so make it a treble.”
The waitress glided away. Because her feet were hidden beneath her skirt, it was almost as if she were floating like the tables and chairs.
“How did you find me so fast?” asked Norton.
“I’m a good cop,” said Travis.
“Five minutes after I was on screen, three guys burst in. No one’s that good.”
Travis nodded. “Successful police work is all about good information, you know that. I already knew about you and where you were, and my team was already on its way.”
The informant had to be Mandy, Norton realised. That was why she’d been so calm when the masked intruders arrived. It was no coincidence that they had appeared so soon after her interview was shown. It must have been part of the deal.
“Why did they have to free me like that?”
“They didn’t free you. You belonged to Corpses Unlimited. Now you belong to… Cops Unlimited!”
“You mean you… you stole me?”
“No,” said Travis. “We’re the police. We don’t steal. We redistribute. If we could have bought you, we would have. Because of the Crash, we’re still operating under severe budget limitations.”
“Those three cops—”
“They’re not cops,” Travis interrupted. “They’re history professors. I paid them to check you out, then get you out. They did it the other way around.”
Norton had heard of tough schools, but college students must have been extremely violent these days. “Do professors always carry guns?”
“Usually only on assassination missions.”
“What?”
“Death threats really improve examination results.”
“You must be kidding.”
“Yes.” Travis smiled. “Guns are dangerous. People can get hurt or killed. That’s why terminal armaments are severely restricted.” He put his hand on his sword hilt. “This is my authorised weapon.”
“Okay, so those guys were a gang of teachers with illegal weapons?”
“Imitation weapons, but they didn’t know that. They were armed to make sure you behaved. You could have been dangerous, a human slaughter machine from three centuries ago.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“Successful police work is all about good character analysis,” said Travis.
“If I’d been a homicidal maniac, what use were imitation guns?”
“No use at all. That’s why I didn’t send my own men. A few history professors are expendable.”
“They didn’t know much history,” said Norton.
“More expendable than I thought.”
“Those who know nothing,” said a girl’s voice, “teach. Those who know less than nothing teach history.”
Norton glanced around and saw the waitress. She’d brought a huge tray laden with food, which she held with one hand. Her other hand twirled her parasol. As she slid the meal onto the table, Norton realised she had been guiding the floating tray with her fingertips.
“Great service here,” said Travis.
“Glad you appreciate it,” said the waitress, then she bent down and kissed him full on the lips.
Great service? So it seemed.
“My darling,” said Travis, “meet John Wayne. John Wayne, this is my daughter.”
Norton glanced from Travis to the waitress. His daughter…?
He started to stand, holding out his right hand to shake hers. As he rose, she leaned toward him, her hand caressing his cheek, then sliding around his neck, stroking the back of his head. She pulled his face to hers, his mouth against her mouth. Her lips parted, and her tongue slipped between his lips and found Norton’s tongue. She kissed him deeply.
For a few seconds, he was too astonished to respond, and then his own lips and tongue started to greet hers—which was when she drew away.
“Very fine,” she said, and she joined them at the table.
“Er… yeah,” said Norton.
He’d never been complimented on his kissing technique before. Everything he knew, he’d learned from Susie.
Susie…
He’d tried to put her out of his mind, but couldn’t. If all historical records had been deleted, then he would never know what had happened to her. He was glad. Norton would never forget Susie, and he could never be tempted to check her biography.
Susie had been his first real girlfriend. Until now, she’d been the only one who had ever kissed him like that.
It seemed that kissing wasn’t what it used to be, because the girl had also kissed Travis.
Her father…?
At least that hadn’t been tongue to tongue.
Travis was looking at Norton. “Verified,” he said, which Norton realised must have been what the girl had really said.
Before Norton had a chance to ask what had been verified, Travis thrust his right hand toward him, and automatically Norton put out his own hand to be shaken. Instead, Travis’s hand gripped Norton’s wrist, and so Norton wrapped his own fingers around Travis’s wrist. Then Travis offered his left hand, and Norton did the same. The two men had their arms crossed, each with both hands gripping the other’s wrists.
“Welcome, brother,” Travis said, as he stared into Norton’s eyes.
“Er… thanks,” Norton muttered. “It’s always good to meet a brother officer.”
“A superior officer,” Travis reminded him, as he released his grip on Norton’s arms.
Travis could have been around fifty years old; the girl was perhaps half that age. He was black; under her spectrum of makeup, she was white.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Norton said to her.
“He says he’s John Wayne,” said Travis. “I said I’m Colonel Travis. Tell him your name.”
“I’m… Diana.”
“Diana Travis?” said Norton.
“Yes,” she said, with hardly any hesitation. “I thought you were a convict when I first saw you,” she added, as she studied Norton.
“Those are the only things he’d wear,” said Travis, shrugging.
Diana reached for one of the drinks and passed it to Norton.
“Thanks,” he said. “You work here?”
“Do you?” she said.
“Er… no.”
“Neither do I. I’m here to eat, to drink, to see my father, and to question you.”
“You’re in the police?”
“I ask the questions around here!” said Diana.
Travis laughed, Diana laughed, and after a moment Norton laughed. Diana spun her parasol, closing the vanes. Then she twisted the handle, and a gleaming blade slid from the tip.
“My official police weapon,” she said. She retracted the blade and laid the parasol across her lap, as if ready for a quick draw.
“The major is also your superior officer,” said Travis.
First Colonel Travis, now Major Travis. Did they also have generals in the police?
“Was your father a cop?” asked Travis, the colonel.
“No.”
“Was your mother a cop?” asked Travis, the major.
“No.”
“These days,” said Travis, the elder, “we like to keep it in the family.”
“Because you can always trust your family,” said Travis, the younger. “Usually always. Maybe.”
Norton had known a few cops whose fathers had been in the force, but now it seemed that the job was hereditary.
“Where do I fit into this?” he asked.
“You’re one of us,” said Colonel Travis, “you’re family.”
“Maybe even,” said Major Travis, “our godfather.”
“Diane,” said Travis senior.
It sounded like a warning, which Norton didn’t understand.
“Diana,” said Travis junior.
It sounded like a correction, which Norton did understand. In his time, it was the criminals who adopted false identities. Now, it was the cops who used aliases.
None of the decorations on Colonel Travis’s tunic resembled a police badge, and Norton realised it would be pointless asking to see some official ID because he certainly wouldn’t recognise it.
Even if they weren’t on the force, this was much better than being with Brendan and Mandy. Brendan had intended to sell him, and Mandy never intended to have sex with him.
Norton looked at Travis, wondering. He looked at Diana, wondering something else.
They drank, and Norton’s cola was the best he’d ever tasted. He’d waited three centuries for this. They ate.
Norton had no idea what the food was, and he didn’t want to know. Every dish looked odd, some of them very odd. By now, this was no surprise. Brendan’s cuisine had been less than appetising, but these strange new aromas were so tempting. He watched the other two, then followed their example as they helped themselves from the various different bowls.
“Tell us about Lost Vegas,” said Diana.
“Las Vegas,” said Norton. “Not Lost.”
“It’s lost now.”
“But you had heard of Vegas? Before I said I’d lived there?”
“Yes.”
“How? From old movies? That seems to be the way those mad professors learned their history.”
“By ‘movies’ you mean fictional drama recorded on celluloid for two-dimensional reproduction, a few fragments of which are available in the history faculty archives?”
“Er… yeah,” said Norton. “You got it. Fictional. There were also documentaries, films of real events, but most of it was just made up.”
“Like most of the professors’ history,” said Travis.
“But you thought you needed them to corroborate my story?”
“That was one reason for using them. Their rate for abduction was very cheap. The university has funding problems, like everyone. Often a job is better done by outsiders. They’re anonymous, unknown, they can’t be traced back to you. And because they’re not family, you don’t care if something unfortunate happens to them.”
“Like me being a psycho,” said Norton.
“A psycho?” said Travis. “You mean a menace to society who was sentenced to cryonic imprisonment?”
“Is that what happened to criminals?”
“Who knows?” said Diana.
Travis exchanged glances with her, knowing glances.
“Because history was erased on Day Zero,” she added.
“Recorded history,” said Travis. “All the information can still be found, from various different sources, but it’s never been collated. Like a shattered ancient sculpture waiting to be pieced back together. After Day Zero, everyone was too busy with the present to care about the past.”
“Even Day Zero isn’t history,” said Diana. “Memories are short, and most of the population doesn’t know it happened.”
“Vegas must have been quite a place,” said Travis.
Norton shrugged. Had he worked on an assembly line in Chicago or as a pen-pusher in Washington, he’d probably have thought Las Vegas was wonderful. Everyone believed the grass was greener elsewhere, and he’d always wanted to see the sea—even though there was no grass at all.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess Vegas had almost everything. Except the sea.”
“It should have been located by the sea, you think?” said Travis.
“Er… yeah,” Norton agreed, although moving the city to the Californian coast wasn’t something he’d previously considered. “Vegas by the sea.” He nodded, liking the idea. “Sea and sand as well the sunshine. Casinos on the beach, with all the croupiers in bikinis.”
“What’s a croupier?” asked Travis.
“The person who runs a gambling table.”
“What’s a bikini?” asked Diana.
Norton looked at her elaborate metallic outfit, and he wondered how to describe a bikini.
“A two-piece swimming costume,” he said, “made of very little’material. Just enough to cover the essentials.”
“What essentials?” Diana asked.
“You know. Across here.” Norton drew his hand in front of his chest. “And…” He gestured down to his crotch.
“The penis?” said Diana.
“No!”
“The testicles?” said Diana.
“No!” Norton shook his head. He could feel himself starting to blush. “Bikinis are only for girls. Women. Females. Not men.”
“So what would the male croupiers wear?” asked Diana.
“When?”
“In the beach casinos.”
“Forget it.” Norton shook his head. “It wouldn’t work. You can’t have casinos out of doors. The sun goes down. The sky gets dark. People think it’s time for bed. In Las Vegas, it’s all inside, where there’s no day, no night. There are no clocks, and no one notices how much time passes by.”
From his vantage point, high in the sky on top of a golden glass pyramid, Norton looked around and thought about how much time had passed by. He wondered, if it wasn’t for the clouds below, whether he’d be able to see the ocean for the first time—and, if he could, which ocean it might be.
Almost everything he’d seen had been strange; but the strangest of all was how quickly he had grown used to his new circumstances. He gazed around the restaurant, at the weird people in their crazy clothes, and it almost seemed normal.
At first, the most noticeable thing about Diana was that she was bald. By now, Norton hardly noticed at all. What he was most aware of was how attractive she was.
“The largest city in the country,” she said, “it must have had something special.”
“This is the largest city?” said Norton. He didn’t doubt it. “What country?”
“Your country. Your century. Lost Vegas was the largest city in Yuessay.”
“The largest city!” Norton laughed. “You’ve got that wrong.” Like most of history, he thought.
“No,” said Travis. “Lost Las Vegas was the largest city in your country, although that must have been after your era.”
“It must have been,” said Norton doubtfully.
“Is it true the city expanded so fast because it was a refuge for criminals?” asked Diana.
“A refuge? You think everyone in Vegas was a gangster, that it was some kind of hideout? That they’d rob a bank in Arizona, then head to Vegas where they’d be safe because the cops couldn’t cross the State line?”
“Did they?” she asked.
“No,” said Norton.
“Prohibition,” said Travis.
“Before my time,” said Norton.
“That was when selling alcohol was illegal in your country, yes?”
“People who wanted to drink alcohol had to buy it from an illegal source, yes?”
“Yeah. But it was only illegal for a short while.”
“Fourteen years,” said Travis. “Gambling was illegal in your country, yes?”
“Yeah. Mostly. Except at racetracks. And in Nevada.”
“Prostitution, yes?”
“Yeah. You’re right. Except in Nevada.”
“The majority of narcotics, yes?”
“Drugs? Yeah, drugs are illegal. Were illegal. Of course they were.”
“Even in Nevada?”
“Yeah. In my time, anyway.”
“You couldn’t buy drugs at a drugstore?”
“You could buy legal drugs, medical drugs.”
“If we’ve got this right,” said Diana, “during Prohibition, alcohol was only sold by criminal organisations. They made a fortune doing this, and the money was invested in businesses such as property development and health care.”
“Health care?”
“Certainly,” she said. “But we have a simple question: If people from your era wanted to drink alcohol, to gamble on games of chance and sporting events, to pay for various sexual activities, to enjoy narcotic relaxation, why were these things illegal?”
Norton tried to think of an answer. He knew there must have been one—mustn’t there?
“How do you know all this?” he asked. “Fourteen years of Prohibition. Organised crime. Gambling. Las Vegas. I thought most history had been lost and forgotten.”
“Not by us,” said Travis, glancing at Diana.
“Police records, you mean?” said Norton.
“Something like that,” said Diana, glancing at Travis.
“How’s your meal?” asked Travis.
“It’s good,” said Norton, which it was.
“Good?” said Travis. “No, it’s very good. But you’re not aware of it because you’ve never eaten food of this type and quality, yes?”
“You’re right, I’ve never eaten food like this before. As for quality, isn’t that a matter of… er… taste?”
“Taste has to be nurtured, developed, matured. Like so many other experiences, appreciation of good food increases with time.”
Norton wondered how much time he had. What did Travis want with him? He guessed he was about to find out.
“How old are you, John Wayne?” asked Travis.
“Three hundred and… er…”
Travis looked at him.
“I’m twenty-one,” said Norton.
“Had you bought a commission?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Were you an officer?”
“Yeah, sure. A police officer.”
“What rank? Lieutenant? Captain?”
“Were you a police chief?” asked Diana, with a laugh.
“This is serious,” said Travis, but he also laughed.
Norton wondered what was so funny.
“Whatever you were,” said Travis, “this is a new beginning for you, Corporal.”
“Corporal?” said Norton.
“Sergeant, then. You want to be a sergeant?”
“Yes, sir!” said Norton.
“Congratulations on your promotion,” said Diana. “Twenty-one. That must have been very young to be a secret agent, Sergeant.”
Norton looked at her—and he knew that she knew that he’d never been an agent.
“It would have been,” he said, “but I wasn’t.”
“You are now,” said Travis.
“Oh,” said Norton.
“You’re a complete unknown. You have no identity. No one knows you exist. Which makes you an ideal secret agent.”
“I am known; Mandy made a programme about me.”
“Yes, but transmission was restricted,” said Travis, “to a single screen and an audience of two. Any questions?”
It seemed he’d gone to a lot of trouble. Norton had plenty of questions, but he didn’t want to ask them.
“How did Las Vegas,” he asked instead, “get lost?”
“It was abandoned, reclaimed by the desert,” said Diana.
“The biggest city in America, you said, and it was abandoned?”
“That’s why it was abandoned. It was too big. It ran out of water.”
“Where did the water go?”
“World warming. Global pollution. Change of climate. You missed all that.”
“Yeah. Last I heard, there was another ice age on the way.” Norton shivered. He’d had his own personal ice age.
“You also missed the Reds taking over,” said Travis.
“The Reds!” said Norton. “The Reds took over America?”
“They started in Las Vegas.”
“What! The Commies invaded Vegas?”
“Commies?”
“Communists. The Russians, the Chinese, the Viet Cong.” Norton glanced at his drink. “Was it the Cubans?”
“It was the Redskins,” said Travis, “who took control of Las Vegas.”
“Red Indians?”
“They ran all the gambling in your country,” said Diana.
“The Indians? Operating casinos? Never.” Norton shook his head. “You’ve got that wrong.”
They had seen too many clips of old movies—disjointed and jumbled up, backward and at the wrong speed.