City Out of Time. William Robison III
a fluorescent lit hallway that was only about forty feet long. The walls were painted a creamy yellow; in sharp contrast to rotunda they’d just left. This was a warm hallway. Lanz got the impression, even in an empty hallway, that he was being led somewhere important.
At the end of the hallway, the supervisor pushed open a door – unlocked – and bade Lanz enter. Lanz strode past the supervisor into a small lounge that one might find outside an executive’s office. It was comfortably appointed with leather furniture, faux wood paneling and fine classical artwork. Aside from soft chairs, a couch, and a coffee table with the usual assortment of art books spread across it, there was also a fully stocked bar. Lanz was curious, however, to note that the room had no windows and only two doors.
“Someone will be with you shortly, sir,” and before Lanz could object, the supervisor had gone back out the same door they’d entered and shut the door behind him.
Lanz was alone in the room.
Lanz thought about pouring himself a glass of water or whatever cool and liquid the bar was sporting. His thirst from the previous hike – something that he’d only abandoned maybe fifteen minutes before – suddenly came rushing back at him. But Lanz refrained. There was something about this place that invited caution… even in its seeming warmth. Lanz had a mental picture of a house made entirely out of gingerbread and candy.
He walked over to one of the walls and began to admire the paintings. They were all quite exquisite reproductions – brushwork and not just photocopies. Although Lanz didn’t know much about art, he could tell that a lot of work and effort had gone into the paintings to make them look authentic. He recognized a couple of the paintings and was just admiring the haunting vision of Edvard Munch’s The Scream when a door opened on the other side of the lounge and an elderly lady entered the room.
“That’s the original, you know,” she said. “We got it right before it was destroyed in a museum theft. The one on display in Norway is a brilliant forgery.”
Lanz admired the look of this woman. She was nearly his height and had a look of windswept adventure etched into the fault lines of her face. Though age had managed to bend her a little, she looked as if she might yet snap back to full height and slough off old age like a snake sheds a used skin. She was spry, strong, and there was a gleam in her eye. And behind it all, Lanz almost thought he could detect a bemused smirk – like a mother catching her child with an innocent surprise.
Ultimately, though, none of that mattered to Lanz. Here, at last, was a person that could give him answers.
“Who are we? Where is this place?”
She smiled and said, “Ah yes… a million questions. Believe me; I know exactly how you feel.”
She laughed in delighted mirth and there was no mistaking the bemused smirk on her face now, nor the pleasured warmth of her cheeks. With a wave of her hand, she directed Lanz towards a comfortable chair and then without waiting to see if he was following her, she made her way to the chair opposite and sat.
Lanz, reluctantly, left the paintings on the wall and sat down in the chair she’d offered. It sighed under him and the sudden coolness of the leather and the ease and comfort of the room put into sharp contrast the hills of Death Valley where Lanz had just been. He became comfortable despite himself and waited for answers that he hoped would be forthcoming.
Before the elderly woman spoke again, however, a steward appeared with a plate of sandwiches and water. He politely acknowledged the woman with a bow of his head and then placed the plate on the coffee table between them.
As the steward exited, the elderly woman looked at Lanz and said, “I thought you might be hungry. Eat up and I’ll explain everything.”
“That’s okay… I’m fine.”
“You are no doubt starving. It’s a long journey here. Eat up. With your mouth full of food, you’ll be less likely to interrupt and at my age I find that not having to stop and explain everything twice is very comforting.”
Lanz wasn’t terribly hungry, but he was thirsty. He nodded to the lady and poured himself a glass of ice cold water. It soothed his body as he drank the entire glass down. He started to relax a bit and picked up a half of sandwich. It tasted remarkably ordinary… like something he’d have made for himself at home.
As soon as Lanz took a bite, the woman smiled again and began.
“So, first of all, welcome to the City. It was founded in 1943 for people like us as a special safe haven from the rest of the world. Only we know of its existence, and, as you may have encountered, only we can see the City.”
“Mmmagh mo fumbo…”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full please and save your questions to the end,” she replied.
What the hell was she talking about? What was this about a City? And that it could only be seen by… who exactly? Was it underground? Was it invisible? What was going on? Lanz swallowed quickly so that he could ask some real questions.
“Now, in answer to your inarticulate mumbles, I’m just going to come right out and say it. Lanz Franco, you are a time traveler, as are all who enter this City.”
Wait… What?
“This is an ability you were born with and have carried with you all your life. Though you’ve probably never entertained such a crazy notion before, you’ve no doubt often wondered why you always felt so restless, so disconnected, so full of wanderlust. You were born that way – like a ship without an anchor – waiting for a stiff breeze to blow you willy-nilly. That’s how most of us find our way here. We wander off into the hinterland… and then a cave appears before us and we enter and… well, you know the rest.”
Lanz put down the heel of the sandwich – food and drink, all but forgotten. This woman was clearly insane…
“Hold on a second,” Lanz said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What is this place, really?”
“Back in the 1930’s, as the world once again braced for war, a group of us realized that our gift – the ability to travel through time and alter the course of history - could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. So we got together and built this City as a haven for our kind so that we could continue to exist in peace without worrying about the ramifications of living amongst the rest of the human race.”
“But… an entire city… out here in the Desert? How? I mean… it’s not possible? Is it?”
“The City was built to be self-sustaining, Lanz. We have farms, manufacturing, and virtually everything else a town needs to survive and thrive. As for protection, once the City was completed the Founders threw a switch and the entire City disappeared into a hole in space-time. We exist outside time and space and are affected by neither. As far as the world is concerned, we don’t exist. We never have. And we never will.”
“Okay… fine. You’re a time traveler. I guess. What makes you think I’m one as well?”
The woman smiled that capricious smile again and put her cool hand on top of Lanz’s. She looked deep into his eyes and Lanz could detect some sort of knowledge there – not intellectual knowledge, but emotional. This woman knew Lanz somehow.
“It’s genetic mostly,” she said. “You were born with the ability, as were we all. But each of us becomes aware of our ability at different times. Still, we’ve always known, haven’t we? Why walk out into the middle of the desert at night?”
“I was looking for something,” Lanz replied.
“Looks like you found something,” she countered.
“My brother died,” Lanz said, as if this explained everything.
Lanz didn’t know what to think. He was shocked. He knew it. His entire world and everything he’d ever thought possible had just been turned upside down... again. There was no way this woman was telling the truth… and yet, Lanz found that he believed her. He… he just couldn’t