As I jam the quarters into the machine and grumble more incoherent feminist propaganda, my mind wanders back to the phone call. It’s obvious that he knew me as the Interloper; even if it wasn’t telegraphed a million miles away, the fact that everyone who knows my name before I introduce myself has invariably turned out to be a time traveler looking for help. One learns pattern recognition pretty damn quick in my newfound line of work. Still, there was something very strange about Bert’s introduction. For one thing, he wasn’t looking for the Interloper– he wanted Kyle.
Now, granted, it’s only been a couple of months, but all the same I’ve been able to keep this whole time travel business more or less under wraps from Kyle. If at all possible, I’d prefer to keep it that way. She’s weird enough, and totally a science fiction geek. If I were to suddenly spill everything, who knows how she’d react? I certainly don’t, and I’d rather not push that particular big red button unless I had no other choice.
I guess I’ve been running under the assumption that there was some unwritten rule for time travelers that prevented them from wrecking the Interloper’s life retroactively. Or, I guess I should say wrecking it deliberately. Life is pretty much wrecked either way, but on the bright side, I’ve been doing a lot of good these past months. So, having Kyle dragged into the picture seems like it might be a violation of that rule, if it exists. I’ll have to remember to ask Peter about it when he stops by again. If he stops by again. Typical of guys, really. “I’ll call you” doesn’t work on me anymore, that’s for sure.