The onslaught quieted, and Winston forced himself to be the first to stand. The Niña was peppered with fletching and wooden shafts, many standing straight up, quivering, in the now dimpled metal of the benches and deck. Jayla and Harold popped out next, the former unbattered except for an arrow shaft tangled in her cloud of dark hair. Harold was less well off, bright blood splashed on his left sleeve.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said gruffly, waving Winston off. “Just a nick. Can you reload the program?”
Winston nodded, hurrying back to the captain’s station. The approaching ship was so close now, he could catch snippets of Latin as the wind whipped around them. Jayla appeared at his elbow, and he didn’t have the heart to send her away. At least with her nearby, he could tuck her safely behind the console at the next inevitable attack.
“What are you going to do?” Jayla asked as Winston clicked and scrolled through the programs and scenarios.
“Reboot back to our starting point and try again,” Winston said, though as the words fell out of his mouth, he knew it wouldn’t work. This program was flawed. The calculated safe spot didn’t account for the wind and air-based projectiles. Jayla seemed to come to the same conclusion and pressed a little closer to the station’s cool surface.
“Can we go to another point in time?” she asked. “That’s what people do in old cartoons and stuff when they have time-travel machines.”
“These boats are designed to go out and back. They can’t hop destinations,” Winston said. “They do their fifteen minutes in time, then jump home.”
“But we can’t wait for our fifteen minutes to be up,” Jayla said. There was a pitch to her voice that made Winston want to tell her everything was going to be fine when it obviously was not. “The Romans are almost here!”
“I know,” Winston said, one hand pressed to the side of his face as the other scrolled. “I know, I kn—”
He paused, scrolled back, blinked. They couldn’t jump to a new destination, but maybe they could jump temporally while staying in the same location. Winston reopened the Battle of Actium program, and accessed its coordinates. He knew how the battle ended. He knew when Cleopatra’s, and then Antony’s, ships would turn. If he could calculate when the waters might be clear without jumping too far . . .
“When did the battle end?” Winston said, looking at Jayla.
“The date?” she asked. “The war—”
“No, the time. When did this battle stop?”
Jayla frowned, her brow scrunched as she considered. Then, like a storm dispersing before the sun, her face brightened, and she smiled.
“Antony was trying to defend the coast and his camp, so he was forced to attack first around noon to keep Octavian from spreading him too thin. They fought through the afternoon, at which point Cleopatra’s ships retreated. Antony fought as long as he could, until about nightfall, then he burnt the ships he couldn’t defend and retreated to Alexandria, leaving many men in Actium,” Jayla said.
“Right, but what time?” Winston said. “If we wait until tomorrow, we risk Octavian’s ships headed out to follow Antony. If we come back too early, the battle could still be going on.”
“Eleven at night,” Jayla said. “No, one! Just to be sure.”
Winston nodded, selecting a new time within the program. Holding his breath, he clicked Launch and turned the ignition key. One second, two, three . . . and the Niña hummed to life once more.
Everyone jerked as the boat lifted from the rolling waves, a translucent sphere of light and electricity dancing up around it, flickering spottily in some areas. Through the shimmering security field, Winston could see how close the Roman ship was, see each dirty, bronzed face as they glared and howled and raged. The archers lifted their bows. Winston didn’t waste another moment before slapping Go.
A flash of white light, a thrust down and up and center, and Winston blinked at the sudden blindness that struck him. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and by the light of distant fires and a starry sky, he could see the remains of the battle.
Of the burned Egyptian vessels, only three were still afloat, a slow smolder of wood and resin and cloth that rose and fell on the waves. Flotsam and debris crowded the waters, and Winston hoped none of the Mackenzies looked too closely at what might be floating near them. Far off on the horizon, new fires glowed like embers, as Octavian and his men collected the abandoned soldiers of Mark Antony and captured the last rebel ships.
“Oh my, what beautiful stars!”
Anne had finally emerged from beneath the benches, unmarred, though sodden. She had her head tipped to the sky, and the others followed suit. A blanket of silver and white shimmered above them, masked occasionally by a dark cloud of smoke from the fires.
“Haven’t seen anything like that since I was a boy,” Harold said. “You miss a lot in the cities.”
Winston felt a poke in his side, and he looked down to see Jayla’s upturned face, focusing on him instead of the stars.
“Did we do it?” she asked softly, cautiously.
Winston considered the waters around them, and whispered back, “I think we did.”
“Can we go home now?”
Winston looked over at Harold and Anne, each with an arm wrapped around the other, both transfixed by the heavens.
“Let’s let this program run its course. I think they both need a minute,” Winston said.
Jayla paused for a moment, then nodded.
They all stood in the quiet of the Mediterranean while the program’s timer counted down. After fifteen minutes, the console chirped a happy tune, and the Niña flashed them back to their own era.
The time at All the Time in the World Temporal Travel Company was 4:06. Surveying the wet, arrow-riddled Niña, Winston knew he wasn’t going to be headed home early today. He might not even have a job after this. With a sigh, he unlatched the door on the boat and ushered the Mackenzies back to the front of the store.
“We didn’t pay!” Anne said, clapping a hand to her mouth. “Oh goodness, we went through all that and we never actually bought the tickets. I’m so sorry. How much was it?”
The absurdity of the woman insisting on paying after nearly being killed was almost enough to make Winston laugh. Or cry. Probably a little of both.
“No, please,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Between you and me, it’s better if this one isn’t on the books. But here . . .” He rooted around the front desk until he came up with a fistful of coupons, which he shoved into Anne’s and Harold’s hands. “I promise, not all our tours are like that. Actually, none of our tours are like that. A lot more sitting and looking, and fewer murderous soldiers.”
“Well, thank you, Mister Winston,” Harold beamed. “I think we will—”
“Harold, you’re bleeding!”
“It’s fine, dear. We can fix me up at home. Look, it already stopped.”
Jayla walked over to Winston and solemnly extended a small hand. Winston shook it, feeling a little stupid somehow.
“Thanks for not taking us on a tour for babies,” Jayla said.
“Thanks for helping me out,” Winston said. “Really. We might have been—no. We would have been in a lot of trouble if not for you.”
Jayla shrugged, making the arrow in her hair bob. Winston reached to pull it out, but thought better. He pointed at his head. Jayla tapped her own, grasped the arrow, and pulled nearly a foot of wood and beaten iron from her locks. Her eyes went wide as she surveyed the weapon, but she quickly extended it to Winston.