Induction Day: Book Two in the Butterman Travel Series by PK Hrezo Read Free Book Online

don’t even know what she knows. If she has a case of analog recall, we’ll never get out of this. Not that she showed any evidence of it after the Rewrite in October. I can only imagine what the media would do with information on the pre-Rewrite violations from New York. Who knows what information the DOT from the future has sent back to incriminate us with.
    Garth doesn’t sound like she’s coming to issue citations, though.
    Tristan nudges me. “Should I get your parents?”
    “I’m sure they’ve already accessed the call,” I say, guessing they answered from the front office at the same time I did back here.
    On cue, Dad’s face emerges on a digital screen-box beside Garth’s.
    “Yes, I’m listening, Agent Garth. Did we have an appointment I’ve forgotten about?”
    Garth snickers, as if she really is a relaxed, fun person—not the down-to-business DOT special agent who tried sabotaging Butterman Travel a month ago. “No, Mr. Butterman, not to worry.”
    “We’re not due for another audit til next year,” Dad says.
    “That’s right,” Garth says, smiling again. “We got word of a bit of a scandal out your way, and I just wanted to let you know the DOT is on your side. We can discuss some tactical approaches when I arrive. I’m unable to get accommodation at the Chiganak Inn, or anywhere else for that matter. I don’t suppose you have a guest room at your place, do you?”
    My entire body cringes. She’s got to be kidding.
    “Of course,” Mom pipes up alongside Dad. “We’d be happy to have you. Plenty of room.”
    “Very good,” Garth nods. “I’ll notify you when my shuttle touches down.”
    “We’ll send someone up to the airport for you.”
    Garth smiles one last time and ends the call, her face disappearing from on-screen, as well as Mom’s and Dad’s.
    I bury my face in my palms. What a week I’m having . Garth is coming here. In the middle of the press release that’s supposed to clarify I’m not a junkhead and prove we run a clean time travel operation.
    And that’s not even what’s bunching my undies right now. It’s the fact that Garth is playing nice.

Chapter Four
    F ifteen hundred people . That’s how many lost their lives aboard the R.M.S. Titanic in the year 1912. Sixteen lifeboats went out, most half empty, while women, children, and men drowned in the frigid waters of the Northern Atlantic off the coast of Newfoundland. Water at that temperature induces hypothermia within minutes, shuts the body down immediately. For many of the victims, that pain was dulled, once the icy water flooded their lungs and drowned their brains of oxygen.
    The story has haunted me since the first day I learned about it in World History. I was ten—an inexperienced time traveler, but well-read in the Inductions of Buttermans throughout the past few generations—and the significance of Titanic’s tragedy did not escape me over the next few years that followed. At fourteen I decided it would be my Induction and Butterman signature in space and time. If a doorway to an alternate universe can be detected out there, chances are, it was created by a time traveler, possibly even a Butterman.
    For years I assumed that once I turned eighteen and my time-craft license became official, I’d have my Induction Day. Now, my only hope is that the DOT will approve the trip without worrying about the date exceeding the 100 year limit so they can claim their tax money. Except, if they want to be slick, they could come back afterward and issue a citation for breaking the 100 year regulation, which means they’d keep the nonrefundable taxes, and make us pay an infraction on top of it. Dad said himself he wouldn’t put it past them. A stunt like that could put us out of operation for months. All for my Induction Day.
    “Bee, it’s time,” Dad says over my bedroom voice-com.
    “Coming,” I call out, the voice sensor transmitting my response simultaneously.
    I check my reflection in the mirror