Rewinder by Brett Battles Read Free Book Online Page A

ask.
    “Suffocated.”
    Though the revelations are unexpected, they occurred nearly a hundred and seventy-five years ago, so I don’t feel the need to get too worked up over them. Still, I’m curious enough to ask, “Why?”
    “Why would you think?”
    I shrug. “I guess someone didn’t want either to take the throne. Would it have been that bad if one of them had?”
    “It wasn’t a matter of good or bad,” she says. “Let’s say you’re member of a group that’s not happy with the direction the empire is heading in, and you want to do something about it. Say, in the wake of the queen’s death, confidence in Parliament plummets and a special election is quickly held.”
    I know this isn’t conjecture. It’s what happened in the aftermath of Queen Victoria’s assassination.
    “Now,” she continues, “say that your group is able to secure a majority of seats in the lower house, and at the same time gain influence over a large number of those in the House of Lords.”
    She looks at me, waiting.
    “You would control the government,” I reply.
    “Completely?”
    “Not completely.” By that point in history, much of the power of the British Empire was held by Parliament, but it didn’t control everything.
    “If you wanted it all, what would you need?” she asks
    “You’d need to control both Parliament and the Crown.”
    “Exactly.”
    It takes me a second, but then I get it. “The Home Party,” I say.
    The Home Party has controlled the empire without a break since right after Queen Victoria’s death. While other political parties do exist, none ever gain enough seats to make a dent in the Home Party’s rule.
    Marie smiles again. “Then you have your answer.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    “D ON’T SIT DOWN,” Marie tells me as I enter my study room.
    We have just started the fifth week of my individual training, but this is the first time I’ve arrived to find no books on the table. Instead, there are two leather, over-the-shoulder satchels.
    When I reach the table, Marie pulls one of the bags forward and says, “This is a standard mission kit.”
    My skin tingles with excitement. We’ve discussed the kits before, but this is the first I’ve seen one in person.
    “Open it,” she tells me.
    Like a child on his birthday, I throw open the flap.
    “Now carefully remove the contents and lay them on the table,” she instructs.
    A sweater is on top, brown and nothing fancy. It’s designed, I know, to blend in with whatever time period this kit has been prepared to visit. There are other clothes, too—a shirt, a pair of pants, and one pair each of underwear and socks. Marie has told me that at most a kit will contain two sets of clothes. If in the very unlikely event a trip would last long enough to need more, items could be locally obtained. Next comes a plastic food box.
    “What does that tell you?” she asks as I open the box.
    Inside is enough room for several prepackaged meals, but it contains only one and a couple energy squares. “This isn’t for a long trip,” I say.
    “And?”
    Her question trips me up for a moment, until I realize the answer is the box itself. “And the trip can’t be going very far back, thirty years at most, I would think.” Any earlier and the box might draw unwanted attention.
    She nods. “Keep going.”
    I set the box down and pull out a notebook with attached pen, a cloth pouch that holds the medical kit, and a second pouch that contains several tools—knife, wrench, small screwdrivers, and a measuring tape.
    The final item is inside a padded sleeve. I remove it from the box and pull off the sleeve.
    A Chaser device.
    When Marie showed me one at the beginning of training, I had no idea how to even turn it on. But in the weeks since, she’s taught me the meaning of every button and dial, gone over the steps for various operations, and tested me repeatedly until I knew it all by heart. I look at it now with educated eyes but it still holds so much