Time Travel
Samantha stared out the window of the air flyer, at the landscape of the Southern Continent flew by. They were nearly there. And the closer they got, the more apprehensive she grew.
“Have you ever wished you could go back in time?” she asked her companion.
Carver shot her a quick glance before turning his attention back to his pilot’s readouts. Carver took his job very seriously.
“Time travel isn’t possible,” he told her, adjusting their course slightly.
“But what if it were?” she persisted. “What if you could go back and change one thing?”
Carver double-checked his readouts, and flipped the auto-pilot on, apparently satisfied for the moment. He turned his attention to her, his dark eyes intent.
“Just one thing, huh?” he said. “Sam, what’s this about?”
She sighed, sorry now that she’d brought it up. Carver might only be the pilot assigned to take her to her knew school, but he was also the closest thing she had to a friend since she’d gone to live with her father.
“I’d make my mother survive,” she said, turning her face away from him.
Carver watched her reflection in the window. He tapped on finger on the controls while he considered his response.
“There are a hundred things I’d like to change,” he said finally. “But I have no idea if the outcome would be any better.”
“The outcome would be better if my mother were still alive.”
“Still alive and still in pain?” Carver asked. “Even if you could go back, Sam, you couldn’t change that.”
“I wish I could make it so she’d never gotten sick in the first place.”
Carver dropped his gaze, automatically checking the controls. “Well, that’s a different thing entirely.”
Sam turned to glare at him. “Why? That’s no more impossible than wishing for time travel in the first place.”
“Your mother’s sickness was beyond your control, beyond all our control. We just have to make the best of it.”
“Yeah, the best of it. I get stuck going to boarding school, and you get stuck flying me down here.”
Carver smiled at that. “It’s no imposition, Sam. I like being a pilot. I like flying you around.”
“Well, I think you’re the only one who likes having me around. My father doesn’t seem to.”
Carver started to reply, but a chime from the console interrupted him. “Time to descend,” he sighed, adjusting his headset. “Wait til we’re on the ground.”
Sam sat quietly in the copilot’s seat as Carver expertly landed the flyer. The pilot never made her sit in the passenger compartment. He seemed to like the company.
When the flyer was safely on the ground, Carver shut down the engines and turned to her. His expression was stern, his brown eyes serious.
“I know this past year has been difficult for you,” he said. “But it’s been hard on a lot of other people, too.”
“You mean my father.”
Carver nodded. “Yes. It’s not easy finding out you have a daughter you knew nothing about.”
“Especially at his age.” There was a hint of dry humor in her tone now.
“Yes.” The pilot refused to be drawn. “But he does care about you.”
“I’d believe that if he acted like he wants to spend time with me.”
“I’m not saying he’s going about it the right way,” Carver said. “Yes, having a daughter makes him uncomfortable. Dealing with you makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t have a clue how to relate to you.”
“Again, I don’t see how sending me to Milbyrne Academy
“He needs time. And so do you, Sam.” He hesitated. “Your mother is partly responsible for this mess,” he pointed out, gently. “It would have been better if she’d told him about you, instead of him finding out from an auto-send message after her death.”
“If he’d known, he would have sued her, or had her prosecuted!” Sam shot back defensively. She fumbled with her harness, eager to escape.
“Maybe, maybe not. Because of your mother’s choice, neither of you will ever know for sure.”
Same paused. “I know what she did was wrong,” she said softly, not looking up. “But I just can’t deal with it right now. I need time.”
“We know. That’s why you’re here. It will give you both time and a little distance to get used to things.”
She looked up, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Vid conferences before face to face, eh?”
“And old fashioned letters, too. I even volunteer to hand deliver any message you care to send, if you can find paper and pen to write it.”
Sam leaned forward to give him an impulsive hug. “You’re a good friend, Carver.”
He patted her back awkwardly. “Well, you make some new friends here before you compliment me too much.”
“You think I will make friends?”
“Of course you will.”
“How?”
Carver was silent for a moment. His eyes grew shadowed for a moment. “Someone once told me, ‘If you want to make a friend, start by being a friend.’”
Sam stared at him. “That’s good advice.”
“Of course it’s good advice. It’s from me, isn’t it?” he grinned at her. “Now let’s get moving. I’ll grab your bags.”
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