Jules Verne extended his hand to Betty Roberts. "Miss Roberts," he said, smiling. "Delighted to meet you."
Betty blinked once. She blinked again.
Scott nudged Betty in the ribs. "Betty, wake up," he whispered.
Betty blinked again, then shook her head. "Oh!" she said, still a bit distracted. "Um, pleased to meet you, too, Monsieur Verne." Betty took Jules' proffered hand, and blushed as Jules gently kissed it in what she assumed was the traditional European manner.
Jules turned to Scott and also extended a hand. "And you, Mr. Sherwood," he he continued, his eyes almost disappointedly tearing themselves away from Betty. "A pleasure." Jules and Scott shook hands.
"Now that we've all been introduced," Phileas interjected haughtily, "what's all this about being from the future?"
Scott stepped forward, and put an arm around Phileas. "Well, Phil, may I call you Phil?" Phileas narrowed his eyes and silently looked at Scott. "Phil, here's the thing. We're from the year 1941. We came across a key and some sort of sphere thing inside a book, and we found a card that led us to the Smithsonian Institution. So, once we got to the Smithsonian, we found this airship. Well, to be more precise, not this airship. Well, on second thought, maybe it was this airship. But there were a few differences, like the fact that this one has a balloon still attached. And there was a gold panel off to the side of that big control globe thing up front on the other one, the one we came in. I don't see that panel over there in this airship."
Rebecca stepped closer to Scott. "But it was called the Aurora, was it not?"
"It sure was, Miss Fogg," Scott said, turning his charming smile upon Rebecca. Rebecca smirked and smiled slightly back...
...Meanwhile, Jules moved a bit closer to Betty. Betty smiled shyly at Jules. "Um, you're a writer, aren't you, Monsieur Verne?" Betty asked, quietly.
Jules nodded. "Yes, I am, Miss Roberts. And, please, call me Jules."
Betty's grin widened. "OK. Jules." She giggled. "You can call me Betty."
"If you wish."
Betty smiled, and looked at the floor. Then she took a deep breath, and said, "Oh, this is silly! Of course you're a writer! I'm from the future and I'm a huge fan of your books!"
Jules' eyes widened, and he said, "Well, that's encouraging to hear. So, I'll be a successful writer, will I?"
Betty nodded. "Oh. But I probably shouldn't say too much, should I? I mean, I don't want to change the past. I mean, change the future. I mean...I don't know what I mean."
"I think I know what you mean," Jules replied. "One shouldn't be given the answers to the future. One must push on to discover them by one's self, with their own will and mind power. Otherwise, what is the point? One must always endeavor to face new challenges with a fresh viewpoint. It feels too much like cheating, otherwise."
Betty looked into Jules' eyes. "Exactly," she said. She paused, looking down at the floor again. "I'm a writer, too," she said shyly.
"Really?" Jules said. "I'd love to read what you've written. As long as it's not about me, of course."
"Oh, I'd never write about you, Jules," Betty replied without thinking. Seeing the hurt look on Jules' face she hurriedly continued, "That's only because you're way out of my league when it comes to writing. I write mainly radio scripts."
"Radio? What's that?" Jules asked.
Betty shook her head. "Oh, boy. I should just shut up before I ruin everything."
Jules laughed. "Don't worry, it's fine. I understand."
Betty chuckled, too. "Thank you," she said...
...Scott Sherwood, meanwhile, had continued to try to prove that he was from the future. None of his attempts had met Phileas' satisfaction. Scott was now seated at a small table towards the rear of the main cabin. "If only I had something..." Scott said, scratching his head. "Wait! I've got it!"
Phileas, standing nearby, hands on hips, raised an eyebrow once again. "Indeed? And what is that, pray tell?"
Scott dug into one of his pockets. "This should go some way to proving things." He proceeded to clean out his pockets, depositing a tiny ball of string, some chewing gum, and a deck of playing cards onto the table.
Spotting the deck of cards, Phileas' eyes lit up. "Ah! I see you are a man who enjoys card-playing."
Scott looked up. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, I usually keep a deck on me, just to keep in practice."
Phileas smiled. Noticing his smile, Rebecca rolled her eyes, saying "Oh, goodness. Phileas and his ridiculous card games."
Phileas turned to Rebecca. "They are not 'ridiculous', Rebecca. Playing cards is a great skill, it takes an extraordinary amount of intellect, cunning, guile, wit, and a healthy amount of deception."
"No wonder Scott loves to play," Betty chimed in, earning her a big smile from Scott.
"Not only do I play," Scott said, finally finding what he wanted and laying it out on the table. "I play for money." Before him, on the table, were several bills of American currency, circa 1940.
Now Phileas' interest was complete. "I see that you are a man after my own heart, Mister Sherwood. Might I invite you out for some entertainment this evening? I know several establishments around here that would delight in our company. I was planning on going out this evening anyway, so would you care to join me?"
Scott stood up, gathering his items and stuffing them back into his pockets. "Well, sure, but what about proving that whole 'from the future' thing?"
Phileas smiled, and clapped his arm around Scott's shoulder. "Well, we can discuss that over the nearest gaming table." He began to lead Scott towards the door. "Oh, Rebecca, look after the Aurora for us, would you? Well, Mister Sherwood, how about we start over at Preston & Logan's? They have a wonderful place just a few streets over. Or we might stop by my old friend Richard Collier's establishment..." His voice trailed off as the two men exited the Aurora.
Rebecca folded her arms, and replied, "Why not? Someone's got to do it. Oh, I'm sorry, Passepartout, I know you do a fabulous job looking after the Aurora."
Passepartout smiled broadly. "Thank you, Miss Rebecca."
Rebecca turned to Jules and Betty. "And what about you two? Fancy a night on the town?"
Jules and Betty looked at one another. "Well..." Jules began.
"Go on, you two," Rebecca smiled. "Get some fresh air. I'll stay here and...keep watch, I suppose." She sat down in a nearby chair. "Passepartout? I'll have a nice glass of wine, please."
"Certainly, Miss Rebecca," Passepartout nodded as he departed to hunt down the requested beverage.
Jules extended his hand to Betty. "Shall we?" he asked.
Betty grinned as she took the proffered hand. "Why not?"
*****
Jules Verne and Betty Roberts strolled along the darkening street. Once they got over their initial awkwardness, the two writers found a common ground to talk about. They were able to avoid specific mentions of anything in Betty's past and Jules' future by mainly talking about writing in general. Characters, motivations, plots, schemes, bad guys, good guys, romance, tragedy, comedy... They spoke of other worlds, of faraway places. They spoke of history, of Ancient Egypt, of Napoleonic France, of the American Revolution.
But mainly, whatever they spoke about, the topic drifted back to writing. They couldn't help it, it was in their blood. And as they spoke more and more about their passion for their words, they felt less and less inhibited. Soon they were speaking quite freely about relationships, men, women, romance, love, things of that nature.
It was as they were discussing these things that Jules fell silent, while Betty talked on for a bit. Finally, when Betty paused at one point, Jules turned to her.
"This Scott Sherwood fellow..." he asked.
Betty stopped. "Yes?" She narrowed her eyes, as she looked at Jules. "What about him?"
"Do you love him?"
Betty's eyes popped wide open. "What? You have got to be kidding!" Betty laughed. "Me? And Scott Sherwood?"
Jules nodded. "I thought so." He smiled, and resumed walking down the avenue.
Betty jogged to catch up with him. "Now, wait a minute, Jules! I never said I loved him!"
"You didn't have to say it. I could see it. I could see it in your eyes when you saw him leaving with Phileas earlier."
Betty thought about it for a moment. "Well. Hmmm. I don't know what to say."
Jules laughed. "You could admit it, Betty. You know you'll feel a whole lot better about yourself and your place in the world, in Scott's world, once you admit it to yourself."
Betty stopped again. Jules stopped as well.
"Oh, fiddlesticks!" Betty pouted. "All right! I admit it! I love..."
A metal bar swung down and struck Betty on the side of her head, knocking her to the ground, unconscious.
"Betty!" Jules cried. He knelt by her body, and looked up at her attacker. The man was dressed all in black, and wore a strange device on his head. The attacker clutched the metal bar and held it aloft.
"I got tired of waiting," the Watcher rumbled in his monotone voice. He swung the bar once more, aiming for Jules Verne's skull...
Where the Air is Rarified
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