He had already crouched again and was fingering the items with deliberation. Let him look; it might do some good. She started to unzip the pack’s smaller pocket when the obvious occurred to her. The backpack itself was made out of nylon, which she was damned sure hadn’t been around in 1884. And the zipper… ha!
She held the backpack in front of her, running the zipper back and forth until Liam was following her motions with fascination.
“Bet you haven’t seen that before,” she said. “It’s called a zipper, and it’s not going to be invented until—um—the 1890s. Now do you think I’m so crazy?”
He grabbed the backpack from her hand and worked the zipper himself. Then he set it down and picked up the calculator. Mac obliged him by turning it on, and had the satisfaction of watching him jerk, however slightly, at the appearance of the digital readout.
“I’ll be damned,” he whispered. He punched at the numbers randomly, watching the display.
“It’s for calculating,” she supplied. “Addition, multiplication, even algebraic equations.”
He said nothing, but some of his natural cockiness seemed to have deserted him. He put the calculator back and studied the ballpoint pens, packet of Kleenex, and first-aid kit in turn, saving her watch for last. His sunstreaked hair fell into his eyes, and he slapped it away with all the preoccupation of a little boy examining a particularly interesting bug.
“How did you get all this?” he demanded.
“From my time, where these things are common. I’d like to take credit for being the genius responsible for inventing it all, but…”
He was at a loss. She’d never really doubted his intelligence, and she could see it working now as he considered and discarded every easy explanation for objects he had never seen before.
Join the club, my arrogant friend. Now you know how I felt when I realized what had happened. And something tells me you’re not the kind of guy who takes well to being at a disadvantage.
“The others with you before,” he said. “Did they have these things as well?”
“The other tourists?”
“Challenger, Quartermain—”
Mac had the good grace to wince. “Um—that was a joke. I did come here alone. When I first met you, I thought you were the crazy one. I didn’t realize I’d… left my own time.”
He only stared at her, bouncing her watch in his hand.
“You still don’t believe me, do you?” Mac grabbed the tour book and flipped through the pages until she found a schematic layout of Tikal and its various temples, palaces, plazas, hotels, concessions, and roads. “Take a look at this.”
He shifted position to look at the open book, frowning. The legend under the map clearly indicated the name of the place.
“Remember when I said I didn’t recognize Tikal?” Mac asked. “This”—she pointed at one of the hotels near the entrance to the park—”is the hotel I was staying in. And this is what the ruins look like in my time; a lot of it is cleared, restored, and opened for tourists.”
He said nothing. Mac opened the book to the first page. She tapped at the copyright date with a blunt fingernail. “See? 1996. Date the book was published.”
She couldn’t read his face. Beneath the tough, handsome exterior, his emotions were hidden like the proverbial currents under still water. Was he in shock, or simply refusing to acknowledge any of the evidence she was presenting?
“I understand,” she said awkwardly, “how difficult this must be for you to accept. I had the same problem. I guess I… trust myself enough, even if—”
“Prophesy for me, Miss MacKenzie,” he demanded suddenly. “If you’re from the future, tell me what will happen.”
“Well, I… I don’t know where to start. It’s very different from your—this—time. There are ships that fly in the air, even some that go into space. We have ways of sending signals through the air just as your telegraphs do code, but without the wire—”
“No,” he interrupted. Though he moved no closer, she felt his focused energy like an unanticipated touch. His eyes had gone from metallic coldness to silvery heat. “You said I’m in your history books. Tell me of my future.”