Robert got off the plane in Sydney. He'd been across space and time and almost all over Earth but somehow never had the occasion to land in Oz. In the course of determining future events, it simply wasn't that important. Indeed, in his time Australia was mostly untouched by the War, therefore becoming a major industrial and shipping hub as the world picked up the pieces.
The first thing that struck him about Sydney was how flat it was. He hadn't assumed it would be hilly or mountainous, but most places had some curvature to them. This was a flat city so close to sea level it looked like it might be submerged by a strong rain.
The flight had been fine for what it was. Robert hadn't flown commercially for many years and he certainly wasn't going to tolerate economy, so he sprung for the best first class seat he could get. The first leg was short, routing him to Houston, then it was a 787 for 15 hours. He slept through most of the overseas flight. The hum of the plane was more relaxing than he remembered--or maybe he was just old.
When he went to check in, he worried that his documents--fake, obviously--would fail to pass muster with the current era's technology. He should have known better than to worry. His means still surpassed all but the most high-end counterfeiting operations. His passport made him out to be Robert Maxwell, a perfectly normal 83-year-old man from Chicago. Even if anything about him might have seemed suspicious otherwise, few people gave a second look to an old man in an airport unless it was to ask if he needed help.
He didn't, but he didn't stand in the way of anyone holding a door for him or helping him with his suitcase, either. If they wanted to do a good deed, it wasn't for him to make a show of rejecting. If anything, it gave him a little hope for the world, those random acts of kindness for strangers.
After disembarking and picking up his bag, he hailed a taxi. A pale yellow sedan pulled up alongside and Robert climbed in. He knew the driver wasn't going to believe his destination. "Muswellbrook."
The driver turned around to stare at him. "Mate, that's over 250 Ks out! Cost ya about 13 pineapples! You sure?"
Robert nodded slowly. "That's exactly where I'm going." He opened his wallet and brandished the few thousand dollars he'd brought with him. "Don't worry, you'll get a nice tip, too."
The driver shook his head in disbelief and prepared to drive off.
Robert shrugged his shoulders and settled in for a long ride. He knew it would take a few hours to get there. He'd arranged a stay in a guest house via Airbnb, Australia being one of the few parts of the world he didn't have an existing safe house. This entire experience made him felt like a normal person rather than a time-traveling cyborg, though his financial means kept him quite out of the realm of ordinary.
The driver tried to make smalltalk. Robert wasn't interested. As much as this was an opportunity for him to learn a few things about an Australian working stiff, he was tired and annoyed at being here in the first place. The driver quit trying after a while, hopefully content with the substantial fare he was in for.
Evening encroached as the taxi pulled into Muswellbrook. "You got an address, mate?" the driver asked, realizing Robert hadn't specified anywhere in particular.
"No, the middle of town is fine," Robert said. "I'll find my way from there."
"Have it your way."
Robert was dropped with his suitcase at Campbell's Corner, roughly the center of town. He handed over $800 altogether, easily covering the fare and the tip. The driver seemed pleased enough with that, perhaps making up for Robert's lack of manners. He started walking toward the red-roofed cottage that was his true destination, a few blocks away down on Brook Street.
Bushes lined the solarium at the front of the house, which seemed to rather defeat the purpose as far as Robert was concerned. The keys were in the tilted mailbox by the front door, as the emailed instructions had indicated. The interior was nothing to write home about: a small living room with a kitchen behind it, a bathroom at the end of the hall, and a single bedroom behind an unassuming door. He was feeling his age by the time he reached the bedroom, throwing himself onto the queen-sized bed which had, at least, been recently made. He woke up the next morning in his clothes from the previous day, wiping a trail of drool from his mouth. Most of it had soaked into the pillow.
Today's task was simple but not at all easy. He laid his suitcase out on the bed and pulled out the black suit he'd packed for the occasion. His usual style involved ties that drew attention to themselves; this time, he went with a simple light blue and thin white stripes. He got into his suit, shined his brown oxford shoes, put his tie into a double windsor, then checked himself out in the body length mirror on the bedroom door. He smirked, cognizant of the fact that he didn't spend much time looking at himself these days. "You're old," he said to the reflection matter-of-factly. "It happens to the best of us," he also replied.
He had some of the cereal the owners had left in the cabinet, using fresh milk from the fridge. He made himself a cup of coffee, too. It wasn't as good as Brynn's.
Diligently, he made the 10-minute walk to the cemetery. It wasn't hard to figure out where he was supposed to be. Rows of chairs were already set up around a fresh grave. A few people were milling about, including a young woman who bore a resemblance to someone he used to know. He guessed she was about 40. He doubted she would know who he was on sight, so he didn't say a word, just relegated himself to the back row.
He should have known it wouldn't help him escape notice, even as more people continued to arrive. Almost everyone was younger than Robert, which caused him to stick out all the more. What were you thinking? Of course you'd be obvious, at this age.
The woman Robert recognized came up to him and stopped. "Were you a friend?"
"Yeah," he said, not meeting her gaze. "From a long time ago."
She held out her hand. "Effie Sagastume."
Sagastume. Sag. Alright. Robert braced himself. "Robert Maxwell," he said as he shook her hand.
She paused for a moment before ending the handshake. "He wrote about you in his letters, before he went missing."
He couldn't tell if she was accusing him. "He was a good man," he said simply.
She took in a deep breath and nodded. "Well, I suppose I should get ready."
She definitely had more to say.
The service began a little while later, though it wasn't especially formal. A pastor did a short Bible reading, then Effie took the podium. Robert figured it must be eulogy time.
Effie read from notecards placed before her. "First, I want to thank you all for coming. You may have known him as Carlisle Sagastume, but to me he was just 'daddy.' It's wonderful to see all your faces and read your names in the guest ledger. Most of you surely knew my father better than I had the chance to. I am sorry to say that I mostly grew up without one. He spoiled me rotten when he was home. Bought me all the dolls and toy ovens a girl could want. But I missed him terribly when he was away, doing his dangerous work. He never told me much about it, just that it took him all around the world. I wanted to go with him, thinking he was having grand adventures. I only learned later that his 'work' was killing people on behalf of powerful men, and that's why my mum and he split up. She never told me about it when I was little. She didn't want to ruin my image of him, even after he disappeared. She couldn't bear to break my heart like that. I don't know if that was the right thing for her to do. This all might have been easier had I been able to reconcile my image of him sooner."
She cleared her throat. Robert suspected she was choking up a little. "When I was 10, he went missing while on one of his 'jobs.' What's worse, no one told us. He just never came home. It's not like when your dad is a police officer, or a firefighter, or a real soldier. Nobody comes to you with a folded flag and tells you he's gone, that he died doing something good. You just don't hear anything. Life insurance doesn't pay because there's no body. Everybody whispers and gossips about you because maybe he just ran off with someone. You live in this limbo where you don't know where he is or what happened to him, and when people ask about your father you're not allowed to just say, 'I don't know.' Who doesn't know where their father is? It's humiliating. I always thought it would be a relief to find out what happened to him. When I got the call that his body had been found in Peru--his bones, really--I didn't know what to think. I wasn't relieved. If anything, knowing just made me angrier. Why was he there? What was he doing? How did he die? How could he abandon me like that? But I've tried to make peace with it, for my sake if nothing else. He's been gone over 30 years. I have to move on. I'm grateful to those of you who told me your memories of him. I learned things about him I never knew. I've seen him in so many new lights. With time, I might be able to forgive him for how he left me. But for now, I'm still angry. I don't know what else to add to that, so, thank you."
She stepped down from the podium just before breaking down into tears. A man rushed to her side and started to console her--boyfriend or husband, Robert assumed. The pastor took the podium again and read Psalm 23. Robert didn't figure Sag was a religious man, though he didn't have any proof to the contrary, either. Just didn't seem the God type. He focused on this to avoid thinking about the tightening ball of guilt in his stomach.
The service concluded without much fanfare. If you've seen one casket lowered into a grave, you've seen them all. There were plenty of flowers on it, at least. The crowd began to get up and move around again. Effie announced, "We'll be taking this to my place a couple streets away, in about an hour. We'll eat and drink and talk. You're all invited."
Robert doubted that included him. He waited for the crowd to start dispersing and for there to be an opening for him to talk with Effie a bit more privately. In truth, he wanted to be out of this situation as soon as possible. He saw his opening when Effie stepped away from the group and retreated behind a tree, probably to cry. He came up alongside and announced his presence. "Hey," he said quietly.
She sniffled. "What do you want?" She didn't meet his gaze.
"Look, I came here because I was with him at the end. I don't know what I can give you other than the truth."
"Then give it," she said sharply.
Robert sighed. "Fine. We were in Peru to protect a mining baron's family and assets. The Shining Path got involved. Things got hairy. And then this guy that I can't describe as anything but a crazed warlord set an ambush for us. It was me, your father, and another guy completed our unit. Your father was mortally wounded in the ambush. He covered our escape. The area was so hot we were never able to go back for him. We wanted to. It just wasn't possible. I didn't know he had a family, or a kid. He told us almost nothing about his life. That's just the kind of job it is. I'm not going to give you some story about what a great guy he was, how he was doing good work. He was a merc, just like me. He killed people for money. I don't know if any of this helps, but that's all I have."
She shrugged. "It's something. He deserved better than to be buried in a shallow grave in the jungle. I deserved better than to spend 30 years not knowing what happened to him."
"Yeah," Robert agreed. "Nothing anybody could do, though. I almost didn't come here. I just. Something kept eating at me, and I knew I needed to tell you, if nothing else."
"Feel better?" she asked pointedly.
"Not really. He's still dead."
Effie took a deep breath. "Well, fuck him, I suppose. He's been bones for decades, now. Let's eat."
"What, you mean you want me to come?"
"I insist that you do, Mr. Maxwell."