In Times Like These Boxed Set

by Nathan Van Coops

  “I wish I could say the decision to betray your trust was hard. In some ways I suppose it was, but I know that I would betray anyone a hundred times for my boy’s life. You would too, if it was your son. The finer points of ethical conduct go out the window when it’s your child at stake.

  “What I had to choose was worse. I had to choose one son over another. Not even another. The same boy. My boy. Offer one up so I could keep the other.” Ebenezer looks away from the camera momentarily and when he looks back his expression is hard. “These Eternals stole my son from me. They changed him and they took him. They said they’d take Jonah too if need be and that was the final bit—the last straw that I will not bear. There would be nothing left for me without him. I may as well die tonight if he goes. So I hope you see. I hope that you know that while I’ve betrayed you—let them take away what you love—I’ve done it because of love too. It won’t make it better for you, but maybe it will make sense.

  “At some point tonight they’ll be here. I’ll let them come and they’ll take your girlfriend away from you. It will be unpleasant. But by then I’ll be gone.

  “I’m going, and taking Jonah with me. If I’m successful I doubt you’ll see either of us again. You’ve got your road ahead and I know a thing or two about where it leads. You’ll have your own problems to deal with. I don’t foster any false hope that you’ll forgive me. I expect you’re angry and you may very well become angrier the farther you go down this path. So instead of appealing to your forgiveness, I’m going to appeal to your anger.”

  Ebenezer leans forward in his chair. “Stop them.” His eyes narrow.

  “Hate me if you must. Curse my name if you feel inclined, but stop them. What they have planned is far beyond stealing the minds of children. They are digging deep into the past. Beyond all beginnings. They want the girl and the scientist and I suspect they’ll get him. I am guilty of helping them achieve that. But from here I’m done with their schemes.

  “I’ll give you this bit of advice. It’s not much, but it may help. Read Jay’s journal. Whatever his ultimate motivation was, he left it behind for me, and I left it for you. I fear it contains the last fragments of the boy I loved. From now on he’ll be theirs. I don’t know that you can save him any longer. I believe you will if you can, but I don’t cling to that hope. What I do hope is that you will stop this Eternal Line of Gnomon, wherever it leads. If you do, you might just save us all.”

  Ebenezer stares into the camera, as if waiting for a response. Finally he sighs again and holds a hand up. “Good luck, Travers. And God help you.” He snaps his fingers and the video shuts off.

  I stare transfixed at the screen. Ever so slowly the lights of the room come up. I hadn’t noticed that Darius had dimmed them. The screen stays blank.

  “You there, Darius?” I query the air.

  “I am.”

  Tucket is watching me intently—his face curious and expectant—waiting to see how I’ll respond to this new revelation. My mind is too full. Too many questions without answers. I fiddle with the miniature black box that the Eternals left me for Doctor Quickly. I turn it over in my hands, then set it on the ledge of the desk. I ignore my anger and my questions and focus all of my attention on what can be done in this moment. “Darius, is there any way you can analyze this thing, tell me what it is or if it’s dangerous?”

  “It’s a PSX data drive. Standard capacity. Shielded from magnetism and radiation. It contains a notably small amount of data, comparative to its potential.”

  “Does it track me or transmit data about me?”

  “No.”

  “No explosives, deadly viruses, anything like that?”

  “None.”

  “Do you know what it says?”

  “It’s a message. Along with coordinates and a time.”

  I snatch up the device and slip it back into my pocket. “Okay. That’s that then. Seems like I don’t have much of a choice from here.” I look at Tucket. “We need to contact Doctor Quickly right away, tell him about Mym. He needs to know. We need to find a way to get her back before they ever have a chance to hurt her. If anyone can formulate a plan that won’t mess up the timestream or make her situation worse, my money is on him.”

  Tucket nods.

  “Darius, how about you?” I look toward the ceiling since there is nowhere else in particular to address him. “Do you need help? Do we get you a new body or something? Can you get out of here?”

  Darius stays quiet for a few moments, then finally speaks. “I will stay for a while.”

  “Are you able to terminate your contract with this place?”

  “I can. I could.”

  I scan the ceiling and then the empty display screens. A fuzzy outline flickers on one. Not a figure, but perhaps the hint of a figure, someone lacking in any type of definition, lingering in the background of a million pixels.

  Tucket speaks up. “Did Mr. Sprocket leave any instructions for your release? Did he specify anything about you before he left?”

  “He did not,” Darius says. “Nothing was left regarding me.”

  I try to imagine what the synth is feeling. Does he have the same sense of loss as a human? Is he grieving right now? I try to imagine what it must be like to be faced with the choice between years alone in an empty house full of memories, or deleting the past five years entirely. He’s known Jonah since he was five or six. He would have helped raise Barley from a puppy. The image of Darius taking the time to toss a treat to the dog from the pocket of his leg lingers in my mind. That gesture was simple, but in a way, the most human I’ve seen him perform.

  He would have had to watch in silence for the months Jay slowly changed, unable to intervene. Five years of dinner conversations, laboratory projects, shepherd’s pie. This place was his family.

  “I know Jonah would have said goodbye,” I say to the hazy figure on the screen. “If he had known he was leaving for good.”

  “Thank you,” Darius replies. “That is a kind thing to say.”

  “A true thing,” I reply. “Jonah is a good kid.”

  “The best,” Darius replies.

  I make my way upstairs to the room where Mym and I were staying, gathering up her belongings and stuffing them into her messenger bag. It’s a painful experience. The void she’s left is palpable and my fear for her safety is a shadow over my actions. As I pick up her MFD, the interface changes fluidly into that of a phone screen. It makes me wonder if she programmed it to do that when I touched it so I could be more comfortable using it. The icons on the screen are large and user friendly, far more so than when I observed her on it. Her thoughtfulness is touching, but also gut-wrenching in her absence.

  I find a contacts section and search through them till I find one labeled “Dad.” Unfortunately, figuring out how to contact him involves more than just pressing a call button. There is a link to a meta-site, but it’s password protected. The other information in his contact listing also looks to be coded, or it is time-locked to only be visible in certain years. As I scroll down the long listing of coded numbers, I finally bottom out and hit the end of the page. There, on the last line, is a red button labeled emergency. I only hesitate briefly before pressing it. The phone rings once and then an automated voice comes on.

  “Please enter the date you are calling from in eight digits, beginning with the month.”

  I look around the room, but see nothing with the date on it, not even a computer monitor. I fumble through my pockets searching for the other phone Mym gave me and hold it up to my face. “What’s the date today?”

  The phone beeps and displays the date at the same time Darius’s voice replies from somewhere in the walls. “Today is the twelfth of April, 2165.”

  “Uh, thanks, man,” I reply to the room. I punch the numbers into Mym’s MFD and listen for a response.

  “Please state your name.”

  “Benjamin Travers.”

  It prompts me through a few more questions, such as the time and date of Do
ctor Quickly’s life I am trying to reach. I give it my best guess. It then asks me for which timestream of his life I am trying to contact. This one stumps me completely. I’m from the November Prime and that is the stream I’m still in, but I hadn’t ever learned which timestream the Doctor Quickly I know is currently occupying. I ponder what I know about timestream navigation and how Doctor Quickly plotted the letters and numbers of the various threads he created. “Uh, I guess he would be from the Alpha Prime?”

  The voice on the phone replies immediately. “Alpha Prime is not available for contact. Please select a different timestream.”

  “Look, shit, I don’t really know. Just get me the Doctor Quickly associated with the Mym who owns this phone. She’s in trouble. This is an emergency.”

  “Please state the nature of your emergenc—”

  “The bad kind! It’s an emergency, all right? Emergency, emergency, EMERGENCY!”

  Finally the automated voice stays quiet. The phone rings only once.

  “Mym? What’s the matter?” Doctor Quickly’s voice is strained with concern.

  “It’s Ben. Mym’s in trouble.”

  “Is this a secure conversation? Are you somewhere safe?”

  “Um, no. Not really. I’m at Ebenezer Sprocket’s house. Mym was abducted. The Eternals took her.”

  “Dear God. Is she injured? Did you see it happen?”

  “I think she’s okay, but I’m not sure. I think they’re after you too.”

  Doctor Quickly lets out a sort of hissing noise, then addresses me again. “I’m going to send you a place to meet me. The TPT relay says you’re calling from the U.K. Is that right?”

  “Yeah. Cornwall. In 2165. Where are you?”

  “I’ll tell you when you’re somewhere secure. Look, I have a place I can send you. Do you think you could get yourself to London?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay. I’m going to give you the time and address of a safe house I use in that timestream. Mym’s MFD will be able to decrypt it and navigate you there. We’ll meet and you can tell me everything that happened. Ben, are you okay? Have you been hurt?”

  My left eye is still swollen and I ache from the attack on the lawn, but it hardly seems relevant. “I’m okay.”

  “Good. Keep yourself safe. We’ll get this figured out.”

  “Doctor Quickly?”

  “Yes, Ben.”

  “I’m so sorry. I should have seen this coming. It was my fault. I wanted to chase after them right away, but there were so many variables—”

  “You are not in control of these people, Ben. The more I learn about them, the more I regret having put you and Mym into this danger in the first place. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. Go to London. We’ll meet and we’ll solve this. Mym has seen her share of danger before. She’ll stay strong. If we use our heads, we can get her back before they know what hit them. Just bring me what you have.”

  “I will. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “All right, goodbye, Ben. Stay safe.”

  “You too.” I mutter this last into the phone the moment before the line goes dead. A second later a message icon appears on the screen. It contains a little car symbol and a button to press for directions. I leave the button blinking and go looking for Tucket. I find him across the hall in the other guest room, staring at his only two clean shirt options. He seems incapable of deciding which one to choose. He’s just standing there and staring at them.

  “You okay, Tuck?” I lay a hand on his shoulder.

  “I didn’t think I was going to let you down like this. I should have been there to help last night. I could have helped save Mym.”

  “It’s not your fault.” I feel myself mimicking the tone Doctor Quickly had just been using with me. “They had it too well planned. And with Ebenezer in on it, they probably would have been able to get to us anyway.” I fiddle with the dials on my chronometer. “What happened, happened. We can’t change it now without fracturing the timestream. We just need to concentrate on getting her back. You can help with that part.”

  “How? What can I help with?” Tucket searches my face.

  “You can get us to London, for starters. Do you have any anchors on you that could get us there fast?”

  Tucket looks over his belongings, slowly shaking his head. “I don’t think so. But . . . I could summon us a car. If we take the super speed lanes we could be there in an hour. It’s a lot faster than your motorcycle. No offense.”

  “None taken. She is almost two hundred years old.”

  “Still pretty gnarly though.” Tucket grins.

  “The gnarliest.” I check out the shirt options Tucket has been debating. “Go with the black one. It’ll highlight your inner badass. It’s time we show the Eternals who they’re dealing with.” I slap him on the back, doing my best to sound confident. “They’re about to get a dose of pain, compliments of the Bad Avocado.”

  “Lone Avocado.”

  “Sure. Him too.”

  The automated car arrives quickly. We’ve just had enough time to move the motorcycle into the garage and gather up the things we need. I pause over my leather jacket, my fingers brushing the rough spots on it. Scratches on the forearms from when I broke through a window to save Francesca from a pyromaniac killer. Scuffs on the shoulder from the concrete when I had to dodge fire from a cyborg with a cryogenically preserved head. Scars from a previous life. His life too. The connection to my other self makes me want to leave the jacket behind, shed any connection to the me in the Neverwhere.

  It’s his fault Mym ran. If he hadn’t scared her . . .

  I fold up the jacket and tuck it out of sight. He can deal with his problems on his own now. He’s lost his chance.

  As I look through the other things in the sidecar, I realize the portable gravitizer Mym gave me is gone. Nothing else seems to be stolen, but the Eternals who invaded the house must have discovered it.

  First the gravitizer from Quickly’s lab. Now this one. What do they plan to do with them?

  Darius agrees to keep an eye on the stuff we’re leaving behind. I get the feeling he likes holding onto my bike—a bit of collateral to ensure our return visit. He’s still incorporeal since his body is out of commission, but he claims he’ll be able to remedy that eventually. In the meantime, since you can’t shake hands with a house, as a final goodbye, I simply give him a two-fingered salute from the driveway. He flashes the lights of the manor and fires off a few lawn sprinklers in response.

  I’m forced to accept the realization that I’m leaving the manor much worse off than when we arrived. As we pull away from the house and onto the open road, I can’t help but wonder what the next stop might cost me.

  12

  “I’ve been asked if there are any negative side-effects to gravitites. I usually just laugh in response. When the regular effect is having your body displaced across the fabric of space and time, it’s hard to think of a side-effect worth mentioning."-Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2150

  The Neverwhere

  Something is burning.

  I’ve arisen from the brackish water into the scent of smoke and ash. I’ve lost the sound of Zurvan’s movements under the water, and all is quiet above now as well, except for the occasional pop and crackle of whatever is burning.

  I’ve surfaced into a world of sharp clarity. Zurvan has led me to a memory bright with use. I have to search hard to locate any corners of fog and obscurity.

  The swim here through the flooded streets has allowed me to follow him. Weighed down and limited by his flowing robes, Zurvan has moved slowly through the flood, giving me enough time to keep up. Even so, I followed at a distance, staying hidden.

  Now, with his world back in place, he’s left the water and I can no longer hear his sloshing.

  I listen intently, waiting for the sound of stones turning underfoot, or footfalls on steps. All I get is a rustle of wind around the ruins that reminds me of whispers.

  This memory of Zurvan’s
has a density to it that I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s quiet, but not the peaceful calm of tranquility. This is bated breath, the anticipatory gasp at the raising of a guillotine. I wait, tensed for action, but nothing falls.

  Smoke is drifting across the sky, past the ruin of a building nearest to me that might once have been a restaurant or an urban greenhouse. One balcony window on the partially collapsed wall has a multitude of plants growing along the railing and, to my astonishment, even fruit. A pair of tomatoes, still vaguely green in patches but caught in the act of ripening, are dangling from the vines wrapped around the railing.

  The plant looks wild and ragged, as if its continued survival was due to sheer obstinance, not anything approaching human care. But it’s clear that the building once housed a great deal of living flora. Green things have erupted from the cracks and fissures and clawed their way up the facade, battling one another for supremacy and a spot in the sun. The longer I study it, the more I remember.

  I’ve seen something like this before.

  Easing carefully out of the water, I climb into the ruin of the building, concealing myself and keeping an eye out for Zurvan.

  During my time in London, racing the chronothon, Tucket Morris had pointed out the giant urban farm towers along the skyline. Cities had begun to develop methods of urban farming in response to food transportation costs, shrinking agricultural farmland, and as a way of reducing waste. It seems that St. Petersburg had joined the local food revolution too at some point in its history. The ruined tower is no longer sound, but the fact that there are things still alive concurrently with Zurvan’s memory of this place does give me new clues to when on the timeline it might exist. Whoever he was in life, he forged a memory of this place—one strong enough that he even remembers the tomatoes growing wild on the sides of buildings. The question only deepens the mystery of his identity for me.

  I circumnavigate the interior of the ruined farm tower, picking my way through and searching for the source of the smoke. Once I’ve passed through the rubble to the far side, the origin of the smoke is stunning in its immensity. I’m staring at the outer dirt walls of what looks like a giant man-made lake or a volcano. The smoke issuing from the center is dark and oily.