There were not too many ways to survive without cash or credit in this day and age, and all of them were illegal and led to even quicker justice at the hands of the social system, which applied a “no tolerance” policy for petty crime across the globe. A first offence was awarded the stiffest sentence possible, to discourage further offences. There were rarely second offences, for the death penalty was available for second offenders.
Kieren nodded. “Then who has the courage to walk me off this base?” he demanded.
They all did. He was placed between them and Douglas led the pack, which proceeded silently through the building and into the quadrangle. Wardens going about their business stopped to watch Keiren’s downfall, their stony gazes tracking his progress across the compound to the front gates.
At the gates, the procession halted and the gate slid open.
It took all his courage, screwed up into a tight wad and squeezed hard, for Kieren to step through the gate alone. Once he was through, the gate rattled closed with a finality that brought sweat to his temples.
He turned and walked slowly down the sidewalk to the next corner, the peaceful San Francisco suburb humming around him, filling his mind.
When he turned the corner, he jogged to the nearest tree, bent over with his shoulder against it for balance, and vomited until he thought he would pass out.
* * * * *
The Agency Home Base – 2264 A.D.: Brenden’s fingers gripped the back of Justin’s neck and he wondered if Brenden would shake him, like a dog with prey. But the Spartan turned, instead, and drove him face-first into the wall of the cave.
Justin heard and felt his ribs go, but the worst pain was his nose, which was crushed against the rock. He was blinded by it for a moment.
Brenden gripped his shoulder, his fingers digging in and straining his clavicle. “Do you know what you have done?” he bellowed.
What little blood Justin had left began to flow freely from what remained of his nose. He already needed to feed. This would make feeding imperative…if he lived through it.
“I should drive a fucking stake through your heart,” Brenden added.
Justin blinked as his vision came back into focus. He shrugged – a difficult feat with Brenden bearing down on one shoulder. “Do what you will,” he told him. “I’ve saved Deonne’s life. Everything else is irrelevant.”
“You ignorant, cocky son of a Persian!” Brenden yelled. “So you’ve saved her fucking life this time, but how have you twisted time? Because of what you did back there, she might die in some other way, two weeks from now. Maybe she was supposed to live until she died of old age in her bed with her family around her, but you just fucked that up, didn’t you?”
Justin wiped his face carefully with his sleeve, staring at Brenden.
Brenden nodded. “You didn’t think of that, did you? You stupid—”
“Brenden, enough,” the sharp command came from behind.
Brenden released his grip and Justin straightened his shoulder thankfully.
As Brenden turned he moved out of the way, which let Justin see Ryan standing ten feet away. He didn’t have his cane, but he was leaning against one of the tables.
Ryan’s gaze raked over Justin. There was no pity or empathy in his look. Then he turned to Brenden. “I’ll deal with this. You can go back to work.”
Brenden looked like he was ready to argue, but Ryan just stared steadily at him, until the giant man blew out his breath. “Perfect,” he muttered and strode away, back through the tunnel that gave access to the security area.
Ryan shifted on his feet carefully, then rested one buttock on the edge of the table. “Healing, yet?” he asked.
Justin took stock of his injuries. “Yes.”
“Good.” Ryan crossed his arms. Despite being shorter and more slender than Brenden, the act still seemed to make Ryan intimidating, even while he was sitting down. “Do I have to explain to you how badly you have screwed everyone?”
“I knew before the bastard ran me into the wall.”
Ryan considered him carefully, and it was the slow caution of his manner that made Justin’s heart sink.
“I can see that you think you understand, but I want to make sure, because you’re not a traveler and you haven’t spent decades worrying about complications and ramifications. I know Brenden’s explanation about the changes you have introduced to Deonne’s life caught you by surprise.”
“You were listening that long?”
“Normally, for an offence of this nature, I would kick the offender out of the agency,” Ryan added as if Justin had not spoken at all.
Justin drew in a shaky breath. “I know.”
“You know that? But you did this anyway?” Ryan’s arms dropped from their crossed posture in surprise.
“Truth, Ryan? I wasn’t thinking at all until I got there and found out I’d arrived too early. She didn’t know about the letter, she didn’t know who Santiago was. Then it started to sink in. I couldn’t figure out what to do to correct it, so I fixed the one thing left I could fix and got out.”
“You told her about the bombing,” Ryan concluded. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Chriost,” he murmured.
Justin swallowed. There wasn’t any blood running any more. He was almost fully healed again. At least he would be whole and healthy for whatever Ryan dished out.
“I won’t fire you,” Ryan told him. “Throwing you out on the street without the formal protection of the agency would be tantamount to murder. You’re a public face for the agency. Gabriel’s people know you’re one of us. Instead, I’m going to ground you.”
“Ground?” Justin asked, puzzled.
“Old idiom, sorry,” Ryan said. “I mean, I’m going to confine you to quarters, at least until the wave you’ve created comes through and we can figure out the damage. After that, we’ll talk again.”
“I don’t have quarters here,” Justin reminded him.
“Then you can go back to your apartment in Bondi and wait there. You don’t get to leave until I say you can. When that happens depends a lot on the size and complexity of the wave.” Ryan grimaced. “If it’s big enough, you and I may not survive it. In that case, if I were you, I would savor the fact that you’ve saved your lover’s life while you can.”
Chapter Seventeen
Macapá, Brazil, 2264 A.D.: Cáel looked at the man standing rigidly to attention in front of him, running his gaze from the man’s perfectly groomed head to the toe of his shining boots.
“Peter, you said your name was?” Cáel asked him.
“Sir,” the man said stiffly. Agreement, Cáel assumed. He studied Peter once more. There was an eerie resemblance to Kieren in the clothes and quiet, unassuming air, which spoke of coiled and waiting violence.
But that was where any resemblance stopped. This man was shorter, stockier, and despite the Anglo-Saxon name, he was clearly of Asian Indian decent. He had waited in Cáel’s anteroom for four hours until Cáel had been released at the end of the Assembly session, in order to present himself for inspection.
Peter was Keiren’s replacement. That made the events in Sweden seem more real and solid. Ryan and Nia had shared the details with him, but their impact had been negligible. The concerns of the Assembly had been occupying Cáel’s attention. Ryan and Nia had dealt with the matters at the agency and were ready for further consequences. Cáel’s faith in their abilities was so rock solid, he had barely raised a brow over the Sweden fiasco.
Cáel sighed. “Has Kieren briefed you fully on the assignment?”
Peter hesitated. Then, “I am fully briefed, sir.”
The flesh over Cáel’s spine prickled painfully. He chose his next words carefully. “I would like to give Kieren a bonus for the exemplary work he did for me and the Agency. Could you give me his contact information?”
“Any credits you forward to the wardens in his name will reach him.”
“Nevertheless, I would like to speak to him directly, to thank him.�
�
“That won’t be possible, sir,” Peter replied. He gave a stiff, very formal smile that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. “Corporate policy.”
“I see,” Cáel replied and added just as formally, “That is a pity. I rate the work he did very highly. I hope you are at least as effective he is?” And he watched for Peter’s reaction very carefully.
It was miniscule, almost invisible, but Peter’s shoulders shifted in discomfort and his nose twitched, like he had barely avoided wrinkling it.
In distaste.
Cáel nodded. He had his answer. They had drummed Kieren out of the wardens, because of his new-found talent.
“Bigots,” Cáel said shortly, his own distaste rich and strong in his mouth.
Peter’s eyes widened. “Sir?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Get out,” Cáel said shortly.
“Sir?” This time Cáel had no trouble spotting the alarm on Peter’s face.
“You heard. Leave and take the rest of your unit with you. You might want to take note of the time because I have no intention of paying for a second more of your services. I’m severing my contract right now.”
Peter’s jaw rippled. He was having no trouble looking Cáel in the eye now. “Sir, there are very specific and limited circumstances wherein our contract can be terminated.”
“You sound like a lawyer,” Cáel accused him. “I read the contract before I signed it, so I know very well there is an escape clause in there. ‘Egregious conditions’ is the phrasing. Well, I find your actions egregious and highly offensive.”
“But…I just arrived,” Peter said. “I’ve simply stood here.”
“And told me your organization is a collection of closed-minded hypocrites and bigots. But…I will pay the thirty days’ notice in advance, in order to get you out of my office in the next five minutes, under one condition.”
Peter quivered visibly under the pressure of his dilemma. Should he let his wounded dignity carry him out of the room immediately, or should he swallow his pride and stay in the room to negotiate the best possible outcome for his employer? Thirty days’ notice at the rate Cáel was paying was no small compensation, and this Peter, as the new leader of the unit, would be well aware of the terms and conditions of the contract. He had been fully briefed, after all.
Peter swallowed, his throat working. “What is the condition?” Then he grimaced and added stiffly, “Sir?”
* * * * *
Liping Village, East Yunnan Province, China, 2054 A.D.: In two days, Deonne had grown to love the five minute walk between the Agency’s main building and her little apartment, just down the river. If she contained herself to a stroll, she could extend the walk to eight or nine minutes.
In the forty-eight hours since Justin had left, she had worked harder and longer than she ever had in her life. Mariana had left an encyclopedia of instructions, guides and checklists on the server for her, all neatly cross-referenced and indexed, with active tags for important contacts. It was admirable, but within three hours of sitting down at the tiny desk Mariana had been content to use, Deonne realized it wasn’t just an organizational tool, it was a survival guide, because she quickly became swamped with demands, questions and all manner of communications from the forty-five agency-allied people living in the village, along with formal communications from the village administrators.
Keeping the agency people housed and fed was a full time occupation. Deonne staggered home the first night, her mind reeling with all the details she had to remember for tomorrow and a dawning respect for the job that Mariana had seemed to pull off effortlessly. She remembered her scathing criticism of the way Mariana had been dealing with the administration over her noisy neighbor and was embarrassed in hindsight.
She had fallen onto her bed, still clothed, and slept so soundly that when she woke up what felt like a few seconds later, the early morning sun was streaming in through her window and she was still lying exactly where she had laid down.
Deonne had bolted down a bowlful of oatmeal that she cooked in the microwave – learning how to cook had been another novel problem she had been handed when she first arrived here – and then hurried to the administration building while dawn birds were still chirping, determined not to let something as simple as administrative coordination get the better of her.
She had taken three breaks during the day, heading back to her apartment simply to get away from the constant demands. It was on those return journeys that she had started to notice the silence that smothered the village, broken only by the sound of bubbling water sweeping past the banks, and birds calling from the trees that were everywhere.
The air was just a touch cool and very refreshing. She slowed down, absorbing the stillness, the peace and the bucolic beauty of the place.
By the time she returned to her apartment on the second night, she felt relaxed and calm. The stupid, trivial worries of the job had dropped from her psyche on the way.
It was just on twilight and crickets were out in full force. There was the tiniest of breezes rippling the surface of the river, and lifting her hair back from her shoulders. It cooled her cheeks and was slightly and pleasantly damp, making her skin breathe in the moisture.
The sun had slipped below the horizon already, but in the west, the sky was still pink, turning to dusky blue, then to indigo as the night claimed the village.
By the time she reached the apartment block, Deonne could only just see ahead of her. The white blocks that marked the footpath to the front door of the central building seemed to glow with ghostly light.
There was a man standing on the path, staring toward the complex. He had a hand on his hip and Deonne smiled to herself. She knew why he was standing there. The complex had been built to blend into the ancient roots of the village that still existed. Each building looked just as old and small as the genuinely old structures that had still been in place. The apartments were ingeniously designed. There were four of them per building, all on one level, and no two buildings looked the same. They were scattered across a square hectare of lush wooded land while the paths carefully meandered in and around trees and natural obstacles.
The man with his hand on his hip was probably lost or disoriented. There were no maps or diagrams explaining the layout or numbering of the buildings and no electronic help board to consult. Visitors here either knew the way or were met by the person they were visiting, who led them to the right place. The peace and quiet had been constructed by an environmental designer and assiduously maintained.
“Who are you looking for?” Deonne asked him as she drew level with him. He took up most of the width of the path and she ducked around him and looked over her shoulder.
“Well, hello. I’m looking for my apartment,” he said. “I just paid for the lease, but they gave me a key and pointed. My Chinese is not good, so maybe they were wishing me luck as they showed me the door.”
“You’re moving in?” she asked. “Where is all your furniture and things?”
He grinned. “I was pretty sure I stipulated that the place should be furnished. I may have got it wrong.” He waved behind him. “The rest is coming. By slow boat, I assume.”
“Well, this is China,” Deonne assured him, “So the boat is heading in the right direction.”
He held up a key. “Do you know where twenty-seven is?”
Deonne turned to face him properly. It was almost completely dark now and she could see very little of his features. He was tall, but not as tall as Justin. He was wearing a long, light coat, so it was difficult to see any other details. He had short hair that might be black or brown or even dirty blond, like Justin’s, and his eyes were shadowed pits.
“Twenty-seven?” she repeated. “You must be the one they sold the lease to. I heard they’d found someone else almost immediately.”
His head tilted a little to one side as he absorbed what she was saying. “Twenty-seven is near you?”
“Next door,” Deonne confirmed. “I’ll
show you the way.” She moved down the path and he caught up with her quickly.
“Your old neighbor moved out just recently, then?” he asked.
“Two days ago, while I was away. The administrators were having difficulties with him so I believe they summarily severed his lease.”
He was silent for a few steps. “He bothered you that much? I’ll be very careful I don’t intrude on your serenity, then. I paid well above market to pick up this lease. Apartments in western China are next to impossible to buy, now.”
Deonne hid her surprise. “I didn’t say it had anything to do with me.”
He smiled quickly and she saw the flash of very white teeth. “You didn’t have to. You went away, possibly to escape your neighbor’s bad habits and the administration booted him as soon as you were safely out of the way. I should ask who you are, but if you have that sort of power you might be offended that I haven’t recognized you immediately. I don’t use the web much. Not for entertainment, at least.”
“I’m nobody,” Deonne assured him. “And you’re quite wrong. I had nothing to do with him being pushed out the door.”
Again, there was a short silence as they walked along the path. It was almost completely dark and the painted stones were the only guide. Apparently, even low-level proximity lights would have been too intrusive.
“But you did want him to leave, didn’t you?” His voice was low, but Deonne thought she could detect amusement in his tone.
Ah, what the hell, she thought. “I wanted him gone like yesterday’s breakfast,” she confessed, using one of Justin’s pet phrases.
He laughed and it was a pleasant sound. It didn’t sound anything close to a polite chuckle. He lifted his chin and laughed properly. “Then I know you had him…what did you say? Booted? You may not have had your hand on the stick that beat him out the door, but I know you orchestrated it.”
Deonne stayed silent. He was right, but she wasn’t going to let him know she had that sort of influence on the administration. She didn’t know who this man was, even though he had passed the excruciating security and background checks the administration used to screen applicants.
Romani Armada (Beloved Bloody Time) Page 18
