DIRE : TIME (The Dire Saga Book 3)

by Andrew Seiple

  “So you’re the other type of time traveler. The stranded little lamb, needing our time and consuming our resources lest you be forever lost. Grand. Just grand.”

  I stepped in close to the table, slammed my own hand down on it, and leaned in to glare into his eyes from a few inches away. He didn’t flinch, but I saw his lips tighten.

  “Three broken Eisenjötuns and every one of their crew dead are evidence that she is no lamb. Your rudeness begins to grate, stranger. Mind your tongue.”

  We stared into each other’s eyes, and around me I heard the sliding of metal on cloth. Weapons being drawn and readied. I had the strong feeling that if I reached into a pocket right now I’d be drilled in the back before I could remove my hand. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to back down to this fancy fool.

  A puff of air, as he sighed, and closed his eyes. “You are correct, of course. I have forgotten my manners in the heat of annoyance.”

  I drew back a bit, implying acceptance of his apology. “Annoyance? Not despair?”

  He removed his top hat, rubbed a scalp that was speckled with stubble. “Hardly. Despair falls by the wayside after the fifth or sixth time something like this happens. Nikola’s too valuable. They always go for the abduction, never the kill.”

  “You’re the veteran here,” I said, simply. “She needs her time traveling kidnapper to return to her proper year. You probably want your friend back, yes?”

  “Bit of an understatement, that,” He said, standing for the first time, and rolling his neck to crack his spine. “Bryson. Jacob Bryson.”

  Bryson, Tesla’s apprentice. Bryson, the one man who’d stuck with him through every misfortune. Bryson, who’d been there when he’d attained powers and possibly helped him break the world. He’d crafted half the devices that my era’s electrical infrastructure used. The Bryson cage, the stormchaser network, and too many little components to list. If Tesla had the ideas and the grand vision, Bryson had the pragmatism and the fiddly little attention to detail that Tesla lacked.

  I don’t know why I was surprised. They’d faced most of their challenges as a team, until Tesla’s disappearance in the seventies. I blamed it on the stress of the moment and the fact that I’d barely had a moment to think since I got here. And maybe the whole fly-by-electrocution-by-giant-bird thing. Probably still a bit loopy from that.

  I offered a handshake. “No name. Sorry.” He took my hand, actually bowed over it briefly before continuing.

  “Mm. Well, usually the way we handle time travelers is through assigning you a name based on what you do. What is your occupation?”

  I considered admitting my supervillainy for a fraction of a second. Then sanity reared its head. Did they even have supervillains back at this point in time? Something to inquire about after I was out of a cramped basement with people who might or might not be contemplating my death and quiet disposal. “It’s complicated. She is a doctor.”

  “A time-traveling doctor?” The woman chuckled. “There’s a queer idea. Not enough people to heal in your own era?”

  “Not that kind of doctor,” I said. “Somewhat of an inventor herself. Multiple doctorates in various sciences.”

  “That’s a lot of education for a dame,” Mister U.S said.

  I looked at him, not bothering to conceal my sneer. “And you are?”

  “Name’s Unstoppable.” He offered his own hand, gave mine a hearty shake. “This is Dorothy Hampston, the quiet guy next to Bryson is Henri Lecourt, and the two over there are Father Kovacs and Tadej Jankovic. Looks like our goals are in the same place for now.”

  “Presumably. What are you doing here? What’s going on? Where is here, for that matter?” I squinted. “For that matter, do we have time to talk this over? Those Sturm Crow things are getting farther away by the second.”

  Bryson tapped his cane on the ground, metal tip clacking against the stone. “They won’t kill him, there’s damn little they can do to him that can’t be undone, and they want him for his mind— which means that they’ll try to keep it intact. No, he’ll be well-treated. For a while, anyway. In any case, we know where they’re taking him. So our best strategy is to follow through with our original plan to escape Zagreb. After that, it’s off to Prague, then Berlin.”

  “Zagreb.” I squinted, and paged through my memory. “Croatia? Yes, Tesla was Croatian.”

  “That’s why we’re here.” Bryson said. “We got word that the Society of Thule had tracked down some of his relatives, and was working on a blood rite to kill him remotely through sympathetic resonance.”

  I frowned, puzzled. Dorothy touched my shoulder. “It’s magic, dear. The Society of Thule are not nice people. That’s why I’m here. And Mister Unstoppable.”

  “Just Unstoppable,” he said. “We got word that it was actually a trap for Tesla, and caught up with them this morning. By that time the Gestapo already had a net around him and it was closing. Bryson and the others split up, to work with the local resistance.” He gestured to the two Croatians by the wall. “My job was to guard Tesla and bring him back when we were ready to go.”

  I considered a snarky comment, and decided against it. That had been a textbook definition of overwhelming force, back there. “What went wrong?”

  He scowled. “It looks like the Thulites and von Katzen are working together. The krauts have both sorcery and science invested in this.”

  “Von Katzen?”

  “Hitler’s chief mechanist. Katzen designed the Eisenjötuns, and a lot of other nasty things.”

  Every answer raised more questions. I’d be better off quizzing them later. It sounded like some travel would be involved, I could ask questions then.

  “All right. Well then, how can she help?” I asked.

  “You can start by putting on some proper clothes,” said Bryson. “I’m accustomed to differences in garb, but others do not share my worldliness, and by today’s standards your attire is quite scandalous.”

  I looked down at the latex skinsuit. It covered me from neck to toes, with not a bit of skin revealed. Sure, it was a bit tight, but there wasn’t much meat on my skinny frame to draw the eye. “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  Unstoppable grinned. “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything ma’am, but it’s a hell of a view.”

  Heat burned on my cheeks. Stupid to be embarrassed, I knew, but I’d be stuck working with these people for the near future. Besides, it made sense to avoid drawing attention to myself. “All right. There are some other clothes available?”

  Dorothy rattled off some words I didn’t understand, and got more words fired back at her by the priest. She smiled. “Come with me, then. I’ll sort you out. Leave the menfolk to plan and plot a bit, what?”

  As a long-time schemer I wasn’t happy about being left out of a planning session, but didn’t see a way around it. Besides, Tadej’s open ogling was starting to wear on my nerves. “Lead on.”

  Upstairs, in a cluttered store room above the church, I shucked out of the skinsuit and tried on several outfits, mostly dresses, skirts, and other open garments. Dottie rejected several of them for no reason I could see, before we compromised on a faded red button-up dress. While I did it up Dorothy chattered on at me about this, that, and nothing of real consequence. I declined the hat that came with it, and she gave me a little frown in response. “It’s a little uncivilized.”

  “So is she, by today’s standards.”

  “I have to admit, it’s a little exciting. I’ve never met someone from another time. I mean, there’s all these stories about Mister Tesla and his friends, but it’s hard to tell which are just penny dreadfuls and which are real.”

  “Penny dreadfuls?”

  “Made-up stories. All lurid and scarcely believable.”

  “Ah, tabloids. Got it.”

  “Got what now?”

  “Never mind. An expression that evidently has not yet entered the English language.”

  “Well. Anyway, I’m rather excited to meet you.
A little envious, to tell the truth.”

  “Oh?” I adjusted the back of my new garment. It was a little short on me, but no help for it. Women as tall as me were scarce in this era, it seemed. This was one of the few ones in here that reached my knees, and Dorothy was of the opinion that anything shorter would be scandalous. The object was to avoid attention, after all. And until I got my ass seated in another war machine, or some form of powered armor, I was willing to play along.

  She smiled. “Yes! You’re a pilot, right? Or a tank driver, or something of the sort? You said you had a war machine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, right now, women aren’t allowed to pilot such things. I had dreams once of being a pilot, I suppose. Joining the Royal Air Force. But well, I had to put them aside.”

  “Why?” That seemed foolish.

  “Why what?”

  “Why don’t they allow women to pilot planes, or tanks for that matter?” I asked.

  “Well, goodness, I suppose it’s... well, women would have to mix with men in the barracks. That wouldn’t be good.” Her face colored. “Improper advances might be made.”

  “So reject them,” I said.

  “Well, um, soldiers can be a rough lot.”

  “Are they bulletproof?”

  “No. Well, most aren't, I suppose. That’s a strange question. Why do you ask?”

  “Because she’s found that shooting people in the face tends to stop them from raping others.”

  Dorothy fell quiet. I took the opportunity to pick through shoes, tossing aside all of the heeled ones. Which was most of them, sadly. This era was dead set on destroying women’s feet. Probably so they could be easier for rapists to catch, if Dorothy’s conversation was anything to go by.

  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” she said after two minutes had passed.

  “Thank you,” I said, looking up. “You know, it’s not an easy fix. There are mixed gender armies in D— in her time. Sometimes there are rapes, yes, and sometimes there are problems. But the more time goes on, the less bad behavior like that becomes acceptable, and the more the guilty are punished. It’s an ongoing struggle, but it’s not impossible.” Bunny had a lot to say on the topic. I was glad for my late-night discussions with her about military life.

  “That’s rather encouraging,” she said, offering a timid smile, “I’m glad to have met you anyway. Knowing that it’s possible someday makes me happy.”

  “Well, it’s possible now,” I said. “She’s not in the military. She built her war machine herself. Didn’t need permission from anyone to suit up and go kick some ass.”

  “You’re not a soldier?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s... hm.” She stared at me, a worried look crawling across her face.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m along on this jaunt because I’m... sensitive.”

  “Are you sure your nerves are up to this task?”

  “No, no, no, not sensitive like being prone to vapors. Sensitive. I’ve a bit of a touch of the fey.”

  “Magical?” I quirked an eyebrow. “Might explain that tangle of junk you were fiddling with.”

  “Oh. That’s a simple trick my grandmama taught me. It can divine the future, sometimes. Not always. But it’s not magic such as it is feeling the wrongness. Sometimes sensing people’s feelings.”

  “Empathy?”

  “Ah, no, it’s more... I can tell what’s behind their thoughts. Feelings, emotions, a sense of what they’ll do. Sometimes. It’s hardly reliable. But on you, I get a strong feeling, one that’s a bit of a cause for concern when I focus on you, Miss Doctor.”

  I met her brown, friendly eyes with my own. “And why is that?”

  “There’s nothing behind you. There’s... a gap. A void there, and the space around it is colder than the space between the stars. I’ve felt something like this from soldiers sometimes, soldiers who had to kill and kill until they couldn’t take it anymore and shoved themselves down in little boxes, and put on a mask to keep sane. But nothing like this.” She reached up a trembling hand, and took my own. My own hands weren’t trembling, but my eyes were fixed on hers like our gaze had been locked with wires. “I can tell you’re human, barely, but that’s about it. What happened to you?” she whispered. “What did this to you?”

  I smiled, feeling no mirth in it. “She did this herself.” I pulled my hand free, and patted her cheek. “It was necessary.” That was what my old self had told me, in the note I’d left behind. In the videotape I’d started to watch. There were times I wondered, just how necessary it truly had been.

  She flinched at my touch, let go of my hand. “I’m sorry. Whatever it was that brought you to this, I’m sorry.” She turned around, looked at the peeling wallpaper. I shrugged, found some shoes that sort of fit and weren’t putting my heels up to ludicrous levels, and strapped them on. Not great, but good enough that I could run if I needed to.

  “I almost mistook you for one of the Nazi horrors,” she whispered.

  “Oh?”

  “When you came in to the basement, so empty and cold, even when you were arguing with Mister Bryson, I was feeling your mind. I thought it alien. I thought you were something in disguise, maybe a doppelganger or one of their d-demons. I almost called out to warn them.”

  That was why she’d been sweating, back in the basement. Not because of the heat or the closeness. She’d been afraid.

  “That’s one of your jobs on this team, isn’t it?” I mused aloud.

  “Yes. I’ve saved us some trouble a time or two.”

  “So what stopped you?”

  She reached into her purse, pulled out the tangle of wires and strings and crystals... quartz, by the look of them, now that I had a second to examine it at closer range. There were a few incongruous objects mixed in there... twigs, little glass beads, a brass locket. The arrangement fit no pattern I could see, had no real order to it.

  “This means nothing to her.”

  She smiled. “It can tell the future. And right before you came in, it was telling me to look out for an unexpected friend.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And on that alone, you went against your instincts? Your sixth sense?”

  “Sixth sense?” She blinked. “I like that. That’s a good way of putting it.”

  I winced. “Future expression. Maybe be careful when you use that, hm?”

  A small smile peeked out under her nervous eyes. “All right. It’ll be our secret. But yes, I trust this. I trusted my grandmama, and this was her best trick. It’s never steered me wrong.” She paused, looking away. “Well, the best trick that I’ve ever had occasion to try. There’s another one or two, but I’m rather hoping never to have to use them.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said. “From her admittedly limited experience, the world has a way of pushing you to your limits whether you want it or not.”

  Dorothy chuckled. “Rather.” She drew a breath, seemed to steel herself, and before I could react dove in and hugged me.

  I stared down at the top of her head, patted her gently. “Ah...” I said. Was she a lesbian, like Vorpal? Good lord, that had been an awkward discussion, back when I’d had a serious talk with her about her crush. I didn’t want to have to repeat that again.

  “Please, call me Dottie,” she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. “Let’s be friends. I very much want us to be friends.”

  “All right, Dottie,” I said, hugging her back. “We can be friends. She doesn’t have many, but she’s grateful for every one of them. And now you’re part of that distinguished circle.”

  I did feel more relaxed. The stress of combat was fading, and though I was a bit weary, I had a plan and goals to work toward. And now I had allies, of a sort.

  And another friend. The easiest I’d ever made, but that didn’t matter. I wondered if she was alive in my own time. Probably not... she was young, but sixty years was sixty years. Still, I made a mental note to check
into her fate if we survived and got back to our respective homes.

  My friends had given me a reason to live, to reach beyond myself for something bigger when the world was doing its best to crush me down. It was a hard place, and everyone who made it even a little bit easier was valuable to me.

  She let go, snuffling a bit, and smiled. “Grand. Come on, we’d best get back.”

  “Yes,” I said, my mind elsewhere. “She has to get back.”

  I hoped that all of my friends were doing well in my absence, but with no way of knowing when exactly I’d return, I couldn’t discount the possibility they’d have to get on without me for a while.

  I quelled the nagging worry, and followed Dottie back downstairs. They were skilled, competent, and smart. We’d trained each other well, and they had an entire lair full of resources at their disposal.

  They’d be fine. I’d worry about my current situation first.

  “Dottie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there a good place to find scrap metal, wires, chemicals, and suchlike around here?”

  “Well, Mr. Bryson collected a small hoard of junk and other things for his tinkering. It’s all quite above my head I’m sure, but—” she looked at me like a mouse might look at an owl. “Er. Are you all right?”

  I realized that my grin was showing all of my teeth, and stretching my cheeks so hard they hurt. “Oh yes. Take her to this junk, Dottie. It’s time to build.”

  CHAPTER 5: MARTIN – THINGS FALL APART

  “Lookin' back on it, I'd say it was kind of like being in a cult. I mean, not a bad cult, as they go. You knew she really cared about you, you knew she'd go to the wall for you, but... well, it was all about her. All of it. She had schemes, we'd work to make them real. She didn't like something, we'd get rid of it or work to keep her from seeing it. To her, we were family. Among ourselves? Naw, naw. There were cracks, and once she was gone, the cracks got deeper, fast. Didn't help that trouble showed up literally at our doorstep, right away. Dire had enemies, you see. And holy shit, they didn't play.”