Wheatson clucked his tongue. “I… I don’t think I agree with that, Corinthos. I mean, yes, you’re reckless, but I don’t think Courageous was. That man had lost everything, literally everything that was important to him. All the people who mattered most to him were gone. He was completely on his own. Aside from yourself, the Chroniclers were the only people he came into contact with, and usually we were checking up on him to make sure he wasn’t going rogue. He never struck me as reckless; in fact, he seemed very cautious, very methodical, borderline scientific in how he approached contacting you to ensure the time stream wouldn’t get corrupted. To me, this wasn’t an act of recklessness, it was one of desperation.” Wheatson leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair again. “Off the record, I think he was taking a calculated risk. An extraordinarily huge risk, but a calculated one just the same.”
“Calculated? How so?”
“Like I said, he was methodical. The future version of you that I knew was very, very deliberate. He thought things all the way through, and from multiple angles. If I were a betting man, which, okay, let’s be honest, I am, I’d say that Commander Courageous believed that you, his past self, would find a way to save the Urisk while at the same time figuring out a way to do it without unraveling all of reality.”
The weight of that sank in. “Do you think that’s even possible?”
Wheatson shrugged. “No idea. But then again, neither you nor your future self were blessed with much in the way of humility. Like I said, time’s been fractured. And you need to understand just how big a deal that is. When time fractures, reality does, too. That means there will be cracks in dimensional barriers; things that were once impenetrable seals can now be squeaked past. Things that never should have been can become commonplace. And the Chroniclers have absolutely no insight into what’s going to happen until the proverbial dust settles. That’s why the Tempus is so pissed right now.” Wheatson ran a hand over his face. “Whether or not you even can do anything to fix it is a mystery to me.”
As the Chronicler spoke, my stomach sank. Had my future self just made it easier for Sakave to return? If Courageous was as methodical as Wheatson said, there’s no way he could’ve missed that. What had I… he, been thinking?
Wheatson put a hand on my shoulder. “Commander Courageous was a good man, Vincent. That event, it did bad things to him, but he never crossed the line until today. He had something in mind, I just don’t know what.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Now, question two—what the hell is Treggen’s connection to the Chroniclers?”
Wheatson leaned back in his chair. “Now there’s a fun topic,” he said with a grimace. “You know, if you were anyone other than you, I’d play the mysterious guardian of time angle, and say something like: There are some things better left unknown.”
“But you’re going to tell me anyway.”
Wheatson sighed. “Yeah, yeah I am. Not because I particularly want to, but because I know you, Vincent Corinthos, and I know you’re going to continue chasing things until you learn the answer. It’ll be a lot less painful for all parties involved if I just tell you what you want to know, and honestly, I’ve told you—or rather a future version of you—this all before. Treggen used to be a Chronicler, once upon a time. He was one of the Tempus’s most trusted agents. Treggen was fast, efficient, and brilliant. When the time stream was in danger, you could count on Treggen to find a way to fix it with the least amount of damage to the overall course of time and reality.
“But then things started to change. Treggen began dropping the ball. We thought at first it was sort of a stress thing; after all, the man had been doing this for centuries—”
“Whoa, hold on, centuries?”
Wheatson grinned. “Corinthos, we operate outside of time. When you can jump back and forth from the Big Bang to the end of the universe, you find you age differently. I was born in 1979. I grew up, went to college, got a job, and in the year 2009 I was recruited by the Chroniclers. That wasn’t that long ago to you, because it’s still your recent past. For me, I just celebrated my eighty-seventh work anniversary.”
“My head’s starting to hurt,” I said, rubbing my temples.
“You get used to it,” Wheatson replied. “Anyway, Treggen had been doing this for a very long time when I started, and then there started to be faint ripples in the time stream. Nothing that you’d feel on Earth, because Treggen was mucking around with things on other planes of existence. People who were supposed to rise to power and become tremendous leaders suddenly started dying in their cribs. Revolutions that were supposed to usher in new ages of peace and prosperity began failing. Scientific breakthroughs that should have advanced civilizations never came to fruition.
“The Tempus sent Treggen to investigate, but Treggen claimed he couldn’t find the source of the problem. Now if Treggen said he couldn’t find the source, you knew it was bad, and the source was probably unfindable. But he failed to find the source of several incidents in a row, and that made the Tempus suspicious. So the Tempus sent Webb and me to keep an eye on Treggen. We followed him across hundreds of years and found he’d been in league with a being called Sakave. Sakave had promised Treggen full control over the time stream if Treggen would eliminate Sakave’s adversaries from ever coming to power.”
“Jesus, he was playing Terminator?”
“Pretty much,” Wheatson said. “At this point, Treggen had gone rogue, so Webb and I tracked him down, and took a whole force of Chroniclers into the little pocket dimension where he’d been hiding. Funny little place that smelled like popcorn. We couldn’t find him. He had completely vanished.” Wheatson leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Now, this is where things get weird. There were pieces of equipment lying around, things that looked like they were intended for a soul transference; the kind of thing you do when you’re trying to forcibly inject your spirit into someone else’s body and drive it around like a car.” Wheatson held up a finger. “Thing is, we should’ve been able to track Treggen’s spirit. Should’ve been able to pinpoint where in time he’d gone, but instead”—Wheatson opened and closed his hands rapidly—“poof. Gone. Vanished. Like he’d ceased to exist.
“Every now and then, we get a weird blip in the time stream like he’s sort of come back, but it’s always very faint, and never for long. Makes him nearly impossible to track.” Wheatson noticed the tips of one of his fingernails was ragged and began chewing on it as he talked. “There isn’t much of a pattern to the reappearances, either. I almost wonder if he somehow transmitted himself into another dimension and is so far outside of reality that he’s beyond outside of time. Like, outside of outside, if you get my meaning.”
This is why I hate dealing with the Chroniclers. Nothing is ever simple or straightforward. Once you start dealing with people who don’t need to treat time as linear, it’s time to start investing in migraine medication companies.
Thoughts raced through my head. The pocket dimension where I’d fought the Keepers had smelled like popcorn, and there had been a bunch of equipment there that hadn’t seemed like Laras and company had been using it. Was it the same place? Had Treggen made a bargain with the Keepers and given the pocket dimension as payment? No way to find out now, that pocket dimension had collapsed. I set that question aside for a more pressing one.
“How did the Tempus suppress my powers?” I asked. “I was on the Bright Side. I’m nearly omnipotent there.”
Wheatson chewed his lip for a moment. “He didn’t actually suppress your powers,” he said. “You were bound, yes, but you could still do everything.”
“Wheatson, if I had access to any of my powers, do you really think I’d have let the Tempus kill Courageous?” I said, incredulous. “I tried to use telekinesis a couple of times and nothing happened.”
“Mmm. Yeah. That.” Wheatson chewed on his nail again. “You sti
ll had your powers. You were in a temporal sheath. Basically that means anything you do is delayed. So you tried to use telekinesis, but that telekinesis won’t actually take effect until sometime later. So, somewhere soon on the Bright Side, there’s a blast of telekinetic force that’s going to seem like it came out of nowhere, and it’ll be aimed at a foe who hasn’t been there for hours.”
I Glimpsed back. Had I aimed anything toward Daimin’s settlement? No. Okay, that was good. At least I wouldn’t accidentally impale anyone with a time-delayed telekinetic lance.
“Hey, one last thing,” I said. “When we fought Laplace’s demon, you told me that gods and certain magical creatures would be aware of the changes that were happening to the time stream. Does that include all demons? Or was Laplace’s demon a special case?”
Wheatson pondered this. “Not sure,” he said. “Demons tend to like chaos, and mucking about with time would definitely cause that. So even if they could sense the changes, they wouldn’t come to us to tell.”
Well, that was less than helpful. “I need to think,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Thanks, Wheatson. I appreciate the help. We’re square.”
“Nah, I still owe you something.” Wheatson produced the octahedron from his pocket and handed it to me. I blinked at him.
“You knew it was there?”
Wheatson tsked. “Come on, Corinthos. You’re a crappy pickpocket. I felt you plant that thing on me, but I wanted to see what would happen.”
I nodded. “So where is this place, anyway?” Glancing around the room, I realized there were no windows in any of the walls.
“We’re in my quarters in the Chroniclers’ Citadel,” he said.
“And you furnished your apartment in 1970s avocado green why?”
Wheatson spread his hands. “Every so often, the Citadel adjusts the decor in each room to a specific period in Earth’s history. It keeps things from getting stale. I grew up in a house like this, so it’s not so bad.”
I glanced at the orange shag rug and raised an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for that.”
Wheatson shook his head. “I’ve got the rest of the day off, but Webb’s coming by in a bit to play cards, so I suggest you head on out.”
I smirked. “Don’t want to watch me punch him some more?”
Wheatson gave a lopsided grin. “He doesn’t heal as fast as you do. Poor guy’s nose has been broken so many times I don’t think even he knows what it’s supposed to look like anymore. Just the same,” Wheatson said with a shrug, “better him than me.”
Chapter 6
I continue to marvel at what a genius Kira Leevan was. Had she survived, I certainly would have made her my queen in the new world order. Well, perhaps not queen, but in a significant position of power. Her ZN233 virus has proved quite adaptable, and the biological possibilities it represents are nothing short of extraordinary. It’s a pity it’s unable to give my clones an extended lifespan, but I’m certain I can put it to other lucrative uses.
—From Treggen’s personal journal
I took my leave of Brother Wheatson and portaled back to my apartment. My head was spinning with everything I’d just learned, and I needed to talk to someone about it. Petra wasn’t back yet, and while I could just portal to her, it’d be hard to explain my comings and goings to the models and photographers on the shoot with her. I considered Galahad, but what I needed now was a friend, not spiritual insight. Besides, the boss had enough on his plate right now between the Dodici prophecy and all the crap that’d been going on at the office lately. I didn’t want to add to that. So I found myself portaling into the back room at Antiquated Treasures to see Thad.
He was unpacking a box of vases as I stepped in. “Gah,” he said, bobbling one of the vases, which I telekinetically stabilized. Thad put a hand to his chest and let out a relieved breath. “Thanks. You just saved me from having to put in a very big insurance claim.” He set the vase down and dusted his hands. “Vincent? What’s wrong? You look like a puppy just died.”
“Something like that,” I replied. “This is going to be a long story. Do you have some time?”
Thad produced a Pepsi from the dorm fridge next to his desk and handed it to me, then gestured for me to take a seat. We sat opposite the desk from one another, and I filled him in on what had happened on the Bright Side, and what Wheatson had told me.
Thad whistled. “Wow. Just wow. So in the future, you become Commander Courageous? You literally become a comic book hero? Damn, Vincent, that’s impressive. Though I’m not sure I can picture you in the red and green spandex.”
“Thad, come on, this is serious.”
“I know it is, I’m just trying to get you to see some humor in an otherwise bleak situation. Fine, you want to be serious, I can be serious. So the question I have for you, Vincent, is what are you going to do about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, sweetie, if what this Wheatson fellow says is true, then you are one of the few people out there who can literally chart his own destiny. The rules don’t apply to you. It sounds like everyone else has a predefined path that they have to stick to, but you can ad lib. You can do whatever you want and the universe and time and reality have to accommodate you. Don’t you see how wonderful that is?”
“That sounds more like a burden than wonderful, Thad.”
Thad shook his head. “Do I really need to dig out the Spider-Man quotes, Vincent? With great power comes great responsibility, you know that. But that means you can change things. You can literally do things no one else can. You can repair the damage to time and reality. You may not know how, but the thing is, it can be done.”
“Thad, time and reality fractured because the Urisk were supposed to die and I prevented that from happening. The only way I can see to fix that is by committing genocide against the very people who worship me, and there’s no way I’m doing that.”
“Of course not, but maybe you can fix it some other way. Maybe you can do something to balance the scales.”
“Like what?”
My friend thought for a moment. “Maybe they could worship someone else? Get them to worship that other god of doors you mentioned, what’s his name? Forklifticus?”
“Forculus,” I corrected. “But no. Most of the Olympians are a bunch of bastards who only see mortals as a power source. Forculus and Hephaestus aren’t bad themselves, but they wouldn’t look out for the Urisk the way I do.” I shook my head. “I’m not aware of any other gods who’d actually give a damn about them.” I clenched my fists in frustration. “Damn it, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
Thad puffed out a breath. “Vincent, I’m an artificer and an antiques dealer, and I’m dashingly handsome, but I don’t have a crystal ball. Even if I did, you could change what I saw. That’s the beauty of it; your path isn’t set in stone. You’re going to have to be perceptive and clever, more so than you ever have before, but you can do this. Think about everything you’ve already done. You’ve saved individuals and entire civilizations. You’ve stopped mindless monsters and sinister scientists. Of all the people I’ve ever known, you’re the one person who consistently beats the odds. Sometimes you’re lucky. Sometimes you’re clever. But the one thing you’ve never done is give up. Don’t start now.”
I ran a hand over my face. “You’re right,” I said.
“When aren’t I?” Thad replied with a wink. “You going to be okay?”
I nodded. The phone rang. Thad glanced at the caller ID. “Sorry, Vincent, I have to take this one.”
I gave Thad a quick hug goodbye as he answered the phone, then left the shop. I didn’t portal this time. I just wanted to wander around and think. I considered everything that had happened. Killing the Urisk was off the table. Maybe I could put the Urisk into an extended suspended animation, have them wake up y
ears after my death, but that wasn’t fair to them. Dammit, there had to be another way to solve this.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and felt something. I pulled out an oversized wristwatch. Wheatson’s chronometer, I’d forgotten I’d pocketed it when I’d confronted him. I eyed the device, ducked off the street, and portaled back into my apartment’s kitchen.
I grabbed a seat and turned the device over in my hand. I’d severed its leather strap when I’d taken it from Wheatson, but I’d left the chronometer itself intact. The device’s face was a computer screen that was filled with images of churning gears. There were eight hands turning both clockwise and counterclockwise, with a ninth that only appeared every seven seconds and seemed to randomly go one direction or another. A series of silvery buttons and dials ran along its right edge, none of them labeled.
I’d only tinkered with a chronometer once before, when I’d helped Wheatson purify the time stream. The device had let me muck around with a tachyon field that was surrounding me, and when I did, I’d gained a measure of insight into the future, almost like a forward-facing Glimpse.
Could I use this to go back in time and warn Commander Courageous? I rubbed my chin. No. If there’s one thing I learned from playing Soul Reaver, it’s that history abhors a paradox. And me, warning future me to not warn past me about a disaster that present me wasn’t supposed to know about definitely qualified as a paradox.
Fractures Page 13
