Why, Clarise?
I had been absent during much of her childhood. I admitted that. But it was because I'd believed in what I was doing. The world needed people willing to take the hard risks and fight the tough fight. I had thought Clarise understood that. Emmeline had.
I glanced at Chen-chi, at the teenage body crouched beside me. Tried to imagine her forty years older. Those years might make her ugly or beautiful, heal wounds, leave scars . . . What was the shape of the mind inside that childhood body? Had she been worth betraying Emmeline's memory?
I did not want to believe that I had ever married again, especially not a woman thirty years younger than I was. It was possible that Chen-chi was lying to me. Just as it was possible that there never would be an explosion, that my daughter was not doomed to kill herself in the aftermath of that catastrophe.
I stifled a sigh. A lot of things were possible. Nevertheless I found myself here, now, with Chen-chi, waiting for Jo-jo to arrive so that we could make contact with him and help complete the mission. Whatever else Jo-jo's plan entailed, it must eventually lead him here, to the source of the explosion. To the moment when the whole world would go mad.
Clarise sighed and flicked her pen against the notebook. I felt a sudden urge to grab her by the elbow and run. Away. To someplace safe, where she'd never hook up with another thug, where I'd never have another flashback. Where all those pesky people from the future would leave us alone.
Screw the explosion and the rest of the city, I just wanted to hold my little girl and keep her safe forever. I shifted my weight into my knees, felt my muscles tense with the precursor of action.
A door clicked open. Footsteps echoed on the tiles. A few moments later a pair of black jeans entered my view. They stopped beside Clarise, and she glanced up.
"Finished already?” she asked.
"Naw, just a breather.” The speaker snagged the leg of an empty chair with his foot and scooted it next to her. I recognized him as he sat down: Sean, the unwelcome boyfriend Clarise had brought to the restaurant. He snaked an arm around her waist and reached for the pad of paper. “What you working on?"
Clarise closed the notebook. “Nothing. Just passing time."
Sean's look turned serious. “Babe. Stop worrying about the harmonic whatever-it-is. Sharken knows what he's doing."
"But his equations are wrong. Look. Gravitational attraction grows as the inverse square of the distance between—"
She'd opened the notebook again. Sean placed a hand on her forearm. His voice was gentle. “Stop it. You're on edge. We all are. But stop pretending it's the machine that's got you spooked."
She sighed and slapped the notebook closed. “I thought my father was done with all that crap. I thought he was pensioned—disability pay. What's he doing on assignment?” She stood. Paced. Sat back down and put her face in her hands. “I could've killed him. I tried to kill him. What if he hadn't kicked the grenade?"
Sean lifted Clarise's hair aside and began massaging her shoulders. “Shhh. It'll be all right.” He moved so their eyes were level and brushed her cheek with surprising tenderness. “It'll all work out, babe. You'll see. Two days from now we'll change the world."
"And if the machine doesn't work? My father and his puppeteers will be after us again. Dad's getting old, Sean. He could get hurt."
"From what you've told me about your father, he's not the one you should be worrying about. Two days, sweetheart. You can hold out that long."
Clarise leaned into his shoulder like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam. I watched the strain ease from her face, aware that the muscles of my jaw had grown taut.
How often had I seen Clarise angry or heartbroken during her tempestuous teenage years? Twenty times? Fifty? How many times had I wrapped my arms around her and held only tension, a bundle of frustration and loneliness that refused to unleash? I had never been able fill the dark chasm left by her mother's absence any more than she could pray away my nightmares.
Watching her rest her head on Sean's shoulder, I forced myself to accept a bitter truth: This punk made her happy. Why she had finally found her solace with a thug mixed up in a terrorist scheme, I could not fathom. But the devotion in his eyes seemed sincere, and the strength she drew from his embrace was unmistakable.
Eventually, Sean pulled back and patted Clarise on the arm. “Boss says I'm supposed to take over your spot. He wants you to explain the machine to the newbies."
Clarise straightened, and if it wasn't for the extra sheen in her eyes her grin would have fooled me as the genuine article. “Don't sleep on the job,” she said as she rose from her chair. “My father might be around."
"I survived dinner with him. Life can't get much worse than that."
"You've never seen him angry.” She pecked him on the cheek and vanished through the doorway with a click of sophisticated heels.
Sean scooted his chair forward and fiddled with the microfilm reader, although it was obvious that he wasn't actually reading anything on it. My gaze shifted to the door of the conference room, now closed, and the low murmur of voices behind it. I was about to circle toward the doorway, try to find a spot where I could hear what was being said, when I heard Chen-chi's quiet hiss of indrawn breath.
"That's Jo-jo,” she whispered. Her eyes were riveted on a heavyset man ambling down the aisle. He perused the stacks as though searching for a particularly elusive call number, but there was a purposefulness about his gait, about the way his eyes kept flicking toward Sean, that was unmistakable.
Chen-chi began to wave at Jo-jo, but I stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and a curt shake of the head. Catching Jo-jo's attention right now would probably attract Sean's as well. If he spotted me and shouted a warning to those inside the study room, we'd lose our best chance to carry out the mission.
I watched Jo-jo through the cracks of the bookshelves. His jaw worked beneath his scraggly goatee as he slid his finger along the books. He paused, adjusted his spectacles, and closed in on his quarry. I gauged his movements, trying to determine what his plan was. Did he know my daughter was in that room? Did he care whether she was harmed?
His first task, no matter what else he planned, would be to take out the scout. That was always a tricky job. Straight hand-to-hand was too unpredictable, gun too loud. An inhalant anesthesia would work well, but I doubted he had access to those kinds of chemicals. Which left short, sharp, cutting implements as his most likely option.
I motioned for Chen-chi to hold still and crept around the edge of the bookcase to the aisle opening directly behind Sean. Sean was watching Jo-jo and didn't see me.
Jo-jo's footsteps approached. Stopped. “Excuse me, son. Can you tell me where to find the medical section?"
Sean looked wary, but he dutifully pointed down the aisle. “It's in the next room over,” he said. He didn't take his eyes off of Jo-jo.
"The one with the Japanese banner?"
"No, the other one. Through the double glass doors.” This time his gaze flicked toward the other end of the hall.
Jo-jo stepped into my field of vision. I saw the flick of the wrist, the faint ripple of a shirtsleeve as a knife slipped into his palm. My mind raced forward through the next few moments: A sudden step, a flash of steel against the jugular. Blood spurting across the chest where my Clarise had found comfort. Soundless gasps from the mouth that she had just kissed. The only man who'd ever made my daughter happy: crumpling toward the floor supported by Jo-jo's free hand, shoved under a desk in a bloody heap.
I caught the knife halfway to Sean's throat.
Jo-jo had grasped Sean with his free arm, pinning the gawky thug against his chest. I used the momentum from my lunge to twist the knife arm behind his back. I stepped forward, pressing myself into Jo-jo and Jo-jo into Sean. “Not that way,” I murmured.
Jo-jo froze. Sean struggled. Chen-chi had moved from behind the stacks and stood like a statue between two towering bookshelves. Through the closed conference room door, I heard Clarise's muffled vo
ice.
I expected Jo-jo to fight me. Instead, he cocked his head as though analyzing the sound of my voice.
"Eugene?” he asked. I stepped back and released my hold, but not before I'd pried the knife from Jo-jo's hand. Sean twisted loose and stared at us.
"What are you doing?” Jo-jo asked. He rubbed his arm where I'd torqued it.
"Stopping a mistake."
Sean's eyes darted between me and Jo-jo, then toward the conference room. His gaze lingered on the knife in my hand. He stepped backward and drew a breath.
I punched him in the solar plexus.
Whatever warning cry Sean had hoped to bellow came out as a surprised grunt. He doubled over, gasping, and stumbled backward. His awkward stagger sent a chair tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter. Inside the conference room, Clarise's voice paused mid-sentence.
Jo-jo swore under his breath. We froze, silent except for Sean's wheezing, alert for the sound of footsteps headed toward the door. After a moment Clarise's voice resumed speaking.
Chen-chi moved from between the bookshelves and laid a hand on my shoulder.
"He didn't activate, Jo-jo. The flashbacks interfered with the trigger.” Her voice was pitched low, so as not to carry into the nearby room.
Jo-jo's eyes flicked. He studied my face as though looking for something he'd lost. “I'm sorry, Chen-chi,” he said finally. It took me a moment to realize he was condoling her on the loss of her husband, not apologizing for something he'd done.
Chen-chi's face remained impassive. I don't think she realized that her grip on my shoulder had stiffened.
"So are you in on this gig?” Jo-jo asked.
I nodded.
"Good. Guard him.” He flicked his head toward Sean. “Chen-chi, a hand?"
Jo-jo was moving again, sliding metal components from pockets and hidden holsters beneath his jacket. “There's no time to brief you on the original plan,” he said as the pile of gadgetry in front of him grew. “Our window's almost up. We'll stick with the back-up."
Chen-chi and Jo-jo were working in silence, Chen-chi holding elements in place while Jo-jo screwed them together. The overall shape and materials were starting to look disturbingly volatile.
Sean had recovered his breath enough to sit up and gape at me. “You saved my life,” he said. “Why?"
I grabbed his shirt collar and shoved him to the floor. “So I can kill you myself. How'd Clarise get mixed up in this mess? Did you bring her in?"
"No!” Sean's voice was strangled, as if he were trying to shout but couldn't get the sound past the pressure on his neck. “Sharken introduced us. She's been working for him longer than me."
"You're lying. Why would she do this, except out of love for a punk like you?"
"You really don't know?” Sean's tone was incredulous. Jo-jo's angry hsst cut off whatever Sean might have been about to add. I glanced at the device in Jo-jo's hands, now nearly two feet tall and half as wide. It didn't look like we had much more time.
"Keep your voice down,” I told Sean. “Clarise is in that room. How would you estimate her chances in a gun fight?"
"Better than yours."
I glared at him. Then I noticed my shaking knuckles and decided Sean was more observant than I'd supposed. The old, familiar headache fuzzed at the edge of my senses. I was dangerously close to a flashback, or a mental breakdown, or both. I wondered whether Clarise had gotten any combat training from these new friends of hers.
Jo-jo clicked the last element of his device into place, examined the overall structure, and tested two of the circuits.
"We're ready,” he said. He set the device on the table, half-hidden behind the microfilm readers, and activated a timer. “We have ten minutes,” he said. He glanced at Sean. “Eugene, get that kid out of here before he can start a ruckus. Chen-chi, go up to the first level and clear out as many civilians as you can. Tell them there's a plumbing problem or something, and they need to leave the building. I'll keep watch here."
I stood, half-dragging Sean to his feet. Jo-jo's knife pressed against the fingers of my other hand. I kept it near Sean, ready to move if he tried anything. “How big will this explosion be?"
Jo-jo looked annoyed. “Big enough to change the future."
"My daughter's in that room."
"I'm sorry about that. We'd planned to divert her from being here tonight, but..."
But I didn't activate. We kept coming back to that, didn't we?
"Wait until the meeting's over."
Chen-chi looked pained, but Jo-jo shook his head firmly. “It's not just about destroying the machine before they begin using it for high-energy experiments. The researchers at RCIA calculate that we need to kill the group's ringleader as well. Otherwise they'll just rebuild it elsewhere."
"Then wait for the next meeting.” My voice had grown icily calm. I hefted the knife, and realized with muted astonishment that it was no longer pointing at Sean.
Chen-chi tugged anxiously at my arm. “We can't afford to wait, Eugene. They've already attacked us twice. It won't take them long to realize we know where they're meeting, and once that happens..."
I shook her off without looking at her. My eyes were locked on Jo-jo's.
"The timer's already started,” Jo-jo said softly. “It can't be deactivated. Now, you and Chen-chi can go upstairs and rescue as many civilians as possible, or you can try to jump me, and we'll all explode together.” His finger toyed with a button on the device's main cylinder.
I'd seen such buttons before. It was a dead man's switch; once pressed, its release would trigger an immediate explosion.
"Stop this!” Chen-chi said. “Jo-jo, go warn the civilians. I'll hold the bomb while Eugene gets Clarise out. If anything goes wrong, I'll trigger it; you know I won't chicken out."
Jo-jo hesitated. Whatever he'd been about to say was stopped by the intensity of Chen-chi's eyes.
"Please,” she said. “For the man we once knew."
"All right,” Jo-jo said, handing the device to Chen-chi. He glanced at me. “You've got nine minutes to get your daughter out of that room. Make sure the leader doesn't escape. But Chen-chi—” and his look hardened to match her own—"Remember there's more than one memory to be honored here. Save the girl, if you can. But save the city and the world first."
She nodded. Jo-jo laid an assault rifle on the table next to her, “In case there's trouble.” He moved to grab Sean, but I stepped in front of him and pulled the thug to his feet.
"I need him."
Jo-jo gave a curt nod, then turned and strode toward the stairs. I gripped Sean by the elbow and stared into his face. “Do you love my daughter?"
He nodded.
"More than you love this fanatic group you're a part of ?"
He hesitated, then gave a firm “Yes.” His eyes told me he meant it.
"Then help me."
"No."
I nearly punched him. Maybe I would have, if his next words hadn't been so sincere:
"Clarise would never forgive me."
"Maybe not,” Chen-chi said, stepping to my side, “but if you don't help us now, she'll never forgive herself for what's about to happen, and neither will you. I've seen pictures of her funeral. You were in them. You looked like a man haunted by his own ghost."
Sean stared at her with incredulity but not, surprisingly, with suspicion. Perhaps he understood more of Clarise's equations than I'd given him credit for.
"So you're, what, some kind of time traveler?"
"In a sense."
"And this thing we won't forgive ourselves for?"
"An explosion. One so big it will wipe out half the city. More importantly: Sharken isn't the man you think he is. Watching what he does after he gains power will make you wish you'd never met him."
Sean's expression darkened. “Anyone could say that."
"Maybe they could,” Chen-chi said, unruffled. “But you're already uncomfortable with some of the decisions Sharken is making. Already, you lie awake some night
s and wonder whether you're making a mistake. In a few years, you'll speak out against Sharken's new order. And a few months after that, you'll be executed."
Chen-chi spoke with such conviction, it was hard to disbelieve her.
I saw the muscles in Sean's jaw working. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his gaze from Chen-chi to me.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Get Clarise out of the building. As fast as you can. Lie if you have to. Clonk her on the head if that doesn't work."
"She and I can't just walk out of a meeting. People would ask questions, try to stop us..."
"That's where I come in,” I said.
I grabbed Sean by the collar, strode to the conference room, and kicked the door open. As the doorknob struck the wall, I threw Sean through the doorway with enough force to send him skidding across the floor, then stepped over the threshold myself. I closed the door behind me.
Twenty pairs of eyes stared at us. Clarise stood in the middle of the room next to a whiteboard. Her mouth opened in shock as Sean slid to a stop near her feet.
"Clarise,” I said, with all the parental authority I could muster. “You've been keeping secrets."
She stared at me. For two heartbeats nothing in my world existed except those eyes: teal blue and bright as crystal. A complicated wash of emotion passed through them, settling at last on a familiar mixture of anger and fear. I knew that expression so well; it was the same one she'd worn as a girl, whenever I went on assignment.
"Daddy, what are you doing?" Her voice was a furious hiss.
"Saving you from yourself. You should go home. Now."
It would have been so easy if she'd obeyed me. I'd have floored anyone who tried to stop her. She'd have walked out the door, out of the building. She'd be two blocks down the street before the bomb blew. But things were never that simple, not between Clarise and me.
Clarise helped Sean to his feet. She glared at me, her free hand resting possessively against his chest. Behind them, a full wall of the conference room flickered with electronics.
Asimov's SF, September 2010 Page 5
