Time Was

by Steve Perry

  They flew the rest of the way.

  When they hit the ground, all three of them were stunned into momentary unconsciousness.

  The dust and debris was so thick in the sewer it might as well have been a deep-sea fog.

  But when everything cleared, the work lights were still on—miraculously enough—and the three of them were a bit shaken but mostly unharmed.

  “Damn,” said Radiant through a series of coughs. “I broke a nail.”

  “Will the suffering never end?” said Itazura.

  “Come on,” snapped Psy–4, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “Let’s go see how the others are.”

  They had just reached the safe area when, from above them, somewhere past the top of the ladder, the echo of an inhumanly pained scream came crashing down. . . .

  Rudy forced his temple up against the Doc’s cheek, slowly maneuvering his head so that he could sink his teeth into some soft part of the man’s face.

  Zac drew his head back for another butt but Rudy craned his neck to keep their heads together. Underneath him Rudy’s hand scrambled for a hold on his wrist, so Zac jerked his body into an upward arch and brought his right knee up into Rudy’s groin at exactly the same time Rudy brought his left knee up into Zac’s, and the two of them connected with much less force than they had hoped and only managed to entangle themselves worse than before.

  And Rudy’s fingers found the Doc’s wrist.

  And Rudy pressed his nose and chin into skin.

  And Rudy pulled his lower jaw down until he could feel his teeth touching soft, soft flesh. Then he latched on with all he had.

  There was a mad, intense, electrifying, hysterical, almost erotic glee to it—biting into human flesh! Bite, bite, bite! Glee and hatred and revenge and power!

  Zac screamed in agony, his body jolting in brutal jerks, a great fish electrocuted by the searing pain of the barb.

  Rudy brought his knee up once again, harder than before, and felt DocScrap crumple when he connected.

  Zac fell off the kid but the punk’s teeth remained embedded deep in his wrist.

  Then Singer was there, his large metal hands gripping the back of the punk’s jacket and lifting him up from the floor.

  But Rudy’s teeth wouldn’t let go.

  Zac thrashed, howling, and managed to get a grip on one of the punk’s guns.

  Rudy was laughing through the blood.

  Singer kept pulling the kid back.

  And Zac swung up with as much force as he could rally from the fog of pain, slamming the side of the gun into the kid’s head; once, twice, three times.

  Rudy’s teeth let go after number three.

  Singer turned around and lay Rudy on the floor, then turned his attention to Zac.

  That’s when Rudy rose from the floor, his bandages soaked in blood, and stumble-ran down the hallway until he came to one of the few windows in the building that wasn’t covered by iron bars or wire mesh from outside.

  He ripped off his jacket and wrapped it around his arm, then slammed it through the glass, kicked away the remaining shards, and perched there like a bird readying for flight.

  It was a good twenty-foot drop.

  But he’d lucked out.

  Here in Cemetery Ridge, trash piles were as common as concrete, and there was a doozy of a heap just to his right, so he crawled out onto the too-narrow ledge and began to swing, one, two, three—and threw himself down toward the garbage.

  He hit with a sickening whumpf! and was immediately covered in rotted food, newspapers, and assorted other foul-smelling things that he decided he’d rather not study too closely.

  It took him a moment to crawl out of the filth, but once he was free he didn’t bother to look back, he just ran, his peripheral vision quickly memorizing a handful of nearby landmarks.

  This wasn’t finished.

  He’d be back.

  And next time, he’d carry serious hardware for the job.

  Feeling not the least bit discouraged, he ran on. . . .

  Killaine was trying to get Zac to sit still, but he was far too agitated to comply with her wishes.

  “I want everything ready to move out of here as soon as possible.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” asked Killaine.

  “One of the Stompers found his way in here! If one of them can do it, the others can.”

  “They won’t be coming in through the sewer,” said Psy–4. “We pretty much trashed the entrance.”

  “But the kid knows where we are now!” snapped Zac. “How long do you think it’ll take him to round up his cronies and come back?”

  Killaine shook her head. “I don’t think he will.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I caught a glimpse of him right before he jumped. That was our initiate from earlier.”

  Itazura glared at her. “If you were close enough to recognize him, why the hell didn’t you go after and grab him?”

  “Because I decided that it was more important to see if Zachary was all right. You’re certainly not going to tell me that my concern was misplaced, are you?”

  “. . . no, guess not . . .”

  Zac touched Killaine’s hand. “You sure it was him?”

  “Yes. So if he was up here trying to get you, that means he isn’t in yet, so the other Stompers won’t help him—it’s part of their twisted little code of honor. An initiate has to prove he or she can survive on their own. Until he accomplishes what he set out to do, he’s alone.”

  “Very alone,” added Stonewall.

  “I think we’ll be safe here for a few more days, at least,” said Psy–4. “But just to be safe, Stoner and I will triple-enforce the downstairs doors. We’ve been stockpiling steel sheets just in case something like this happened.”

  Zac winced as Killaine began cleaning the wound. “Do whatever you have to to protect us here until we can move to the backup location. We are moving. We haven’t lasted this long by taking unnecessary risks and I’m not partial to starting now.”

  48

  * * *

  In the now-empty restricted area of the main lab, Sam Preston sat before a massive computer console, staring through the glass partition that physically separated all the technicians from the mainframe. He tried not to think about the bodies up in his office, or the pain in his body, or the moments ticking away from his life.

  And not only his.

  He stared at the glass container atop the system.

  He stared at the electrodes and monitoring wires and cables that ran into the container, snaking through the mixture of neural fluid and liquid lambda to reach their target.

  And so he stared at the small robotic brain that was the center of the system.

  He reached down, flipped a switch, and brought the brain online.

  “Hello, Roy,” he whispered to it through a cloud of pain.

  Within the system, the child whispered, Hello, Daddy.

  My son, thought Preston. My good, fine boy. Can you ever forgive me?

  Then he did the damnedest thing.

  He started to cry.

  49

  * * *

  A thousand miles away, Annabelle Donohoe sat in her darkened office, gently fondling the locket around her neck.

  After a moment, she reached behind her neck and unhooked the clasp on the gold chain.

  She turned the locket over in her hands and pressed the small catch.

  The locket opened.

  She stared wistfully at the two small photographs contained within.

  The one on the left was of her holding a newborn baby.

  The one on the right was of that baby as he’d looked as a boy on his fourth birthday.

  Three months before he’d died.

  “Oh, Roy,” she whispered. “My son, my good boy.”

  Then thought: I’ll get him for what he did to you.

  And the damnedest thing happened then.

  She began to cry.

 
PART TWO

  WHEELS OF

  ILLUMINATION

  “Whoever fights monsters, should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”

  —Nietzsche

  50

  * * *

  071:34:52

  Killaine placed her hand defiantly upon her hips and glared at Zac. “I’d rather not be the one to leave here today, especially not after last night.”

  Zac rubbed his eyes with his good hand, winced at the pain in his other, heavily bandaged hand, and sighed. “Killaine, I don’t quite know how to put this to you, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Look, you were an immeasurable help to me last night. You probably saved my hand.”

  “One of us had to learn how to apply our medical programming. I only wish we’d had more supplies in the first-aid kit to—”

  Zac held up his bandaged hand. “You did wonderfully, Killaine. Really, you did. And I was very impressed with the way you handled yourself in the sewer this morning. The robots were pretty shaken up by what happened, and you were . . . well, surprisingly pleasant to them during the repair process, and I appreciate that.”

  She began impatiently tapping her foot. “Yes . . .?”

  “Did I forget to mention how delicious breakfast was?”

  “No. In fact, Zachary, that’s the third time you’ve said something about it.”

  He cleared his throat and loosened his shirt collar. “Ah, yes, well . . .”

  “Why are you sending me out on this assignment when we’ve enough to keep all of us busy for the next week or two?”

  “You, uh . . . you look like you could use a little fresh air?”

  “Try again, Zachary.”

  “Oh, all right! You’re getting on everyone’s nerves, okay? I hate to be that blunt about it, Killaine, but your mother-hen routine has started running a little thin.”

  She dropped her hands to her side. “Well, I beg your pardon, sir, I do! Far be it from me to take bloody charge around here of all the small things so the rest of you can concentrate on more important matters—”

  “—I didn’t mean it like that, I only—”

  “—let me tell you something, Mr. Zachary Robillard; if it weren’t for me and my ‘mother-hen routine,’ as you call it, this household wouldn’t function at even the simplest, everyday level. Heaven forbid that Itazura or—worse—Radiant were ever turned loose in the kitchen or on the laundry.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “Now it’s overreacting, is it? I’ll have you know—”

  Zac lifted both hands in surrender. “Enough!”

  Killaine bit down on her lower lip, staring at him.

  “Killaine,” whispered Zac, “you know how much I deeply appreciate all you do for me—for all of us. At least, I hope you do.” He reached over and took one of her hands. “And I know, the way things have been lately, that you don’t get a lot of thanks for it. So I’ll tell you this now so you’ll understand: It’s not that I don’t care about you, because I do; and it’s not that I don’t find your company wonderful and exciting and comforting, because you know that isn’t the case; and it especially isn’t because I don’t think you’re needed around here. It’s simply that you can’t seem to concentrate on anything for very long and, as a result, your attempts at being helpful are backfiring severely.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that I’m getting on everyone’s nerves?”

  Zac smiled at her. “Now, why didn’t I put it that way in the first place?”

  Killaine sighed, put her hands on her hips once again, looked at Zac, then away from him, and finally dropped her arms once again. “I hate it when you’re right about things like this.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “If you wish.”

  “I wish. Lord, how I wish!”

  “You needn’t rub it in.” She took the slip of paper he offered to her and read the information on it. “You’re having me on?”

  “Nope.”

  “And this is a security assignment?”

  Zac nodded his head. “He agreed to all the terms, including the daily fee.”

  “And you accepted the job?”

  “No, I told him that one of us would meet with him this morning to assess the situation. If you decide that the job doesn’t interest you, tell him no, he’ll pay the consultation fee, and that will be that.”

  She looked at the slip of paper again. “I can’t believe I’m going to—do you realize that this will mean dealing with children?”

  “Do you have something against kids, too?”

  Killaine decided to let the “too” portion of the remark slide. “No, I’ve nothing against children. I just . . . I . . . it’s just that—haven’t we had this discussion before?”

  “About your wishing you could conceive a child?”

  “. . . yes . . .” she replied softly.

  “That’s why I thought you might enjoy the assignment. If you accept the job, we’re only talking about a day, maybe a day and a half, if that long. I know how you like to be around children and this way you not only get to be around lots of kids, but you get a little free time, we make some more money, and, with luck, you catch a couple of bad guys.”

  She stared at him. “You know, Zachary, you could sell the Devil himself a subscription to Catholic Digest.”

  “A career move I never considered.”

  Killaine checked her watch. “I guess I should be leaving. This does say ten A.M., doesn’t it? I sometimes find it hard to decipher your handwriting.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Egyptian hieroglyphics are easier to read.”

  “I’m hurt. And, yes, it does say ten A.M.”

  “Well then, I’m off.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Zac smiled. “If you don’t exercise extreme caution, you’re in genuine danger of having fun.”

  “Watch it, Zachary. If I take the job I just might come back here and drag you along to suffer with me.”

  “Call in when you decide. I just might let you drag me along.”

  Down in the garage area of the warehouse, Stonewall and Psy–4 were just finishing up welding the third sheet of steel onto the bay doors. One more and the area would be fully secured from even the power of a standard ShellBlaster.

  Psy–4 crossed over to the small refrigerator that sat near the door and took out a couple of bottles of beer. “You want one?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  The two of them sat against the wall in the garage, not sweating even though the temperature in the area was well over one hundred and fifteen degrees.

  “This is domestic, isn’t it?” said Stonewall.

  “I haven’t had time to make a beer run since Preston’s the other night, okay?”

  “I prefer the Irish imported brand. The dark beer.”

  “Thank you for reminding me. For a second there I almost thought I was doing something right.”

  Stonewall reached over and smacked Psy–4’s cheek.

  “Ouch! What was that for?”

  “For bringing up that ‘failure’ business again. We agreed that you would file that away elsewhere until we have Roy.”

  “Is that any reason to hit me?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. I have decided to begin dispensing smacks with great generosity whenever one of us gets out of line.”

  Psy–4 pulled down a few more swallows of the cold beer. “And what happens if you get out of line?”

  “Then you can smack me.”

  “Right.”

  They sat in silence, then, finishing up their drinks.

  “Zac really worked on the robots this morning,” said Psy–4.

  “Some of them were badly damaged.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  Stonewall turned to look at his friend. “But you were thinking . . .?”

  “I was thinking about Roy.”

&nb
sp; “We’ll get him out in time, Psy–4. Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, I’m not—not about getting him, I mean . . . well, okay, maybe a little, but not as much as I was thinking—”

  “—you mean ‘worrying.’”

  “—as I was considering what we’re going to do with Roy after we have him.”

  “The portable chamber is ready to go. I checked it earlier this morning. We have a small supply of neural fluid and liquid lambda, so there won’t be any problem with—”

  Psy–4 held up his hand, silencing Stonewall. “I know all that. But I also know that the portable chamber has to be recharged every seventy-two hours.”

  “Again, that won’t be a problem. So why—”

  “Because it seems to me that all we’re doing is exchanging one form of imprisonment for another.”

  “Until we can find the materials to construct a body for him. And you’ll be able to communicate with him anytime you choose. And with a few minor adjustments to our system, all of us will be able to communicate with him. He won’t be lonely anymore, and he won’t be afraid.”

  Psy–4 tipped back his bottle, realized that it was empty, then crushed it into powder and dumped the powder in the nearby recycling bin. “Do you ever think about the fact that, barring disaster, we’re immortal, Stonewall?”

  “I am keenly aware of it, yes.”

  “Does it ever bother you that we don’t . . . we don’t revel in it more?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Look at us. We will live forever. Theoretically, there’s nothing we don’t have the time for. We don’t have to worry about life ever ending—even if the human race finally pushes all its buttons and explodes all its bombs and chemical weapons and everything else in its arsenal of instant extinction, we will endure. Every morning is, for us, a new beginning, filled with new possibilities, challenges to meet, countless things to learn. I could spend a year doing nothing more than admiring the way moonlight casts glittering sparkles over the water, and it wouldn’t be a waste of my time because there is time for such things.”