Time Bandits (Age of Abundance Book 1)

by Dean C. Moore

  Time bandits sabotaged timelines plain and simple, by the very act of traveling back and forth through time, trading in intel and artifacts which didn’t belong to a given age. In so doing, they couldn’t help but rob an entire people of their innocence, their sense of history and purpose, of a chance to develop more naturally. Just like Torin and Kendra had been robbed of their innocence, their chance to develop naturally; just as time had been stolen from them.

  It did make them the perfect couple to chase after time bandits one and all. Clyde Barker wanted to force enlightenment on any and all periods in history—whether or not they were ready for it. He wanted ultimate empowerment for all people in all times. It sounded great on the surface, but Kendra and Torin had the kind of pasts that made them question another person forcing things on people “for their own good.” Other time bandits might well have entirely different agendas. For them it might not be the path to hell is paved with good intentions; it might be the path to self-consideration above the greater good causes everyone to suffer. It hardly mattered.

  This was a lot for her small mind to absorb all at once. Torin was proving once again that he could not just invade her privacy by getting inside her head like nobody else. He was proving he could also blow her mind like no one else with that psychic Geiger counter of his, always pointing to the cases that not only served the greater good of society but Kendra and Torin’s greatest good, that best served their spiritual unfolding. He was applying “the truth shall set you free” tonic to their souls. He meant well.

  But it was still too much medicine all at once. She would continue to stew on the matter of the time bandits. “I think I saw a pierogi vender not too far from here.”

  “That was a dim sum vender.”

  “That’s okay. I like that just as much.”

  “I do too, come to think of it.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Kendra and Torin munched from their dim sum balls as they walked up the street where the accident was earlier, long since cleared, but in the interim another one had replaced it, this time between a motorcyclist and a bicyclist. They were going at one another with fists. The robo cops, in an effort to break up the fight had encased both of them in exoskeletons by morphing around the mutual assailants. Both robo cops were promptly quickly hacked and put in service of the battle royal.

  The now hydraulic-limb-endowed exo-fighters were exchanging blows like true superheroes, tearing up much of the street in the process. Angered motorists were getting out of their cars that had taken a beating in the fight and just waiting an opportunity to jump in. Security teams from damaged buildings were being deployed, their guns drawn.

  “You gonna get involved?” Torin asked. “This looks like it’s gotten beyond the robots’ ability to handle.”

  “Nah. Like I said, I don’t do traffic. And stupidity isn’t a crime. Leastways, not a major one, and I just do felonies.”

  “But…”

  “I think I’m sold on looking into these time bandits of yours,” she said.

  “Really?” The distractions no longer seeming to matter, he returned his eyes to Kendra. “Screw the traffic situation, this promises to be way more of an adrenalin rush. What made you change your mind?”

  “Must be the feel-good chemicals in the dim sum. My brain is compensating by pointing me in the direction of the greatest heartache.”

  “Very funny. No, really, what changed your mind?”

  She threw her dim sum wrappers and messy napkins in a disintegrator mounted to a light pole, watched them disappear, broken down to atoms safe to release into the atmosphere. She held her hands out to the air, felt the tingles as the smart nano whisked her hands clean. The same smart nano that lined her lungs and kept them immune to viruses, bacteria, pollution—just in case any of that made it past the atmospheric scrubbers. The same nano that meant car washes were a thing of the past, as well as domestics who could make a living cleaning houses. And she tried not to feel like a hypocrite enjoying the clean feeling of her hands, considering how she felt about people being put out of work. “I like this idea of yours that so long as we go in the direction the universe points us, in response to trying our best to get over ourselves, it’ll continue to light the way.”

  “Really? You bought that? I’m not even sure I bought that.”

  She laughed, though it felt off cue by the time the sound left her lips because by then he was nearly choking on his dim sum ball. “I don’t know if there’s anything to what you’re saying, Torin. I just know we can use all the help we can get.”

  “I thought you said we’re all the medicine for one another we need.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly feeling level-headed at the time, high on enough sex hormones to choke a horse.”

  “Ah, now I got you. Option B for getting over yourself is to go back and have it out with your father, one long chain of interventions that is likely to be far more painful.”

  “You got me. And what about you? Something just as horrific had to happen to you to create Mr. OCD Happy Face. Something tells me following in the wake of synchronicities is just your latest form of OCD.”

  “Sorry, I don’t traumatize and tell. Look, if I’m right,” he said, hastily changing the subject, “the trail will peter out pretty quick, if we’re just fooling ourselves over our real intentions, such as…”

  “… such as doing anything to avoid the one thing we know we need to do to get closer to our higher selves.”

  They gave each other a wary look. “This isn’t my theory, by the way,” Torin said. “It’s how synchronicity works. It’s based on the idea that the Universe talks to us through seemingly chance happenings in our lives, suspicious coincidences, which aren’t coincidences at all, just signs we’re on the right path.”

  “And there’s something behind this besides a bunch of New Age crap?”

  He shrugged. “To be honest I’m a little too New Age to give a fair answer. Think that term would have gone out of fashion by now, since innumerable new ages have come and gone since people started first using it, none of them as predicted.”

  He dispensed with his dim sum wrappers in the dematerializer at the latest light post, stared at the disappearing sauce on his hands. “I swear that never gets old.”

  “So what’s our first step?”

  “We go put our heads together with Davenport and see what we can do to get a bead on these time bandits.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?”

  “Plan B. We go have it out with our significant others, whoever caused the traumas that forever changed our lives.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, you have to learn how to read the signs better. The instant you have a thought, and you’re wondering if it’s on target, see if it’s being echoed in your environment around you. Sometimes what we think we need to do that we don’t really want to do, we don’t need to do, and what we want to do, we really shouldn’t be doing, and what…”

  “Stop while you’re ahead. You’re right, knowing that there might be an out to visiting my father even when all else fails does win you some gratis.”

  ***

  Kendra paced her squad room in the police precinct, adjusting photographs, and not just the ones on her own desk, tweaking chairs, monitors, hanging up jackets that were on the backs of chairs on the coatracks; in short, getting everything back into their “proper” places. She did this all with a vacant look in her eyes, as if she was really thinking deeply about something else the whole time.

  Davenport and Torin, witnessing the phenomenon, exchanged bemused expressions. “So nice to be at the birth of a new neurosis. I feel like a proud father, I do,” Torin said.

  “Proud father? Hardly,” Kendra said, coming out of her daze. “Sorry, what?”

  “You were having an OCD moment, or was that more properly speaking an anal retentive moment?” Torin said, gazing over at Davenport.

  “You don’t use terms
like ‘anal retentive’ around gay folk. It’s considered ill-mannered,” Davenport corrected him.

  “Sorry, buddy, but you’re not the only one thrown for a loop right now.”

  “Settle down, you two. I was just thinking,” Kendra said, still trying to get the angle on a photo on her desk just right, one of the two of them at Coney Island.

  “Thinking by making sure your little safe haven from the big bad world out there remained safe. And why is that?” Torin asked.

  She took a deep breath and let it out before speaking, for now, letting go of the interior decorating fetish. “If Carl was right about his time bandit, then one upside is it mitigates what Clyde Barker is trying to do. What if there are so many time bandits trying to sabotage the present at this point that they cancel one another out?”

  Torin rubbed his chin. “I’d like to take solace in that, but something tells me nothing is ever that simple.”

  Kendra lowered her eyes and sighed. “Yeah, maybe we should add wishful thinking to my latest coping mechanisms.”

  “You two mind letting me in on this time bandits thing?” Davenport said. “Something tells me you’re not talking about vintage movies.”

  Torin rehashed what Carl had told him, verbatim. And not just the words; he acted out the part, turning his chair on rollers into a makeshift wheel chair. He even sounded like Carl. Kendra’s mouth was ajar when he glanced over.

  “What?” he said.

  “You did not just add a photographic memory to your list of coping mechanisms to deal with Present Shock?”

  “To say nothing of the repertory theater skills,” Davenport interjected with a smile.

  Torin thought it over. “Yeah, I guess I did. They say if the psychic stress is great enough it can unlock all sorts of inner potential. Just had no idea I was that stressed.”

  “You’re in a relationship with Kendra, bro,” Davenport interjected. “That gives you one thing in common with Dante. He thought the path to heaven was through hell as well.”

  “Less wisecracks, Davenport, more useful input,” Kendra said. She pulled him by the ear and put some distance between him and Torin, calling an end to his fan boy role, standing up close to Stage Boy.

  “How come my added stress never leads to anything constructive?” Davenport asked.

  “I can give you lessons in how to fall apart more completely, if you like,” Torin said. “So can Kendra, for that matter. Don’t let the well-adjusted exteriors fool you, deep down we’re deeply tormented people.”

  “Mr. Happy Go Lucky? No shit,” Davenport said.

  “My theory is that now that Present Shock has kicked in, Freud’s Superconscious, conscious, and Id have reversed positions. Now it’s the uninhibited Id that we show the outside world and our rule-loving, authority-respecting superconscious that we keep buried deep down. More adaptive that way.”

  “Speak for yourself, Torin.” She glared back at Davenport. “I gave you an order to be useful, Davenport.”

  Davenport cracked the knuckles in his hands, then twisted his spine to crack his back as he thought. “I think he’s getting the hang of it,” Torin said. “You’re adding arthritis to your repertoire. It’s an inflammatory response, you know, due to the body trying to stuff excess stress-induced toxins in the joints to get it out of the bloodstream. If I were you, I’d pick another coping mechanism, though; that one can be particularly debilitating over time.”

  Davenport made a sour face, and glared at Torin. “And me thinking, of the two of us, you’d be the first to go jumping off the top of a building screaming, ‘I know I can fly! Why? Because I believe, and anything I believe strongly enough I can make real!’”

  Torin smiled ruefully. “Duly chastised. Now, do you have something useful to offer us on how to chase after these time bandits, now that you’re done cracking your back, I mean?”

  “Maybe.” Davenport strode back to his desk and thrummed his keyboard.

  “Can we take a peak yet?” Torin asked.

  “No, this masterpiece might take a while. Why don’t you two go have coffee or something?”

  Torin and Kendra looked at the sixteen ounce cups in their hands they’d just finished reaching for, grimaced in tandem. “Yeah, sure,” she said, setting hers down on her desk and grabbing her trench coat.

  Torin followed suit. “That bookstore on the corner has great chocolate croissants.”

  “They still have bookstores? As in real printed books?”

  “They’re disposable iPads, and the AI makes the book into a movie on the fly, even allows you to edit the movie to create alternate plot twists. They claim to be very retro.”

  Her face communicated distaste, then wariness. “Fine, whatever.”

  Moments later they were crossing the street to get to the bookstore. Cars weren’t just swerving around them; they were breaking and spinning on the black ice uncontrollably. If it weren’t for the onboard computer autopilot overrides, Kendra and Torin would likely have never made it across. The fast, correct responses of the cars computers’ factored in for the reaction time of the humans, allowing Kendra and Torin to play Dodge the Killer Cars across the four lane street. Loads of fun actually, Torin thought. “God, let’s do that again,” he said giddily as their feet touched sidewalk again.

  “It was at least forty degrees warmer when we stepped into the building less than an hour ago,” she said, trying to catch some of the falling snow flakes like pesky flies buzzing her face. The light had lost its sharpness and golden hue, replaced by a diffuse, steely gray rendition of its former self. “Did I lose time? Is this my latest coping ability?”

  “Nice try. No, it’s just a cold snap. It was on the news earlier, not that I expect you to remember, we were making love at the time of the broadcast.”

  “You were multitasking making love to me?”

  “It was one of your less engrossing moments, admittedly. Not to worry, most of the time you command my full attention, if only to keep from throwing out my back.”

  She frowned and opened the door to the bookstore for them. “Thanks,” Torin said, “your female chivalry is greatly appreciated, since I’d much rather keep my hands in my pockets until this cold snap is over.”

  “Keep racking up points, bright guy.” She led them to a window seat, a small table for two, pressed right up against the glass. The tiled tabletop reminded Torin of his bathroom floor, not exactly the savory brunch ambiance he was looking for. But he appreciated the fact that they wouldn’t be able to talk without their lips pressing up against one another.

  The waiter didn’t bother with the menu when he popped into position, just as their butts were making contact with the thinly upholstered seats. The establishment was kind enough to make the chairs comfortable, just not too comfortable. They had to keep the clientele turning over, after all, especially as they were likely selling more coffees than books these days, even the disposable movie books, which one hardly had to walk into a store to come by if that was one’s sort of thing. Give it to the management, they did have the rest of the ambiance thing down rather well, realizing that the ones who did stray inside were definitely here for the atmosphere. The hanging plants, the mismatched chairs and tables, no two of a kind, the clear instructions for the staff to wear Bohemian chic…

  Kendra and Torin shifted their attention from taking the place in to the waiter about the same time. Torin guessed they were both trying to ascertain if the individual was a he or a she. The androgynous figure looked like she should be sprawled across the cover of Vogue in any case, only which Vogue? They must have missed their beat. Finally the waiter said, “Yeah, I get this a lot. Not to worry. For your information, androgyny is experiencing faster growth than unisex individuals. You never know which way you have to go to get a job. In another few years people will be staring at you as if you were a couple of freaks.”

  Torin smiled. “No doubt. I’ll take all the chocolate croissants you have. Just stack them in front of me. No need to let them pile up
in case they’re still baking them fresh. Just keep bringing them over.”

  She turned to Kendra without missing a beat, as if the most absurd requests were all she was used to. Meaning that it was now a little easier for Torin to stare at her. Her gelled hair had the makings of well-trained wires in an all-metal sculpture. The pores in her face were all of equal size and all slightly dilated, lending her beauty the impression of a pointillist painting. The lack of makeup contrasted markedly with the overdone eyes, which were no less au natural; she was lucky enough to be born with thick eyelashes and watery eyes that gave them a crystal sheen and sharpness.

  Kendra, still trying to regroup from the latest shock into the nature of the man she thought she knew when she married him, regarding his chocolate croissants order said, “I’ll just have a coffee, thank you, the plain old fashioned kind. You know what? Come to think of it, keep those coming to.”

  Torin grabbed Andro’s arm as she turned away. “You really should consider a stint on the cover of Vogue, both of them, actually.” So much for keeping his inside thoughts inside.

  “That’s my night job, modeling that is. Get a lot of money for it, just not enough to afford a flat alone in this city.”

  “Got you,” Torin said. “Good job, by the way, feeling bitter instead of sorry for yourself. Far more therapeutic.”

  “No, the best therapy is throwing customers out on their ears secondary to my tae kwon do class. Do me a favor and act up, will ya?” And with that she went to fulfill their order.

  “You see, we really need to get out more and meet people totally unrelated to whatever case we’re working on,” Torin said with a smile.

  “Why, so we can confirm how alienated we feel from the here and now?”

  “You found her alienating? I thought she was quite charming, actually. Might be fun in the bedroom, being as she can go either way. What do you say, we…?”

  “It’s nice to know even in today’s world people can still dream up things more unlikely than what’s making the headlines.”