by Matt Hilton
On behalf of her sister and niece Mina had adopted the mantle of avenger. It was an uncommon fixation, born out of grief and bitterness. This was after a career in the Metropolitan Police where she’d performed a largely thankless task of service to a largely ungrateful public. When she’d joined up, she’d viewed the police service through rose tinted spectacles, with a view to making an impact on the world through caring for and assisting the victims of violence, only to find that after the advent of PACE – the police and criminal evidence act – of eighty-six, she’d become bogged in the bureaucratic quagmire that effectively shackled the police and gave protection to criminals over victims. She’d grown jaded with the system and turned in her warrant card. When her sister had been raped, impregnated and condemned to death by the insidious AIDS virus she’d had to watch in disgust as her rapist walked away from court on a technicality. If she could have, Mina would have hunted down her sister’s rapist, but he succumbed to an overdose of heroin before she had the opportunity. That was when she’d turned her compulsion for revenge on the religious leaders and policy makers who both denied her sister an abortion and made both child and mother suffer before death finally took them both. She’d become a crusader, to a point of obsession. It was through her single-mindedness to exact revenge for her sister that she’d hatched the plot to send a resounding message throughout the world’s media. And it had all brought her here, to this crumbling world, where a man who owed her nothing would offer his safety and wellbeing in return for hers. For the first time in ages she experienced an emotion stronger than a desire for vengeance. It was good to have someone looking out for you.
‘Thank you anyway,’ she finally said.
‘Thank me if the world doesn’t end,’ Rembrandt told her, this time with his usual gruffness. ‘Now, come on, we’re wasting precious seconds catching our breath here.’
This time he led the way. He didn’t fear Mina turning on him now; perhaps he’d enjoyed that moment of intimacy as much as she had.
They passed offices and work areas, most of them boasting space age equipment and computer technology to make NASA envious, all abandoned now by workers who’d fled to the surface to seek to reunite with their loved ones before doom hit them all. At the end of a corridor waited a second portal not unlike the burnished steel one they’d come through earlier. Ordinarily two armed sentries stood on guard at the entrance to the Tempus laboratory, but they’d evacuated along with everyone else. Of course, Mina was unaware of such detail, but when Rembrandt noted the guardsmen missing he relaxed his hold on his submachine gun somewhat.
The rumble from below was constant now, transposed through the structure as a rhythmic buzz that could be felt at the core. Plus, filtering down from above through the elevator shafts and air-conditioning ducts and water filtration system, was a new sound that was like the screeching of a host of demons, though still distant. The northern anomaly was approaching fast, and though Rembrandt had no idea of its velocity, it could not be outrun by the fastest of cars or trains. Coming from the south, the second anomaly torn in the fabric of the dimensions when Coombs had Semple’s henchmen pulled out of Old City came a tad slower, but with no less force. When they collided it would be with cataclysmic force unparalleled since the planet destroying asteroid that struck the earth sixty-five million years ago and wiped out the dinosaurs. Rembrandt had barely fifteen minutes to him before the two seething clouds of destruction impacted, but to him he felt his window of opportunity was much shorter.
From within the soundproofed lab nothing could be heard. Rembrandt had no idea what he’d find within. He swiped Heller’s key card and the doors whisked open.
He motioned Mina to wait at the threshold while he entered at a combat crouch, tracking round the laboratory with the Spectra. There were only two individuals left inside, and he was thankful to find that they were alive and well. Heller was sitting at the main control panel, while Professor Docherty stood with both hands on his chest. The old man was watching the large satellite feed screens with a look of sadness. Most of the screens were flickering, or full of static, some completely dark, but there were still some in working order that showed the widespread devastation. Scotland was fully enveloped under an ash coloured cloud, as was much of northern England and Northern Ireland, and a second cloud to the south was seeking the English Channel at one extreme and had spread as far north as Sheffield. Only a thin corridor of verdant green lands lay between the two, and the green blackened at the edges with notable speed. Rembrandt didn’t doubt that the anomalies formed from the breaches in South America, the Far East and the Balkans were every bit as large now. Given the speed at which each was growing, feeding on their impetus, the entire world would be a barren place within forty-eight hours.
Rembrandt motioned Mina inside the lab at the same moment Heller noticed him. She looked up from the console and her eyes were red-rimmed, her eyeliner making smudges on her cheeks. She let out a little yelp, which brought around Doherty. Neither questioned what the hell Rembrandt was thinking of bringing a prisoner into the secure environment. At that moment the four of them was all that stood between the void of eternity.
‘You made it back,’ Doherty said with some relief. ‘You must understand, Rembrandt, we had nothing to do with sending those goons after you. It was Major Coombs’s doing. George Fox – the turncoat – he was at the controls.’
The subject of Semple’s giants was moot now. All that mattered was that they were now dead and no longer a concern, and that Rembrandt were alive. The final point being he still had a chance at putting this right, so long as Heller had followed the brief instructions he’d given her earlier where they’d discussed a final attempt at halting the destruction of the earth.
‘Where are Coombs and Fox now?’ he asked.
‘I hope they’re in hell where they belong,’ Heller said, and he was reminded of how stony her face could grow. ‘They planned to bail out and forced me at gunpoint to initiate a transvection.’ She indicated a schematic map of the bunker on an adjacent screen. ‘I sent them back two minutes to these coordinates,’ she said tapping the lower screen, ‘before the readouts showed that level twenty-two collapsed. I doubt they will trouble us any further.’
Rembrandt was impressed by the skill of her treachery. He was reminded of what the two guards who’d escorted him to Coombs’s room had warned him of the doctor: Heller by name, Hell by nature. Despite her capacity for cruelty she was too wily an ally to be outdone by the likes of Major Coombs. Rembrandt was glad that she was on his side.
He noticed that Mina was watching the screens with a look of desolation.
Somehow sensing his scrutiny, she looked over at him. ‘I am responsible for all of this?’
She could have no true idea of what Barry Miller’s attack on the US president would lead to, because Rembrandt had barely hinted to her at what the future held in her world. But it was as if the universal truth was what it was and instinctively she had grasped the meaning behind the destruction. ‘You said something to me about no more babies being born…’ her hands went over her mouth even as the tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Oh my God!’
‘Yes, it’s some legacy, isn’t it?’ Heller said scathingly, also intuitively understanding who Mina was. ‘If there’s anyone left alive to write your eulogy it’ll definitely mention something about you being the destroyer of humankind.’
Rembrandt grunted. ‘Mina isn’t responsible for this. She’s a victim of events, that’s all, the same as the rest of us here. There are two men who could equally be described as the destroyers of humankind, and I intend making both of them pay.’
‘I already punished Major Coombs,’ Heller pointed out. ‘There’s only Terrence left now.’
Rembrandt shook his head. As well as Semple there was still another man and if his plan worked, he’d make sure he paid too. Right now, his agenda had to remain fixed on Terrence Semple. ‘Have you worked out the time and coordinates yet?’
‘Yes. W
e’re ready to go.’ Heller aimed a hand at the door to the Tempus chamber viewing area.
‘I can trust you not to send me down to level twenty-two?’ Rembrandt quirked his lips to show he was joking.
‘Perhaps I won’t have to,’ Heller said, returning his smile. ‘The integrity of the entire structure is on a point of implosion. If you don’t go now, you might not get the opportunity.’ Heller told him an exact time, date and location. ‘Be there if you can, but you do understand that this may be a one-way jump, don’t you, Rembrandt?’
‘There’s always the possibility…’
‘In all likelihood everything here will be destroyed.’ She glanced at Mina. ‘There’s no reason for your friend to stay here with us to die.’
Heller in those final seconds proved she wasn’t as heartless as she made out. In offering a way out for Mina she exhibited a kindness at odds with her fiery nature. Rembrandt leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek. Heller’s face reddened a shade as bright as her hair. Rembrandt winked at her. ‘See you in a couple of minutes, Doctor.’
He approached the professor, who extended a shaky hand. Rembrandt grasped it and said to the man, ‘I think you’ll make a more responsible person to head the Tempus Project next time around.’
Doherty frowned at his words. Rembrandt merely winked.
Rembrandt held the Spectra in his left hand. Before she could react one way or the other, he grabbed Mina by her wrist and hurried her towards the viewing area, even as Heller started to cycle the airlock door open. In the viewing room the floor was covered by fine silt and some larger chunks of debris that had fallen from the ceiling. Wiring conduits fizzed and leaked foul smoke. Muffled cracks and booms sounded from below. The shrieking of vengeful demons had grown closer. To Mina, Rembrandt said, ‘I’m still not ready for your thanks yet, but this is still about me trying to save your life, so the rules still apply.’
Mina hadn’t yet got over the shock of witnessing the oncoming destruction on the screens. She felt small and fragile standing next to him, his hand gripping her wrist. She moved her hand in his, seeking his fingers with hers and Rembrandt loosened his hold so that he could offer her the comfort she desperately sought.
‘I’m…I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘For everything I’ve done.’
‘Forget about it,’ Rembrandt said. If everything went to plan, the vengeful Mina would be consigned to the void the way in which his teammates were.
The pistons worked the airlock door, and it hissed open.
Rembrandt gave Mina a reassuring tug of her hand, leading towards the open portal.
A sharp staccato rattle sounded from behind, punctuated by a yelp of agony.
Even among the myriad bangs and cracks of the deconstructing bunker, Rembrandt recognized the sounds, and he released Mina and spun on his heel, bringing up the Spectra. ‘Get inside the airlock now!’ he yelled at Mina.
Beyond the large viewing window, Heller and Doherty were indistinct, fractured figures, but that was because the window was now crazed with cracks and pockmarks from the strafing of a machine pistol. A third figure was standing beyond them at the threshold of the outer exit door, the gun still flashing. Doherty hollered this time, and fell against a computer console. The old man slid sideways and crashed to the floor. Heller tried to make herself a smaller target, but resolutely would not leave her post. The figure strode into the lab, ungainly on an injured leg, and even without a clear view of his face Rembrandt knew who it was.
‘Semple, you son of a bitch,’ he growled.
He fired the Spectra, fully shattering the window and saw Semple crouch down, placing a desk and workstation between them for cover.
Rembrandt didn’t go for the door. Semple would kill him if he went through it. Instead he took a running jump through the broken window. Shards jammed within the frame caught at his clothing, scoured his skin, but didn’t dig too deep. He landed on the floor in the lab, and went to a crouch, scuttling for cover behind a similar workstation as the one Semple hid behind. Semple bobbed up, firing. His face was pale and livid, his eyes wild. Just in time he ducked as Rembrandt returned fire.
‘Throw out your gun, or I swear my next bullet will finish off the doctor,’ Semple shouted.
‘If you plan on using the Tempus chamber you need her alive,’ Rembrandt shouted back.
‘Where are Coombs and Fox?’ the once proud governor of the facility yelled.
‘Stinking in their graves by now,’ Rembrandt said with some satisfaction.
‘They’re dead? Then I do need the doctor,’ Semple agreed, ‘but the professor can die in her place. I mean it, the gun Rembrandt or I swear I’ll kill him right now.’
Unsure whether or not the professor was still alive, Rembrandt calculated his chances of saving Doherty and protecting his own body from Semple’s bullets. Then he understood…
Doherty would die in the next few minutes whether by Semple murdering him or by the lab crumbling around them all. The needs of the many, as ever, outweighed the needs of the few. Rembrandt stood up boldly, and called out, ‘You’ve got it, Semple. No need for you to harm the prof any further.’ He cast the Spectra behind him, through the broken window.
Semple peeped above the rim of the workstation. His gun barrel was trained on Rembrandt’s chest. He stood slowly, showing a smug smile. He ducked marginally, then brought up the briefcase he’d dragged from his chamber. He placed it on the workstation, without his aim ever wavering from Rembrandt. He said, ‘I warned you once before, Rembrandt. I survive this mess. I’m older when I come back and deliver the blueprints to my younger self. With the Tempus Project we can manipulate the past, but never the future: that should have showed you that you would always lose a battle with me.’
‘So what happens now?’ Rembrandt asked. ‘The lab’s falling down around our ears; if you’re going to jump out of here you’d best do it now instead of taking time to gloat.’
‘I think it’s my prerogative to gloat. Doctor Heller, I know you’re not as severely injured as you’re pretending to be. Initiate the Tempus chamber; I’m about to leave. As soon as I kill Chief Rembrandt, that is. Sorry, son, but I can’t take the chance that you might follow me. You strike me as the vengeful type.’
‘No,’ said Mina from the viewing room. ‘I’m the vengeful type.’
With all his attention on Rembrandt, Semple had not seen the young woman slip undetected from within the airlock to retrieve the discarded Spectra. She held the gun with familiarity, and fired it equally so. A close grouping of three bullets struck Semple low in the gut and he staggered over them, his machine pistol flying from his grasp and clattering on the floor at Rembrandt’s feet. Rembrandt snatched his Glock 20 from where he’d kept it hidden in his waistband. He fired, placing another two bullets in the governor’s gut. Semple’s mouth elongated in a shout of denial, and blood spluttered and popped between his teeth. His hands went to his wounds, and he squatted in his agony.
‘No…no…this can’t be happening,’ Semple groaned in disbelief. ‘I survive this! I…grow…older.’
Rembrandt slowly crouched to pick up Semple’s gun, as Mina came out through the door to offer further cover.
‘You assumed wrongly, Semple,’ Rembrandt said. ‘Typically, you were thinking only in egotistical terms: that it was your future self that gave you the gift of the Tempus blueprints. See, Professor Doherty explained to me that there were infinite dimensions and in each one there would be doppelgängers of our sentient selves. Had it not occurred to you that the Tempus machine could not be invented through the sheer paradox that a future self took it back in time? That’s illogical whichever way you look at it. It tells me it was another version of Terrence Semple, from a dimension and timeline where someone did develop the technology, that delivered it to you in this one. Such an understanding tells me that in the here and now you’ve become surplus to requirement.’
Rembrandt leveled the two guns on Semple.
His face contorting in agony, S
emple dropped, landing flat on his backside. His injured leg already leaked blood, and now the darker blood flowing from between the governor’s fingers joined it on the floor.
‘Don’t kill me,’ he said weakly, not realising that his death was inevitable.
‘You know what’s strange?’ Rembrandt asked. ‘Something that I hadn’t considered about all those doppelgängers is this: some of them are good people, but then some of them are bad. Guvnor Semple of Old City, for all he was selfish and greedy, he wasn’t a treacherous piece of shit like you turned out to be.’
Rembrandt fired and the guns shuddered in his hands.
Semple also shuddered as the jacketed projectiles tore through his body. He flopped backwards. Dead.
Mina was standing next to Doctor Heller. She cradled the Spectra as she met Rembrandt’s gaze.
Mina lowered the gun.
‘Thanks for saving my life,’ Rembrandt said.
‘I’m still waiting for you to save mine,’ she replied, ‘and that won’t happen if I’d let that madman shoot you.’
Heller raised her head. She had flecks of blood on her left cheek, splashed there from when a bullet had nicked her shoulder. ‘Are you two quite finished flirting? Go now. I’m not sure I can keep from passing out much longer…’
Rembrandt smiled at the woman’s feigned gruffness, but he immediately headed for the airlock with Mina at his side. They stood shoulder to shoulder as the infuriatingly slow disinfection cycle ran its course, and then the inner door hissed open. They had barely stepped inside the translucent chamber when a booming collapse happened nearby. The Tempus chamber swayed, but held its integrity.
