Twists in Time

by Various

  I put a hand on my hip. “Look buddy, I think the thin air up here is getting to you. I—”

  A look of stunned realization explodes across his face, making me falter. “You!”

  “Me?” I repeat. “What? Dude, I don’t even know you.”

  “I’ve see your picture on the wire. You’re the one who robbed the Sanitization Center last month.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Your hair was blonde then.”

  “You are confusing me with someone else.”

  “No, I’m sure of it.”

  I take another step back, putting my hands in the air, “Dude! You’ve never seen me before in your life. Now if you’ll excuse me…” I turn my back on him, ready to make a break for the access door, when the sound of thudding boots freezes me in my tracks.

  “On second thought,” I say and jog back to the edge, “give me your belt.”

  He looks at me like I must be crazy.

  “What?” I demand, “You don’t sprechen? Hand over the leather, now.”

  “Forget it. Use your own.”

  I grab him by the front of the pants and tug, freeing his belt from its tie.

  “Hey!” he slaps at my hands.

  “Oh, relax. I’m not trying to steal your virtue here, Mary.”

  Then I grab a fistful of his ivory shirt and pull him to the edge of the building. Tossing the belt over the old cable, I wrap it around my wrists. “Like this, okay?”

  I hand the belt over to him, slip off my own sturdy leather strap, and sling it over the cable, too. Then, reaching up, I pull the goggles off my head and slide them over my eyes.

  “You wanna go first, or should I?”

  Just as I say it, the door bursts open, and two white suits with sawed-off shotguns step onto the roof.

  “Stop right there,” goon number one yells, pointing at us.

  “Um, never mind,” I say and jump.

  ***

  My landing is less than graceful. Curling into a tuck, I let go with one hand and let myself pitch forward, trying to roll as I hit the gritty, tar-paper roof. Rolling to my feet, I look back over my shoulder. Wraith Ravensdale is close at my heels, but he doesn’t know how to stop, so he just sort of lets go with both hands and jumps for it. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he screams in pain and falls to one side, clutching his leg.

  I should leave him. I really should. He isn’t my problem. Still…

  God, I am a sucker for a hard-luck case. Even when that hard-luck case looks suspiciously like the Mayor’s son.

  With a huff, I pull off my goggles, reach down, and pull him to his feet. He hobbles there for a minute, experimentally putting weight on his injured foot just to howl and raise it again. I slip his arm over my head and grab him by the waist.

  “Can you gimp your way down the stairs?”

  He nods. “I think so. I’m Wraith, by the way.”

  “Great.” I look back at the roof across the alley where three more white suits have gathered. They are staring us down, trying—I assume—to decide whether or not to shoot us. “Introductions later, running for our lives now, cool?”

  “They still coming?” Wraith asks, his face strained and pale from the pain.

  I hesitate. “Nah. They won’t risk making the jump.”

  No sooner had the words left my mouth than one of the men began taking off his jacket and looping it over the cable.

  “I really hate it when I’m wrong,” I complain as we book it across the rooftop.

  “That happen often?” he asks.

  I can only shrug.

  Even limping, Wraith has speed. At the other end of the roof, I look over the side and climb down onto the fire escape, waving for Wraith to join me.

  Three steps down, I realize we aren’t going to make it. We are three stories up, and I hear the distinct sound of someone hitting the roof above us.

  “Shit.”

  I push Wraith against the railing while I look around.

  “Go without me,” he says, panting. “It’s me they want.”

  I should just leave him. They won’t hurt him, not really. I mean, the goon who hurts the boss’s son is pretty much guaranteed an early retirement, right? Still, I look into his eyes.

  I shake my head. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

  “It’s okay, they won’t hurt me…”

  He doesn’t have a chance to finish. With a firm blow, I push him over the railing of the balcony.

  He lands with a thud in the large, green dumpster below. I swear and climb the railing, jumping in after him.

  Luckily, it wasn’t dump-your-old-electronics day, and the dumpster is filled mostly with paper trash and stuff. Not so luckily, I land right on top of Wraith, who breaks my fall, but I also manage to dislocate my shoulder.

  “Ooooh. That’s gonna leave a mark,” I grumble, trying to climb off him. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

  He groans and nods.

  With my good arm, I pull myself up using the side of the dumpster. Above us, the first white suit glares down.

  I slap Wraith. “Come on. Get up now.”

  Just as we both manage to climb over the side of the dumpster, the white suit climbs over the edge of the railing above. I flip the plastic cover over just as he lets go.

  The guard hits the cover with a dull thud, bounces off, and face plants in the brick wall, knocking himself out.

  “That worked out well,” Wraith chuckles.

  I scoop him up, and we hobble out of the alley, my arm screaming in protest.

  The police must still be in the building because the street is clear. We cross quickly to the area where I’d hidden my bike. Propping him up against the wall, I tear the tarp off and quickly roll it into a ball, stuffing it in the compartment under my seat. Reaching into my leather pouch, I pull out the small magnesium sheet and press it into the slot on the steering column, then hit the switch. The motorbike growls to life.

  “I can’t drive this with one arm; you are gonna have to help me set this shoulder,” I say to Wraith, walking forward. He reluctantly takes my hand.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, his voice high.

  “I know. Relax. I just need you to hold it very still while I push against it, okay?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can.”

  I slap him with my good hand. “Look, rich kid, you will do this. You will not chick out on me here, got it?”

  He nods.

  “Hold it very still,” I order. “I’m going to turn hard and fast. Don’t let go. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “On three. One, two, three.”

  I jerk hard and immediately fall to my knees, the scream ripping out of my throat before I can stop it. Finally, I manage to shove my fist in my mouth. Water fills my eyes until I can’t see and I have to blink the tears away.

  “You alright?” Wraith asks, sounding drained.

  I nod and look up at him. His face has gone from pale white to kind of green and sallow. Shock is probably setting in.

  “Fine,” I lie, managing to get to my feet. I climb onto the bike and rev the engine, knowing if I don’t get him out of here soon, he’ll pass out, and then he’ll be out of luck because I can’t lift him, not even with two good shoulders.

  “Climb on,” I order, sliding my goggles back on.

  He limps over and climbs onto the back, wrapping his arms around my waist. The feeling is uncomfortably intimate. I don’t like being touched, much less feeling like someone is clinging to me. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, that fight or flight instinct kicks in, and I peel out of the alley, racing to the only place I can think to go.

  The address Tatton gave me.

  ***

  The city is like a ghost town today, which makes things harder. I like the crowd. Crowds are safe. They are like camouflage for the face. But Mayor Ravensdale is holding a mandatory press conference today, and most of the people are on their way to City Hall. I manage to m
ake it to the pharmacy right before the owner locks up. I wave, and he nods, retreating.

  “What are you doing?” Wraith asks.

  “You’re hurt. I’m hurt. We need some meds if we’re going to make it to the Outskirts before dark.”

  “Why are we going to the Outskirts?” he asks, clearly nervous.

  I don’t blame him, really. The Outskirts are the black hole of the city, the place where civilization, or what passes for it here, dissolves into a vat of chaos and hedonism. Not the kind of place the Mayor’s son would be caught dead in.

  “You have two minutes,” he says, eyeing me warily.

  “I’ll only need one.”

  The shelves are mostly bare. Hard to make drugs with limited electricity. Only three buildings in the city have power full time: City Hall, the police station, and the food bank. The rest of us get about thirty minutes a day in a rotating cycle. But you can fill out the forms and request more time if, say, you are producing something the Mayor thinks is useful. Like booze or meds. The Outskirts never get any power at all, except for what they can steal from the grid.

  Quickly grabbing a bottle of aspirin and a general antibiotic, I take the loot to the counter. The pharmacist looks shocked. He probably figured I’d just come in to steal something. Any other day, he’d have been right. I hand him the credits I’d just lifted from Wraith’s pocket, and he mumbles a pleasantry, dropping the bottles in a brown paper sack, which I then stuff into the pocket of my holster.

  When I get back to my bike, Wraith is leaning against it, keeping his chin tucked into his chest as I approach.

  Rummaging through the bag, I pull out the aspirin, pop a couple in my hand, and hold them out to him.

  “Here, these will help with the pain. Some.”

  “Look,” he says, not looking at me. “I appreciate what you did for me. But I should go my own way.”

  I smirked, “It’s hard to be on the run when you can’t even walk. Where you planning on going that Daddy dearest can’t find you? You got a girl or something?”

  “Or something. I don’t want to bring trouble to your door.”

  “Too late,” I retort, popping the pills myself.

  He grins. “Thing is, I went to Tatton to try to find a guy. Scientist by the name of Alistair.”

  I blink. That’s who Tatton sent me to. Coincidence? Doubt it.

  “What do you need with him?”

  “Personal business,” he says, his demeanor stiffening. “Now, with Tatton in the wind…”

  He trails off. “Anyway, I don’t wanna be unwanted company.”

  I nod. “So, thing is, maybe I know where to find this Alistair. Maybe I could point you in the right direction. And as far as unwanted company, well, we’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it.”

  He shakes his head, pulling himself up tall. “Well, thanks. I think.”

  I hold up my hand. “Whoa right there. Don’t get all mushy on me, babe. I’m not the marrying kind.”

  The look of alarm that passes over his face is momentarily hilarious. I laugh out loud.

  “Kidding,” I say.

  He cracks a smile and moves to get back on the bike.

  I stop him with a hand on the shoulder.

  “No-go. We’ll walk from here.” I glance around, spotting a large junk pile in the ally across the street. “There—help me push her over.”

  He looks down at his ankle in a what-do-you-expect-from-me gesture. I huff and drop the motorcycle into neutral, pushing her across the street. He follows.

  “Why are we walking?” he asks.

  I hold up a finger. “One, I’m almost out of magnesium sheets to run her.” I hold up another finger. “And two, it’s not the most subtle mode of transport. With the streets being so empty, we’re better off on foot.”

  “On foot? We’ll get stopped for sure. There’s a patrol on every block.”

  Oh, the innocence of newbs.

  “Yes, which is why we won’t be walking on the streets, we’ll be walking under them,” I say, pointing to the nearby manhole. When he turns to look at it, I grab a shard of rebar from the junk pile. “Let’s go, princess.”

  ***

  “Okay, we have got to be lost. We’ve been walking forever,” Wraith complains.

  I rub my temple with my thumb. “Remember that bridge I was talking about earlier? Well, I’m about to push you off it.”

  “Sorry,” he mutters as we come to yet another intersecting tunnel.

  Luckily, it hasn’t rained in the last few weeks; the grimy water is only about ankle deep. Even though it’s not really a sewer, just a storm drain, it still stinks to high heaven. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath, focusing on the one distinct and unmistakable smell out of all the others.

  Ocean.

  I jerk my head. “This way.”

  Seattle was a great city once, long before the solar flares hit. When global communications went down, it was complete chaos, or so they say. I’m too young to remember any of that, of course. I was born seventeen years ago, in 2100. A baby of the 22nd century, all I remember is war and poverty and disease.

  You know, the basics.

  The Outskirts start at the old fish market and extend down the coast for about a mile. It’s a haven for tramps and thieves, and—on occasion—geniuses.

  “So what do you want with Alistair?” I say, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  “I heard that he—” He stops. “Never mind.”

  “Aw, come on. Don’t leave a girl hangin’.”

  He licks his lips. “I heard he developed some Jump tech.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I got that memo, too.”

  He pauses in mid-step, turning to me with a look of surprise on his face. “That’s where you’re going, too?”

  I nod and keep walking. “It’s my only way out. I get pinched again and I’m Sanitization bound.”

  I suppress the shudder that rolls over my skin. Sanitization. A nice way to describe what they do to criminal offenders. They should just call it what it is—being scrapped for parts.

  “Then why do you risk it? Why not just lie low and stop…” He frowns, struggling for the right word, I imagine.

  “Stealing things? Blowing things up? Fighting back?” I offer.

  He nods.

  “System’s broken, kid,” I say. “I thought if I could fight back, I could make a difference. Change things for people.”

  “But?” he says.

  I shake my head. “But, it’s too late. I’m just one person. Everyone else is too scared to stand up and fight. They’re all just rats in a maze. Can’t change things from this end.”

  A glimmer of understanding registers in his expression. “So you’re hoping to change things from the other end. Go back in time and set things on a different course.”

  I nod. Maybe it’s stupid. But after the first time Tatton made the offer, I’d thought about it—really thought about it. I did my research, combed through what was left of the archives, and found that one moment, that linchpin event that could change the course of history.

  Actually effecting that change would be tricky, to put it mildly.

  “Your turn,” I say. “Why do you want to go back?”

  A tick works in his jaw as he turns away.

  “Nothing as noble as that,” he says. “I just want to go back and stop my mother from getting hit by that beam.”

  I look away. His words are too raw, too personal, making the already-uncomfortable distance between us seem like an unbridgeable gulf.

  “You think I’m shallow,” he says flatly.

  I shake my head. “No, I just think, maybe if my plan works, we can keep any of it from happening.”

  “Or you might keep us from even being born.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Mr. Brightside.” A light fills the tunnel ahead of us. The smell of ocean is strong now, strong enough to drown out all the other scents. “Look, we’re here.”

  ***

  The street is nar
row and dim, the last bits of daylight fading into the purple-red sky. There are people everywhere, some walking, heads down, at a determined pace, others wandering aimlessly, as if unsure where they are and how they arrived here.

  Wraith sticks close to me as we wander the streets, searching for the address I keep repeating in my head. Finally, I see it. An abandoned boathouse on the water.

  It’s tall—easily as tall as the wharf—and every door and window is boarded closed.

  “There.” I point, leading him across the empty lot and up to what should have been the front door. “Look for a way in,” I say, and we split up.

  Finally, he shouts, “Here.”

  I make my way around the building and find a thick, metal side door, the small window covered with a metal grate.

  “Do we just knock?” he asks.

  “I could pick the lock,” I offer.

  Just then, the door swings open and a man in an orange bio suit steps out. He pulls the respirator down from his mouth.

  “Quinn?” he asks.

  “Um, yeah,” I stammer. “And, um, friend.”

  He nods. “Tatton told me you’d be coming,” is all he says, ushering us in.

  I have to admit, the inside is… not what I’d been expecting.

  Rows and rows of thick cables and wires hung from the ceiling, running along the floor to various consoles and switches, each looking like they were constructed from scrap car parts and aluminum. Glancing up, I see a massive hole in the roof and the corner of a solar panel sticking out.

  “Holy shit, a solar panel?” I say, whistling. “That musta cost a fortune.”

  The man in the suit strips off the mask and goggles, tugging the orange hood off his head to expose a mop of ginger curls. “I built it myself. Took lots of time and over six hundred empty soda cans washing up on the beach.”

  “You’re Alistair,” Wraith says, still taking stock of the room.

  The man nods. “Doctor Peter Alistair, at your service.”

  “Not to be a dick,” Wraith begins, “but why are you doing this? This much metal would have bought you a palace in Central City. Why waste it here, on this?”

  Alistair sweeps a glance around the room, tucking his mask under one arm. “Wealth means nothing when there is no freedom to accompany it. Out here, I’m free. I can tinker and build things, experiment and learn.”