Steamrolled

by Pauline Baird Jones

  You had a strange look on your face.

  Emily could only think of a question to respond to that, so she ignored the comment. It was her voice, her head, so she could do that.

  “This dream keeps getting weirder and weirder. Now I’m hearing voices in my head.” She gave a weak chuckle. Maybe alert and attentive was a bad choice. “Actually it’s just one voice.”

  “Nod.” Robert looked anxious. “He didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

  Emily blinked. It didn’t help. Then she realized, it was her dream, so of course, he’d know what or who was in her head.

  It’s not a dream, Emily. Nod sounded sorry.

  If he weren’t an imaginary voice in her head, and therefore part of her dream, she’d have felt sorry for him.

  I could show you I am real, but this place is hostile to us.

  Hostile. She’d dang near asked a question. Made her dang near get a headache. If she’d been awake. Except the almost ache smoothed away, like a soothing touch against her temples.

  There is something about this place that is inimical to nanites.

  “Nanites.” She managed to keep it not a question, though it was close. Did it violate her rule if she broke it in a dream? It felt like it did, but then everything felt rule-break-ish.

  We like you. So does Robert.

  Maybe she was awake. It was possible. If she didn’t look around too much and focused on the moment. A moment that included Robert liking her, maybe even falling in love with her wasn’t half bad. Definitely better than her usual.

  “Nanites are microscopic computers.”

  “Nanotechnology,” Emily agreed, her tone knowledgeable, even though that was the extent of her knowledge.

  “Wynken, Blynken and Nod were cooped up in test tubes for centuries, perhaps longer. In that time, they became sentient, because, well, we’re not sure exactly how that happened, just that it did.”

  “I can see why you’d be unsure. It’s sentience, after all.” Emily wasn’t sure why she said that, but was glad she had when Robert smiled.

  “That’s true. We live together, but we’re still working to understand each other.”

  He was crazy, but that wasn’t that big of a problem. Crazy was her home, too, and the kissing was great. She did a bit of lean, just to be friendly. Not because she as begging for it. Instead of reciprocating with a lean, his chin jerked up. She matched his move, though without the jerk. She’d gotten so used to the rumble of steam engines she’d forgotten to be alert for airships.

  She should have stayed alert. Because an airship was heading straight for them. And just like that, getting a ride in one lost it appeal.

  * * * *

  Faustus could have had Doctor open up the malfunctioning automaton, but it satisfied something in him to use a live specimen instead. They cared when someone cut into their head. The automatons didn’t. And he was annoyed by the unknown incursion into his laboratory. The perimeter was seeded with alarms when anyone arrived in the laboratory, so that the automatons could be sent out. He’d done the math and it was too soon for the snare train to arrive, so who had arrived right before the laboratory became unstable? Whoever had breached containment would be sorry now and sorrier later, after collection. In the meantime, this specimen would pay for the incursion.

  The screaming stopped far too soon. He’d been in the mood for more. No sense wasting anesthesia on a soon-to-be-deleted specimen, but the shock killed the specimen very quickly. Perhaps, it had had a weak heart.

  He waited while the Doctor finished removing the control device from the base of the neck, then moved to a large magnifying device where he opened it up, a process complicated as more quakes shook the operating facility. Faustus assumed the lightning storm continued outside, though he lacked the visual evidence. And while he waited, with a growing sense that somewhere time tried to slip his leash, he pondered the situation with the laboratory. He still required the laboratory, so the instability must be resolved. Had the recent arrivals caused it? They shouldn’t have the power, but if they had, who were they, and how had they managed an unscheduled arrival?

  He frowned. He’d activated the portal diversion program, just in case the possibly missing tracker tried to use it to get home, but hadn’t really expected it to snag anything. The portal hadn’t been used by the Time Service for, well, no one knew exactly, but a very long time. It was too unpredictable, too imprecise—except during retrieval. Could that be how they’d penetrated his security? Had he set the parameters too wide? Picked up someone from a time when the portal was still in use?

  An alternate reality was tricky to create, challenging to maintain. Specimens had to be introduced with care or the reality resisted. It had taken much trial and error to determine what parameters caused the reality to resist a specimen’s introduction, and he still had the occasional problem with one. Luckily, a quick deletion usually solved the problem.

  Doctor’s hands stilled and he looked up. It took a moment to read the unfamiliar expression. Faustus decided he looked puzzled.

  “Master.” He stopped, as if unsure what to say next.

  He arched his brows and Doctor paled. “What’s wrong?”

  “The power source.” He swallowed, the action too visible in the extreme thinness of Doctor’s neck. “It’s…gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “Just gone. Like it was never there.”

  He tensed. “Check the remaining supply.” When Doctor didn’t move right away, he added with silky menace. “Now, Doctor.”

  He stumbled to the storage container and manipulated the locks. His shoulders slumped, but it wasn’t until Doctor turned to look at him, that he saw relief on a face that looked better with no expression.

  “It’s still here.”

  “All of it?”

  A pause while the Doctor checked. “Most of it. Some is missing.” He appeared puzzled. “No one can access this place but me, Master.”

  He waved Doctor to silence. “No one did.” Time. It wasn’t alive, though it sometimes felt as if it were. He had been concerned that the time change and his laboratory problem were connected. It seemed he had been right to be concerned. Wasn’t it lucky for him that he knew where to plug the problem, or rather, he knew which stream to use to counter Time’s play.

  “I’ll need one of the native specimens.”

  TWENTY

  Ashe looked from Chameleon to her man, a very pretty Gadi in attire typical of the same period as the woman’s. Her nose, his eyes—no surprise the paradox tremors returned when he arrived, but they’d smoothed down some during their retreat to a small conference room. It seemed the tremors mostly liked retreating, though they lapped at her knees as if she moved through unfriendly water. She sat down fast, though not so fast she showed weakness, and looked around with feigned interest, because the windowless room had nothing in it to be interested in, other than her companions. Lurch assured her their communications were secure, that she was safe here. Easy for him to be unworried. Even if she vanished from time, he’d exist in another host somewhere.

  I am trying to protect you both. A long pause. I would think I’d earned your trust.

  Did he sound a tiny bit hurt? She could only hope. I trust you as much as you trust me. He might have winced. Ashe saw the Chameleon suppress a smile. She looks like she can take care of herself and a few other people. I don’t know why you’re so worried about her.

  She is the most dangerous woman I have ever known.

  The admiration in his tone kicked her into defensive mode. I can be dangerous. I just don’t choose to.

  If a nanite could snort, then he did. Don’t fool yourself, little one. You are more like her than any of her descendants.

  Was she flattered or insulted? Her gaze collided with the man’s. It was a bit freaky gazing into the perfect match of her eyes. Even the expression was almost the same. He has nanites, too, doesn’t he? It was seriously weird to sense, but not be allowed to hear, the below-the
-surface conversation. It flowed like an undercurrent to the silence that had settled over them as they’d seated themselves, a conversation layered on top of the paradox eddies that created an odd and uncomfortable soup for Ashe. She assumed that everyone but her was getting brought up to speed.

  “We all seem to have reached the end of the same page,” the man said, breaking the silence, confirming her hypothesis—and boosting her annoyance at being out of the discussion. “What I do not grasp is how you found Smith. From what I understand, it is difficult to find and follow anyone in time. Smith was in place for several years before…intersecting our lives.”

  “You’re both a bit paranoid about names, aren’t you?”

  “I call it natural caution.” Chameleon’s smile veered back to creepy.

  Ashe turned back to the man, considering her options. “I didn’t ‘find’ Smith. I found an energy trail and he was at the end of it.” She considered some more, while she pondered what to tell them. “It would be easier to show you my encounter, than try to explain it.” Even Lurch couldn’t help the wince of near pain as they recalled the “meeting,” in the midst of a firefight. She frowned. Where had that phrase come from? While there had been a fight, what she knew of fire, she’d seen nothing remotely like flames.

  It is an exchange of shots. With weapons. The flare of fire when they discharge.

  Oh. Lurch had sounded over patient, rather like the Chameleon, which annoyed her and gave an edge when she asked, “Will you allow the memory?”

  The question was a nanite ritual courtesy and a necessity when it was so easy to invade another’s thoughts. Not for the first time Ashe was grateful for basic nanite ethics. She braced for it, but Lurch didn’t tweak her for trusting his ethics while not trusting him. Nanites had a lot of personal restraint.

  The man looked at Chameleon and she nodded assent. Lurch fed it to them through the nanite link. It was her first chance to rerun the encounter, so she watched it with interest, wincing at her missed shot. Still couldn’t tell if it was a paradox or the machine. No way to tell who or what could threaten her future. The whole room had been shaking just before the machine checked out. Would be nice to know if there was a paradox in there somewhere since it was her posterior on the line. Lurch didn’t play the whole encounter, just zoomed in on Smith. The sharing complete, the two looked at each other, Chameleon showing real worry that Ashe sensed was out of character for the “most dangerous woman” ever.

  “That is the man we know as Smith,” Chameleon agreed, her tone tense.

  “He must have been inside the transmogrification machine. Those were his orders,” the man said, his hand reaching for hers.

  He?

  Her missing brother.

  Oh right. Ashe was glad she hadn’t asked out loud.

  “Maybe I should try to retrieve him from our end.”

  Lurch flinched, but Ashe was the one who had to tell her. “If Smith and your brother,” she hesitated, but there was no tactful way to say it, “crossed paths, Smith could follow that signal here.”

  “Follow my brother, you mean.”

  The sense of menace in the room bumped up several notches. “If Smith diverted him, then no. All you would “retrieve” would be a path straight back to you.” It seemed a logical assumption, based on the traps she’d seen. And it is what she would do.

  Chameleon started to puff up.

  “What happened to it?” Her man’s question was probably meant to be diversionary and it worked.

  Before Ashe could speak, Lurch fed them the view of it vanishing following the “fire” fight. Her memory, her head, but she wasn’t bitter.

  “Smith didn’t get it,” the man said.

  “You don’t know where it went?”

  Ashe thought about the odd, smoothed, yet exploded place, heavy with Constilinium traces, that she’d observed in the time stream. She didn’t know it was the machine, though she had a sense that it was. It had retained traces of the same scents from her first encounter with it and it had looked like it might explode at any minute. If her brother had been inside when it left, it didn’t mean he was in it when it exploded. If it had exploded. Whatever it was, the explosion could be years in the future. Or part of the past. It could have nothing to do with the machine. Seemed better to focus on the positive. Less chance of getting shot.

  “It might have gone to Roswell,” Ashe admitted, thinking of the trail she’d followed there. If this woman knew her history—and Ashe was sure she did—it would be a good distraction. A phantom pain from the impact she’d experienced twanged her ribs. She rubbed the spot, then wished she hadn’t when the woman’s gaze narrowed. She hadn’t connected with the machine, but it was interesting that Keltinarian craft had been headed there as well. During a time period when it shouldn’t be there. Her head tried to hurt thinking about that.

  “Roswell.” Chameleon blinked. Her man blinked, too, but he didn’t appear to recognize the name. “You went to Roswell. Any particular date?”

  Ashe didn’t like feeling called onto square, didn’t like being looked at like she made a mistake. She wasn’t a rookie tracker, okay, so she was just barely out of rookie status, but this woman wasn’t her supervisor, and she had better instincts than skilled trackers. She wasn’t sitting in some time trap somewhere. Odd how none of that helped while staring at the Chameleon. “It was a historically relevant time.”

  “Please tell me you aren’t the alien from the crash site.”

  Not telling her worked for Ashe.

  “But the legends, you look nothing like—”

  Lurch just had to adjust her holo-camo. You are supposed to be a mature Older. He switched it back, with a flicker of something that was equal parts humor and apology.

  “Oh dear.” Chameleon’s sigh ruffled Ashe’s hair across the table.

  It seemed a good time for another distraction.

  “Why were Smith and the automatons after the machine?” She paused. “Why were your people after the machine? Those were your people I saw protecting the machine and they were after it, weren’t they?”

  Chameleon tensed, her face closing with an almost audible snap, even as her brows arched. “Automatons? Show me.” So Lurch showed her, again without waiting for Ashe. The brows didn’t come down. “Automatons.”

  She sounded, well, something like winded. Ashe had a feeling that didn’t happen that often. Her man frowned.

  “What is an automaton?”

  “Something that shouldn’t be.”

  Ashe had a feeling there’d been another nanite linked information exchange. And she was still the only one not on the channel. You’re using my head here. Be polite to include me.

  Wrong time.

  “Wrong time?” If she wasn’t supposed to say it out loud, Lurch shouldn’t be shutting her out of the private confab.

  “Wrong time?” Chameleon’s expression stayed in the severe range. “You mean time that is wrong, right? Not that it was the wrong time.”

  “Yes.” Ashe assented, but considered the statement for a few seconds to be sure. She was weary from time in the stream and the paradox tremors. Lurch’s presence restored her in many ways, but stream travel had been rough and she was new at it. It didn’t help that there was much to ponder, more to unravel. Her gaze collided with the Chameleon’s and she stiffened. She would not show weakness in front of her. “Yes, I mean time that is wrong.”

  After a pause that felt odd, the Chameleon spoke. “Do you need anything? Food? The loo?”

  Did you tell her? Then, what’s a loo?

  Lurch seemed to sigh as he fed her a translation. I do not know which of you is more difficult.

  Ashe had to struggle for several seconds before she could manage a semi-polite, “Both would be welcome, thank you.”

  “Outside, second door on the right.”

  When Ashe returned to the room, a tray of something she assumed was food waited at her seat. She sank into her seat, eyeing it with both suspicion and interest.
It smelled all right, pleasant almost, though different.

  “Roast beef and potatoes,” Chameleon said. “The green stuff is beans and there’s cake.”

  “I like cake,” her man said, giving her a slashing, charm intensive smile.

  Ashe smiled in response, noting that time around him appeared fixed. Seemed to indicate he’d held, or did hold a leadership position. A relative and a leader. She should know his face, but didn’t. Interesting.

  There was considerable chemistry between the two. The air between them crackled almost as much as wrong time. A bond that strong would be hard to sever. Even time might have trouble, though the way it moved between them was also interesting. He and his time were able to penetrate her time boundaries. Almost it seemed they meshed in a way she’d never observed, even between mated couples.

  They have a special link.

  Looked dangerously special and Lurch’s resounding silence upped that impression. She offered both a polite smile, a bit more warmth going his direction, before scooping up some of the white mass. Potatoes, she’d said. The texture was odd, a bit on the bland side, but not awful.

  “You mentioned wrong time,” the Chameleon said.

  Ashe nodded warily. Even eating here probably violated Service regulations. Unless she was the last? That thought killed her appetite. She set the eating utensil down, a slight tremor in her hand that wasn’t because of a paradox.

  “How bad is it?”

  If she’d asked, Ashe might not have answered, but he sounded sympathetic.

  “Bad.”

  The Chameleon’s expression blanked in a way that was not comfortable. “You mentioned these time pins and that it was serious if they were pulled?”

  Ashe nodded with obvious wariness.

  “What does pulling involve? How is it done?”

  Until the incident with the time traps, she’d have said pulling was terminal, supposedly an accidental termination. Now she wasn’t so sure.