Steamrolled

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Ashe tried her time senses, letting the stream, and it’s eddies, filter through her in a way she wouldn’t normally do. It was uncomfortable, almost painful to do without entering the stream. Now that she focused on the stream, she felt it almost spin around the base. It was a relief to shut them off again.

  “This place could also be a sort of lynch pin.” It might explain why the Council would make it the base, perhaps even how the Garradians were able to use it to create the space/time portal.

  It is heavily infused with nanites, non-sentient, but with the ability to adapt and learn.

  Ashe realized Lurch was talking to all of them when the Chameleon’s man spoke up. “You seem very fixated on the nanites.”

  “You’ve seen them deleted before coming here.” Chameleon wasn’t asking.

  A slow nod. “There are indications that someone is targeting nanites across the time line.”

  Ashe thought the Chameleon was as pale as she could get. It seemed she was wrong.

  “Targeting as in eradicating?”

  “The evidence suggests extinction is the desired outcome.” She studied Chameleon, sensing more than just nanite love bothering her. “In my time, there are factions unhappy with the Nanite Nation.”

  “Unhappy how?” Chameleon’s tone demanded a response.

  “Unrest. Suspicion—”

  “Of what?”

  “Genetic manipulation. That extending host lives is thinly disguised species selection. Demands for wider access.”

  “Wider access?” The man frowned. “Access is limited?”

  “Nanites are a free nation, living inside people they have chosen, and who have agreed to host them. It is a loose confederation of host and hosted.” Though Lurch had lived in her since she was a child, there had been a point of choosing, mutual acceptance of the alliance. Had she requested it, he would have left. “It is an issue of freedom, not access. Many who push for access have motives that are less than stellar. Nanite technology is less constrained, but there are limits on what’s available for security reasons.” As a host, Ashe knew more than most about the limitations, challenges and concerns of host and hosted. For those on the outside, she’d observed both fear and fascination. That she understood, the paranoia, not so much. “There are some small factions that wish to be free of what they call nanite domination, others who suspect the nanites of controlling the Time Service.”

  “And do they?” Chameleon’s man asked.

  Before finding out how nanite infused the base was, she’d have said no. Did the Council know what they owed the nanites, even as they sought to limit sentient nanites access to the Service? Was that the reason they tried to limit access? Again she felt a quiver of knowing, but not quite knowing what she knew.

  “Trackers with sentient nanites are rare in the service and most are Youngers, offspring of an Older.” She paused, then added, “I doubt I would have been accepted had they realized I host an Older, but they assumed that I hosted a Younger. Most Olders don’t choose a child as a host.”

  “You’ve had Lurch since you were a child.” It wasn’t a question, so Ashe didn’t bother to respond, just waited as wheels within wheels turned in the Chameleon’s eyes. “Small groups can grow,” she spoke again, with no small measure of grim. “And if one or more of them got access to time travel—” She broke off, thoughts flickering through her gaze. “You said it was bad out there. How bad is bad? Are we facing a time reset?”

  “A time reset would be, not good, but not the worst that could happen,” Ashe said.

  “You must not have gone through one if you think that,” the Chameleon’s man said, with more than a hint of wry.

  “That I know about,” she pointed out. How to explain the unexplainable? How to sort instinct from actual knowledge? And make sure she didn’t launch a new round of paradox tremors. “At least with a time reset, time would mostly return to what it is supposed to be.”

  “Mostly?”

  “It is not a perfect process. Or a tidy one.”

  “No, it’s not.” Chameleon echoed the wry of her man. “So you’re not worried about a reset. What does worry you?”

  “There are indications of competing interests in the stream.” It wasn’t a perfect description of what she’d seen in the stream. “If someone is trying to—”

  “Game time?”

  Ashe needed Lurch to explain the slang, before she could nod. “Yes, if someone is trying to game time, they would need to neutralize or at least minimize any reset.” Did nanites play some part in the reset process? The data download from the alternate time lines suggested they did or could if they chose. “If time resets, I would assume our time gamer—this big bug’s plan would be impacted as well.” Whoever it was existed outside the time line, which pointed back to the Council. It was possible there was some other entity able to figure out the science, but the Service was being targeted, which seemed to point back to the Council—or at least inside knowledge. “There is no research or data to support this, but the stream feels” she hesitated, but there was no right term for what she’d felt, so she settled for, “contrary and there are signs of two forces working in opposition to each other, or at least, that is what my time senses, my instincts, tell me.” She expected to get blasted for this, but Chameleon nodded in almost approval.

  “How is that possible?”

  If Chameleon had asked the question, Ashe might have returned a sharper answer, but it came from her man. Still, it did not seem wise to admit just how new she was to the Time Service. Before she could compose a response, the Chameleon filled that gap.

  “If they are doing it, then it’s possible. The real question is what’s their end game? What’s their desired outcome? In addition to nanite extinction.”

  “If time became unstable, someone who knew how to manipulate it, could—in theory—set time on a totally new course. Lives, history, planets, and galaxies would all be altered and the survivors wouldn’t know it.”

  “Except the time wardens,” the man pointed out.

  “The Time Service is out of time,” Ashe conceded, not sure if she should continue.

  “You’re being targeted, too,” Chameleon finished what Ashe didn’t want to say.

  She nodded. “Someone has placed traps in places trackers go, the only place you’d know for sure to find us.” She found a memory. “You were held in one of these stations in the stream.”

  “Yes, we were, by Smith.”

  “I observed one of these traps. They were similar to the stations, though they’d been altered. I saw nanites extinguished by these traps.”

  Ashe didn’t like to admit it, but it felt better to share the burden, to feel not so alone. She’d never faced a situation that Lurch couldn’t help her with, in fact, most situations in her life he’d taken her along for the ride. Now she had to figure out how to stop this time stream assault and do it without getting Lurch killed.

  “And the host?” Chameleon’s voice was beyond grim, well into deadly.

  “The host was alive when I left.”

  “You knew him?”

  “I was assigned to him for the duration of the drill.”

  “You left him?”

  Ashe tensed at the implied condemnation, could almost hear the echo of the adage we don’t leave our people behind. “He was senior and he left me. And I had no way to free him. We couldn’t even assess the trap without extinguishing more nanites. I would have been trapped with him.” Her chin lifted. “We did leave observers behind.” That she had lacked time to check on, events had moved so swiftly. “And I had other, more pressing priorities.”

  “Well, here’s one for you. You need to get out there and find my brother.” Chameleon leaned in, held back only by her man’s hand on her arm.

  “No.” Ashe lifted her chin higher. “That’s the wrong play. This man, your intersection predates these other incursions.” She hoped she was right about that, but it felt right. “If we solve the problem here, if we can track it
back,” and possibly forward, “it should help ease the stress on time. If we get side tracked, whoever is doing this could end our lives while we follow the wrong track. Something about the Ambassador, this place and time, matters—”

  “I get your point.”

  It seemed the Chameleon wasn’t used to lectures or being told no. Then she smiled, one edged with wicked.

  “I guess that means we have to examine his head.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Faustus shifted his virtual presence to the arrival bay before Doctor called to tell him the drone was incoming. He didn’t need the notification. He could see the signs of it approaching, even at the top of his tower. It was possible he could see the sway more at the top of his tower, yet another reason to be thankful for his ability to be a virtual visitor. That movement would be most unpleasant for his stomach. He’d always suffered from motion sickness, which made it all the more ironic he’d ended up traveling through space.

  He wondered which he’d see when the drone arrived. The specimen or the bloody mess that remained of the specimen? An unfamiliar excitement gripped him. He wasn’t sure he liked it, though he was careful not to let it show as Tobias and Doctor joined him at arrival dock. He didn’t look at Tobias. Now was not the time to be distracted with that problem. He wanted to give Tobias his full attention at the optimal time. Multi-tasking denied him the full experience of their pain and his pleasure. And after he finished dealing with Tobias, Glarmere and Carig should be secured. He’d gotten two arrival alerts before he shifted locations, alerts that must be them. He hadn’t observed the surgery for a while, so he might stop by for that. A pity he needed them alive. The Doctor would have to use sedation when he inserted the devices.

  The impact concussions ramped up as the drone drew closer. Dead or alive? The question repeated in time with each thumping step, though he tried to stop it. Even a small loss of control angered him, made him long to hurt something. The ground shook harder than a drone could achieve. It seemed his time fix hadn’t reached its ground zero yet. In his real lair, he pulled up the data. The contracting of his laboratory was increasing, but hadn’t reached a dangerous level yet. What concerned him more than the shrinking were the earthquakes and storms. If it continued to destabilize, matter could begin to shift in and out of phase. At that point, anyone in the altered reality could cease to exist, or be cut in half like the drones. Logically, if time were trying to wind back, they should disappear as they arrived, but time wasn’t tidy and he’d made sure it wasn’t logical in this place. He had time, but if the fix didn’t happen, he might have to shift the critical specimens to a more secure location. The alternate reality kept them off the time grid, but there wasn’t much left to oppose him. Even Time would find it hard to stop him now. It should be safe enough to bring them back into the central time line.

  He recalled the missing tracker—but dismissed him as quickly as he’d recalled him. Or possibly her, though he doubted it was the female. Somewhere in time, he was already secured in a time trap. He might not even bother to collect him. If all went as planned, he would cease to exist. The changes were already moving back in time, like an incoming tidal wave. No one and nothing could stop it now.

  He saw the automaton’s head first. It popped into view over the top of the line of warehouses along the river that he’d chosen to house his research facilities. The stomp of its feet loosened grit from the ceiling to shower the Doctor and Tobias. It drifted through his virtual self. He wanted to wave it away and his nose itched, though he couldn’t feel it or smell it. He resisted the urge. It wasn’t logical. Focused his attention on the approaching drone. It would clear the last barrier in a few seconds and then he’d know—

  He didn’t like to show surprise, because it wasn’t logical, but even he couldn’t stop the blink at the sight of the drone’s sagging digits. It thumped up and held out its hand, clearly unaware it had lost its prize.

  The Doctor fussed forward and studied the damage. “The bolts have been removed.”

  “Clever.” Tobias spoke, though he knew he shouldn’t.

  Faustus fought back the reaction, stayed in the moment, hard to do when dealing with all time. In his mind, he saw her again, the odd hair and intense gaze. “A wench with a wrench. How…interesting.”

  * * * *

  “We are not going to help you capture one of these,” Glarmere paused so that his distaste could be fully assimilated, before continuing, “zombies.”

  His tone implied a lack of belief, either in her ability to capture a zombie or in the zombies themselves. Hard to tell and it didn’t matter. Emily had given up caring what random people thought about her a long time ago. It was that or therapy and there weren’t a lot of therapeutical options in Wilcox. A random person with self-importance issues from another galaxy wasn’t going to change that.

  “I didn’t ask you to help me,” Emily pointed out. She hadn’t even hoped they’d help, since she had their number. A very small, very whiny number. “Just don’t get in my way.” She shifted her shoulders, feeling her inner ninja and liking it. Didn’t hurt to know the nanites were on board, since it was their plan.

  She’d already scouted a location for—her mind shied away from it. No sense dwelling on icky details in advance. Just take it one step at a time. And she wasn’t afraid to admit that a first step that involved major ninja-like ass kicking wasn’t a bad step to take. Acquiring a target wouldn’t be a problem either. Since first light the streets had had a steady stream of them coming and going.

  They are searching.

  I know. She looked at her unwelcome companions. Zombies could be hunting for her. The automaton had to have reached the evil overlord by now. Or he’d sent these out to hunt for Robert and the motley crew. Could all the activity mean that Robert was close? She fought back the urge to run into the street and yell his name. I know. No names. Though the reasons for it weren’t clear.

  If time trackers are involved, you will not wish them to know our identity.

  Right. They could mess with my history. This all sucked of course, but in a very cool way.

  You are a most unusual human, Em.

  She had heard that, though not quite in those words. The problem won’t be finding a zombie, but getting one isolated. She could take a couple, maybe even three, but beyond that number, the uncertainty factor got too high. As if the evil overlord knew that, the zombies shuffled around in groups of four to five. Would have been nice if ET One and Two kicked in a little help, though, she might be able to get them to kick in some unintended help.

  “Since you don’t want to participate, I’m going to move my operation across the hall.”

  The tenement building could have starred in a horror movie. There were signs there’d been people living in them, but she’d cleared the whole building, going into silent room after silent room. Some of the rooms showed signs of a struggle. Others looked abandoned. She wasn’t sure which was creepier.

  They just nodded, which didn’t speak well for their long-term freedom prospects. She waited until one of the smaller groups of zombies closed on her position, then headed for the door, exited and slammed it. She headed up the stairs, just high enough to keep the door in sight, but also deep enough to put her in shadow. She’d considered hiding in the room across the hall, but wasn’t sure the zombies had good enough hearing. If all four trapped her in the room, well, not a good plan.

  No shock it took a while for the zombies to shift direction and climb the steps. She tensed, waiting to see if they’d allow themselves to be divided. Almost as if they were connected, they all turned toward the room she’d just left. Oops. On the upside, they couldn’t all get through the door at once. Which didn’t stop them from trying. Sounds of alarm came from the room, upping the zombies desire to enter. And providing her with sound cover.

  She went over the railing, dropping lightly next to the small mob. Dropped one with a sassy, ninja kick to the chin. Spun like a pro and took out number two with this double
hand hit that happened so fast she missed it and she did it. Sort of.

  The two remaining zombies had started to figure out they were under attack from the rear and tried to reverse course while still stuck in the doorway. This allowed the two men to pretend to be brave and turn their attempts to get out of the room into something that almost looked like punching. Which made it possible for Emily to take down the last zombie. He obliged her by falling into the room, clearing the doorway for the two men to scramble past the zombie they’d managed to knock down and get stuck in the door trying to get away.

  “There’s a ton more of those outside, if that’s where you’re headed.”

  Her voice stopped them, though it failed to unstick them from the doorway.

  “You tricked us.”

  “I tricked them. You, I motivated.” She crouched, grabbed “her” zombie by the arms and dragged him into the middle of the dismal room. “I’m not telling you what to do, but if those zombies wake up, might be a good plan to have them wake up somewhere else.”

  “What are you going to do to that one?” Carig asked, as he finally popped free of the doorway.

  “You probably don’t want to know that.” She didn’t want to know what she was going to do, but that didn’t stop her from extracting her Mega PocketKnife 3000—she hoped she survived to tell Eddie just how useful her infomercial purchases had turned out to be—and picking a blade.

  * * * *

  Robert wasted some time arguing over whether to land or keep flying. The sight of hundreds of airships rising from the gray fog that lay over the city tilted the vote the direction he wanted. The surgery was going to be difficult enough without trying to do it in a moving airship.

  Purple guy managed to bring the airship down with only a couple of bangs and bounces against the rooftop they hastily chose, mostly because it was empty. As soon as they touched down, Robert opened the air release valve as wide as it would go. The Biker guy attacked the envelope on the visible-from-the-air side, using one of his many knives, trying to speed up deflation.