In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Nathan Van Coops

  “I’ll see my family when this is over, but I have a job to do first.”

  “Right. First things first.” I lapse into silence.

  The road has acquired more activity. Porters still relay belongings in carts and trucks, but most of the traffic is pedestrians—race fans laughing and smiling as they make their way to the starting gate. It takes only a few minutes of walking until we reach a clearing. The time gate itself dominates the landscape. Two stone pillars rise from the ground approximately thirty feet, spaced about a car length apart. The pillars are cordoned off with a chain link fence attended by guards. Around the perimeter of the fence, bleachers have been erected and are more than halfway filled.

  “We’re this way.” Viznir gestures toward a staging area to the right where racers are checking their equipment. Guards allow us passage through a gap in the fence when I show them my bracelet.

  I spot the academy kids loading their supplies into the back of their SUV. Today the vehicle has doors and a top, and I recognize it as a not-too-distant-future Humvee. I turn to Viznir. “They’re allowed to take a vehicle?”

  “Yes. That is permitted. Whatever will fit through the time gate is allowed, but not all the time gates will be this large.” He gestures to the pillars. “They’ll see.”

  The ATS kids are not the only teams with a mode of transportation. The Admiral and his guide, Harrison Wabash, have their supplies attached to the saddles of horses. Ariella and her guide are likewise on horseback and are walking the animals slowly around the interior of the fence. The kid with the snail helmet has his supplies and his dog loaded into the back of an undersized dune buggy. The dog is lying comfortably atop a pile of supplies just forward of the engine and panting happily at his surroundings.

  I’m happy to see that I’m not the only one on foot. Many of the other teams, including Horacio, are milling around small piles of belongings. The irritated expression on Horacio’s face as Ariella passes on her horse makes me wonder if he’s regretting not having thought of that himself. She catches my eye briefly as she trots by, but immediately looks away. Her advantage of being on horseback doesn’t bother me. I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to gravitize a horse.

  Viznir points to some numbered stakes near the front of the time gate. “Those will be our starting positions. Wait here and I’ll go check the list to see where we start.” I give him a nod and he makes a beeline toward an official’s tent near the fence.

  A pair of jumbo projector screens are mounted at either side of the time gate, angled at opposing sets of bleachers. The view on the screens alternates between advertisements from sponsors and shots of the racers and their guides. I try to locate the cameras, but can’t see any cameramen. A voice behind me distracts me from my search.

  “They let you have another guide, Travers? I’d have disqualified you on the spot.” Horacio is attended by a man I vaguely recognize from Geo’s house. He’s a hair shorter than Horacio, but also muscular in an equally too-tight T-shirt. The pair of them size me up from a few feet away. “You know, Donny, I hear they found Travers here right next to his guide’s body, with blood all over him. How long you think it will be till they come lock him up?”

  My temper flares but I deliberately keep from clenching my fists. I adjust my pack and look back to the projector screens.

  Donny’s voice is higher pitched than I expect from his appearance. “I don’t know, Rock, I’m not sure he’d last long in prison. He probably ought to run now, don’t you think?”

  Horacio has stepped closer and is now speaking behind my ear. “Yeah, I think he should, Donny. If he knows what’s good for him.”

  I make a point of continuing to look at the screens and keeping my voice calm. “You make your friends call you ‘Rock,’ Horacio? Was that the only thing that matched your IQ?”

  Donny’s mouth draws into a tight line as he steps in front of me. He swells for a confrontation. I’m deliberately not looking at Horacio but I feel his hand grab my shoulder and he tries to jerk me backward. I brace myself on my back heel and don’t move as he hisses in my ear. “I’m a rock like the kind you don’t want to be up against. Donny here is the hard place.”

  I shrug out from under Horacio’s hand and take a step to the side so I can face both of them. “I really appreciate the flattery, guys. But I’m not sure you should be telling me how ‘hard’ you get around me. You’re not really my type.”

  Donny’s face reddens as he grabs at the straps of my pack. “You’re gonna be in a world of hurt when you step through that gate, smartass. You’ve got nobody to watch your back.” His grip tightens and I get a nose full of his cologne.

  “You’ve got about a thousand watching yours, Donny.” I give him a grin and nod toward the projector screens. He stares at me in confusion before he turns and sees the image of us in high definition on both screens. Laughter erupts from the bleachers as he tries to compose himself for the cameras. He releases his grip on me and steps back with Horacio.

  “Laugh it up, Travers,” Horacio scowls. “You’ll be lucky if you finish last in this race.”

  “Lucky if you finish at all,” Donny adds, before they turn back toward their possessions. I watch them wave to the cameras a few times until Viznir suddenly reappears at my side.

  “Everything okay?” He follows my eyes to where Horacio and Donny are standing.

  “Yeah, you know. Just making friends.”

  He holds up a paper card. “We’re number four. That’s a pretty good position to start with.”

  “Cool.” I consider the card with the bold number four on it and our names printed neatly below it. “Hey, Viznir?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are people saying that I killed Charlie?”

  Viznir hesitates before responding. “People are saying a lot of things, but that doesn’t really mean anything. There are rumors, but that’s all.”

  I contemplate the grass at my feet. “I didn’t kill him, you know.”

  He sniffs once and looks away. “I didn’t think so.” He pulls his pack from his back and begins looking through it. He selects an electronic pad from a front pocket and presses a power button. “We’ll need to keep track of our time on the course. Your bracelet is going to keep a record of your time spent in each level but I like to have a backup. Not to sound cliché, but time is obviously of the essence in this race. The victor can be decided from a matter of seconds. We’ll need to be diligent about our time keeping and take advantage of every opportunity to take a lead.” He looks at my wrist. “Is that thing reliable?”

  I finger my chronometer. “Yeah. Definitely. What are you using?”

  He lifts the shirtsleeve on his left arm and reveals a black band around his bicep. I see a sort of flexible screen on the band. It’s hard to tell what its functions are without it being powered on, but it looks to be a touchscreen interface.

  “It’s a Temprovibe 5,” Viznir explains. “It’s got much faster grid link times than the previous models, but it functions gridless as well, for this type of environment.”

  I try not to look as lost as I feel. “Looks cool, man.”

  “It has a built-in spectrometer for reading the timestream you’re in and it will auto-lock if you’re not making good contact with your anchor. Keeps you from involuntarily jumping yourself into the Neverwhere.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” I say. “That’s supposedly where you end up if you make a jump without an anchor, right? You believe in that?”

  Viznir tugs his shirtsleeve back over his Temprovibe. “That’s what some say. Most think you just die, or vanish. I’ve heard enough stories about the Neverwhere, though, to think it might be true. The Temprovibe has me covered in any case. I don’t plan to find out.”

  I check my chronometer again. “I guess I’ll just have to keep making sure to hold on tight.”

  Viznir swipes through some images on his tablet. “I’ve collected as much data as I could on our competition. First team through is going to be Ta
d Masterson and Blaine Savage. They won first position in the lottery.”

  “Which ones are they?” I take my pack off my shoulder and let it slump to the ground. That thing’s gotta weigh twenty pounds.

  Viznir points to the Humvee. “Those two. The younger, black guy is Blaine. The big, blonde guy is Tad. They have a close affiliation with another team here apparently, Deanna Simpson and Preston Marquez. They’re probably over there somewhere, too.”

  “Yeah, I saw them all sitting together last night.” I think about the incident with the dinner roll. “Hey, who’s the kid with the snail helmet on his head? What’s his story?” I look over to the miniature dune buggy, where the boy is systematically checking all the compartments on his vehicle.

  “Jonah Sprocket.” Viznir doesn’t look up from his tablet. “His dad is Ebenezer Sprocket, the inventor. Although that’s apparently not the original family name. Ebenezer changed it. He used to be called Spunkhorn.”

  “Not sure I’d want to stay a Spunkhorn for long either,” I say. “What did the dad invent?”

  “Used to work for Ambrose Cybergenics. He left and started tinkering around on his own, apparently.” Viznir flips through images on his screen. “He has a forum online for selling anti-infusion devices, whatever those are. I’ll have to look into it.”

  “And the dog?”

  “Barley. Nothing much here about him, other than he’s officially registered as a guide.”

  “And that’s legal? Wasn’t there some kind of test you had to take to be a guide? Charlie made it sound like it was pretty hard.”

  Viznir drops his eyes back to his screen. “It was hard. You have to go before a panel of judges and face their questions. They can ask you about anything. You have to demonstrate your abilities.”

  “Well the dog must have exhibited something.” I consider the animal lying across the packs in the back of the dune buggy. He doesn’t look especially intelligent.

  “I guess we’ll just have to see. Let’s go get into place. We don’t have long now till the synchronization.”

  I pick up my pack and follow Viznir to the post in the ground that’s labeled #4.

  As I dump the pack at the base of the stake, my stomach makes an audible growl. I take a swig from my canteen to quiet it. “Hey, what’s the food situation like during this race? I kinda skipped breakfast today.”

  Viznir eyes me skeptically. “You didn’t pack any food?”

  “Was I supposed to?”

  “I certainly did. God knows what the local food is going to be like. We could be anywhere. I don’t plan on eating bugs.”

  “What did you pack?”

  “Trail mix, protein bars, vitamin supplements, beef jerky—” My stomach makes another even louder grumble and Viznir eyes me suspiciously. “But I’m saving all of that for the trip. Maybe you can snag something from the committee tent.” He gestures toward the entrance. “I’ll watch your stuff if you want.”

  “All right. Maybe I will.” I glance toward the crowd around the fence, wondering if there are vendors in the bleachers. “I’ll check it out and be right back.” I walk back the way we came, making my way toward the entrance gate. The bleachers are completely filled now and other race fans that didn’t manage to get seats have begun congregating around the chest-high fence that surrounds the time gate. I spot a man selling sausages and hot dogs from a cart to a line of people near the bleachers and make my way toward the gate to get to him. As I approach the fence, a group of middle-aged couples watches my progress with expressions that seem to grow more sour with every step I take. I recognize the man in the fedora who took photos of Charlie last night. I’m almost close enough to hear their conversation when something impacts me in the head. I stagger sideways from the blow.

  “Murderer!” The shout comes from somewhere to my left. I look to the ground and find the projectile I’ve been hit with is a fist-sized apple. I rub the side of my head, more from surprise than pain, but now more faces are glaring at me from the crowd. Others are merely looking around in curiosity, wondering what the ruckus is about. The mutters seem to spread through the group in waves as people in-the-know point at me and chatter to the people around them. Another cluster of hostile faces begins making its way slowly toward the entrance gate. One woman pauses to yell at me. “You should be in prison! You’re a disgrace!” A few more insults emanate from vague regions of the crowd. My path to the hot dog vendor seems suddenly more hazardous.

  I stoop and pick up the apple. One side has been bruised from where it struck me, but the skin hasn’t broken. I rub it on a clean portion of my shirt and keep it. I take one more look at the scowling couples near the fence before turning around and making my way back through the other racers. Once I’m far enough away from the fence line, I pause and take a bite of the apple.

  Ahead of me, near a post labeled #19, a pair of men are arranging items into hard-sided cases attached to an ATV. The man facing me has a rough stubble beard and is outfitted in a heavy coat that looks like it may have been military issue. He has a pistol in a shoulder holster partially concealed under his coat. The man helping him has his back to me at first, but as he makes his way around the front of the ATV, I realize he’s an identical twin of the other man. He is likewise wearing a jacket and shoulder holster and has his facial hair trimmed to the same length. He helps his brother add the last couple of items to the case and latches it, then leans over and kisses him quickly on the mouth before returning to the other side of the ATV.

  My hand with the apple is frozen halfway to my lips as I try to understand what I just saw happen. I’m still standing that way when I hear someone call my name. I turn around and find Milo striding toward me.

  “Hey, thought that was you.” He smiles and gives a quick wave as he walks the last few steps toward me. The expression on my face must still be irregular, because he pauses and his brow furrows. “Is everything all right?”

  “What? Yeah, totally. Good to see you. I just saw something kind of weird.”

  “Oh yeah?” Milo perks up.

  “You see these two guys up there with the ATV?” I point with the free fingers of my apple hand. “They look like twin brothers, but they just kissed each other. That seems kind of strange, right? I mean, I have plenty of gay friends, but I’ve never heard of someone being gay for their own sibling. Is that legal in the future?”

  Milo studies the men, then his face registers recognition. “Oh! Those guys. Yeah, those are the Ivans. They’re not twin brothers.”

  “Oh. Good. That seemed a little creepy. They sure look alike, though.”

  “Oh they are. That’s because they’re the same guy. They’re not twins. It’s two versions of the same person. They’re just also a couple.”

  I try to wrap my head around this new information. “It’s the same guy? And he’s just gay . . . with himself?”

  “Yeah.” Milo nods. “He’s a narcissist in the most literal sense of the word. He’s actually in love with himself. That happens sometimes. Kind of frowned upon socially, but I don’t think anyone can really make a case for it being illegal. You can pretty much do what you want with yourself, because it’s you.”

  I take another bite of my apple and chew it slowly, taking another look at the two men and trying to decide if that explanation is more or less creepy than when I thought they were brothers. “Okay, I guess I’m going to learn a few more things than I thought in this race.” I smile at Milo, then spit an apple seed into the grass.

  “You all set to go? I saw you got the number four spot. That’s pretty sweet.” Milo gestures toward the post where Viznir is watching over our things.

  “Yeah. We got pretty lucky, I guess. Where did you end up?”

  Milo points to the left. “We’re right here at fourteen.”

  I identify the post he’s referring to and note the girl leaning against it. She’s checking the barrel of a weapon I’ve never seen before. It looks to be some sort of handgun but it’s got a scope and a bunch of
dials on it. Her outfit is likewise nothing I’ve seen before. She’s predominantly dressed in linen and leather, but with a liberal interspersing of metal rings and gadgetry. She has a pair of old aviator goggles around her neck and a bandana looped under a floppy cap. Her auburn hair has tumbled out from under the cap in wavy tangles. Despite the unusual clothing, she clearly has an attractive figure. She catches me looking at her and immediately moves toward me, latching her weapon closed as she strides up.

  “What’s your problem, wide-eyes? You got something you need to say?” She keeps her eyes locked on mine as she stops in front of me.

  “Benjamin Travers, meet Kara LaCuesta.” Milo gestures toward her politely.

  I extend my hand, but she merely raises her weapon and leans it against her shoulder.

  “Did you murder your guide this morning, Travers?” Her words come out like bullets.

  “No.”

  “You a wiztard asshole like everybody says?”

  “Everybody who?” I ask, frowning. “I just got here.”

  “You stay out of our way, got it?” She points a finger at me with her other hand. I notice her fingerless glove has some sort of chronometer built into it. “I don’t like your face. So don’t put it anywhere where it’s going to get smashed, because I won’t hesitate to be the one to do it. And you’d better learn to keep your eyeballs to yourself or you’re gonna lose ’em.” She wheels about and marches back to her belongings.

  I watch her go with my mouth hanging slightly open before turning back to Milo. “Well that conversation went exactly how I imagined it.”

  Milo laughs. “She’s something, huh?”

  “What’s a ‘wiztard?’”

  “Beats me. Must be lingo from her century. Doesn’t sound flattering though, does it?”

  “She’s your guide?”

  “Yeah.” He grins. “She’s really nice to me, since we’re a team, but she’s like a junkyard dog with everybody else. It’s kinda sweet if you think about it.” He looks toward Kara with the smile still on his face.

  “Oh yeah. Charming.” I turn my attention back to my apple. “How did you end up with her?”