I pull both my race bracelets from my pocket, the Admiral’s, and the one I got from Bozzle. Milo takes the Admiral’s and hands it to the soldier but scans the other with his electronic wand. The bracelet blinks back to life and continues counting as if nothing had happened.
“We’ll reactivate the others too, but we’re going to plant them on decoy agents around town. If we’re lucky, if the Zealots or the chronothon committee are tracking them, they won’t catch on till well after you’re through the gate.”
Milo extracts a pile of other bracelets from his cargo pockets and hands them to the soldier. The man closes them into a metal-sided briefcase and steps away.
Kara has reached the door to the tunnel and opened it. We follow her back into the Seattle underground, making our way through the darkness using only flashlights or the occasional glow of a streetlamp that finds its way through the gratings above. We keep a steady pace, jogging wherever possible and keeping a sharp eye out for any opposition. After what feels like a mile or more of underground tunnels, Milo directs us up a flight of stairs and through a sheet metal trapdoor that leads into an alley. Night has a tight grip on the corners and doorways, their blackness making the alley even more ominous than the confines of the tunnel.
We move quickly from shadow to shadow, skirting the bases of buildings and dodging the glare of occasional streetlights. I don’t know who might be monitoring our progress or from where, so I merely trace Kara’s footsteps as best I can. Milo stops us at an intersection of two alleys and, after peeking around the corner, turns back to address us. “From here it gets tricky. We have to cross through midtown and there’s no way to hide. We won’t be in the open for long, but do your best to be inconspicuous. If we’re lucky, we can get through without attracting attention from The Order. The warehouse is in the arts district, just on the other side. We’ll get you there, then we’ll have to run.” He holds a hand up, as if to steady me. “We’ve got the surveillance video that shows you’ve already done this, so be confident, but not cocky. We still have to make it happen on time. When we get you there and we say go, you go. No questions asked. Got it?”
I nod. “Got it. What happens if we mistime it?”
“Then we’ll have a bit of a paradox on our hands. I doubt a few seconds would change much, but we definitely don’t want to fracture the timestream. We only want to do this once. If we muck it up we’ll have two timestreams to deal with and double the problems.”
Kara gives the signal and leads the way around the corner. The street at the end of the alley is not packed, but vehicles and pedestrians are passing by. As we exit onto the sidewalk, Kara steps directly off the curb. The street actually lights up with her footsteps, a path of green glowing below her, giving a warning to passing vehicles. The cars hardly slow—they merely weave around her automatically, the passengers not even bothering to look up. Kara keeps her eyes ahead, unconcerned about the traffic.
Milo urges me forward and I step off the curb, attempting to quell my fear of getting creamed by the oncoming vehicles. The pressure sensitive panels under my feet do their job, lighting green ahead of me and red behind. The red panels seem to pursue me as I cross, forcing me forward like a game of Frogger. I reach the center of the road but hesitate a moment too long between lanes and the red panels catch up to my heels. An audible tone buzzes beneath my feet and literally makes me jump. The car in the lane I’m about to cross automatically slows. This time the woman riding inside raises her head from whatever she was doing and scowls at me. “Come on!” Kara yells from the far curb.
I spring forward again, catching up to my green panels, and the car behind me whizzes off down the lane with the woman shaking her head. The others fair better. Mym is the next to cross, with Milo right on her heels, both reaching the safety of our side of the street without incident. The pedestrians on the sidewalk are a mix of humans and synths, all modestly dressed for inclement weather. Despite the centuries of progress, I get the impression Seattle is still a rainy corner of the country. The sidewalks are damp as though we only recently missed the rain, but the atmosphere seems subdued by more than just poor weather. Expressions on people’s faces are serious, not looking too closely at one another and frequently disguised by sunglasses despite the overcast sky and the time of night. It’s as if everyone is trying to avoid being noticed or singled out. Our own attempts at subtlety blend evenly into the dynamic of the crowd. It makes me wonder whom they’re afraid of. Is this time traveler war affecting the civilian population, too?
We’ve made it across the main thoroughfare and are gliding through the crowd headed uphill when I spot the first Zealot. He’s standing at the corner of a coffee shop at the intersection ahead, hands in the pockets of his black coat, scanning the crowd. His face is hard, and it’s his eyes as much as his all black clothing that sets him apart—the eyes of a hunter. Milo spots him, too, and points out a second man farther along on our side of the street who has his back to us, searching the block ahead.
Milo hunches his shoulders and turns back toward me. “Stay sharp. Here’s where things get hairy.”
Kara has set the device on her glove and reaches for the wall. “I’ve got point.” Without further explanation, she disappears. Milo gestures for Mym and me to follow him. Mym pulls the gun Kara gave her from under her jacket and holds it low, out of people’s eye line but ready for whatever comes next. I reach a hand into my bag for my own weapon and keep it there, gripping the handle and doing my best to keep up with Milo’s brisk pace. He heads straight for the Zealot in front of us, paying no attention to the one at the corner to our left. I hastily glance over there myself to keep tabs on him and make the mistake of making direct eye contact with the man. His eyes widen and he draws his wrist up toward his face to speak into some type of communicator on his arm. He never gets the chance. As his mouth is opening, Kara appears behind him, wrapping her arm around his throat and disappearing again just as quickly. Their sudden departure gets the attention of a couple of people on the far sidewalk, but no one screams or shouts. Pedestrians who were close by merely scurry that much faster to leave the scene.
The man ahead of us on the street corner is taller. Broad shouldered and blond, his hair is buzzed short and he has sunglasses on despite the darkness. As he continues to scan the street, his eyes fall on the corner where his companion had been. His hand goes to the side of his glasses, adjusting something, then he reaches for the communicator on his wrist. We are still twenty-five yards from him, but the crowd between us has thinned to only a handful of pedestrians. If he were to turn around he would see us plainly. Kara is there and gone again even quicker this time. She appears with her back to us. I barely have time to register the auburn hair and leather jacket before the pair has vanished. I catch a smile on Milo’s face.
He notices me watching him and gestures toward the spot where Kara disappeared. “The best defense is a good offense.”
“Where is she taking them?”
“She’ll introduce them to friends of ours.” He starts to jog. “Come on. We’re almost there.”
We run past a collection of art galleries and studios. A girl with dreadlocks is standing outside one of them flinging paint onto an oversized canvas. A few admirers are gathered around with drinks in their hands. The girl has just bent over to dip one of her brushes when the canvas bursts from the shot, splattering the group with flecks of blue paint and tiny bits of brick wall that have been impacted behind the canvas. This time people scream. Mym shoves me sideways toward the wall of the warehouse and already has her gun aimed behind us. A Zealot is walking directly down the center of the street, ignoring the red panels below his feet and the cars slowing around him. He’s a tall, bald, black man wearing glasses like the blond one, but this man has his weapon drawn and is aiming for us.
Mym’s gun hand wavers. Pedestrians are fleeing around us, and the cars around the Zealot all look occupied. The Zealot fires again and I pull Mym to the ground as the energy crackles over our h
eads. I yank my own gun out of my bag and peek up to look for our attacker, but he’s disappeared. Somehow that is even more frightening. Milo is at my elbow a moment later. “We have to move!”
The awning of a building ahead of us erupts with sparks as a gaping hole is blown in it. I glimpse Kara sprinting between cars. A Zealot appears on the sidewalk and aims for her, but she slides onto the hood of the next car and vanishes. The man blasts the front of the car anyway, and I hope for Kara’s sake that she’s gone back in time and not forward. A man staggers from the ruined vehicle, takes one look at the Zealot, and flees. The Zealot turns toward us just as Milo grabs my arm. He’s holding something in his other hand. “Hold on!” Mym grabs onto me immediately and the three of us blink away.
Milo has used a doorknob for an anchor and releases it once we arrive. We’re inside a storeroom of some kind. Dusty windows look out onto another alley.
“I didn’t want to take this route, but we’ll have to now. If Kara can keep them distracted, we should be able to make it.”
“How far to the gate?” I ask.
“We’re close, but it’s going to be a sprint from here. We’re going to need cover. Mym, how good is your aim?”
“I’m okay, but these guns seem like they hit a large area.”
Milo points to the side of her gun. “Set the precision dial down to one and you’ll narrow the shot. Dial it back up to go wide. The narrow shot packs the same punch, but you’ll be less likely to hit us. You can cover us from here or anywhere you think is safe. The doorway to the warehouse is at the end of this street.” Milo roots in his bag and pulls out a screwdriver. “Degravitize this and use it as your anchor if I don’t make it back to you before the Zealots do.” He hands her the screwdriver and a photo. “Ben, you ready to run?”
I get a grip on my gun and look to Mym. “Ready as I’m going to be.” I use my free hand to pull Mym closer to me and she wraps me in a hug.
“Be careful. I need you back.”
“I will. You’d better be, too.” I kiss her, give her hand a squeeze and reluctantly turn back to Milo. “So I sprint for this door and then what?”
“As far as we can tell, they never even bothered to set up objectives this round since the gate was rigged, but we have seen the video. Bozzle’s bracelet will activate the gate. Get in, find a place to set off the EMP, and get back out. We’ll be waiting for you in Epsilon Winter.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“Simple is best. If you get as high up as you can and set that off, whatever else they’re up to won’t matter.”
“Any idea what kind of terrain I’m going to be walking into? There aren’t going to be more alien zombies are there?”
“I doubt it, but I don’t really know. It’s approximately 1996 there. That’s the best I can tell you.”
“Planet Earth at least?”
Milo cracks the door and peers into the street. “Let’s hope.”
My heart is pounding and I barely hear Milo when he gives the signal. After one last glance at Mym, I follow him out and lock my eyes on the door he points to. We jump off the alley steps and land running. My sneakers slap the asphalt, and the contents of my bag jostle with each step. Milo is quick, but I stay with him. We cover half the block without incident, then two thirds. I’m about to get hopeful that we’ll make it cleanly when bricks and mortar blow apart in the second story of a building to our left. We veer right and I keep my gun ready. The shot must have come from Mym, but I see no sign of her target.
The next shot is definitely meant for us. A blast of energy sizzles past my legs and craters the pavement beside me. Milo aims and shoots toward the building to our right, blowing a metal door to pieces in the process. “Just run! Don’t stop for anything.” With that exhortation, Milo falls behind and starts blasting things behind us. I look back momentarily and see Mym crouched by the doorway taking careful aim down the street beyond me. I concentrate my efforts forward again and put all my remaining energy into the sprint for my target. The warehouse has a rolling door for deliveries and a pedestrian entrance up a flight of three concrete steps. The pedestrian door bursts open and a heavyset man in black raises a weapon toward me. I aim mine at his chest, but I never squeeze the trigger. The man is hurled backward by a blast from behind me.
Thank you, Mym. I fly through the doorway and skid a little on the slick floor. I ignore the fallen form of my would-be attacker and locate the time gate standing on its own in the middle of the warehouse. I keep my gun ready for any more surprises and jog toward it. One more gate, then home. One more gate, then home.
The stone pillars are a dingy brown but have been outfitted with some power cables and various emitters. I’d normally be at a loss for what to do, but I’ve seen the video. I know I’m supposed to merely wave my wrist at the power symbol and look confident. It occurs to me that if I’m the man from the video now, the confidence was always a lie. I’m tempted to turn in the direction of the camera and say so, but only for a moment. No paradoxes. I’ve come too far. I check my bracelet and watch the count tick onward till the point I’ve been told to use, then step forward to the gate. The colors blaze across the opening after a single swipe. The unknown beckons. I set my weapon to high.
Time to end this.
“If you make a jump without contacting an anchor, you’ll be untethering yourself from the physical world, and from time. I can’t say for certain what would happen, but you shouldn’t hope to end up anywhere pleasant.”–Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2090
Chapter 31
I thought I was mentally prepared for anything. Aliens. Zombies. Killer robots. I didn’t count on what I’m seeing now. One thing is certain, my badass gun that can blast holes in solid walls will do me no good here. I lower it slowly to my side and face my next confounding obstacle, a dozen beautiful women holding pints of beer.
A congratulations banner is hanging from the ceiling behind the women. In my rapid assessment, the space vaguely reminds me of a classroom from grade school. A waist-high brick wall meets louvered windows to my left. The congratulations banner only partially obscures a chalkboard on the far wall. The scholastic nature of the scene ends there as the room has been converted for the celebration. A champagne fountain is bubbling on an hors d’oeuvres table, and the patrons around it are wearing dresses and suits.
The expressions of the provocatively dressed women in front of me are wavering. Their megawatt smiles begin to dim as confusion or perhaps disappointment registers in their minds. That is the only feature of this scene that feels normal. Milo’s and Major McClure’s exhortations seem distant memories. Get in, EMP the planet, get out. The mustached man to my left has a stuffed shrimp paused halfway to his mouth. Stuffed shrimp. The woman in the pencil skirt next to him has French manicured fingertips stretched around her crystal champagne flute. Is that a mimosa? The diamond ring on her finger must be four karats. EMP the planet.
“Benjamin Travers?” The voice cuts through the ambient murmurs and jazz music. Both guests and the female welcome committee part down the center of the room to reveal a man in a tailored gray suit. His black hair is silver at the temples, but his face is hard to put an age to. Something about his features is off but not readily apparent. The area around his eyes shows a few smile lines, but the skin itself practically glows. His teeth are likewise radiant, and they flash openly as he smiles. “Well aren’t you the surprise.”
I’m almost sure I’ve never seen the man before, but I suddenly doubt myself. Do I know him? As the man takes a step toward me, I get a glimpse of the people behind him. These I’ve seen before. Traus Gillian is beside the man in black from my apartment. Pia Chopra, the Indian woman from the race committee is at his elbow.
Get in. EMP the planet, get out.
The man with the mustache loses his shrimp as I plow through him. Two of the women with the beers shriek as the pints tumble from their hands and shatter on the floor. Suddenly I’m staring at Horacio’s chest hair that’s still tr
ying to escape the collar of his dress shirt. The expression on his face is as confused as I feel. I veer left through an elderly couple that has the misfortune of being in my path. Arms reach out for the old woman as I bowl her over.
I’m into the hallway now and sprinting. I crash through a pair of double doors and find myself in a lobby I recognize. The fish tank on the wall is bubbling benignly and the receptionist rises from the desk at my sudden appearance. She starts to speak, but I don’t give her a chance. I shove through the glass doors into late morning sun and spin around when I reach the sidewalk. The sign on the building hasn’t changed. Saint Petersburg Temporal Studies Society. It is. It’s St. Pete. It’s home. Of all places, why would they pick here?
I run for the street. Get in, EMP the planet, get out. I scan the street for a safe jump location, Dr. Quickly’s lessons flooding back into my mind. Aim to arrive at night to avoid hazards . . . look for little used places like rooftops . . . Three men come rushing out the glass doors. I don’t know them and I don’t want to. I jump onto the hood of the nearest parked car, spinning my chronometer as I go. One of the men is reaching into his jacket. I don’t care what he has. He’s too late. I press my chronometer hand to the roof of the car and blink.
I’ve switched locations and night has fallen. I’m still atop the car but in another neighborhood. Luckily, the car hasn’t wound up inside a garage or traveling down a freeway. I’ve jumped back eighteen hours to arrive sometime the preceding night. I don’t stay long. I’m off the car and over the fence of one of the houses in a matter of seconds. I hastily use a child’s swing set as an anchor to jump forward a few hours. I run two blocks and dodge down an alley, trying to put a little physical distance between my jumps, then make a third one using the ladder on a parked RV. As I jump down from the RV, the sky is a pre-dawn blue to the east. I’m out of breath and my heart is pounding. “Let’s see them follow me now.” I try to organize my thoughts as I walk to the street corner. I’m in St. Pete in 1996. Where can I go to set off an EMP? Tall building? How far am I from downtown? I turn around to check the street signs and my legs suddenly turn to jelly. A stabbing pain lances through my brain and I collapse to the ground with uncontrollable spasms. When my twitching body finally calms itself, I’m staring at the sky, unable to move. I try to blink but even moving my eyelids is beyond me. A shadow moves across the streetlight, and at first I only see a silhouette. It’s all I need, because I know who it is even before he comes into focus. I study the scar that crosses the left eyebrow of the nameless man from my apartment. I would look elsewhere, but I’ve lost that option. I’m focused on that nameless face and forced to fume in silence.
In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 97
