GODS OF TIME

by DG SIDNA

  "Aye," I hear Careena answer. "No loose ends, I reckon. Or Patmos realized what the little weasel was up to."

  "So what now?" Rhoda asks.

  "Now? Now, we have no leads. We have no time. We're proper forked."

  We all walk back downstairs into the main hall. Careena goes behind the bar. She's muttering to herself as she surveys the various bottles of whiskey. She kicks open a hidden door on the floor. "Jackpot," she says to herself.

  I know it's too much to hope for that she may have found a clue, that the Tinker may have hid his findings in a secret compartment.

  Sure enough, she lifts a bottle of Woodford Reserve, a simple but elegant bottle that has made its way trillions of miles across space, from the Sol System in the Orion Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy to here, today, this moment, in the loving hands of one Careena J. Smith.

  She shows us the bottle as if it's a consolation prize. "Kentucky bourbon, ladies. One shot of this is worth more than most people in the Valeyard will make in a lifetime. So enjoy it. It's probably going to be your last."

  Maybe she's right.

  Maybe it's time we finally admit defeat.

  "Old maid," Rhoda asks. "How will you know when you're in proximity to some of these RGMs?"

  "Hecate will glow blue. Why?"

  "Like it is now?"

  The bottle of Kentucky bourbon falls from Careena's hand. The glass shatters across the floor as a fortune bleeds away into oak floorboards, themselves worth more than gold on a world without trees.

  A small piece of Earth history has just seeped into oblivion.

  Careena gives the crime not a second thought. She jumps over the bar counter with surprising spryness and charges toward the exit with Old Bessie in hand.

  I call out after her. "Where are you going?"

  "The assassin is still here, you idiot! They're wearing a vest!"

  Rhoda and I run after her. We charge out into the alley and then down toward the main street. There are crowds of people here, filling the width of the boulevard as they come and go, parting only when a trolley passes through.

  Careena is desperately looking to her left and to her right. There are hundreds if not thousands of people here. Not to mention street vendors, hawkers, child beggars. There's the din of commerce. The stench of the processing plants.

  We'd never find the assassin, if not for Hecate. But the closer we are to whoever it is, the brighter the ring glows. Careena uses her like a dowsing stick, leading us to our quarry.

  Finally Careena points. "That's her."

  I see a red-headed woman in a white biker jacket. She hasn't yet noticed us trailing behind her. I doubt she could in this mess of people. We weave through the crowds in pursuit.

  "We can't spook her," Careena warns. "She must have brought a jumpvest in case she gets caught. If she sees us, she'll be gone quicker than the hedgehogs."

  It's a clever fail-safe for an assassin, I'll admit. But unfortunately for her, it also allows us to track her. We may have a few cards left to play yet.

  At first I wonder why she's on foot at all, why not just jump away once the crime is done? After all, the Valeyard has no fancy shields like Tegana preventing such a thing. But then I remember what we learned earlier, that Patmos is trying to stretch out the stolen RGMs to allow for as many jumpvests as possible, even if that means many of the vests will be capable of only a single jump. His ultimate plan must depend on it. Which means our assassin will only use her vest as a last resort.

  I'm a little disturbed by the notion of assassins able to jump across time and space in the blink of an eye, arriving like phantoms in the shadows, snuffing out their victims with ease before vanishing back into the void from which they came, their scent on the breeze all that would remain behind as evidence that they had ever existed at all.

  This is precisely why so many of the wealthier worlds do now have their special energy shields; it's the reason I couldn't jump Careena directly back to Tegana when we were on my rooftop in Brooklyn. But what of the poorer worlds, like the Valeyard? The ones who can afford no such protection?

  I push those questions aside and instead focus on the mission at hand. I've never done this sort of cloak and dagger routine before, but I find that I oddly enjoy it; the hunt keeps my adrenaline going. I feel alive, like when I'm on the water with my crew team, which I've come to miss. The stakes here, however, are so much higher than they are during competition. There's no ribbon for second place in this tournament. Second place here means the end of the world.

  Not even thirty minutes later, we're huddled out of sight behind a massive glass tower. Unlike most of the city's towers, this one is cylindrical and uncharacteristically clean. It's also not alone; I count a dozen rows of towers behind it at least three deep, all identical to this one. There are no people around either. This is not a normal district. It's something else.

  The assassin goes inside the nearest tower and vanishes.

  "What is this place?" I ask.

  "Vertical agriculture," Careena says. "These greenhouse towers grow most of the food for the city. They're filled with vine plants that produce custom-made seed pods the size of watermelons. Easy to transport. Looks like tofu when you crack them open. Very nutritious. High in protein. Tastes like proper garbage."

  "And why does it smell so bad?"

  Careena explains without irony. "Sewage gets pumped in and sprayed down like rain in there. Those genetically modified plants are actually a fungus, and they've been designed to soak it right up for nutrition. They love that schnitzel. Remember that next time you're having your vegan omelets."

  "Oy vey."

  "But I can tell you something else," she adds. "This is the wealthiest industry in the city. And these buildings are almost entirely automated. They don't allow people to just come and go. Not the police. Not even city inspectors. Hell, they probably own the city inspectors."

  I'm still wearing my detective hat. "Which means if you paid off the right people to set up shop here, one of these towers would make for a perfect hideout."

  "Bingo."

  "So what's your plan, old maid?" Rhoda asks.

  "We get in there, we destroy the vests, we take out Patmos."

  "Wait," I protest. "Shouldn't we call the authorities?"

  "You can't trust the authorities in a city like this, deary. And even if you could, he'll have people in the police department on his payroll. They'll alert him that he's been found and then he'll be gone. He's got an exit plan, believe me."

  "Then Soolin," I push. "You promised Story you'd only scope things out."

  I know this is a useless argument, but I try it anyway.

  "Soolin's a damned bureaucrat now," she says. "Look, even if she does believe me, she's going to have her hands tied. Tegana has been in hot water lately, more than you know. The interstellar community is looking for an excuse to come down hard on us, to come take away our toys. She can't afford another international incident. So she'll want to put this place under surveillance, make sure it is, in fact, the Red Man's base before she goes in. And we don't have that sort of time. They killed the Tinker. They're ready to do whatever they got planned. This is our only chance."

  I turn to Rhoda for help, but the Kheltic girl offers none. "The old maid may be right."

  "It's settled then," Careena says. "We go in guns blazing."

  "I don't even have a fricken gun!"

  "It's an expression, freckles. Just stay behind me."

  I collect as much composure as I can, surprised by my lack of fear. But I know it will come for me sooner rather than later. I can't keep it buried and locked away forever. When it does show up, I only hope it's not during that moment when I need my courage the most. Because one way or another, this is all coming to an end soon. We're approaching the final stretch.

  And with that thought in mind, we head toward the door.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  We approach the side entrance of the great cylindrical tower carefully. Careena was right th
at it's some sort of vertical garden. Through the windows I see hundreds of vines, each nearly half a mile long, hanging down from rafters within. Thousands of food pods grow and dangle like fruits up the entire length of each vine. Every few seconds one of the pods matures completely and falls into an automated collection bin on the ground floor. It takes only a few minutes for a new tiny bud to sprout in the place of a fallen pod.

  It's an efficient system. Remarkable really, given that the vines are a genetically engineered superorganism capable of transforming nearly any raw organic material into nutritive compounds not just fit, but precisely balanced, for human consumption. Still, now that I know they're sustained on vats of toilet excrement mixed with dirty asteroid ice water, I doubt I'll be enjoying my dinner much tonight.

  Once we reach the door, Careena waves Hecate at a security camera. She chants the word scrambled, as if it's a magic spell. She's a strange woman. She performs this bit of theater again while passing her hand over the door lock, which clicks open. She smiles because she thinks she's clever. I roll my eyes because I think she's ridiculous.

  We enter the tower. We're a floor beneath the vines and therefor, hopefully, safe from any random excrement showers. We're in some sort of service hallway leading us to corporate offices on a lower promenade at the front of the building. Those offices, however, all seem to have been emptied out some time ago, likely moved to another tower or even another part of the city. There are a few pictures still up on the walls though, portraying beautiful agricultural locales on Old Earth. Some show terraced rice farms in Asia, their patties full of standing water reflecting the colors of the sunset. Other photos show giant combines on fields of corn driven by proud Midwestern farmers. What would they make of these towers?

  Staring at the poster, I never see the attack coming.

  A sentry has been posted to this hallway, but he's cloaked in some sort of special suit that makes him invisible to the human eye. Nor do I see his weapon, a short kodachi blade, slightly curved, fast as lighting. Were I afforded the time, I'd wonder why he didn't simply shoot us. Why the theatrics involving a sword? I wondered the same thing regarding the Tinker's assassin and her hatchet. The answer, I'd find out later, is that there are security satellites orbiting the colony, capable of detecting gunfire and alerting the authorities. And that would be bad for business.

  So it's a sword then, silent as the wind, making a clean arc for my neck. I'd have lost my head, if not for my Kheltic companion. Rhoda's reflexes are godlike. And, fortunately for me and Careena, her synthetic eyes can register parts of the electromagnetic spectrum that I wasn't even aware existed.

  Rhoda catches the blade in her fist mere inches from my throat. The shimmering sword cuts into the flesh of her palm but stops dead once it strikes neo-titanium bone.

  I still have no idea what's going on, honestly; it's like she's fighting with a ghost. Her free hand strikes the air, which causes a bone-cracking crunch. The sentry's body falls to the floor. I only know this because I hear him collapse and now see streams of blood running down the sides of his invisible head, making something of an outline. Rhoda has flattened his nose, forcing the cartilage into his brain. Part of me is glad I can't see this.

  She casually reaches down and takes the cloaked sword from the dead man's hand. It becomes visible once it's no longer in contact with his suit. The weapon is black, from hilt to blade. I don't even want to look at it. It almost killed me. It's evil.

  She lays the weapon against her back and it sticks there, like she's a magnet or something. I'm not sure if that's some body modification of hers doing that, or if it's part of the technology of the sword. I'm too much in shock by what just happened to even ask.

  I look over. Careena is as stunned as I am.

  "You know, for a tin can," she says. "You're starting to grow on me."

  "We should wrap your hand," I tell the girl.

  "No need." She shows me her palm. There's no blood. Amazing. Her body knows which blood vessels and capillaries to close off until the healing is complete. It won't even take a full day for the synthetic tissue to repair itself. It's a marvel of science that I can't comprehend.

  Nor do I understand why human society would so willingly want to reject such remarkable technological sorcery. But, then again, I didn't fight two horrific wars over what it was to be human either.

  We continue on, more carefully this time.

  We check each office along the hallway, one by one, but most are empty and vacant. It's not until the fifth room that we finally encounter our enemy.

  Four men are working around a long conference table. They're binding stacks of jumpvest into neat bundles, for ease of transport, no doubt. That means they haven't finished the handover to Patmos.

  There's still time.

  When they see us, I expect them to attack, to defend their vests at all costs, after all, what else could they do? But I'm still thinking like a country bumpkin from the 21st Century. Instead, the men lurch forward onto their piles, hugging them dearly, each man pressing a trigger on the shoulder of his own vest to vanish away to safety with his stash. I watch as they blink away, one after the other.

  Careena yells. "Rhoda!"

  Again, that girl's speed dazzles me. I hardly see her arm move as she reaches behind her back and her new sword goes flying across the room like a bullet, striking the slowest man squarely in his chest before he can hit his trigger. He stumbles backwards and collapses. His companions, unfortunately, have all escaped.

  Careena runs to the fallen man and grabs him by the collar.

  His heart has been pierced, he's bleeding out. She shakes him. "Where were you taking these? Where is Patmos!"

  But he dies in her hands.

  "Forkballs!"

  I look down. There are eight or nine jumpvests scattered on the floor. His bundle. The most important vest, however, might be his own. "Can you check his vest to see where he was going?"

  "No," she tells me. "The Tinker claimed he could break a vest's encryption, but the ministry has never been able to. Though, maybe we can do the next best thing."

  She takes out her tube of lipstick, the one with the fancy tracing isotope. She draws a big smiley face on the vest and then presses the trigger up near the shoulder. The man vanishes before our eyes.

  Careena stands up. "Now we just need Beckett to tell us where he went."

  At least all hope isn't lost.

  "How long will that take?" I ask.

  "It shouldn't take more than—"

  She's interrupted as the walls rattle. There has been an explosion somewhere far off, not from within the building. It felt like a slight earthquake. A photo falls from the wall.

  "What was that, old maid?" Rhoda asks.

  "I really don't know," the other says as she looks around cautiously. "A meteor? Wouldn't surprise me with our luck."

  Alarm sirens blare citywide. Though muted, I hear them through the walls.

  "This can't be good," Careena whispers.

  A conference screen at the end of the room comes on, some sort of emergency broadcast. A calm newswoman is speaking. Eerily calm. I think she might be a computer generation.

  She informs us, "Citizens of the Valeyard, an act of terrorism has compromised the dome. All residents are instructed to shelter indoors. Atmosphere will deplete in one hour, forty-eight minutes."

  The broadcast is on repeat. Only the timer changes.

  "It's the Red Man," I say in panic. "It has to be."

  "Yes, but why attack the dome? What is he planning? Unless..." Without finishing her thought, Careena grabs one of the jumpvests left behind by the dead jumper. From her pocket she produces a pair of pliers and places them in a fold of the vest. From her other pocket she pulls out a ring, one of her supposed fake QDDs. She holds it down on the jumpvest's trigger.

  "What are you doing?" I ask.

  "I can't break the encryption, but I can wipe the memory clean. This little baby, Hellcate, can then program new jump coordinates
." She's referring to this second ring. "She was a nice prototype. Can do all sorts of cool stuff. Too bad if you jump with her, she spreads your atoms across three galaxies. But one bloke's rubbish is another's treasure, I always say."

  When she's finished, she places Hellcate back in her pocket and hits the trigger on the vest. Both the vest and her pliers vanish. I don't know to where or even why she'd jump a pair of pliers. All she'll tell me is that it's an insurance policy.

  "What's going to happen to the Valeyard?" I ask next.

  "Nothing good. The city is supposed to be ready for this sort of thing. The towers are designed to lock down with their own life support, food processors, all that stuff. But you know how burdensome regulations can be on corporations. I doubt even half the towers are up to code. And most are over capacity, regardless. It could take months to repair the dome and restore the atmosphere. Many of these towers won't last that long."

  A pit forms in my stomach. "So everyone's going to die?"

  "No, I don't think so," she says. "It's ironic, really. This planet will finally have to be evacuated. For good. Every world in the Ghent Mandate will pitch in since we're the closest. Tegana, Cawdor III and IV, New Mahshad, the New Thracian Republic, Ka Lai Prime. They'll send every ship they've got for the rescue. Our guilt over the neglect of these people will finally have to be answered for. We'll shelter them, and when it's over, we won't send them back."

  "What are you saying, Careena? That the Red Man just did these people a favor?"

  "Maybe you could see it that way. No more lotteries for citizenship. No more excuses. We always said it wasn't fair that the Outer Colonies should be burdened by the refugee crisis while the Core Worlds squabbled over the quotas they'd have to take. It was us, after all, the front lines, that sacrificed the most during the war. We should have been granted some reprieve afterwards. And that's true. But it's also true that our planets are large and bountiful. On Tegana we have entire continents used only as national parks. So if the Core Worlds want to be cowards, fork them. Maybe it's time we do what we should have done all along."