by Wesley Chu
The thought of his sister gave him pause and filled him with a mixture of relief, anxiety, and guilt. Relief that she was back in his life and that he could finally let go of the guilt that had plagued him for the past twenty years. It was accompanied, however, by the crushing anxiety and burden of parenthood, knowing her safety and wellness was once again in his hands. He had failed her the first time; he didn’t think he could survive failing her again. For twenty years, all he had cared about was himself. Now, alongside his concern for Elise, it was almost too much pressure to bear.
“Pull yourself together,” he growled. “You’ve faced sun raiders and Plutonian cannibals. Taking care of the two women should be far easier.”
It wasn’t, though, at least it didn’t feel that way. Black abyss, he needed a drink. The ghosts of the Nazi soldier and Sasha were standing on either side of the bar entrance. His sister’s eyes bored into him and seemed to disapprove of what she saw. She looked away.
The Nazi soldier whistled. “First time away, and that’s all you can think of. I would think her death and twenty years of guilt would make you a better brother.”
“That’s not true,” James protested. “I need to go inside to find her a doctor.”
“You only think that.”
“Fuck you, you little fascist,” James snapped, not taking his eyes off his sister.
“You know, I have a name.”
“Yeah? What is it, Nazi?”
“You should have asked before you killed me.” The Nazi soldier laughed and turned to Sasha. “Come on, girl, your brother doesn’t care about you. He just wants the bottle.”
“No, that’s not why I’m going in,” James protested. “And don’t talk to my sister.” He stopped. Of course that was why. He couldn’t lie to himself. He was getting pulled by the lure of the alcohol. He had been trying his best not to drink. Promised Elise, promised Sasha, promised himself. Yet here he was, at his first opportunity away from his loved ones, heading straight into a bar.
He looked down at the hallucination of his sister still standing there as if guarding the entrance. No, she was guarding him from the bar. James swallowed and felt his mouth go dry. He forced himself to turn away and stagger down the hallway, each step taking more effort than the previous. Finally, after what felt like walking in triple gravity, he turned the corner and leaned against the wall. His brow was drenched in sweat and his hands shook uncontrollably.
He took a few deep breaths and tried to refocus his mind. Focus on what his real purpose was here on Bulk’s Head. He was here to help to save Sasha, the real Sasha, not this hallucination in his sick mind. She was alive now and back with Elise on Earth. He looked back around the corner and saw the neon-lit sign of the bar entrance. Below, the ghost of his sister stood, staring at him. Always staring.
James turned away with fresh resolve and walked in the opposite direction. He had a job to do here. He had a time traveler and a doctor to find. For Sasha. It was time to get to work.
SIX
MIST ISLE
The dark figures disturbed the haze in ones and twos, slicing through the black and gray roiling fog that permanently blanketed the region. The numbers of bodies appearing and disappearing increased, followed by the growing sounds of thousands of footsteps. Mist swirled around the silhouettes, dancing in circles as if alive until it eventually lost its form. A few moments later, it was as if the procession had never come through.
Elise tilted her head to the side and stared at a metal sign hanging off only one corner of a leaning pole: BROOKLYN BRIDGE, with an arrow pointing to the top left corner of the sign. Behind it, an ominous structure full of wires and beams and stone poked through the fog.
It had taken almost a week for the Elfreth to move down the skypath highway across the Long Island Sound, down the length of the peninsula, through the mostly-submerged Hamptons, then west down the lower Suffolk path until they reached the outskirts of New York City. It took another day to navigate through Queens, but now they stood on the east side of the East River entering the dreaded Mist Isle, better known during her time period as Manhattan.
Today was the first day they entered the haze, originally created by a frequency EMP bomb, dropped during the Core Conflicts in the middle of the twenty-fourth century. The lingering effects of the bomb now manifested as an unnatural, permanent fog. It prevented all frequencies from penetrating inside or out, effectively creating a surveillance and communications dead zone. It would hamper the Elfreth, but would completely mask them from the Co-op as well. A more than fair trade-off, and a necessary one.
A shriek pulled Elise’s gaze out into the ocean. She saw a tall dark object in the distance, a lone broken tower rising up from the water just to the south of the island. A dense flock of large creatures shaped like pterodactyls circled above it, their high-pitched cries piercing the otherwise quiet night. There seemed to be a nest of some sort at the top of the jagged point. Something about the building pulled at her memory.
She squinted at the flying creature. Some idiot hadn’t brought back dinosaurs, had they? Who knew. Elise had been in 2512 for less than a year and she had already seen things more terrifying than she could possibly have dreamed existed, from humanoid snakes to packs of seemingly intelligent lions to centipede bears; the geneticists of the future must have gone to town with mutations. It made the twenty-first-century biologist in her nauseous.
Elise studied the lonely building again and then realized why its shape seemed so familiar. It was a decapitated statue of a woman with one arm raised, cut off at the elbow. She could see a hole through the body of the statue where its heart would be.
“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” The words came out so softly Elise almost didn’t realize she had said them. They were from another time, long past and probably forgotten, except perhaps saved on some chron database server somewhere. There was meaning behind those words, a spirit of generosity and community. Words that no longer had a place.
She shivered as a gust blew in from the south, pushing such a thick bank of fog over the Statue of Liberty that it disappeared. It came in so quickly, everything around Elise darkened several shades in a blink of an eye, as if a cover were pulled over the world. It was strange, this fog. When the wind blew, she could see the mist move, yet it didn’t move. Then she realized that there were two layers of fog here, one that reacted to the air, and one that ignored it completely. The scientist in her wanted to investigate further, but the Oldest in her had more urgent matters on her mind.
In the distance, thunder rumbled first from the west, then the east, and then all around, as if each of the clouds loaded with acid rain and lightning were echoing in a chorus. The crackling increased, soon followed by lightning dancing horizontally across the sky, streaking from heavy cloud to heavy cloud. The storm would be upon them soon, and when it was, it would be unforgiving. The world she lived in now didn’t know how to treat its inhabitants in any other way.
A shadow appeared through the mist until she could just make out Rima’s face. “Oldest, the last of the tribe is gathering at the base of the bridge. Eriao says we are too exposed and recommends we cross tonight or find shelter. However, Oldest Franwil demands a pause.”
Elise gave the Statue of Liberty one last sorrowful look. “Stay standing as long as you can, old girl.” She turned to Rima, who stood waiting with a chalkboard in hand. “We camp for the night on this side of the river. Tell Eriao to find an open area closed off on at least two sides, either by the river or a building. Two-hundred-meter perimeter guard. Why does Franwil need a pause?”
Rima scribbled furiously on her chalkboard and nodded. “The Oldest is with the kowrus. Moma is giving birth now.”
Elise sighed. Another problem to deal with. “Take me to her,” she said, following the girl back to camp. They passed the team of guardians watching the rear and continued up the length of the procession, turning in to a side street near the front. Elise found the h
erd of kowrus mewing in an open field just off the main road, attended to by half a dozen women. Oldest Franwil was elbow-deep inside the pregnant mare. Sasha was by her side, trying to soothe the struggling animal. The girl was often at Franwil’s side now that Grace and James were out traipsing through space.
The old woman looked up and shook her head. “She cannot be moved. The foal needs to be turned and delivered. Leave us if you must.”
Elise scanned the area. They were completely exposed out here, standing just off a main street that saw heavy traffic. Thank Gaia the fog obstructed the views of most of the natives living in the nearby buildings, especially with both Franwil and Sasha here. A raid right now would be upon them before they even knew it was coming. If something happened to James’s sister … Elise shuddered; she couldn’t even finish that thought.
A kowru was a valuable animal, and the pack was critical to the tribe’s survival. The problem with this species was it had an extreme pack mentality. If one of them couldn’t move, the entire herd would refuse to leave. That meant they had to deliver the foal soon or risk losing the entire herd.
Elise had delivered her first foal as an intern at the Prin Ridge Ranch in Montana as a teenager, before she learned how to drive. She wiped her hands and rolled up her sleeves. “Allow me, Oldest. Rima, tell Eriao to bring a team of guardians. Sasha, we need more clean water. Boil some now.”
A team of guardians arrived a few minutes later and took up position around them. Elise was grateful for the additional security. For the next hour, they coaxed and comforted the mare. The stress of their journey must have made it particularly difficult for the expecting mother.
The now-blazing fire nearby had to be a beacon to every predator within a kilometer. No sooner had the foal been delivered and taken its first step, One Huang—“One” being the title for a guardian who commands a team—pushed for them to leave. He barked out several orders and stamped out the fire. “Apologies for rushing you, Oldest, but the tribe encountered raiders from two directions. We are skirmishing with the ones to the north now. Another tribe previously undetected is moving in from the east. I must take you to safety.”
Hastily, she picked up the newborn foal and carried it in her arms. The guardians closed rank around her and sprinted toward the encampment. Gunfire erupted around them, kicking up stones and dirt, the popping sounds bouncing between the buildings and lingering in the air. To her right, one of the guardians fell and came up limping. Another had to help carry him to safety.
Elise looked to her left and checked on Oldest Franwil. A burly man was carrying the elderly woman as if she were a child. A long spear landed a few meters to their side, sticking up from the ground. More echoes of small-arms fire bounced in the air. A rain of arrows dropped nearby. Another guardian took one to the arm, but she didn’t lose a step. Fortunately, the rest of them reached the encampment unscathed.
A minute later, they had entered the defensive barricades erected by the wagons and vehicles. The guardians swooped and corralled Franwil into a large tent. Elise was pleased that her pulse had quickened only slightly.
“My, how this future changes a person,” she murmured, taking a deep breath. If something like this had happened a year ago, she would have suffered a heart attack by now. Now these dangers felt like nothing more than an irritating part of her new reality. She looked down at the foal still in her arms. Well, not everything in the world had changed. She ordered Sasha to fetch a blanket to swaddle it.
She looked over at Rima. “What about the mother?”
“Moma is being well cared for,” she replied. “Do not worry, Oldest, we’re not leaving something as valuable as a kowru unattended. If you’ll excuse me, I wish to join the guardians and help beat back the raiders.” She bowed and hurried out of the tent. The girl still had some wild child left in her. Elise prayed for her safety.
In the distance, the popping sounds increased and the shouting grew louder. The fighting did not seem like it would end anytime soon. Elise got up to make the rounds and see to the rest of the tribe. It seemed that most had made it here without too much trouble.
Elise checked the individual groups huddled around small fires. The constant threats of attack were wearing the Elfreth down. Back in Boston, the Elfreth only had to worry about the Co-op. All the tribes had a shared history after generations of coexistence would unite to fight a common enemy. Now they were in foreign lands. Their enemy was the Co-op as well as every other wastelander tribe that believed their territory was being infringed upon. Everyone was their enemy. How many fronts could the Elfreth face before it broke them?
Elise peered out the tent cover into the sky. “Hurry home, James, or there might not be anything for you to come back to.”
SEVEN
BULK’S HEAD
Locating black market salvagers was a delicate task. Folks in this business didn’t advertise their trade and hated inquisitive strangers. ChronoCom hunted illegal time salvagers relentlessly, so those who prospered in this field were either very skilled, highly secretive, or protected by a powerful organization. Usually, it was all three.
The death rate of black market time salvaging was extraordinarily high, often a factor of ten higher than chronmen. Chronmen spent five years at the Academy and were supported by the full weight and technology of the agency. Even then, their odds of surviving past their first year were only around 70 percent. Seventy percent of illegal salvagers, usually rusks hoping to earn quick scratch, did not survive their first year.
And if the job didn’t kill them, the auditors usually would. Unskilled salvagers left behind traceable ripples. Those footprints were all an auditor needed to track down exactly what had happened and correlate it with events in the present. Illegal salvagers might get away with a few jumps, but eventually, auditors would catch up to them. The ones who did survive and prosper were usually Academy-trained operatives, often former chronmen within the higher three tiers. They were the ones who were not only skilled in combat, but also familiar with the agency’s systems and methodologies, and usually still had contacts within the agency to obtain a steady supply of miasma.The only way to buy access to these skilled black market salvagers was to work underground connections and bribe for the information, which for a newcomer at Bulk’s Head was expensive.
It took James days of futilely working on rumors and leads before he got his first break. Word of his inquiries must have spread after the way he threw scratch around at several different establishments. Eventually, on the morning of their tenth day at Bulk’s Head, he received a hit. A boy approached him as he was sitting alone at the Drink Anomaly and held out his hand. The boy, likely no older than ten or twelve, demanded James buy him dinner. When James refused, the boy told him that naming a collie Collie was stupid and lazy and that James better buy him a meal. James signaled to the waitress and bought the boy all he could eat and drink for the rest of the night.
That bit of information could mean only one thing. Only a few people were aware that James’s old collie—the one that was destroyed by ChronoCom when they attacked the Farming Towers—was named Collie. It had been a running joke among some of his tier.
He watched as the boy ate his fill and got drunk off two drinks. Before the boy passed out, he handed James a piece of paper. On it was an address. It took only a few more minutes of asking around to find out that this address was located in the Puck Pirate section of the colony. Well, James did want to attract a salvager’s attention. It seemed he had attracted the biggest one.
James finished his drink and looked at the young courier passed out on the table. He debated whether he should leave the boy there. If he was lucky, he would wake up with a splitting headache tomorrow. If he wasn’t, he might wake up without a kidney.
Feeling parental, James grabbed the back of the shirt and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s get out of here, kid.”
He smacked the the boy a few times to rouse him and then escorted him out of the bar. They walked all the way acr
oss Bulk’s Head until the boy’s head cleared a bit. James honestly wasn’t sure where the Puck Pirate section was, so he had the boy lead him there. When they arrived, he bought the boy a bag of water and sent him on his way.
James was accosted by three security guards as soon as he neared the Puck Pirate security zone. When he provided his credentials, he was blindfolded and led around for another ten minutes. He had a sense that they were descending to the lower levels after having made dozens of turns. They could be walking him out to an airlock for all he knew. Finally, they took his blindfold off, and he found himself standing in front of an ornate metal door at the far end of a long hallway.
He inhaled; the air here was much cleaner than that in most of Bulk’s Head. An important or rich person must live here. The guards spoke with someone through a comm next to the door, and then it clicked opened. James was greeted by a familiar face.
Hubbs had been two years from earning out from ChronoCom when he was caught smuggling miasma regimens to the Puck Pirates on the side. When the monitors tried to take him in, he killed three squads and a Tier-3—he was a Tier-1, after all—and then fled to Bulk’s Head, far enough from ChronoCom’s grasp not to make it worth their while to get him back. He had been running the Puck Pirates’ salvaging operations ever since. Currently, he was hovering at number nine on ChronoCom’s most wanted list.
“Black abyss, James fucking Griffin-Mars,” Hubbs exclaimed as he waved James into his extravagant quarters. “I thought you were dead until you started poking around my neck of space. Poked a giant in the eye by now or something. You always were a little broodier than the rest of us. Heard about your split with the agency. Rumor has it you broke a few time laws.”