by Wesley Chu
“Senior,” Ewa called, barging into the meeting room. “We just received word from the Sixty-third and York station. They’re under attack by multiple groups of savages.”
Multiple? Kuo checked the map. That was just six blocks away. How brazen could the enemy be?
“Did we send a response team yet?”
“Yes. A shocker pod has been deployed. According to the survivors, they were destroyed to a man. The last message from the trooper leader at the station was that they were about to be overrun by an entire horde of savages, and that it was a very coordinated attack.”
Kuo was stunned. Shockers were her heaviest and most valuable units. She had only been allocated a few of these pods. For her to lose one was unimaginable. She checked her levels and hurried out of the room. “All available personnel within a ten-block radius congregate at that intersection. I want a full sweep of the block. How many Valkyries do we have available right now?”
“Two on patrol. Four standing by.”
“I want all six in the air immediately.”
Twenty minutes later, Kuo and a force of nearly two hundred swept toward the building between York and the river. It was the largest group of troopers and monitors she could muster at a moment’s notice. Within seconds, the six Valkyries had taken hover positions over the intersections while the monitors took up defensive positions over all the bridges. Her troopers began a floor-by-floor sweep of the eighty-five-story building.
Kuo flew through an opened window on the twenty-third floor, where the Valta outpost was located. The station was the first of several built alongside the major intersections of the bridges connecting the buildings together. It was also especially important, because it gave her forces a vantage point on the Queensboro Bridge to the south.
According to the map, the lower levels of this building used to be an old school. Over the years, additional buildings were stacked on top of it, from medical facilities to long-term-care housing to a military training facility. During the Core Conflicts, it had been converted to a military resupply base, and then a refugee camp shortly before the civilized world abandoned the entire island.
The battle played in her head. The enemy must have first come through from the lower level from the north end. She found splatters of blood and blaster fire at several locations. It had been a total surprise. However, none of the signs pointed to consistent movement. Her people weren’t pushed back, and they hadn’t taken defensive positions. The enemy must have surrounded them and hit them all at once. It had been a slaughter.
The outpost had seventeen monitors, six troopers, and two engineers at the time of its attack. That singlehandedly made this the worst defeat she had suffered since the beginning of her mission to capture the temporal anomaly.
“A coordinated attack with large numbers,” she muttered. “Get an analytics team here,” she said, pointing to a hole that seemed to have been burned by wrist beams. “Confirm the blast signatures. Scour the rest of this place. I want everything scanned and traced. I want to know every weapon used, every energy trace left over, every abyss-forsaken piece of DNA we can get our hands on.”
Kuo stood aside and waited anxiously, half-enraged and half apprehensive as a group of her engineers collected samples and took readings. On the one hand, the aggression and brazenness of a daytime attack had shaken her confidence in her expected victory. On the other hand, there could be some evidence here that might explain what was going on. If that fugitive chronman was alive and still on the island, there was a good chance the anomaly was as well.
It took the better part of the day for her people to report back to her. In the meanwhile, Kuo ordered a push farther south. Her troops encountered four small tribes and a handful of wandering savages. They were going to be brought back to the main holding pen. However, instead of separating and putting them to work, she had a different plan. They must have some knowledge of the recent events. She intended to beat it out of them.
“Well?” she asked as her lead investigator came to report his findings.
“ChronoCom signatures, Senior,” he said. “As well as wrist beams, twenty-second-century gauss rifles, twenty-third-century lasers, and what looks like…” He paused, and then looked up. “Bullets. The old-fashioned kind, some as old as the nineteenth century.”
“Did the savages find an old cache of weapons?” she asked.
“I doubt it,” the investigator said. “Some of these signatures come from weapons hundreds of years old. It’s more likely that they were time salvaged.”
So the chronman was illegally jumping again. Interesting. Why now? The jumps had seemed to stop shortly after Levin’s attack on the Elfreth home in Boston. Why would he start back up? That would explain the increased fighting ability of these savages. However, if that was the case, then that would mean they were organized, and even more disturbingly, unified behind him. They now posed a danger to her forces.
The director needed to be notified at once. This was his jurisdiction and responsibility. He had pulled his surveillance off this fugitive after Auditor Levin was incarcerated and the jumps had stopped. However, it was imperative now that ChronoCom perform its duty. At the very least, this was something she could hold over Young for a while. He had been increasingly disagreeable lately.
Even more importantly, this was necessary to her report to Sourn. The last few days had produced poor news, and she needed to show progress. Now she had proof the woman was still in the area. That would be enough. For now. Almost as importantly, she could attribute the recent uptick in her casualties and increasing enemy activity to these illegal jumps.
As the old business idiom went: there’s always a reason to succeed and a hundred reasons to fail. The most important thing was always to cover your ass.
She turned to the nearest trooper. “Recall one of the Valkyries and have it ready to pick me up.”
“Yes, Senior. Where to?”
“Chicago. I’m going to tear the good director in half.”
THIRTY-FOUR
IDLE HANDS
The flyguards descended upon the pile of junk, systematically breaking down the debris and containers until they reached a large metal rolling door. James, standing next to a broken column in what used to be a parking garage, scanned the skies across the East River. There shouldn’t be any Co-op patrols this far south, but the blockade over the river was constant, and they were close enough to the shoreline that carelessness or bad luck could get them spotted by a passing Valkyrie.
He looked down the ramp at where Chawr and his people struggled to push up the rusty rolling door with a manual crank. The door protested being forced open, its high-pitched shrieks slicing through the air, sending a shudder through James’s body.
He hissed at Chawr to quiet it down and turned his attention back to the skies. They were out in the open on the edge of the downtown area near the harbor. The fog was light and the skies were clearer than he preferred this early in the morning, but they had a long day of work ahead of them.
He was the only one with anything resembling a modern weapon. The rest of the flyguards, not considered true guardians, wielded spears and ancient projectile weapons. Chawr had an electro shotgun, which at best could scratch the paint off a Valkyrie. Their little group could hold off wild animals and perhaps raiders, but without his bands, they were extremely vulnerable.
“We’re in,” Chawr said, as they lifted the door half a meter off the ground. The rest of the flyguards lay flat on their stomachs and rolled into the next room. James waited a few moments and closed his eyes, listening for the high-pitched whine of a Valkyrie or the low rumble of a collie. When he was satisfied, he jogged down the ramp, slid his rifle inside, and rolled in after them.
James stood up and looked around at what used to be a maintenance garage. Chawr barked out several orders and the crew got to work, making sure the vehicles were dry, checking energy levels, and starting ignitions. One by one, the vehicles rumbled to life.
“The
starter is dead on this one,” Aliette said, closing the hood on one of the trucks.
“Pull out the battery and take it with us,” Chawr said.
The smile grew on James’s face as he watched the young man lead his team. Just a few months earlier, Chawr had been a known troublemaker among the Elfreth. Now, he was a leader, a valued member of the tribe, someone the children looked up to. James’s smile must have been obvious, because it caught Chawr’s attention.
He looked over at James with a puzzled expression. “Yes, Elder? Something the matter?”
“Not at all, Chawr. You guys keep doing your thing.”
His attention wandered to a large metal container tucked into the corner of the room. He tapped the hollow body. “Think you guys can mix up a batch?”
Chawr hesitated. “Oldest Franwil and Oldest Grace said—”
“Grace is off in space, and Franwil will never find out. Besides, who knows when we’ll be back? Maybe never.”
“Well, maybe we could brew up a little. We still have some blood yeast, kudzu growth, and catalyst soy left over. Would seem like a waste…”
“Have at it,” James said, patting him on the back. “Aliette and I will finish with the transports.”
Chawr nodded. “Bria, Laurel, Dox, help me brew some juice.”
“But Oldest Elise and…,” Bria said hesitantly.
“Elder James said it was all right.”
It didn’t take much more effort to convince the rest of Chawr’s friends to brew some shine. He watched as they built a fire. James felt his skin tingle as he worked on the transports. He glanced to the side and saw Smitt leaning against the wall, shaking his head. “What are you looking at?”
Smitt sighed. “Nothing I’ve ever said made you listen when it comes to your drink, my friend. Why start now?”
“I’m glad we have an understanding.”
“Can I say something, though?”
James knew what Smitt was going to say next. Irritated, he attacked the valve he was twisting with renewed vigor. “No. I deserve a sip, so don’t try to make me feel guilty.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Did you say something, Elder?” Aliette asked, looking over from where she was working.
“Just thinking out loud,” James replied, purposely not looking Smitt’s way.
That evening, James and the flyguards huddled around the small fire they had built and drank the first of a batch of raw shine. It tasted awful, but the feeling of release it gave James, that loosening of tightly wound nerves, was worth the burn and the pain.
The atmosphere in the group was light as they relaxed and joked around the fire, giggling and chatting like children. James leaned back against the wall with a content smile on his face. There was a sense of camaraderie, something he hadn’t felt since his Academy days, as Bria and Chawr narrated a story about the one time they added too much yeast and blew up their old container, and how Hory and Gio tried to not to waste the brewed booze by drinking it directly off the ground. Unfortunately, the shine was still scalding, and the two burned their lips so badly they couldn’t talk right for weeks.
He howled with the rest as they ribbed Hory good-naturedly. He clinked jars with them as they toasted Gio, their friend who had died in the initial attack at the Farming Towers. For that evening, James felt strangely at peace. Looking around the fire, he felt a kinship with these kids, these flyguards. Elise might belong to the Elfreth, but these seven were his.
By the end of the night, after five full jars of the bad liquor were gone and the fire near the entrance was dying, they decided to turn in. James found himself alone with half a jar of shine. He decided to clear some of the smoke in the room from the fire. He rolled the door up another meter and left the garage. Jar in hand, he inhaled the cool night air in the quiet streets.
The island was dead tonight, the sky black as space, the fog a translucent gray, and everything so ghost-quiet he could hear his heart thumping in his chest. He raised the jar to his lips and let the smell burn the hairs in his nostrils, and then he took a loving sip, savoring the warmth coursing down his throat and through his body, keeping the chill at bay.
He was terribly lonely right now, which felt strange. It had never bothered him before. Loneliness was an old friend. He had spent the better part of two decades with only Smitt speaking into his ear. So why did it bother him so much now? Then he realized: it was Elise’s fault. She had coaxed him out of his shell, his protective field, lured him with hope and purpose, and then left him dangling in the wind once she had better things to do. Now James didn’t know what he was or where he belonged anymore.
For a while, he thought he was a chronman and the key to the Elfreth’s survival. However, right now up there in space, Levin had usurped his job and had taken the mantle of salvager. Having lost that, James thought his place was by Elise’s side. Now, she was too busy with her Manhattan unification project. James was reduced to hanging out with children fifteen years his junior. It seemed no matter what he did, he had no place in the universe.
Smitt appeared next to him as he leaned over a concrete balcony. “Aww, I didn’t know you missed me that much. Your priorities are messed up, though, my friend. First you hate being a chronman, and now you’re upset with Levin for taking your job?”
“Shut up,” James said, taking a swig from the jar. It was nearly empty. For a second, he thought about refilling it from the large jug. They were supposed to be back at the All Galaxy at sunrise. Instead of thinking about making the half-day trek back to the tower hungover, James thought about the five hours he had left to drink before dawn.
“You should stop,” said Smitt.
“You should shut up,” James spat. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. That’s what you get for leaving me.” He stomped away from the parking garage.
“Come on,” Smitt called after him. “You think I wanted to die? Let me tell you. Dying sucks.”
“Yeah, well, so does living,” James growled. He stumbled along the harbor edge, oblivious to his surroundings. If he laid down and died right now, would anyone miss him? Probably not. It had already been proven how easily replaceable he was. He might as well just jump into the dark brown waters.
James downed the last of the jar and hurled it as hard as he could into the harbor. He heard the cracking of glass somewhere out there in the darkness. He turned around and realized that he was lost. It was so dark out, he could barely see past his hands, let alone make it past mounds of debris and ruins back to the hidden garage. He shivered as the ocean air blew in from the harbor.
James tried to walk back in the direction he had come from. He made a few wrong turns and tripped on the uneven ground as he stumbled, hands outstretched, trying to feel his way back. After he nearly stepped off a collapsed staircase and plummeted to his death, he decided to just sit wherever he was and wait until light. The passageway was a wind tunnel, a shrill whistle laid over the otherwise quiet night. Shivering, James pulled his coat tightly around his body and tucked his knees in.
The hallucination of Sasha appeared next to him, huddled in a similar fashion. She leaned in, sniffed his breath, and then made a face. She looked away, her tiny body shivering in the cold. He could hear her light coughs being carried away in the wind.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled and reached for her. “I was supposed to take care of you.”
She got up and climbed farther up the broken stairwell, moving to the corner to huddle with her back to him.
“Look, James, this is probably not a good idea,” Smitt said, appearing next to her. He stood up and tried to pull James to his feet. “You’re going to freeze to death, just like on Tethys. Come on, let’s go.” James pulled away and pawed his way up the cracked stairs to get Sasha, but when he got to the upper level, she was no longer there. He looked back down at Smitt, who shook his head. “Come on. Follow me.”
James wasn’t sure exactly where they went. He followed the voice of his friend, the darkened fi
gure leading him deeper into the maze of buildings and ruins, through twists, turns, and small passageways until he was hopelessly lost. By now, he was so exhausted, staying on his feet was difficult. He collapsed again, sprawled on top of the jagged rocks, and closed his eyes.
A second later, he opened them, except this time, it was light outside, and Chawr was hovering over him with a worried expression on his face. The young flyguard was shaking him so hard he felt his head bouncing up and down against the hard rocks.
His eyes ached at the bright sky. He shielded them with his hands and sat up. “What happened? What time is it?”
“It is late morning.” Chawr’s voice was hushed, rushed. “Please, Elder. We must leave.”
Late morning? They were supposed to have headed back toward the All Galaxy at first light. Moving the length of the downtown area during the day was dangerous. How could he have let this happen?
That was when James first heard it. Somewhere out there, the high-pitched whine of a Valkyrie attack ship whistled among the concrete ruins. He looked around and realized that he must have passed out not fifty meters from the garage entrance. “What am I doing here?”
“We woke up this morning to the sound of the enemy and then found you gone,” Chawr said. “A few of us went out to search for you. I found you lying out here in the open. Thought perhaps it was a trap. I could not leave without making sure, though. Would not know what words to speak to Oldest Elise.”
“Good kid,” James said, scrambling to his feet. What happened last night? Did that walk through the city actually happen? Did he even make it out of the garage, or was it all in his head?
He and Chawr crept back into the garage. The rolling doors were halfway up; he remembered raising them last night. The rest of the flyguards were stacking the debris back in front of the entrance. They wouldn’t be able to lower the door without alerting that ship overhead.