Cassie looked at her own target, down on the 50-yard line, completely unscathed.
“A nice, firm grip like this,” Ryan said, demonstrating how to hold the Glock 17C.
“I’ve got it,” she said, taking the handgun from him – holding the gun wasn’t the problem, hitting something seemed the hardest part.
The Glock was surprisingly heavy; she needed two hands just to lift it. She stared down the sight, the barrel wavering. She wiped a hand across her forehead, distinctly aware of how much she was sweating – her gray tank top was soaked through, and a lock of hair hung loosely in front of her eyes.
She pulled the trigger. Her arm jerked backward, jarring her shoulder, and the shot went high above the target, hitting one of the reinforced baffles on the ceiling. Damn it. She sensed Ryan’s displeasure beside her. Come on. You can do this.
She pulled the trigger again and again, discharging round after round, her shoulder jarring painfully. Each shot went wide, hitting the back wall or clipping the target’s rail, but never the black cutout itself. The slide flung back, the magazine and chamber both empty, and Cassie let out a frustrated scream, ripping her earmuffs off.
She stormed out of the firing range, ignoring Ryan – she didn’t want to see that look of disappointment on his face. She walked out of the range as fast as she could, a dozen eyes on her; a hot flush creeped onto her face, and it was all she could do to keep from running.
The next day, the range master was back to instruct her.
* * *
Temporal training proved equally difficult.
In the afternoons, she was mercifully saved from marksman training outside, and instead taken to Sector 1 – home of the Intelligence and Monitoring Division that researched Temporal Energy and analyzed the intel uploads from Eaglepoint Station. There were dozens of strange laboratories and meeting rooms in Sector 1, and instead of agents or operators, she saw assistants and scientists in white lab coats.
She was always taken to the same place – an examination room that was uncomfortably cold, the walls sterile-white. She sat opposite Doctor Amita Sharma, with a metal table between them. The walls were bare, and a camera in the corner of the room blinked red, recording everything. Beside the Doctor, Shaun slouched in his chair, his arms folded, slate-gray eyes fixed on Cassie and making her self-conscious.
“I’m going to shuffle this deck of cards,” Amita said during their first session. “You’re going to tell me the order that the cards are in.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “If you don’t show me the cards first, how can I remember what the order is?”
“This is not a test of your memory,” the Doctor said. Her black hair was pulled back in a fierce bun. “This is a test of your Temporal abilities. Now, are you ready to begin?”
Cassie swallowed past a thick lump in her throat. She glanced up at the camera. Are people watching this? Studying me? She shivered. The room unnerved her.
“Let’s begin,” Amita said. She shuffled the deck and placed it face down in the middle of the table. “What card is on top?”
Cassie opened and closed her mouth. This is crazy. It’s an impossible test.
She looked imploringly at Shaun, as though he could help her somehow. He leaned back in his chair, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Come on,” Amita said sharply, rapping a finger on the table. “What card is it?”
“I don’t know!” Cassie said, exasperated. “I don’t understand how this could possibly test my – my abilities!”
Just saying the word – ability – felt foreign to her. Her Affinity was slowly spreading across the base of her skull in a static-filled headache. She felt Shaun’s signature burning brightly inside her mind, but her actual powers were far beyond her reach.
“Just pick a card,” Shaun said, rolling his eyes. “This whole test is a waste of time.”
“Timewalker Briars,” Amita said, glaring at him. “You are here to assist me in activating this girl’s powers. I am the supervising physician with decades’ of experience analyzing the Cronus gene – I don’t need your commentary.”
Shaun took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling, anger roiling off his body in hot waves.
Cassie returned her gaze to the deck of cards. This is impossible, she thought. I’d have to be psychic. Or be able to see the future.
The future.
“I get it now,” she murmured. But that doesn’t make it any easier.
She named a card at random: “Queen of Hearts.”
Amita flipped the first card over. Six of Clubs. She shuffled the deck. “Try again.”
“Seven of Diamonds.” She was wrong again. Of course. As Amita flipped the correct card over, Cassie shut her eyes and dug into the back of her mind, reaching into the static of her Affinity – the part of her mind that could access Temporal Energy.
There was nothing there.
Shaun’s signature roared like a bonfire in the darkness, but there was no hint of the strange power that had rushed through her on the football field.
“Try again,” Amita snapped.
“Ace of Spades?”
“Black Joker. Try again.”
The cycle repeated, day after day. Shaun became distant and fed-up, often leaving the room for long periods of time, returning in an even worse mood. Amita remained persistent, shuffling and dealing the top card again and again. Sometimes she had a clipboard with her, and would scribble notes in an illegible scrawl; other times she simply let the camera record it all.
Cassie became increasingly frustrated with herself, and with this stupid, pointless test. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t access her powers. Shaun’s presence confused her Affinity more, but when he was absent, she couldn’t concentrate on the deck of cards at all, her thoughts straying to him even when she wanted to block everything out.
The first week passed like this – early mornings, exercise and training, classroom lessons, Temporal training, and a single hour of ‘free time’ before the 10pm curfew and lights-out around the base.
During one of her free periods, Cassie asked Natalie for some stationary, and sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed while the other women talked amongst themselves. She was an outsider, of course, the youngest by at least eight years.
She was dogged by suspicious glances and more than a few whispers behind her back – everyone knew she was a Timewalker, knew that she was different. Not everyone held Timewalkers in the same regard as Director Anderson. She hadn’t even seen the mysterious leader of the Bureau since he’d visited her in the hospital.
Cassie twirled the pen around her fingers, staring hard at the blank piece of paper. She remembered Ryan’s words to her: “You can’t tell them where you are, just that you’re okay, and the government is looking after you.”
There was so much she wanted to tell her parents. I’m alive, I’m at a secret agency, I can manipulate time, I’m alone, I’m afraid. In the end, she didn’t know how to phrase it, or even if the Bureau would allow her to send it.
There was a particularly raucous burst of laughter at some private joke among the women. She sent a quick glance in their direction, but nobody was paying her any attention. She started writing, cringing at her own messy handwriting:
Mom, Dad,
I don’t know what they’ve told you, if anyone’s come to talk with you. I’m okay, don’t worry about me. The government is taking care of me, they’re training me in a program. I can’t say much more.
I’ll try to write when I can. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. I love you both, miss you a lot.
Love,
Cassie
She put the pen down, teardrops smearing the ink. She dried her eyes, then the page, and folded it into a square. It was still before curfew, so Cassie hopped off the bed and left the dorm, padding barefoot down the hall toward Sector 7, where the agents had their offices. The base’s layout still confused her – the corridors twisted and sprawled throu
gh the hills, sometimes sloping down, then up again.
She followed the overhead signs, nodding once at a passing duty officer.
“Thirty minutes to curfew, Miss,” the officer drawled, tapping his watch.
“I won’t take long,” she promised him. She turned a corner, her Affinity buzzing – she detected a bright Temporal signature ahead. Shaun? She was approaching Natalie’s office when she heard voices coming from the open door. Warm yellow light flooded out into the white hallway.
She hesitated, about to turn back when she heard a distinctive voice: Amita’s.
“…hasn’t been performing at all,” Amita was saying, her voice flat. “Her Temporal training has been a complete disaster.”
“That’s because you insist on cold testing,” a deep, male voice said. She didn’t recognize it. Cassie hesitated, then pressed herself flat against the wall, her heart hammering in her chest.
“And what would you have me do, General?” Amita asked. General? General Lehmann – the head of Temporal Operations itself. She remembered hearing his name in one of the orientation classes. Lehmann authorized all of the missions for the Bureau’s operators.
“Put her in the field,” Lehmann drawled. “I saw the debrief from Eaglepoint. That kind of Temporal Spike? She clearly used her powers that night. She was under immense pressure, and we need to replicate that.”
“What about the psych evaluation?” Amita countered. “The girl is emotionally unstable, and not ready to join Clockwork.”
Emotionally unstable. A hot wave of anger washed through her, and suddenly she wanted to storm into the room – but stopped when she heard another familiar voice.
“It’s far too risky,” Shaun Briars said. That explains the signature I felt. “Ryan and I have been training her alongside Drill Sergeant Mathers. She can’t fire a gun, and Amita’s right – Cassie’s abilities are practically non-existent. Whatever she did, or claims to have done on that night, we don’t have any proof that she can replicate it. She’s a liability.”
The disappointment in his voice cut deeper than any knife. Her heart dropped and she slouched against the wall, her legs failing her.
“I know Cassie,” Natalie interjected, speaking for the first time. “She’s adaptable and determined. You just need to give her a chance.”
The agent’s voice sparked something in her heart, a flickering flame of hope – but hope for what? She wanted to prove herself, wanted to believe that she was strong and capable – that she could finally belong somewhere; but at the same time, she was terrified of being put with proper soldiers on a mission.
“I agree,” Lehmann said, his deep voice rumbling. “Doctor, you’ve had the girl for over a week and produced no results. We’re fighting a war against the Adjusters. I need Timewalkers who can use their powers, and more importantly, I need a soldier I can trust.”
“She’s a teenage girl, not a marine,” Amita snapped.
“She’s a human weapon,” Lehmann growled, his tone dangerous. “I have jurisdiction here, Doctor. She’s under my Directorate’s control now. And I say that we need to put her in the field, give her real experience with Clockwork.”
“She’s been here a week,” Amita argued, pushing her point. “I’m just asking for more time—”
“We don’t have time!” Lehmann shouted. Cassie flinched, startled. There was a pause, then the General added, “In a perfect world, I’d let her complete basic training for six months, like I did with Briars. But you’ve seen Eaglepoint’s data. Temporal Spikes are occurring in greater frequency than ever. The Adjusters are getting more active, and we’re finding less Timewalkers than ever. The ones I do have, I want to use. A week has been long enough.”
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then, Natalie: “I’d like to come along. I – I think it would help integrate her better. I’ve had field training with Whirlwind before.”
“Fine,” Lehmann grunted. “The next Temporal Spike we find, I’ll be adding you and her both to Clockwork. Briars – think you can handle her?”
Cassie tensed, a mixture of emotions storming through her mind. I’m going on a mission, she realized. A hollow pit of fear opened in her stomach, and she felt sick. I’ll see them again. The Adjusters.
Shaun’s words reached her ears, emotionless and flat. “As long as she doesn’t slow us down.”
“She’s just there for field experience,” Lehmann said, with a dismissive grunt. “It might trigger her Temporal powers, it might not. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Slow us down. The words were a knife to her heart. Her eyes burned, and she realized she had squeezed her hands into fists, crumpling her letter. There were loud noises from the office, and the door swung fully open. Desperate, Cassie darted back around the corner, randomly choosing a direction and slipping down a darkened service corridor.
General Lehmann walked past – a tall, broad-chested man with gray hair. Shaun followed behind him like a loyal dog. Then came Amita, huffing to herself and muttering about ‘jarhead marines.’
Cassie took a deep breath, her hands shaking. She wanted to go back to her bunk, curl up under the sheets and forget about everything – but she still had her letter. She drew herself up, wiped away the tears, and went back around to Natalie’s office. The door was open this time, and the young agent was busying herself at her desk.
“Cassie!” Natalie looked up sharply. She glanced at a clock on the wall. “It’s almost curfew – I was just finishing for the night. Some last-minute paperwork.”
What a rubbish lie, she thought. But at least she stuck up for me.
Natalie’s office was crowded with stacks of paperwork in various trays, with a heavy filing cabinet on one wall. Her computer monitor had the Bureau’s emblem on a dark-blue background – the eagle in mid-flight, an hourglass caught tightly in its talons. There was a single photo frame on her desk – a handsome-looking man, distinctly Eastern-European, holding a newborn baby with Natalie’s striking green eyes and a pink ribbon in its blonde hair.
“Your daughter?” Cassie asked, pointing at the photo, mustering the courage to speak. “I love children. I had a summer job looking after kids, a few years ago.” The memory made her smile – there was something utterly joyous about young children. Perhaps it was their naivety and innocence. A toddler didn’t know anything about divorces, psychologists, or faceless assassins. To kids, the world was nothing but a giant playpen full of toys to be chewed on.
“Yes,” Natalie said, smiling. “Her name is Marissa. She’s ten months old now – my mother-in-law is looking after her while I’m working. Is that for me?”
Cassie started, and realized Natalie was pointing at the letter. She smoothed the letter out and handed it over.
“I don’t know if it’s okay,” she said. “I can rewrite it—”
“Don’t you worry,” Natalie said, with another warm smile that melted Cassie’s worries away. “We’ll take care of that. Now, back to your dorm before curfew, okay?”
“Okay,” Cassie nodded. “Thank you.”
She left Natalie’s office and made her way back to the dorm, slipping into bed a few minutes before they turned the lights out. She slept through the night, dreaming heavily – but rather than her family, she dreamed of private conversations half-overhead, of soldiers streaming across a grassy field, fighting endless ranks of Adjusters.
When she woke in the morning, the letter was perched up the end of her bed, with an envelope across it. She snatched the letter up, her stomach sinking when she saw the black lines obscuring her handwriting. The letter had been redacted, now saying only:
“Mom, Dad,
I’m okay, don’t worry about me. The government is taking care of me.
I love you both.
Cassie”
The letter wavered in her grasp and anger stormed through her gut. She scrunched the letter into a ball and shoved it under her mattress. Thoughts of the letter and of the secret conversation raged through her m
ind, chasing her all the way through the morning exercises.
That day was the first day she managed fifty pushups.
Drill Sergeant Mathers gave an appreciative grunt when she got to her feet again. He looked at her appraisingly, a strange glimmer in his eyes. Cassie matched his gaze with a furious intensity of her own, sweating pouring from her forehead.
“What got your fire started, girl?” The Drill Sergeant asked. “I don’t say this very often, but I think I was wrong about you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FACTORY
“We’re being deployed today.”
Shaun looked up from his pile of scrambled eggs, the fork halfway to his mouth. Tallon thumped down into the chair beside Ryan, banging his tray on the table with a flat slap. The mess hall hummed around them, hundreds of voices talking and laughing, rising above the rhythmic scraping of knives against plates.
“I hadn’t heard anything,” Shaun said, surprised. He pointed to his pager, sitting beside his plate.
“You wouldn’t have,” Tallon shook his head. “Not yet, anyway. It’s just come in – I only heard about it because I was talking with General Lehmann.” His dark eyes lingered on Shaun for a moment longer. “The General told me you had a private meeting last night. Guess I missed the memo.”
Shaun flinched at the venom in Tallon’s voice. Since when did he develop emotions? Tallon was usually the complete embodiment of cold, military precision. But there was something dangerous in his glare, in the rigidness of his shoulders. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark. How is it my fault if Lehmann didn’t let him know?
Ryan arched an eyebrow at Shaun. “I didn’t hear anything about that either.”
“The General paged me last night, I didn’t ask questions.” Shaun offered his best nonchalant shrug and shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth. Through a mouthful of food, he added, “They just wanted my opinion.”
“What’d they talk about?” Ryan asked, nursing a cup of coffee.
“What do you think?”
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