by S. E. Smith
Did he need to know why?
“I told you we were seeking to identify a traitor, a mole in our organization,” the bird said.
He frowned as a thought occurred to him. “How will they track you?” From where he sat, the disc looked dead out there on the table.
Once more it seemed that Madison looked at the bird for permission.
“He needs to know,” the bird said again.
“I do,” Briggs said grimly.
Madison patted her waist, then looked around, found the things from her belt he’d tossed onto the bed, and went over to them. She sorted through the small pile until she found the one she wanted. She activated it and directed it at the suit, watching a small screen. She finally made a face, speaking to the parrot, not him.
“Yeah, it’s got an active tracking beacon.”
“What…the suit?”
She nodded.
“Can you turn it off?”
In normal circumstances no one could find this outpost, since it had cloaking technology, but these two had made it in, so that probably wouldn’t keep out their incoming squad. He could summon help, lots of it, but he had a feeling that conventional defenses wouldn’t work in this situation.
“Maybe,” she said, but once again she looked at the bird. “They might already have a fix on it.”
“You want to use it to draw them in,” he said, because it was what he would have done.
“We could try to leave, but if they already have this location…” She shrugged and did it very well.
He’d meant he had to be a grownup and not look—more than once. Apparently he was not as mature as he’d hoped. He glanced up, found her watching, humor and something else in her eyes. If she weren’t younger than him….
She met his gaze steadily. “It’s the best way for us and for your…for anyone here. They don’t know the terrain, won’t know what they are jumping into, but if they follow the beam in, they’ll be less likely to look around, at least until they’ve got what they want.”
He frowned. “A couple of hundred yards isn’t that narrow.” Had she seriously thought she could cover that much ground?
“I assess they will come in at considerably less than one hundred yards,” the parrot said. “Their scanning will see the trees as obstacles to avoid, so the clear space on the beach is where they will most likely land.”
Madison nodded. “And they’ll know, if I’m conscious, they won’t have that much time. I will have sensed them incoming.”
Briggs blinked, not sure what to say. She could sense that?
“She’s a very good time jumper,” the bird said. It began to pace once more. “I do not believe they saw me. I transported before the door was breached. They’ll know you were injured and that your suit was damaged and that the pad was the only way out.”
“You think they’ll be overconfident,” Briggs suggested.
“Not a good reason for us to be overconfident,” Madison said. “Their tech will be formidable, even if they think I’m down or almost down.”
Her worried gaze met his. He should care they were up against some scary dudes with scary stuff, but words lost their power when she looked at him like that. He was treading in deep water, no question, but if it came down to a choice, he had to choose the base, its people over her.
She gave a slight nod, as if she knew it and agreed. “So we fight.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” the bird asked.
“How long do you think we have?” Briggs asked now, his brain kicking into strategy mode.
Madison frowned. “That thing wasn’t supposed to send us through time, just space.”
Briggs blinked.
“What happened before your transit?” the bird asked.
“There might have been some shooting,” she admitted. “More shooting, I mean,” she added, with a sidelong glance at Briggs. “While I was in the beams.”
“The concentrated weapons fire must have boosted the power and the signal, enabling that pad to connect to this one,” the bird said. It fluttered over to the back of the chair, and moved back and forth on this now. “It is only thing that explains it.”
“I’m not going to ask what would have happened if there’d been no pad to connect to,” Madison said.
Since she hadn’t asked, the bird didn’t appear inclined to answer.
It was nice to know he’d been right about what the disc did. He might be forty-five but he still had it. “The other pad must have had a better power source,” he mused, then gave himself a shake. It didn’t matter now. “How long do we have to plan?” It was need-to-know.
Madison hesitated. “Oddly enough, the trip through time will give us more time. We might get three hours, but safe number is more like one hour.”
One hour? Briggs tensed. “Then I need to make a call.”
“I need to walk around, get a feel for the location,” Madison said. She started to turn.
“Wait.” She stopped, one brown eyebrow lifted. “This is my turf. I know the terrain,” Boy, did he know it. “I’m in charge.”
She hesitated, glanced at the bird and nodded. “But Sir Rupert leaves the area. He can’t be seen.”
“During your call, could you get me access to a computer,” the bird asked. “I could endeavor to send out an SOS.”
“You think help will come in time?” Briggs asked, not thrilled at more time travelers arriving.
The bird moved its beak from side to side. “There is not enough time, I know, ironic, but these are the limitations we live—or die—with.”
“He could get the word out about our traitor,” Madison said.
“I don’t like it,” Briggs said.
“Then I will go find some birds to, um, hang with.”
Briggs blinked, not sure whether to laugh or grind his teeth. “There aren’t any birds on this…in this place.”
“No birds?” Madison looked shocked, then shook her head. “We’re running out of time.”
Briggs hesitated, then went with his gut and prayed it wasn’t letting him down. “I’ll arrange a safe place and a way to send your message.” But he’d also make sure Robert was warned.
“Your plan,” the bird said, “you must disable, not kill them.”
“That’s not—”
“Not all of them are willing,” Madison said, clear reluctance in her voice. “And we don’t know what impact their deaths would have on the timeline.”
“You’re in one batcrap crazy business,” he said. “Okay, I know how to disable.”
“Thank you,” the bird said.
He shook his head. “I’ll go make my call.”
He stalked out the door toward the water. His chest heaved twice, then he lifted his radio.
Madison stared at Briggs’ back for several seconds, then turned back to Sir Rupert, but she didn’t know what to say or even ask.
“Trust him,” the bird said.
“I do.” She glanced out the door again. “He doesn’t trust me, us.”
“No.” His wings fluttered and he lifted off, coming to where he could look out the door, too. “You should collect your things and get out of that suit.”
“If they don’t see a heat signature connected to the suit—” she protested.
“Trust him to work something out.”
She looked down at the bird, but he wasn’t looking at her. He hadn’t done this once already, had he? Not that he’d tell her if he had. He would try to steer them away from where it went wrong—she rubbed her temple. It always ached when she tried to think her way through the paradoxes of time travel. She was tired of it, she realized. Tired of doing the same operations, tired of looking for Boris—the one who had changed her life for all time. She chose to be happy, as happy as possible, because why give up more of her life to a faceless nosebleed waste of space. But she felt out of juice.
This place, that man, had made her realize how very fast she’d been running, trying to stay ahead of how alone she was. And how v
ery much she wanted to not be alone anymore.
I don’t know how many more fights I have in me. Even thinking the words made her realize she did know. She had one left, because she couldn’t let that man down. She couldn’t let him die because she’d made a mistake. She hadn’t trusted her niggle.
That couldn’t, it wouldn’t ever happen again.
Nine
Briggs had told Robert not to get out of the chopper, but he was too much like his sister. The impossible not only didn’t scare him, he thought it could be beat. He grinned at Briggs, his curious gaze tracking past him to Madison and the bird. His eyes widened in delight and he passed Briggs, his hand held out.
“Robert,” he flicked a glance back at Briggs, “and I’m not supposed to ask your name.”
“Madison,” she said. “And this is Sir Rupert.”
Her smile was so natural for Robert, Briggs felt a stab of something that couldn’t be what it felt like because Robert had a wife. But then he processed the fact she’d told him their names. Trust. She trusted them.
“How do you do?” the bird said, waving a claw in greeting, Briggs supposed.
Briggs lips compressed when Madison shot him a questioning look. He trusted her, he realized, but Doc—this was the brother that had been lost to her. Nothing could happen to Robert.
“We were wondering if you could take Sir Rupert with you. He kind of needs to send up an SOS to our base.”
If anything Robert looked even more curious. “How do you do that?”
“Facebook,” the bird said.
Both he and Robert did a double take.
“Facebook?” Robert slanted a look at Briggs.
“We all have an emergency account,” Madison explained. “We use Facebook memes all the time to send messages. And those quizzes. Sometimes we use the quizzes.”
“I don’t,” Briggs admitted, a bit dazed, “have an account. But—”
“It won’t be instantaneous,” Robert said, “but we should be able to get you connected. Emily loves Facebook.”
Madison half opened her mouth, then closed it.
“His wife,” Briggs said. She needed to know what was at stake here. And to know he trusted her.
She met his gaze, gratitude in the worried depths.
Robert half turned toward the chopper. “Let’s get your stuff unloaded.” He hesitated. “Sure you won’t need more help?”
“We’ll be fine. Just help,” Briggs had to swallow, “the bird with his meme thing.”
Robert laughed as the bird flew a small circle then landed on his shoulder. “I always wanted to be a pirate,” he said, stroking the bird.
Briggs could be wrong, but he thought the bird rolled its eyes.
Briggs stared out over water reflecting light from the waning sun. Night was incoming, probably at the same time as the bad guys—the guys he hoped were bad guys. It had been a busy almost hour, one far too short, since Robert had left with the bird.
Madison had traded her suit for some camo, though not without a protest.
“If you’re in there, we won’t have enough fire power.” She was not going to be bait on any op with him.
So they’d filled the suit with bags of hot water and arranged it on the bed. He’d hesitated, then looked at her. “We may not have a choice. If we can’t stop them—”
She nodded.
She wanted to kill them, he realized. There was more than getting shot in the shoulder that drove her, but he didn’t have time to find out. He snorted silently. Time. What a mess time travel made of things that should be simple, straightforward. “Can you do this?”
He kept his tone neutral, but with a layer of hard he used when he sensed an Airman on the point of wavering.
She looked at him then. “I can do what has to be done.”
She might as well have said, I can do what must be done one more time. She was at her limit. Maxed out. But she’d do it. He wanted to—but they both needed to get under cover.
“Will you do one thing for me?” she asked, her voice so quiet, he almost missed her words.
“If I can.”
Her lips trembled into a small smile. “I promise it won’t hurt.”
She turned until she fully faced him and reached out with one hand, settling it lightly on his chest close to his heart. Her chin lifted. “There’s not much time….”
She lifted onto her toes, her lips parted, but she was too short. His lips quirked, Briggs bent his head, and met her halfway. She didn’t seem to know what she was doing, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t forgotten how to kiss a girl. His arms found their way around to her back and he pulled her close and maybe off her feet entirely. Desire tried to surge out of control, but he didn’t turn it loose.
There was no time. No time….
He felt her stiffen and lifted his head.
“They’re coming.”
For half a second, he couldn’t let go. Then his arms slackened. She stepped back. He couldn’t, not until she created the distance. His hand shook slightly as he touched her hair one last time. He dropped his arm to his side, his fingers clenched.
“Right,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
Briggs had helped Madison slide into the sniper’s blind they’d built, one on either side of the target zone, then he piled foliage across the opening. She dug deeper into the dead leaves and other debris as she heard his crunching footsteps taking him to his position. Plants gave off a heat signature, too, so the dense foliage should muddy hers, particularly when they had a nice clean one inside the cottage to focus on.
Their positions would also provide a good crossfire situation. She had two weapons—a tranquilizer rifle and one with real bullets, already positioned for sniping. She only had to shift her hand to grab a stun grenade.
She considered her instructions again, making sure they were clear in her mind before things went hot.
The plan was good. He knew strategy, was just the kind of person the Time Service liked to acquire. She had to make sure that didn’t happen.
As the clock ticked down to zero, she felt calm settle over her mind, her body alert, but not tense. If this was her last performance, she intended to make it a good one.
They wore headset radios, tuned to a frequency his people were unlikely to stumble across, but they were only useful until the shooting started. Her headset crackled.
“Romeo Tango Golf,” she heard Briggs say.
Ready to go.
“Mike Tango,” she answered. Me too. She felt the change as the time bubble formed. “Hotel India,” she said. Hostiles incoming. She lifted the tranquilizer rifle, tucked it into her shoulder, and prepared for her first target.
The horizon shimmered a bit, and then Briggs saw six dark figures appear along the beach line. Almost immediately they were gone. They’d activated their camo, he realized but they’d be moving in toward the hut. In the moonlight falling across the beach, he saw footsteps appear in the sand and grinned. No one had come up with a way to hide footprints.
They reached the table and stopped, probably looking at the dead transport disc. He activated the drone. It rose slowly, until it was about chest height, hovering in the shadowy doorway of the hut.
“What’s that sound?” one of them asked. The footprints turned, first one, then all of them angled toward the hut. They began to track forward.
Keep coming, he thought, just a little further. When they were close enough, he sent the drone out of the doorway and activated the EMP device the drone carried. There was a flash of bright light. Hello, electromagnetic pulse.
The drone went dead.
But so did their fancy tech.
They went from blending into the horizon to dark shadows backlit by the rising moons.
Madison fired her first shot, then a second. Nice. Two shadows down. The other turned toward the shots, giving Briggs a chance to lob a stun grenade into the middle of them. Another bright, blinding flash. Followed by the sound of muffled thumps into soft sand.
He waited for his night vision to return. There were dark lumps around the hut’s doorway. But were they all down? He lowered his night sight and their heat signatures popped them out. No sign of movement. With his weapon ready, he kicked out of his blind and approached them.
Madison appeared out of the dark on the other side. He lifted a hand to stop her before she stepped into the light.
“Cover me,” he ordered. He pulled out the plastic zip ties and secured the first guy, feet and hands, then moved to the second. One figure shifted a bit and a shot hissed out, hitting its target. The moving stopped. Even as Briggs secured each one, his mind was repeating over and over, “Too easy…”
A sharp cry, cut off before it was complete came from Madison’s position. Briggs dropped down between two of the prone figures as something blue sizzled past, close enough for him to feel the heat. A bright cage of lights dropped over him and the figures. He heard the crackle of it, felt its heat maybe two inches above his head. And from Madison’s direction, he saw another one appear, trapping her inside.
Madison felt the niggle too late to escape the energy trap. The heat of it traveled along her weapon, forcing her to drop it. Then two figures emerged from either side of the hut, both with their camo already down. One circled the cage that held Briggs trapped.
“Sometimes it pays to be late to the party,” the one closest to her said. His voice was icy cold, crisply devoid of anything that might give away his origins. He stopped and looked at his downed team. “We need to know what happened.”
Briggs wasn’t down in the sense this agent meant, but he was not moving. She did not see how it would help, but she clung to the faint hope as the man’s attention shifted to her. She was the only one who appeared to be standing. He walked over until they stood a few feet apart. His gaze traveled up, down, and then back up to her face. His gaze narrowed. His hand lifted and it took all her resolve not to flinch, but it was just a light. With her night vision lost, she couldn’t see his reaction, but she heard his sharp intake of breath.