In Times Like These: eBook Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Nathan Van Coops

  “Not yet, actually. I was hoping to talk to someone first. Kara seemed to think you might be able to help me with a TPT?”

  The major frowns but straightens up. “And who would you be calling?”

  “A friend.”

  “Does this friend have some information to offer that we can’t?”

  “She might.”

  “Ah. A she-friend. I see.” He stands aside and invites me to enter the office. I step inside and he leads me behind his desk. The bookshelf along one side of the room swings open with seemingly no effort from the major and he gestures me through the new doorway into a ten by ten room lined with electronics. There are no windows here, digital or otherwise, only a table and chair with a bunch of cables running to them. A metal box on the table has a bunch of dials and gauges on it and looks like it belongs at NASA in the 1960s.

  Major McClure throws a breaker switch on the wall and the room buzzes to life. He gestures me toward the chair and moves to the box controls. “You have the coordinates?”

  I extract the coin-shaped disk from my pocket and read off the thirteen digits. The major uses the selector knobs and inputs them for me. When he’s finished, he points to a glowing orange button. “Press this when you’re ready. I’ll give you some privacy.” He waits till I’m seated, then steps back into his office and shuts the bookcase.

  I survey the room briefly. Actual privacy seems unlikely. Any one of the machines around me could be broadcasting every movement I make, but right now I don’t really care. I just want to hear her voice. I press the orange button and wait. Static emanates from speakers mounted to the table followed by a sharp buzzing. I’m looking around for some type of squelch knob to get rid of the irritating noise when it stops and is replaced by the most lovely sound in the world.

  “Hello? Ben?”

  “It’s me. Can you hear me?” I lean forward, not sure what I’m supposed to be speaking into.

  “Is this right? The I.D. says you’re calling from the 2400s. Are you that far?”

  “Yeah. I’m in Negative Epsilon Vega, just before the start of some war with Zealots. I’m in Seattle.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “It’s a long story. Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but Ben, there is a lot I have to tell you. I’ve been researching what we talked about and it’s worse than I thought. And this race you’re in is a sham. Abraham was at the finish line. It was all fake. I don’t know where they’re sending you, but it’s not back to Ireland.”

  “They’re using us to smuggle gravitans. It wasn’t just the stabilizer. Apparently there are like six different kinds. Your dad was right about them. I don’t know why they want them, but they’re moving them somewhere.”

  The room goes silent with the exception of the equipment buzzing and I worry that something has gone wrong. “Mym? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here. Listen, I’m going to try to get to you. I’ve never been that far, so I’m not sure how long it will take me, but can you set that anchor up somewhere safe? There is an arrow on the up side. Point that toward the safe place to arrive. You know how tall I am. Just keep me out of the floor.”

  I pick up the metallic coin with the numbers on it. The other side does in fact have an arrow on it. “You’re coming here?”

  “I’ll try. I can’t promise I’ll make it, but just keep me away from other people. I don’t know who to trust there. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, definitely. What time?”

  “Midnight? Will it be safe then?”

  “Yes. I’ll make sure.”

  “Okay. Be careful, Ben. These race people are awful. And listen, if I don’t make it there tonight, just—be careful.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

  The buzzing comes back and the connection is lost. I stare at the machine, then snatch up the metal coin from the table, suddenly my most precious possession.

  I bang on the wall near the bookcase exit and the major reappears. “You get your sweet talking in?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Good. You have an answer for me yet?”

  “No. I still don’t have any good reason to go through that gate tomorrow.”

  The major walks me to the elevator and looks at his watch. “You’ve got about twelve hours till we have to reactivate those race bands. I’d say you have about that much time to figure it out.”

  I step into the elevator and press the button for my floor. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  The hotel rooms of the twenty-fifth century are not all that different from rooms at home. They still have four walls and a bed. A dresser in the corner seems like a candidate for Mym’s anchor. I carefully position the coin on the edge so that when she arrives there will be nothing in her way. I shove the little writing desk farther away, just to be sure, but otherwise the space is satisfactory. One thing I do notice as I survey the room is that there are no visible light fixtures. Ambient light is coming from a window in the wall, but on closer inspection it’s clear that window isn’t real. The wall is covered in a digital film like the major’s office. The light seems to emanate from everywhere at once. It’s a cool bit of technology, but slightly irritating because I would like to try to get some rest. I search the wall for any type of switches, hoping they aren’t tucked away in the metaspace again. Finally, when I’ve found nothing else, I simply speak to the room.

  “Room, dim lights!” The command comes out a little harsh. “Please,” I add as an afterthought, not sure how intelligent a hotel room might be in this century and not wanting to upset it. My request is silently granted. The light dims to a subtle glow and I retreat to the comfort of the bed. I can’t find any clocks in the room and I’m not sure how I will know Mym’s arrival time.

  “Room, please set alarm for 11:30pm.”

  The room beeps and a mellow voice replies. “Alarm has been set. Have a restful sleep.”

  My body is exhausted and I expect to drop off right away but my mind won’t seem to settle. I keep my eyes closed, trying to force sleep to come, but images keep processing through my mind. Jettison getting shot, the cryo-head blasting away at me with its Gatling gun—so close to tearing me apart. My brain feels disjointed, like all the time jumping has affected my way of sorting through memories. I get little snippets trying to force their way into my consciousness: my dad working on one of his glass bottle ships, my friends back home sitting around the bar after a softball game. Then I see Mym, her legs swinging in the sunshine on top of the radio tower, Apollo 11 racing into the sky beyond. It’s all there, flowing around in my consciousness, contending with the stress I feel about that one video image that doesn’t seem to fit: me walking calmly through the time gate headed to a place that no one has come back from. I puzzle the image around in my mind, but reach no new conclusions.

  I drift off eventually but wake again, unsure of how much time has passed. I stare at the ceiling for a little, then shove off the bed and head for the bathroom. It takes me multiple requests and a much lengthier conversation with the shower than I had planned for, but I get myself washed. I could have made a time jump to get myself clean, but I opted to enjoy the soothing, old-fashioned method of soapsuds and warm pulsing water. The shower tries to impress me by spraying me from various angles, but I’m finally able to talk it into sticking to one conventional stream by using compliments and flattery.

  I’ve just toweled off and gotten my pants on when someone knocks on my door. Milo is there when I open it and plows straight through without waiting for an invitation. He dumps an armful of items onto my bed including timestream charts, maps from our race, a couple of tablets, and a faceplate from a space helmet.

  “You were right,” he exclaims as he lays out his belongings. “I think I found the link. One of them anyway.”

  “Hey, man. What time is it?”

  Milo doesn’t answer but keeps laying out items. I step over t
o the bed to see what he’s looking at.

  “It wasn’t all of the sponsors, but I suspect one for sure.” He holds up the helmet faceplate. “United Machine made the extra-planetary suits for use on Diamatra, but that’s like trying to implicate Coca-Cola because someone drank one of their drinks. United Machine is everywhere. But the fact that they were on Diamatra gave me an idea. That had to be the most difficult time gate to build, right? It was on a space station in another solar system. That’s about as far away as you can get. The other gates were distant in time, but this one had geographic distance as well, and would have required some serious transportation to set up.” He picks up one of the tablets. “That’s when I started digging around records for who might have worked on that space station that could have been capable of constructing a time gate. There was only one person, a woman named Angela Tomlin, who had the engineering prowess to do it. Also, she was the only registered time traveler aboard.” Milo effortlessly commandeers the hotel wall for a screen and, as my windows and curtains disappear, he shows me an image of a middle-aged, pleasant looking woman with dark hair that has a single streak of gray in it.

  “Angela Tomlin ended up on the crew of the Terra Legatus, but just prior she was an engineer for Ambrose Cybergenics.”

  “That’s cool. Um, what time is it?”

  Milo glances at his tablet. “It’s 11:15.” He points back to the wall. “Ambrose Cybergenics definitely has the money to fund something like this.”

  I glance at the space near the dresser, then settle onto the edge of the bed, keeping myself between it and Milo. “That was the sponsor we talked about the day I met you, the one who makes the traces for people to track their time traveling.”

  “Exactly. One of the company’s prime objectives over the years has been regulating individual time travel. Some people protest that they’re repressive of individual time travelers’ rights, but of course their public relations statements are always angled to say that they’re only looking out for user safety. They sponsor events like chronothons frequently, but some say it’s just a way to improve their image despite an otherwise restrictive technology agenda.”

  “I know they make the traces for time travelers, but what else do they do? What’s cybergenics?”

  “Cybergenics is body augmentation. It’s not just for time travelers. The majority of their customers are the general public. They help people with body modifications, implants, performance-enhancing customization. Might be purely cosmetic, or it could be utilitarian like the vision enhancing lenses most emergency responders use. They can do lighting, binocular vision, improved running, jumping, you name it really. They can turn people into super-men.”

  “Who runs it?”

  “That’s the Ambrose part of the company name. Dr. Ambrose himself. He was a scientist and professor. I want to say he started Ambrose Cybergenics after he left the Academy of Temporal Sciences.”

  “Doctor Ambrose.” I repeat the name to myself. “Why does that name sound so familiar? I feel like I’ve heard it before.”

  “I’m sure you saw the Ambrose Cybergenics logo on all kinds of things from the race committee. Being a sponsor of the race gets you lots of product placement.”

  “Maybe. It wasn’t the company logo, though, I know what that looks like. It was the name Dr. Ambrose—no! Actually it wasn’t. I remember now, it was in the Old West, in Utah or wherever we were. It was ‘D. Ambrose.’ The D. Ambrose Mining Company, do you remember? It was on the sign where I ended up with Ajax. I ran into you and Kara right after. Is the cybergenics company also into mining?”

  Milo studies his tablet then switches to his glasses. “I don’t remember that, but hang on.” He scans through something and projects an image onto the wall. It’s a frame of video of the mining camp in Utah. I’m in the scene, as is Kara. The shot is from the perspective of Milo’s glasses. He advances the video forward and freezes it when the mining sign comes into his frame of vision. He pauses there and zooms in on the sign. The lettering reads “Ever Winding Silver Mine” and below it the owner is listed as “D. Ambrose Mining Corporation.” Milo smiles. “You have a great memory, Ben.”

  “For some things.”

  Milo searches the metaspace and pulls up something new. “You’re right, there is a mining corporation under the umbrella of the business. And look what else they bought.” He displays a contract for a purchase that appears to involve a land deed. The name of the property is listed as a colmetracite mining facility on the planet Diamatra.

  “So they owned the mine that got overrun by the Soma Djinn.” I look at the buying price and it’s into eleven figures. “Talk about a bad investment.”

  Milo shakes his head. “Actually, that’s cheap. Really cheap.” He skims to the final line of the contract and highlights the date line. “Ah. And there’s the reason why.”

  “I don’t get it. Was that a bad year in the mining market or something?”

  “No.” Milo is smiling. “That’s fifteen years after the Soma took the mine over.”

  I stare at the image on the screen. “Wait, you’re telling me the company paid seventy billion dollars for a mine after it had been taken over by body-snatching aliens?”

  “The public records say that’s exactly what they did.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe they wanted to build a time gate somewhere no one else would want to go.” He’s grinning now. “I think we’ve found our path to Epsilon Vega Solo.”

  I try to process what he’s saying. “So they chart the race through an alien occupied mining colony, then they run it through a Zealot occupied timestream that I’m guessing even fewer people would try to pass. What for? Added security? One more layer of protection?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they needed something here.” Milo changes the image on the screen to the shot of Ariella shepherding the prophet’s daughter through the time gate. “Or more accurately, someone.”

  I stand up and walk around while I think aloud. “So Ambrose Cybergenics sponsors a chronothon to secretly collect samples of six different types of gravitans. It smuggles the ore samples though the gates, then chooses to route the whole operation through an era of time where everyone hates time travelers. Not only do they not get stopped by the Zealots, but the head prophet of the whole organization gives them his daughter? How the hell does any of that make sense?”

  “There’s one more piece of the puzzle you’re forgetting.” Milo brings another image up on screen; a racer profile. “They systematically eliminated specific racers, then attempted to leave the rest in Zealot occupied territory to get picked off. But then they leave the door open for one last racer.” He points to the profile on the screen. “Mooruvio Bozzlestitch, the Anya Morey.”

  “Six different types of ore, a prophet’s daughter, and a time traveling alien. What are they going to do with them?”

  Milo leans back on his hands and studies the layers of images on the wall. “I think that’s the big question.”

  “And for all this, I’m no closer to figuring out why I walk through that gate tomorrow.” I run a hand through my messy hair then let my arm drop to my side.

  The room suddenly starts buzzing. Milo looks at me. “What’s that for?”

  “Nothing.” I address the wall. “Thanks, room. I’m awake.” The buzzer stops and I turn to Milo. “I’ve actually got to cut this short.”

  Milo gets up from the bed. “You have something you have to do?”

  “Uh, sort of. I have a visitor coming.”

  Milo gathers his things and makes for the door. “A visitor?” He fumbles a little trying to reach for the knob and I open it for him.

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t know the major lets us have ‘visitors’ to our rooms. I know it’s not illegal in this timestream . . . How much did you pay for—”

  “Nope. No, no. Not that kind of visitor.”

  “Oh. I didn’t mean to seem judgmental—” Milo steps into the hall and turns to face me.


  “Thank you for doing this, man.” I go for a change of topic. “Thanks for trying to help me figure this out.”

  Milo considers me a moment and his face grows serious. “You don’t have to thank me, Ben. You’re somehow caught in the middle of this, so of course I’m going to help you, but that’s not my main motivation. Whatever this is, whatever is going on behind this façade of a chronothon, I think it’s just a fraction of the story.

  “Something big is happening. Not good big either. I believe the major is right about that. When Kara first sought me out, told me what they do here, I didn’t think I wanted to get involved, but she convinced me of the danger they’re facing and I can feel it now, too. This Order of Zsa might be a crackpot religion, and they’re definitely dangerous; they’ve been trying to kill time travelers their whole existence, but to be honest, if that’s all it was, I probably wouldn’t have come to help. Crazy people do crazy things and start stupid wars of ideology all over the place. You can find that in almost any timestream on this planet. That didn’t scare me, but now, the crackpot religion suddenly lets one of the most influential and richest corporations in the time traveling world build a chronothon gate smack in the middle of their territory? Then I find they’ve given them their prophet’s daughter? That kind of cooperation scares me worse than when they were trying to kill us. That means someone on our side of the fence found something in common with them and got them to talk. What could they have found common ground on? We have no idea what they talked about, and that really scares me.”

  Milo backs down the hallway. “I don’t know why you walk through that gate tomorrow, but I hope it brings us answers. We desperately need them.” With that he turns and walks away. I watch him round the corner toward the elevator before closing the door to my room.

  I still don’t have a clock, but I imagine I’ve only got minutes to wait. I move to the bathroom and run some water through my hands and try to get my hair to look less disorganized. I do a last minute mouth scrubbing with my toothbrush and try to push a wrinkle out of my t-shirt. I give up on that and step back into the room to wait. First I sit on the edge of the bed, then switch quickly to the chair. I try to get comfortable and look casual at the same time. What’s the proper way to wait for someone who is appearing in your bedroom? Should I stand up? I stand up.