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

by Nathan Van Coops

  “I did what you told me,” Viznir whispers. “You have him right here.”

  “That’s not what we asked for, was it?” Ambrose’s voice is silken, betraying no anger. “But you are correct. We will get what we want.”

  “What are you going to do with my family?”

  Ambrose raises his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose that’s a good question. Gioachino, do we still retain an interest in Mr. Najjar’s family?”

  Geo uncrosses his arms and puts his hands in his pockets. “I consider that debt settled. I don’t plan to pursue it further.”

  Ambrose smiles. “You see, all settled. Nothing to worry about.

  Viznir’s shoulders relax. “Thank you, that means everything—”

  Ambrose pulls a derringer from his pocket and shoots Viznir in the chest.

  “No!” I shout. I squirm in my stasis field and try to reach for Viznir as his body slumps into limpness. His chin hits his chest and lists to one side. “What did you do!”

  Ambrose studies the side of the tiny weapon in his hands, then tosses it onto a table behind him. “I’m showing you the past, Benjamin.” He gestures toward his audience. “This is the demonstration part of the presentation.” The crowd murmurs among themselves.

  “You just—you just killed him!”

  Ambrose slides his hands into his pockets. “In the present. But how do you really kill a time traveler? That’s the big question isn’t it? Viznir Najjar is dead enough now. I just put a bullet through his heart. Fine, but ten minutes ago he was alive. What’s to stop someone from going back to a time when he was alive, making a new timestream and enjoying another version of the man? It’s a problem our Zealot friends in The Order of Zsa have faced for years.” Ambrose looks to the little girl standing next to the man in black. She has her face buried in the shirt of her protector. “To really kill a time traveler, you can’t just eliminate them in one moment, you have to eliminate them in every moment. That’s where our brilliant Dr. Pia Chopra comes in.” He gestures toward the Indian woman and invites her to the front. “Why don’t you take it from here, Doctor Chopra.”

  Pia Chopra smiles and the audience gives her some hesitant applause. She fidgets with her hands and takes a position near me and the tray of blood samples. “What we’ve discovered is that the gravitites that bond to our cells as time travelers actually exist outside of a standard sense of time. While our bodies are subject to the passage of time, aging and changing, a gravitite merely is. It’s as if they are particles belonging to a different time: eternal, permanent, even god-like. When we interact with a gravitite particle in the present moment, we effectively interact with it in all of its moments simultaneously. What that led to was the discovery that destroying a gravitite particle destroys not only its present or its future, but its past as well. We have carefully researched a method of delivery, a synthetic virus if you will, that can do just that.”

  This gets another murmur from the audience. I’m trying hard to understand the implications of what she’s saying.

  “This is obviously very dangerous knowledge. One could use this virus to eliminate all the particles in a person’s body and cause a ripple effect through time. You would eliminate that person or object from every moment of their lives when they had gravitites in their cells. This would cause irreparable damage to the timestreams we know.” She raises a finger. “But the person’s life before they became a time traveler would remain unharmed.”

  “How will you control it?” A man in a blazer asks. “Gravitites can be transferred sometimes from person to person, parents to children, and you know, bodily fluids . . .”

  Pia blushes a little at the mention of bodily fluids. “Yes. The effects can be transferred. The gravitites you destroy that have been transferred to other people will be affected also. That is why this project will only be employed once all the parties we’ve selected have been administered the vaccine.” She steps over to the table of ore samples. “This chronothon project provided us with multiple natural strains of gravitans that can be used to replace those gravitites we destroy. Our select group of individuals will continue to be capable of time travel under new selected guidelines. But we will only do so in a forward direction. We intend to remedy the mistakes of the past, remove the threats of universal complication, and return to a simpler system of paradox-free, scientifically sanctioned time travel. This will be the beginning of a new era.”

  Pia begins to fiddle with the screen and show more pictures of the timestream problem. I try to work through what I’ve just learned, considering everything I’ve experienced since becoming a time traveler. It’s clear they mean to wipe that out and set all but a select few back to being regular people.

  Mym.

  The most significant part of my last few months would be gone.

  “Dr. Chopra.”

  The woman stops gesturing at the screen and turns around, seeming surprised at my capability of speech. Ambrose has a flute of champagne in his hand and looks curious, too.

  “You said the virus will effect people back to the point they became time travelers. What about people who were born time travelers? What happens to them?”

  Dr. Chopra straightens up and I see the man who had mentioned children earlier take an acute interest.

  “Assuming they are among the group selected to join us, they will receive the gravitan-based vaccine and be fine.”

  The man in the blazer nods and goes back to his hushed conversation with a companion.

  “What if they’re not on your list?” I already know the answer, but I don’t intend to let her off the hook.

  Pia Chopra merely shrugs. “They should have tried harder to get an invitation.” She goes back to her presentation.

  They’ll kill Mym. I look at the vials of blood from the various racers on the cart in front of me. If they infect my blood with their virus, even if I did get the gravitan antidote, Mym would still be affected. How many kisses have we shared now? How many gravitites have transferred from one to the other? If gravitites really exist outside of the moment, I have bits of hers inside me right now. Infecting me will infect her, too. Does that mean it will affect Dr. Quickly also? She’s his daughter, how many gravitites did she get from him? Dr. Quickly wasn’t always a time traveler, so there would be versions of him that would survive, just an anonymous scientist who hasn’t discovered anything yet, but his future will be gone. I’m going to be his downfall.

  I study the other names on the vials. The Marsh siblings, the Ivans, Sam Tulley and his son. Ambrose said they were all chosen specifically. Could infecting twenty racers and their guides really be enough to spread it to the whole time traveler world? How carefully did they research this? I get a brief hope that they may have calculated wrong and there will still be plenty of survivors, but then I remember what Ambrose said about his trace system. He’s been collecting samples from people for years. It was only the fringes he had left to access.

  I’d been lost before, but the puzzle pieces are starting to fit now. ASCOTT’s accusations against Mym were never about resolving Charlie’s murder. She’s just always been elusive—one time traveler they couldn’t get their hands on. They needed an excuse to get her into custody—at least until I came along. I think about our furtive kiss atop the Academy building. Ambrose’s comment about my knack for relationships wasn’t anything to do with Geo or Ariella. He knows about Mym and me. They don’t need to hunt Mym anymore because they have me.

  No matter what research they’ve done, one thing is crystal clear. Mym’s fate is tied to mine. She may have eluded them on her own, but now I’ve dragged her into this with no way of getting out.

  For the first time I can remember, I feel authentic despair. I feel exactly like what I have been reduced to, a limp puppet controlled by the real powers of the world. My ability to travel through time, my supposed successes in the race, even my inclusion in Major McClure’s plot against the Zealots has all been reduced to nothing but the pitiful attempts of an amateur
. I’m going to dangle like the useless pawn I am, while the people in this room literally reshape the course of the universe and kill most of the time travelers I know in the process. There is not a single thing I can do about it.

  Pia Chopra has finished her presentation to polite applause from the group. Declan Ambrose makes his way back to the center of the room and draws the attention of his audience. He lets the silence build before he speaks, as if channeling the energy of the room into himself. He holds his hands out to his audience. “Now we have arrived at the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The beginning of our new life.” He signals toward the door and they open to reveal the serving girls bearing trays of bourbon glasses. The liquid inside each of them is green and seems to glow. I suspect it’s a trick from the glasses and not really the liquid itself, but the illusion is effective. The girls file into the lab and fan out beside Ambrose. He lifts the first glass from a tray and holds it aloft. “Today we drink to the future. Please come take your glass and take your place in this new world.” The guests don’t hesitate to gather for this. The girls don’t pass the trays around this time however. Instead, Declan hands each drink out personally, requiring the recipients to line up in front of him like a priest distributing communion. The effect is the same, each recipient cradling the glass reverently and carrying it back untouched to their positions.

  I drop my gaze to the tray of blood samples in front of me. I know I won’t be on the list of the Kool-Aid drinkers. I stare at the little vials with racers’ names on them: Jonah, Genesis, Cliff, Jettison . . . He’s gone now anyway. Will they still infect his blood to wipe out all trace of him? Elitist assholes. I consider kicking over the tray. Then the idea occurs to me. I can’t do anything to stop them now, not really, but what if I could save some of them? I stretch my toe out and catch the bottom of the rolling tray with my shoe. I glance up, but no one is paying attention; everyone is intent on Ambrose’s glowing drink ceremony. I gingerly pull the tray closer. It’s within range now. The labeled vials are close enough to reach out and take. Should I throw them on the floor? How many could I break before they stopped me? Would it matter? I imagine someone simply extracting all the blood and lumping it together. It wouldn’t really matter whose was whose. Infecting the whole batch would kill them all just the same. How can I destroy gravitites?

  The answer comes to me immediately and firmly, too simple to dismiss. There is really only one way to be sure. The only way I’m capable of. My fingertips touch the vial with my own name and I palm it quickly. Mym has always been hard to find. If I get rid of my blood maybe they’ll never be able to find her. I slip the tube into my pocket.

  When I look up, I notice the Zealot staring at me from the wall. He’s studying me with a gaze of intense curiosity. For some reason he hasn’t joined Declan’s procession. The little girl must be somewhere in line because he’s alone, just staring at me. I glare back hoping to show him that I don’t care that I’ve lost. I’ll make life difficult for them every step of the way. I have nothing left to lose.

  I drop my gaze and reach for the other vials. I’ve already been seen. I don’t know why he hasn’t warned anyone but I don’t have time to wonder about it. I snag the vials for Jonah, Genesis, Cliff, and Kara and stuff them into my back pockets. I check the wall again as I reach for more. The Zealot is still watching me. Still not saying anything. He breaks his gaze away and goes back to watching Declan distribute his gravitan juice with an air of casual disinterest, then moves over for the little girl as she returns with her glass.

  The vials for Milo and Wabash end up in my front pocket. Ivan’s and Mayra’s follow them. I’m running out of room. My heart is pounding, but I like it. I feel alive. It’s better to fight, right till the very end. I shove the remaining vials into the waistband of my boxers, covering them with my T-shirt.

  “Oi! What do you think you’re doing?” It’s the scientist with the paisley tie, Dr. Emory, who has spotted me. He’s standing stock still with his drink partially raised, glaring at me. Ambrose has finished handing out the glasses and was apparently about to propose his toast when Emory shouted. He turns around with glass likewise lifted and looks for the cause of the interruption.

  “He’s taken the samples!” Dr. Emory points to the rolling tray and the now empty vial rack.

  Ambrose glances at the tray and back to my face. “Honestly, Benjamin, am I going to have to get you a babysitter?” He frowns in exasperation. “Where do you think you can hide them? Won’t exactly be a long search.”

  “Don’t let him drop them,” Dr. Chopra interjects. “If he contaminates the samples, we’ll have to collect new ones from the racers.”

  Dr. Ambrose scowls at this. “You might cause a very insignificant delay, Ben. A little more work for my collection agents, but you won’t accomplish anything worthwhile. Only ensure yourself some very rough treatment.” Traus Gillian steps through the crowd and looks very eager to assist. He takes a few steps toward me, and I kick the tray hard and in his direction. It topples over and sends the vial rack skidding across the floor toward his feet.

  Ambrose raises his hands. “Ben! Really. Are you quite finished? Enough of this.”

  I consider Ambrose with his perfect skin and brilliant teeth. Traus looks like a scary troll beside him but he is fearsome. I spy Ariella in the crowd behind them. She’s studying me intently, questioning. Horacio is next to her, confused by the activity. He looks totally lost in all of this. I realize now that, despite all his bravado, he was a pawn, too, just one more piece of his uncle’s puzzle. Geo himself has a mask of impenetrable seriousness on his face. As I watch him, he sips from his glass, not willing to wait any longer for the reward he was promised. In that simple act of disobedience I learn all I’ve ever needed to know about him. Self-preservation first. In my current state I can’t fault him. He’s now part of the chosen few, while I dangle like a piñata waiting for the worst.

  Ambrose takes a step closer. “You’re not contributing very well to the celebration. How are we supposed to enjoy this moment with you kicking over the equipment Dr. Chopra needs to work?”

  I try not to think of Viznir slowly dripping blood onto the floor behind me, or Kara and Milo waiting for me at a rendezvous I’ll never make. I push them from my mind and concentrate only on what needs to be done. Mym will never get to see how badly I wanted to get home, but there is nothing to be done now. I clutch at my chronometer and try not to imagine all the adventures we’ve never gotten to have. My only consolation lies in the hope that she’ll survive this somehow. If they never get my blood they may not be able to contaminate hers.

  “We can just get more of your blood later, Ben.” Ambrose finally seems to be catching on. “Even if you manage to smash those vials, we’ll still have you. I promise we have syringes aplenty in this place. Getting another sample from you won’t be a struggle.”

  My hand is shaking as I inch it toward my chronometer. How is this my only option? Is it going to hurt? I try hard to keep the fear out of my voice. Defiance is better.

  “I know how you prioritize keeping the timeline pure, Declan. You won’t go to the past to get another sample and risk your precious solitaire. You’ll have to find me in the future.”

  Ambrose tilts his head and chuckles, and his mirth draws a little nervous laughter from his companions as well, but he looks concerned, as if puzzling out whether I could be holding some card he isn’t aware of. I glance at the wall and see the Zealot watching me intently. He crouches and whispers something to the little girl.

  “Benjamin, just how hard of a search do you think that will be?” He gestures toward my invisible prison. “Look where you are. You have nowhere to go.”

  I get a good grip on my chronometer with my fingertips.

  “Then I guess that’s where you’ll need to look.”

  I spin the dial a final time. I don’t need to see where it lands. There is no destination. I take a last breath and think of home. Then I press the pin.

  “Ti
me travel can’t solve all of your problems. That girl who broke your heart in sixth grade? She could do it again. She probably would, too. Don’t dwell on your losses and wonder what if: look to the future and wonder what’s next.”–Journal of Dr. Harold Quickly, 2055

  Chapter 32

  I thought I was mentally prepared for anything. Aliens. Zombies. Killer robots. I didn’t count on what I’m seeing now. One thing is certain, my badass gun that can blast holes in solid walls will do me no good here. I lower it slowly to my side and face my next confounding obstacle; a dozen beautiful women holding pints of beer.

  “Benjamin Travers?” The voice cuts through the ambient murmurs and jazz music. Both guests and the female welcome committee part down the center of the room to reveal a man in a tailored gray suit. “Well aren’t you the surprise.”

  I’m almost sure I’ve never seen the man before, but I suddenly doubt myself. Do I know him? As the man takes a step forward, I get a glimpse of the people behind him. Traus Gillian is beside the Zealot from my apartment. Pia Chopra, the Indian woman from the race committee, is at his elbow.