by Lyn South
“No one knows who the Benefactors are, they—”
“Are anonymous. Yes, I know.” He folds his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow. “I’m asking if you know the names of the individuals who hired you?”
“I’ve never met any of them. It’s safer that way.”
Carter nods. “Why take jobs that you know will land you on a prison planet for life if you’re caught?”
Surely, he can’t be that clueless. I stare at him for a long moment, trying to determine if he is, in fact, dim-witted. “Have you ever been an indentured servant, Commander Carter?”
He doesn’t seem surprised by my question. In fact, he takes it in stride with a smooth, denial. “No. I haven’t.”
“I have. A long time ago, I decided that having lots and lots of money is the best way to prevent anyone from ever owning me—in any way—ever again.”
He purses his lips and gives a perfunctory nod. “Fair enough. Tell me how you got this particular job in the court of King Henry the Eighth.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I thought we agreed there would be no more smartass questions.”
“I’m not being a smartass. You’ve been around a long time. Do I have to tell you how mercenaries work? You reported me to the Benefactors after the de Medici job. You put me in this position, and you have the gall—”
“I didn’t report you to the Benefactors,” he says in a tone as sincere and matter-of-fact as though he’d just told me that crabs can’t sing.
I vault off the bed. If not for the force field between us, we’d be standing nose-to-nose. “Liar.”
He doesn’t blink. We glare at each other for an interminable minute.
“I’ll ask it one more time: How did you get the assignment to King Henry’s court?”
“You want honest answers from me, then you be honest. I was told that you reported me.”
“Whoever made that claim is a bald-faced liar.”
Thinking back to the first conversation about this disciplinary assignment, I’m certain Fagin told me Carter’s report started this whole mess. “I want to talk to Nico again. And to Fagin. Until that happens, I’m done.”
“I say when you’re done.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“You first, sweetheart.” His upper lip curls in a sneer. There’s a momentary struggle of conflicting emotions on his face, and I see the moment he decides that whatever he’s thinking of doing to me likely isn’t worth the consequences. He probably doesn’t have authority to torture me.
He takes several steps back from the force field and composes himself, locking away the rage—or whatever it is—that seems to simmer inside him. He nods at a subordinate, who turns his back to us and speaks in a low voice into his CommLink.
“You don’t want to talk to me? Fine. Maybe you’ll have different answers for a familiar face.”
Minutes later, there are footsteps pinging against the metal ladder as someone descends into the cargo hold. Thinking it’s Nico, I feel a sense of smug satisfaction at winning at least a small battle with Carter.
Five minutes ago, I would’ve given almost anything to talk to Fagin and brainstorm a way out of this mess. Now that she’s standing next to Carter, an enigmatic expression on her face, I’m questioning my own perceptions. She glances at him and he nods in return.
What the fuck is going on?
Carter turns the metal chair around and gestures for her to sit. She follows the order with no hesitation. He stands behind her, a confident look in his eyes.
“Hey, kiddo,” Fagin says. She sounds tired.
“Hey yourself.”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sitting down?” She glances at the bed behind me.
“I’m fine right here.”
She nods. “Recovering from the tranquilizer okay?”
“He told you about that?”
“I watched it go down.”
“Oh,” I say, raising an eyebrow. I wait for more, something that sounds like the Fagin who would be incensed over this whole situation, but it doesn’t come. She doesn’t say that they forced her to watch, that it was difficult or upsetting or rage-inducing to see her protégé—her child—drugged and captured. She doesn’t offer empathy or sorrow. I get the distinct impression that she’s free to roam the ship at will.
She just sits there like a stone with a stupid, blank expression on her face. “Was it entertaining? Because I can’t tell you it sure as hell wasn’t fun for me.”
She leans forward in the chair. “Clémence, listen carefully. I know you’re confused and scared. But—"
“You forgot angry as fuck and more than a little sick because you watched them shoot me and you’re talking about it like it’s the goddamn weather report.”
She exhales a ragged breath. “Do you remember the conversation in my office before we began training for England?”
She doesn’t flinch when I level a steady gaze at her. “Every damn word. You said the Benefactors designed this punishment mission because he—” I point at Carter. “—reported me for fucking with his retirement.”
“Carter didn’t report you.” She runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “I was...mistaken.”
“No, you weren’t. You don’t make mistakes like that. Your network is so wide, your contacts so trustworthy, you would never be mistaken like that.”
“No one’s perfect,” Carter says with a loathsome smirk.
Fagin raises a hand and casts a furtive look over her shoulder at him. He falls silent again.
What the actual fuck is going on?
“More importantly,” she continues, “do you remember the part about the Benefactors’ judgment if we failed?”
“Prison or death. Pretty dramatic stuff. Hard to forget.” Reality hits me between the eyes and anger turns to sick fear in the pit of my stomach. “We didn’t get everything on the list.”
“No. We didn’t. Because you changed the historical timeline, we didn’t even get close to completing the mission,” she says. “This means if we don’t work with Carter, we have no help. No protection. How long do you think we’d last being in the wind before the Benefactors caught up to us?”
“He works for the Benefactors,” I say. “How is working with him going to protect us?“ I turn to Carter. “I’ll bet you were the hooded guy who attacked Anne on the staircase, too.”
“Remember when I said you were half-wrong?” Carter says, folding his arms. “I work for the GTC. I’m in deep cover working to infiltrate the Benefactors. I wasn’t involved in the attack on Lady Anne. That was all Trevor’s team. We haven’t caught up with them yet.”
“Trevor has a team? So, the government knows we’re mercenaries and will protect us because we didn’t steal all of the shit we were supposed to steal?” I laugh. “That makes no sense. If you work for the government, you’d have us on an execution block or on our way to a prison planet right now.”
“There’s more to the story,” Fagin says. “Listen to Carter. If you don’t, our lives won’t be the only ones on the line. Nico’s life—and many others—will be in danger, too. Please, Dodger. Stop being so damn stubborn and listen.”
“Listening is easy. Believing either of you at this point...not so much,” I say.
“Infuriating. Obstinate kid.” Fagin mutters as she jumps up to pace a short line between the chair and the force field.
Carter moves past Fagin and places a portable hologram display device on the floor. “Computer, play surveillance hologram Trevor215. The time stamp is ten minutes after Arseneau planted her letter in the king’s chambers.“
A scaled-down hologram recording springs to life in mid-air. We watch as Becca Trevor, disguised as Cesario, sneaks up the privy stairs to King Henry’s chambers.
“Computer, zoom in on Trevor’s right hand.” Carter says.
She carries a piece of parchment, folded and sealed. She steps over the two unconscious sentries I hypo sprayed and slips into the king’s ch
ambers. The surveillance images fade, and Carter says, “I’ll bet you know at least part of what the letter in her hand says.” He steps closer to the force field barrier and swipes his fingers over the screen of a portable computer display. He holds it up so I can see. It’s a list of Trevor’s computer files.
He taps a file and shows me its contents. “Look familiar?”
My Dearest Thomas,
I weep for our lost love as I prepare to marry the king.
“That bitch,” I interrupt. “She hacked my files.”
“Indeed,” Carter says. “Lieutenant Trevor has been under surveillance for over a year,” She’s a Benefactor mole, groomed for years to infiltrate the GTC.”
“This is bigger than the Benefactors flogging me for going out of bounds.” I shuffle my feet; there’s not much room in this cell for me to walk while I think. “We didn’t get half the stuff on the acquisition list.”
“Carter doesn’t think punishing you was the point of the mission,” Fagin says grimly.
“They wanted me to change history.” Panic hits hard; my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. “I didn’t mean for Anne to die.”
“I believe you,” Carter says. “The Benefactors lit this fuse, not you.”
It takes a minute to realize Carter isn’t blaming me for the entire shit show. “You’re defending me?”
“Simply acknowledging you’ve been the Benefactors’ useful idiot in this scenario,” he says, with a dead serious look. “We knew an extreme Benefactor cell planned to interfere in the historical timeline. How, where, and when,” he spreads his hands wide, “we could only guess until you jumped in with both feet. It’s clear they played you like a fucking Stradivarius until you frog-marched to their tune.”
“Why me?”
“You’re clever and skilled and emotionally unhinged enough to go off half-cocked to save your family. Fagin gave us the date and time of your father’s death. We bet the house on your inability to tame that legendary stubbornness and curiosity.” Carter spreads his hands wide. “We triangulated that data with a trace on your ship’s energy signature as it entered the portal. And here you are, just as we predicted.”
My eyes dart to Fagin who offers a one-shouldered shrug, a shitty way to tell me she didn’t think she had a choice in keeping her mouth shut.
“Did you stop to consider changing history could mean your parents might never exist at all?” she asks.
“No,” I reply. Emptiness blooms in my chest like there’s a vacuum sucking the remnants of my hope into oblivion. My legs feel like rubber. I back-pedal to the bed just before they give out. “I don’t know what happened to my parents. Betty couldn’t find them.”
“In the mess you created, the odds of your parents being born, meeting and falling in love, were astronomical,” Fagin says, anger swelling in her voice. “Millions were never born because of you.”
Lingering tranquilizer aftereffects mix with stone cold reality. The sick sensation in my gut intensifies. I wrap my arms around my midsection, but it does little to calm the feeling that I could fly apart at any moment. What have I done?
“Tell her what happens next,” Fagin says, giving Carter a knowing look.
“A second chance to do the right thing,” he replies.
I search Carter’s face for signs it’s a bait-and-switch where he offers hope, but instead only wants to see my eyes as he lowers the boom. He notes my skepticism and takes it in stride.
“I’m serious. I have an offer you shouldn’t refuse,” he says.
“Do I have to sell my soul?”
“No, but you do have a choice to make: Help us fix what’s been broken and find the head of the snake. Do these two things, and you’ll win your freedom. If you refuse, your memory will be wiped and you’ll spend the rest of your life in a prison planet mineral mine.”
“It’s not just you on the line, Dodger,” Fagin says, “It’s Nico and me, too.”
“You three are a package deal,” Carter agrees. “If you say no, everyone goes to prison. You won’t remember they’re your friends.” He offers a gruesome smile and a shrug. “But, hey, misery loves company.”
“How long is the contract?” I ask.
“As long we think it necessary. Can’t give you a timetable.”
“I need to talk to Nico,” I say firmly. If anyone can cut through the bullshit, it’s him.
“We talked to him before we approached you,” Fagin says. “Garcia is already on board.”
“We?” I know we’re in a life or death situation, and Fagin needs to toe Carter’s line to avoid the government’s wrath. But Sycophant Fagin is a little unnerving. It’s not like her to give up an ounce of control and right now, she’s totally Team Carter.
Again, she shrugs.
“Fine.” I walk to the edge of my confinement and gesture at the force field. “Let me out of here and he can tell me himself.”
Carter plants his fists on his hips and chuckles. “Not so fast. I need your agreement to work with us. You refuse, the conversation ends here.”
“Like I have a choice? Just let me talk to Nico. Open the communication channel, at least.”
“There’s always a choice, Arseneau,” he says. “You have to make this one all on your own. No help from Garcia.”
I shouldn’t struggle with this decision, but I do. The only thing worse than death or having every memory I have dissolve like a sand castle in tide wash is being owned again, and that’s the whole nut in this shell: The government will own me for however long they choose.
I lock eyes with Carter. “I agree.”
Fagin closes her eyes and sighs in relief.
Carter doesn’t deactivate the force field. I’m not sure if he’s stunned that I agreed or if he’s waiting for something else.
“There is one more thing,” he says.
“What else could you possibly need that my total obedience doesn’t cover?”
He gives me what I think is a chagrined look. “Bypass the computer’s personality profile and give me full control of this ship. It’s being a pain in the ass and won’t obey commands without a fight.”
I allow myself the luxury of a chuckle. “You’ll have to ask Nico about Betty. She’s his girl.”
“Surprisingly enough, the computer refused to give full cooperation without your consent, too.” Carter folds his arms over his chest and glowers at me.
“Huh,” I say, more than a little surprised. “I thought she hated me.”
“Talk to the computer.”
“Let me out.”
He sighs and deactivates the force field, then strides off to climb the ladder to the upper deck. For a long moment, I’m rooted to the spot. I have to follow through, but somehow the act of taking this step into another indentured servant life feels huge. It feels permanent.
Fagin nods and gives me a faint smile, then strides toward the ladder, too.
I follow her.
Chapter 28
Squeamish is not a word that describes me. Life on a merchant ship with dozens of hardscrabble, seafaring men introduced me to the frailties of the human condition at a tender age. Three months into indentured service to Captain Bartholomew, I’d cleaned an incalculable number of vomit-splattered cot blankets, tended festering wounds accrued from shipboard accidents and bloody tavern fights, and sewn three disease-riddled corpses into burial shrouds.
It was enough gore to anesthetize me to all but the most putrid of bodily trauma.
Yet, watching Jackson Carter chew his food with sloppy, open-mouthed abandon disgusts me to the point that I want nothing more than to throw his dinner plate across the cabin just to stop the spectacle.
To be fair, he could sneeze too loud, cough too hard, or breathe too much, and I would hate it all the more because it’s him.
“One more time,” he says between bites of a super-size calzone dripping with stringy cheese. “We’re going to run through the plan until you can recite it in your sleep.”
“
Already there,” Nico says, shoving his dinner plate into the middle of the table.
Carter looks down at the barely touched paella and raises an eyebrow. “I don’t mean to act all parental, but the next twenty-four hours will be insane. Who knows when we’ll get another meal?”
Fagin glances at my barely touched cassoulet and her own full plate. “Looks like you’re the only one with an appetite, Carter.”
“And likely to regret it,” Nico says. “Re-entry was a little rough last time we jumped. Doing it on a full stomach might have you reliving that meal a few times.”
Carter wipes his mouth with a napkin—at least he didn’t use his sleeve—and says, “Tell me again what happened. You were knocked unconscious? Serious time travel side-effects were eliminated generations ago. Why would they hit you out of the blue like that?”
“It was more than just passing out,” I say. “It felt like floating outside my body and then being stuffed back into my skin. Pretty freaky.”
“The nausea after you regain consciousness is where you might regret having dinner,” Nico says.
“Like Carter said, time travel side effects were eliminated decades ago,” Fagin says. “What could cause them to resurface?” Fagin asks.
“Let’s find out,” Nico says. “Betty, are the safety protocol reports done yet?”
“Yes, Commander, honey.” the computer answers. “My analysis is complete and the reports are ready for display.”
“Honey?” Carter laughs at the AI’s term of endearment. “You need a real girl, Garcia.”
Blushing, Nico’s gaze flits toward me. “Fuck off, Carter.” He grabs a data pad and swipes a finger across the display screen. “Tell me what you’ve got, Betty.”
“The time portal’s dark matter and energy have become highly unstable. Energy spikes outside the portal’s normal operating parameters occurred on several star dates in your query,” she replies.
“Are the spikes before or after the premature death of Anne Boleyn?” Carter asks.
“They occurred after the fixed point in history changed,” she replies. “In each of the three time events in question, one or more algorithms established to ensure safe time jumps were insufficient to buffer the energy’s impact on humans.”