Time Shards--Tempus Fury

by Dana Fredsti

  Amber frowned. “That’s less good.”

  “However, I think I may have found an alternative. I have employed the gravitoelectromagnetic systems to stabilize the Shatterfield’s rotary movement, enabling you to better navigate it without risk of further chronolinear quantum enmeshment.”

  “If that means you’ve stopped the crazy merry-go-round, that’s excellent! Now we need to see if we can open the portal on my end. So if you send a drone through, do you think you can keep it from getting spit out at the other end?”

  “I concur with your plan. Dispatching a rover now.”

  Amber opened her eyes. The giant sloth still slept, curled up at the base of the big cypress tree. Suddenly the air began to distort, and like a magical window, a circle of light materialized. She looked at it unhappily. She would have to climb over the sleeping giant to reach it.

  “Nice sloth,” she cooed, as she climbed atop its bulk, as slowly and gently as she dared. The creature twitched, its fur rippling as if she was tickling it. She froze, and it raised its head, blinking at her, then it settled back down and began to snore again.

  Amber glanced over at Rose and Andrew. They looked to be as out of it as the sloth. Silently she wished them well, then made a grim realization. If she did restore the timeline, it would undo Rose’s miraculous escape. The girl would die a horrible death in the San Francisco fire.

  I’m so sorry, she thought.

  She stretched up to the swirling light. The sloth made a grunt of protest, and then she was gone.

  51

  The baseball-sized rover appeared in front of her as a slick black bead, holding firm to a position deep inside a tunnel of warped space-time.

  Then she was back, falling to the ground, tucking a shoulder, and rolling in a somersault. All around her, the Shatterfield’s floating carousel of brilliantly colored extra-dimensional scraps were frozen in place. They still creeped her out, even with the Vanuatu’s assurance that its electromagnetic hold on them was secure.

  Amber got to her feet. “Okay, Ship,” she said. “Let’s find my friends.”

  * * *

  One by one the others appeared. Blake and Harcourt, then Nellie and Hypatia.

  “Ship? I think something’s wrong,” she said aloud. “Is there any sign of Cam?”

  “Portal integrity is still holding, awaiting visual contact,” the Vanuatu responded. Chafing with frustration, Amber tried to contact him, but it was hard to focus with all the distractions, and time seemed to be flowing differently at different ends of the portals.

  What was taking so long?

  Nellie put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “He’s coming, girl. I’m sure.” Amber nodded. “I know you’re right. I only wish Kha and Leila—”

  “I know,” Nellie replied sadly. “Me too.”

  Kha-Hotep and Leila aren’t coming with us, Cam had told her. We’re their prisoners here. Their friends had vanished down a rabbit hole, and just like that, everything had changed.

  The ghostlight seemed to flutter. Was the connection closing? If the portal’s link collapsed now, would he be stuck in another place and time? Every minute they waited might mean they’d never get him back.

  She would never get him back.

  An even worse thought occurred to her. What if the portal collapsed in mid-trip before he was through?

  The shimmering steadied, and abruptly a figure lunged through the portal, stumbling onto the tarmac.

  “Cam!” Amber threw her arms around him, almost afraid to believe he was there. She listened to the sound of his heartbeat. “I was so afraid we’d lost you…”

  “I’m here.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Good, because we’re running out of time.” She looked at the door that would allow them to enter the laboratory facility.

  “I’m ready.”

  “No, you’re not.” Blake strode down the gangplank of the Vanuatu, cradling a Sten gun in one hand. In the other hand he gripped Cam’s sword belt and scabbard, and a new repeater crossbow. He handed them to the Celt.

  “Now you’re ready.”

  52

  “Here we go,” Blake said. “Everybody ready?”

  The others nodded.

  “Right. Rover first. The rest of you hold back, but stay sharp.” Gun in one hand he listened at the doors, then pulled one open, moving his body out of the line of fire while the drone flew in.

  “All clear,” it reported a few seconds later.

  First Blake, and then the rest filed into the dome. The lights were on—station power was still operational. The entrance opened onto a wide corridor that led straight ahead for thirty meters to a second set of double doors—this pair transparent, with a sign above.

  Advanced Transpatial Physics Lab Antarctica

  With the rover on point and Blake and Cam just behind with weapons out, the group moved toward the doors. The two checked around corners as they passed side corridors arcing away to the left and right.

  About halfway down the main hallway, the rover came to a sudden halt.

  “Warning—approaching zone of increased chronotopological disruption.”

  “Ship, what does that mean?” Amber asked.

  “Waves of space-time displacement are rippling out from Event ground zero. Expect significant temporal and causal anomalies, and—”

  “And… what?” Nellie asked.

  “And—

  “And—

  “And significant causal and temporal anomalies, anomalous causalities of temporal significance expecting and possible disruptions to our cognitive processes and sensory functions. This is the Ship.”

  The hover sphere jiggered crazily in place.

  “Oh, this is not good,” Amber said.

  “This is the Ship. This is increased chronotopological disruption. Also, I am detecting four—

  “This is the Ship.”

  “It’s gone stark raving,” Harcourt muttered. He let out a squawk of alarm when the rover vanished. It reappeared a few meters ahead of them.

  “—chronotopological disruption. This is—” The rover vanished again, only to reappear a few meters behind them.

  “Warning—approaching zone—” It disappeared again. Its artificial voice came echoing from down one of the side corridors.

  “This is—” Then from somewhere on the opposite side,

  “This is—” from somewhere further off.

  “This is the Ship…” its voice echoed, impossible to locate.

  “Warning, four—” it said one last time, so faint it could barely be heard. “… are approaching from…”

  “Did anybody catch any of that last bit?” Blake asked. The others shook their heads. Then Cam cocked his head, listening carefully.

  “I don’t think we’re alone.”

  Blake frowned. “I don’t hear—”

  Then they could all hear it—a susurration of voices, like the sound of an anxious audience, or perhaps a crowded restaurant.

  “It’s coming from behind those, I believe,” Hypatia said, pointing to the glass doors. They appeared to open onto a large, empty room.

  Hypatia vanished, and Nellie screamed.

  Hypatia reappeared almost at once, a few paces ahead of them.

  “It’s coming from behind those, I believe,” she said, pointing ahead. Nellie ran up and grabbed her arm tightly. Then she turned.

  “Anyone else feeling… unwell?” Nellie asked.

  * * *

  Cam stayed close to Amber. She could tell that he was feeling more fear than he showed.

  A trio of Harcourts suddenly appeared in front of them, one after the other all in a row down the hallway. A moment later they disappeared again, in reverse order, leaving only the original.

  “Good lord!” he gasped, patting his chest.

  Amber began to say something, but everything moved in slow motion, and she couldn’t hear herself talk.
Time sputtered forward a few beats, then sped ahead in rapid motion. Finally it just stopped—and then resumed again.

  “This is… this isn’t right,” she said. Are we going to go crazy in here?

  “Stay close and keep going,” Blake said. His voice was cool as ice—as always, but even without telepathy she could sense he was rattled, too. They continued their approach, passing a second set of side corridors and stopping just short of the transparent double doors. The sound of a milling crowd was definitely louder.

  Amber held her breath as Blake leaned forward to peer through the panes of glass, and the doors slid open. They continued into a room large enough to comfortably hold a school cafeteria or even a gymnasium, its open space empty. Alternating mirrored panels on the walls made it look even larger than it was.

  All was perfectly silent. Blake spoke.

  “Nothing to see in—”

  The burst of a machine gun sounded behind them.

  * * *

  “Get down!”

  Combat instincts kicked in. Blake whirled in a crouch and returned fire as the others ducked out of the way. Nothing was there. His bullets only shot up the outside door to the station.

  “Damn it,” he swore. “Wasting ammo on bloody carnival tricks.”

  “What in blazes is all this?” Harcourt asked. He sounded on the verge of panic.

  “Stay calm,” Blake said. “First order of business is to find a map or a directory. Then—”

  Behind them, the outer station doors slammed open to reveal Kha-Hotep and his posse, all four men armed with Tommy guns.

  53

  “You want us to go chasin’ ’em though that?” Rockwell said incredulously, jerking his thumb up to the faintly rippling spot of air.

  “Just so,” Kha-Hotep replied. He kept his voice calm, even though he wanted to throw the men through the portal.

  “‘Just so,’ he says.” Rockwell spat on the ground. “Kindly allow me to propose an alternative plan. We plug you right here, head back to Cahokia, and tell the Sun Raven those hombres shot you and got clean away.” He raised his Tommy gun, training it on Kha-Hotep’s heart.

  “Or, better yet,” Shanks said as he and Feeds-the-Crows turned their guns on him, as well, “we might just wash our hands clean of the damned king’s promises, and sell the car in Laclede’s Landing.” The three men grinned unpleasantly— even the Pawnee scout.

  Kha-Hotep lowered his gun. “That plan doesn’t work, and let me tell you why,” he said calmly, as if explaining to a child. “First, Boss Giannola and his goons would skin you alive before he ever paid you a cent for that car. But that is beside the point.” He pointed to the wavering patch in the air. “Second, take a good look at that. Does it look natural to you? It is not. It is nothing less than a hole in space and time itself. That is the kind of power we are dealing with. The power of the gods to create and to destroy.” He paused to let that sink in.

  “And third, we are not here because the Sun Raven wants some prisoners back, or just so you can become rich. You’re here, and we’re going to stop them, because otherwise they are going to destroy the world, killing you, me, and everyone else.”

  “Sun-Raven told you all that, did he?” Rockwell said.

  “No, he didn’t tell me anything—because I am Sun-Raven.”

  “God’s hooks!” Shanks swore.

  “Thought your voice sounded familiar,” Rockwell muttered.

  “The question is, are we going to stand around until it’s too late, or are you three coming with me so that you can save the world—as well as your own worthless hides?”

  The bounty hunters lowered their guns.

  * * *

  They emerged through the portal into a burst of Antarctic white, dazed and shaken. The men stared in wonder at the expanse of snow, the silver dome of the station and the carousel of glittering crystalline forms suspended in the air all around them.

  “Christ Jaysis, I’m ottomised!” Shanks groaned. “Next time I’ll padlock my arse so I don’t shite meself.”

  “What icy-cold circle of hell have you brung us to?” Rockwell said with a scowl.

  “This is the island below Africa,” Kha-Hotep replied. “Come. We have no time for chatter”—he pointed to the hovering lights—“and don’t touch those, or you’ll regret it.”

  They followed him through the station doors.

  * * *

  “Run!” Blake fired off another burst.

  The intruders scattered before returning fire. Blake and the rest fled down a side corridor, out of their line of sight. A ghostly technician appeared midway, walking casually.

  “Good luck, Dr. Meta,” he said to no one there.

  They hesitated for a moment, then ran past him. Another wave of distortion rippled through, popping them down the hallway like jig-jagged bursts of teleportation.

  “There’s a stairwell this way,” Amber yelled—then suddenly the six of them were at the bottom of three flights. They burst through a new doorway while their pursuers appeared at the top of the stairwell. Blake and Cam covered them, trading shots with the gunmen. Blake looked over at Cam’s repeater crossbow, wishing it was another machine gun instead.

  “How many bolts do you have left?”

  “Two.”

  Blake scowled. “Take that kiddy-toy of yours and get them out of here!” he barked at Cam. “Go!”

  When Cam hesitated, Blake grabbed him, yanking him inside the room as another fusillade of bullets came raining down. “Get out of here while you still can!” he growled.

  Amber turned to Cam. “We have to go.”

  “Now!” Blake yelled. He gave Amber one last look, then turned back to return fire from the cover of the doorway.

  “Please, Cam,” Amber urged. She held out her hand. After a brief hesitation, he took it and let her pull him away to follow the others.

  “Blake!” Kha-Hotep called down. “You are a good man, and you know I don’t want this.”

  Blake said nothing. After making sure Amber and the others were well on their way, he risked a glance up the stairwell. No exposed targets. Were all four of them still up top, or were some attempting a flanking maneuver?

  “I can’t let you destroy everything we’ve built,” Kha-Hotep continued. “I won’t. Throw down your weapon, and you and the others come out. I give you my word you will be safe.”

  “I believe you,” Blake said, stalling for time while he checked his ammo. Not good. The magazine was well over half spent. “Now, how about the word of those three with you?” He carefully clicked the clip back in, as quietly as he could.

  “They have no reason to kill you,” Kha-Hotep assured him. “They’ll do as I say.”

  “Give us a minute to talk it over,” Blake answered. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled back through the door and kicked it closed, locking it behind him.

  He found himself in some extensive engineering sublevel, a gloomy industrial dungeon filled with a confusion of machinery, various conduits, and other mechanical monoliths he could never hope to identify. It looked as if the station had installed multiple generations of technology over the course of a century or two. Plenty of prime spots for a sniper to set up shop.

  Blake quickly scoped out his choice, an overhead gantry with good vantage points. Looping his arm through the Sten’s skeleton stock, he slung it over his shoulder and began to climb. He could clamber up awkward surfaces quicker than most men, but three-quarters of his way up a burst of Tommy-gun fire rang out.

  Kha’s thugs, shooting out the lock.

  With a twist of his arm, he reached behind and swung the Sten around to spray a little suppression fire back at the door. While the attackers ducked away from that, he re-slung the gun, quickly scaled the top of the gantry and took position, lying flat. Quiet fell over the area, and he could hear them arguing outside the door over who would enter first.

  He grinned. Let’s make it harder on them.

  First, he switched from full-automatic to semi. Not e
nough rounds left to keep up the fireworks show, but plenty for a few well-placed shots. In rapid succession, he targeted and took out the three closest banks of lighting fixtures, until the chamber truly looked the part of a dungeon.

  On shot number three, the door burst open. Two silhouetted figures laid down heavy suppression fire while two more rushed into the darkened room. Blake fired off four more quick shots at the running figures—and then the Sten jammed.

  Damn it! Temperamental bitch.

  Rolling back from the edge of the gantry, he rose into a crouch, silently moving further down its narrow length to take cover behind a thick steel support beam.

  The diminished lighting turned the sublevel into a haunted house ride. Indicator lights became sinister red eyes and flickering torchlights. Every pipe, generator, or random mechanical outcropping a shadowy, menacing shape— stalactites, gravestones, specters.

  At least the near-darkness didn’t impede him from working on the Sten—he could field-strip and reassemble it blindfolded. Popping out the magazine, he tapped it against his knee to unjam the cartridges, replaced it, and re-cocked the handle, ready to fire again. Judging from the weight, though, he had no more than a few rounds left.

  Blake lay flat again, scanning the room. If the mood lighting made him harder to spot, that cut both ways. He had lost all sign of his opponents.

  Harsh whispered commands and furtive movements came from the floor below, but he would have to wait for the perfect moment to shoot. On the plus side, every second he kept their pursuers busy meant better chances for Amber and the others to get to whatever big red button would fix this nightmare.

  * * *

  Hiding with the others behind a bank of strange machines, Feeds-the-Crows was having problems with his own jammed weapon. Finally giving up, he set the bulky thing on the floor. New tactic. He tapped Rockwell on the shoulder, made a few quick gestures, and pointed forward. The big man nodded, and gave a low whistle to Kha-Hotep and Shanks, bringing them back for a quick conference.