The Bureau of Time (39 page)

“Looks like Marissa did our job for us,” Reese commented, inspecting the melted remains of the computer servers. “I wonder what she was really here for.”

“What is she to you?” Cassie asked. “Your ex?”

Reese gave a dry chuckle, his dark eyes belying his pain. “You might say that. Now you can see why I don’t like Timewalkers so much.” He hesitated, his gaze lingering on Cassie, his stony expression softening. “But I like you, Natalie. We might make a soldier out of you yet.”

They didn’t have more than a moment’s rest.

A shockwave swept through the room, staggering them all – Cassie prepared to throw out a shield, but then the stairwell door burst open, and dozens of black-clad operators swarmed into the room.

A chorus of loud shouts filled the room and soldiers rushed the Resistance fighters, seizing their weapons, twisting their hands behind their backs. Cassie thrashed, trying to free herself, and received a sharp blow to the back of her head. She sagged forward; two strong men hauled her upright, cruel fingers digging into her arms.

Bodies pressed around her, soldiers with their faces covered in black masks, their weapons newer and more modern than the Resistance’s. Adjusters flanked the procession, waxy faces glaring at the freedom fighters, their mouths stretched into thin lines. Cassie caught a glimpse of Alanna’s blonde hair above the mass of tall men; she heard Reese swearing and trying to fight off the White Tower soldiers, then – silence.

They were taken downstairs, all the way to the lobby, where at least a hundred people – men and women of the Resistance – were on their knees, hands behind their heads. Fear spread through Cassie’s body; her Affinity spiked, the Adjusters’ signatures burning brightly around her. Reese and Alanna disappeared somewhere on the other side of the room.

Soldiers forced Cassie onto her knees at gunpoint, at the very edge of the crowd. Images of the Bureau’s agents flashed through her mind, and she remembered Zero parading in front of the hangar, reveling in his power.

White Tower and Zero are the same,
she thought bitterly.
Trying to crush the people standing up against them. People like the Resistance. But as long as we’re still breathing, we have our hope.

Cassie took a deep, shuddering breath. She faced the back of a teenager’s head, his hair black and curly. Nobody moved or spoke. Soldiers stood guard over them; Adjusters watched from the shadows. Time dragged on and someone on the far side of the lobby decided to stand up, spewing insults at White Tower.
Don’t let it be Reese. Please don’t let it be Reese.

Cassie risked a quick look and saw two Adjusters march an older man from the room.

He never returned.

Time dragged on, minutes turned into hours. The hostages stared ahead blankly, too afraid to move, too afraid to try and escape – they knew it would be pointless. White Tower would cut them down before they made it twenty feet, and even with Cassie’s Shifting powers, she knew it was impossible. Her knees ached, her stomach churned, and blood pounded furiously in her ears.

She felt it in her Affinity first – a powerful signature that burned far brighter than the Adjusters’, gradually intensifying as it came closer. Then she heard the flurry of commotion behind her, the signature brightening until it blocked out the Adjusters entirely.

Heavy boots crunched against the tiled floor, but she kept her gaze level, too scared to look. The footsteps slowed to a leisurely pace and a voice spoke – a voice that was both familiar and foreign at the same time.

“Well, well.”

The voice floated over the captives’ heads. It was a male voice, perhaps belonging to a man in his thirties. The soldiers paced around the freedom fighters, holding their guns with practiced ease and no doubt hoping for an excuse to use them. Adjusters slinked around in the darkness, their vicious grins widening as they caught a few stray glances in their direction.

“What do we have here?” the voice asked with a cocky swagger. “A few cowards who didn’t want to die fighting?”

Cassie’s blood boiled at the accusation, and she felt her fellow fighters stir angrily. They were not cowards – they had fought and been captured; she would’ve rather died than become a hostage.

“The great Resistance,” the bodiless voice droned. “Nothing but a ragtag bunch of defectors. Fighting a guerrilla war in the cities, hiding from the might of White Tower, too afraid to face us in person. But we found you in the end, didn’t we?”

The footsteps grew nearer.

The voice grew louder.

The signature burned brighter.

“Like rats in a sewer,” the man said, a low chuckle deep in his throat. “We had to come and flush you out. Pests, that’s what you are, all of you. A leech clinging to this society, sucking us dry – but nothing a little
squeeze
couldn’t fix.”

The man laughed again. His soldiers offered a muted chuckle, and the Adjusters shifted in the shadows, anticipating the bloodshed to come, their knives shining under the dim emergency lights.

“I can’t believe you thought you could take us down,” the man continued. “We are White Tower. We are the government. We are undefeatable, unrelenting, unfaltering. We will find you,
all
of you. You cannot stop this. You cannot stop
us.
You lost this war the day it started.”

The footsteps stopped, and Cassie heard him whisper something. There was a tight pain in her chest, shortening her breaths. Her shoulders ached from holding her hands behind her head.

“Where is Ryan Boreman?” the man spat, as though the words offended him. “Where is that traitor? Does anybody know?”

There was no response. The freedom fighters stared ahead, not flinching or giving in. Cassie swelled with pride as she saw the strength and resilience of the Resistance. They would protect each other and their cause until the very end, no matter the cost. To them, their lives were fair payment for sustaining this war against White Tower, even for just one more day. They would not submit to fear, and in that moment, Cassie was suddenly proud to have served the Resistance, if only for a few precious hours.

“It doesn’t matter,” the man continued, walking forward again, coming up on Cassie’s left. “One more rat to deal with, and an old one at that. Guess his
dedication to the cause
isn’t as strong as he’d like to pretend. You should all think long and hard about that. Unfortunately, the time for repentance is long since gone. White Tower does not redeem turncoats. If you wanted to fight with us, you should have made that decision
before
you sank down into the scum of society.”

The man drew closer, his shadow falling over Cassie, but she refused to look up at him. For one horrible moment, she wondered if he would find her, if he would recognize her as a Timewalker. But he walked on, and she saw him from the back. He was broad-shouldered, wearing black-and-gray camo, almost indistinguishable from his own soldiers – except for one distinctive feature.

The man reached the front of the room, and he turned around.

Cassie knew who he was long before she saw his face.

She felt it, in the tightness in her chest, in the fury of his Temporal signature. She knew who he was, but she didn’t recognize the monster he had become. Of course, she’d never known this version of him. Perhaps things were different in this timeline, perhaps he had been different here, had grown into a monster capable of such arrogance and cruelty.

But in a dark part of her mind that whispered the nasty truths of the world, she knew she was only making excuses. She knew, as she looked at the man standing in front of the hostages, that she was seeing the future.

No matter what she, or White Tower, or the Adjusters tried to do, there were some things that could never be changed.

Major Shaun Briars looked at the captive Resistance fighters without any emotion or compassion in his eyes. He was twenty years older, but there was no mistaking his strong jaw, his slate-gray eyes, or his dyed-white hair now cropped short. He threw a final, disgusted look at the captives, lingering briefly on Cassie – but there was no spark of recognition in those hollow eyes.

Major Shaun Briars, the hero of the Final World War and the sworn enemy of the Resistance, turned around, striding away from the freedom fighters.

His boots stopped their drumming and he paused in front of the entrance, calling a final command over his shoulder, his words landing with the finality of a gunshot.

“Kill them all.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

The Bureau of Time
has been a life-changing experience full of self-discovery, unexpected challenges, and moments of proud success. I started writing
Bureau
for National Novel Writing Month 2014, and just over a year later, I was preparing for it to be published. In those twelve months, I met amazing writers and bloggers from around the world, and became inspired to pursue my true passion of novel-writing.

I wouldn’t be anywhere in life without my parents, who instilled in me the love for reading and writing at a very young age. Their selfless sacrifices and boundless support helped me realize my true path in life, and without them, I might not have the literary obsession I have today. They’ve read every short story and novel I’ve written in my life, and I owe my writing dreams to them.

I’d like to thank my beta readers, for their late nights spent reading early drafts of my book, for providing feedback, critiques, and fangirling tweets. Thank you to all of my beta readers – large or small, your opinions helped me shape this book into a finished product.

Thank you to Nicola, and the entire team at Fontaine, for their support and professionalism in getting
The Bureau of Time
from my computer and into the hands of readers around the world.

And finally, to you, the reader – without you, this would be a pointless endeavor. Thank you for reading my book; for delving into this world I’ve created, experiencing the highs and lows of my characters. For the writer who, like me when I first read the acknowledgements in Christopher Paolini’s
Eragon
all those years ago, wonders if it’s possible – it is. It’s a long road, but a rewarding one, worth every hardship and headache.

Thank you all, and I hope this will be the first of many novels we’ll have the privilege of experiencing together.

www.brettmichaelorr.com