The Split Second (27 page)

“It’ll hold for another ten minutes, maybe twelve.” Tom gave Shan a wink to let her know that Time was on their side. “But my 7
^th
says we got a problem with the Containment Field itself.”

“I’m on it.”

Becker placed his bare hands against the cold glass, then closed his eyes and extended his own formidable awareness. Instead of being intimidated by the clinic Jackal had just administered, he was utterly inspired to reach farther with his 7
^th
Sense than he ever had before.

“You’re right, Tom.” Becker’s eyes snapped open, and he reached for the flap of his Toolkit. “A big problem.”

The young Fixer whipped out his Electric Eye™ and pressed it to the spot where he’d detected that something was amiss. Like a jeweler looking for a flaw in a precious stone, he scanned the core of the transparent wall, and it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. Spreading like the filaments of a spiderweb or the branches of an oak tree were thin cracks in the glass, which told Becker exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

The Containment Field was about to blow.

“Any day now, Drane,” cracked Fixer Jackal. “We’re not getting any younger in here.”

“You’re not getting any funnier either,” fired back Fixer Drane, struggling to separate the pieces of This, That & The Other Thing.™ The three-part apparatus was designed for jobs involving machines or equipment on the verge of explosion— an unfortunately common occurrence considering the archaic nature of most Seemsian technology—and Becker hurriedly began the installation.

This he wrapped around the five surfaces of the Containment Field like transparent aluminum foil. That he roped around This as if he were binding up a birthday present with twine. And The Other Thing he clamped to the loose ends of That, so he could pull the entire contraption tightly against the glass and keep it from shattering into a million pieces.

“I think we’re . . . ,” Becker’s frostbitten hands screamed in agony as he twisted the Tool with everything he had, “. . . all good.”

Jackal nodded, then threw a look of concern at the young woman whose face was pressed against his. “How long have you been in here, Shan?”

“I don’t know, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes before you got here.”

“Then we don’t have any Time to lose.” Jackal reached inside Shan’s Briefcase to put her plan in motion. The Tool they would rely upon to snare the runaway Split Second looked much like the top of a trampoline—a thin black fabric stretched inside a circular rim—except it worked by the exact opposite principal. Objects that made contact with its elastic face didn’t bounce high into the air but had whatever force that propelled them utterly removed. “You do the Catching. I’ll do the Stitching.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shan squeezed the Catch-All tight and focused on the half of the Split Second that ricocheted around them. But since it was moving a whole lot faster than her Hour Glasses suggested, she couldn’t imagine how she would time the moment when she reached the Tool into its path.

“Just close your eyes, Shan.” The Fixer seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. “Let the 7
^th
Sense do the work for you.”

The Briefer did as Jackal suggested, removing her Hour Glasses and shutting her eyes tight. She’d practiced this technique constantly at the IFR, in the Mission Simulators and on the final level of the Stumbling Block, but never had the stakes been so high.

“I don’t know if I can do this, sir.”

“I do.”

“But I’m afraid.”

“So am I.” Jackal looked his Briefer in the eyes one last time and allowed her to see the truth of his proclamation. “That’s what my MIM is for.”

In Missions past, Shan Mei-Lin would have said, “I don’t have much use for the MIM, sir,” as she had done with Fixer Chiappa earlier on this fateful day. But the darkness of Meanwhile had steered her to a different place inside herself, and the utility of the Mission Inside the Mission was quite apparent. As was the identity of hers . . .

“Bohai,” she whispered aloud, then shut her eyes again and reached out with her 7
^th
Sense. This time, the fear that clouded her awareness disappeared before the love she felt for her long-lost brother, and just as Jackal has suggested, the path became clear. The very tips of the fingers that held the Catch-All seemed to measure the Split Second’s loop and knew exactly when would be the right moment to interrupt it . . .

“Sorry . . . to bother you guys . . .” On the roof of the Containment Field, Fixer Drane was struggling with all his might to keep his grip upon This, That & The Other Thing. “But if you’re gonna do this, you better do it now!”

Indeed, the cracks in the walls that had once been microscopic were expanding to the size of icy tendrils, and worse, the thin strips of metal that welded the ten-foot squares of glass together had begun to rattle like a radiator. Tom Jackal’s eyes fell to the crumbling dirt beneath him, the blue light breaking through it in ever-increasing streaks. In his right hand was half a Second, an exact replica of the one that was about to explode through the floor on its way to the unsuspecting World. Regardless of the danger, it was long past time to Stitch the two together.

“Start your countdown, Shan.”

Frozen Moment Channel, The In-Between

“Use your imagination?”

Briefer Harold Carmichael was still suspended in the In-Between, still struggling to weld the uncooperative Q-Turn into the Animal Affairs Tube. Tony the Plumber’s idea had been brilliant in theory, but installing a heavy metal pipe inside a transparent-walled, magnetically-powered, electrified Tube wasn’t exactly the same proposition as fixing a leaky faucet.

“That’s easy for him to—
ooof!
”

All the wind was suddenly and forcibly yanked from the C-Note’s lungs, and he didn’t need Li Po or any other master of the 7
^th
Sense to tell him that something
very
wrong had just happened in The Seems. His Blinker said the same thing it had for the last half hour or so—“Split Second repair in progress”—but that feeling of being out of breath only got worse when the Receiver on his belt started to blare.

“Briefer #321 here, over.”

“Listen to me, C.”
C-Note immediately recognized the caller as his favorite Fixer from the isle of Staten.
“You need to get
yourself outta that Tube RIGHT NOW.”

“Why, what’s the 411?”

“All’s I know’s the kid and his team were about to Stitch that
crazy thing together, but something must’ve gone wrong.”
Tony the Plumber’s voice had none of its usual swagger.
“ ’Cause the
Essence of Time is coming your way!”

“How much?”

“Enough to trash a whole city—let alone you.”

The med student in Briefer Carmichael recognized that the weak feeling spreading throughout his body was the sympathetic nervous system contacting the chromaffin granula, activating the adrenergic receptors and resulting in a surge of the first messenger hormone commonly known as adrenalin. “How long I got?”

“Less than sixty seconds.”
Tony didn’t beat around the bush.
“Don’t try to be a hero, kid.”

“But didn’t you say the Essence was gonna take out a whole city?”

“There ain’t nothing you can do about that now.”

C-Note took five of those less than sixty seconds to listen to the roar of the In-Between and clear his heart and mind.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, before gently hanging up the phone.

Only a week ago, Harold Carmichael had been at wit’s end—convinced that he didn’t have what it took to be promoted to “the best job in The World.” But a sloppy dollop of clouds painted by a former classmate of his had changed all that, and given C-Note the Confidence to do what he was about do now.

From within his Case, the Briefer removed a long sheet of Time-resistant fiberglass. It had originally been reserved for one of the Powers That Be who wanted spoilers on his car that would never rust.

“Sorry, dogg. I’m gonna have to get you next week—if there is a next week.”

C-Note curled the fiberglass into the shape of a funnel, which he then inserted into the mouth of the Q-Turn, which he then connected to a brand-new catalytic converter that he had spit-shined himself. When clamped together, this combination added up to a makeshift version of the same remarkable device he’d seen with his mind’s eye . . .

A car engine.

“Hope it takes premium.”

Meanwhile, The Seems

“Whoa.”

Becker Drane blinked away the stars from his eyes and slowly lugged himself back to his feet. He was amazed to find himself still atop the Containment Field, which, despite the physical trauma of the last few minutes, had managed to stay in one piece. The same could not be said for the inside, however . . .

“You guys okay down there?”

Huddled together in the center of the field were two people dressed from head to toe in the same white fabric. They hugged each other tightly, for only a small patch of dirt remained beneath them, most of the floor having collapsed into the highways and byways of the infinite blueness below.

“I think I’m fine, sir.” Briefer Shan looked up at the boy on the glass ceiling above. “Fixer Jackal?”

Tom Jackal’s eyes were closed tightly behind the goggles of his Sleeve, and for a second Briefer Shan feared the worst . . . until a weary voice emerged.

“No worries, kids.” The Fixer finally opened his eyes. “I take a licking, but I keep on ticking.”

Satisfied that his team was okay, Becker took a seat on the edge of the roof, ran a hand through his shag of sweaty hair, and tried to process what had just happened.

On the count of three, Shan had extended the Catch-All into the path of the Split Second, and despite its incredible velocity, it had stuck to the surface like a fly on a paper. The Second itself had been another matter, though. The two halves magnetically repelled each other at first, and when Jackal tried to force their reunion, a large stream of Essence had squeezed out. The Fixer shoved his Briefer out of the way, and though he was soaked from head to toe, his brute strength allowed him to finally Stitch the sphere back into one piece.

“Got a present for you, Drane.” Jackal released his grip on Shan to hold up a silvery object that was wedged inside their bear hug. It kind of looked like a basketball, except made of shiny metal and with a single lace that wrapped itself all the way around. “Make sure you stop by the Fun House and thank them in person!”

Becker couldn’t believe his eyes—the Stitch had actually worked, and the volatile Second was no longer split. It was just an ordinary rock that could go back to doing its job of helping provide a pleasant rate of Time in The World.

Ring! Ring!

“This had better be good news,” Becker thought to himself, as he lifted his Receiver for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. “#37 here.”

“Kid—it’s me, T the P.”

“Please tell me that Tokyo isn’t a dustbowl . . .”

“A dustbowl? Nah, you got it all wrong!”
Becker had only heard Tony this giddy one time—five minutes before his beloved New York Jets blew a chance to make it to the Super Bowl.
“Our main man C-Note built himself a Time Machine!”

“A Time Machine? What the heck is that?”

“It’s like a V6 engine, except it don’t run on fuel. Runs on
Essence of Time—and it sucked up every last bit!”

“Way to go, C!”

“They’re sayin’ this could be the reusable energy source The
World’s been looking for!”

“Do me a favor, T.” Becker knew from experience what this meant for Briefer Carmichael’s career. “Make sure you ask him if he knows how many Fixers there are in The World.”

“Done. How we doin’ in Meanwhile?”

Becker wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, “We did it! We did it!” but he remembered what one of his mentors Casey Lake used to say at times like this. “We’ve still gotta cross our I’s and dot our T’s.”

“Roger that, kid. T the P out.”

The chief “I” for Becker to cross was getting his people out of that Containment Field, so he rolled up his own Sleeve and pried a hole in the thin, semipermeable membrane. From there, it was quick work to lower a rope down to his two partners . . .

“You first.” Jackal gently squeezed Shan’s shoulder, and both could feel how heavy the protective fabric had become. “If you don’t get out of this thing soon, I’ll have to call you Ye Ye.”

As she grabbed the rope, the Briefer smiled at the use of the Mandarin term of endearment for grandmother. She asked,
“Ni hue bu hue shuo zhong wen?”

“Shuo de hen cha.”
Jackal replied.

Becker lugged Shan out of the Containment Field and back onto the roof, then began to help her out of her Time-drenched Sleeve.

“We need to get you out of this thing and over to the Department of Health for a full checkup. And maybe even some more of that Anti-Aging Cre—”

But when he lifted the mask and goggles away from Shan’s face, Becker couldn’t hide the shock and horror on his own.

“What is it, sir?”

The Briefer’s Sleeve had clearly soaked through, for what was once the face of a nineteen-year-old girl was now a woman in her early thirties. Becker didn’t answer her question, only helped her out of her gear and wrapped her in a blanket. But if it had done this to Shan, what had it done to Tom Jackal, who had Stitched the Split Second with his very own hands?

“Tom, you gotta get out of that Sleeve right now.”

“It’s too late, Becker.”

Shan could sense some awful knowledge passing between the two Fixers and she didn’t like the way it made her feel. “Too late for what?”

“For an old man who’s already lived nine lives.”

Tom Jackal took off his Goggles and peeled back his Sleeve so only his head was revealed.

“No,” said Becker.

Already, Tom’s hair and beard were turning gray, and deep wrinkles were forming around his eyes. His back had also begun to hunch forward, as if it could no longer bear the weight of his body.

“Don’t look so glum, people. These are what they call the golden years.”