Time Siege (44 page)

“Water.” What James really wanted to ask for was whiskey. “Something to eat.”

“I'll bring you breakfast once the kitchen rises,” Laurel said. “We'll be right outside if you need us.”

The flyguards left the room and closed the door behind them. He heard the click of the lock, and then he was alone. James forced himself to get out of bed and dragged himself to the balcony. The sweat on his body made the night feel even colder than it was. A blast of wind from below swirled the mist around him. It was strange to him that no matter how strong the air currents were, they never seemed to be able to push the fog away from the island. He inhaled and felt the coolness enter his lungs. It stung and shivered his body, but it momentarily calmed the craving eating away inside him. He took a few more deep breaths, bent over the banister of the balcony, and heaved. His insides seized and cramped as he suddenly felt like he was having a heart attack.

“Help,” James moaned, turning toward the door. It seemed so far away. The booming in his chest felt like it was rocking the entire building as he got onto all fours and crawled his way to the exit. Leaning on the door for support, he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. He banged on the door.

“I need help,” he said, louder this time.

Immediately the door opened and he saw Bria and Laurel looking worried just outside. “Are you all right?” Bria asked.

“Listen carefully,” he said. “This isn't working. I know you all mean well but I've been drinking for twenty years. Quitting like this isn't healthy. I'm going to die. Please, you're my wards. Get me just a little. Weaning my body off is the right thing to do. Just a little, a drop.”

Laurel shook his head. “I'm sorry, Elder. Oldest Franwil and Elise said—”

“I know what they said!” James growled. He caught himself before his agitation got the best of him and reigned it in. He wasn't going to get what he wanted by being an asshole. “I'm just saying: I know my body. I just need a little to balance myself out. I feel like I'm having a heart attack right now.”

Laurel began to close the door. “I'm sorry, Elder.”

James blocked the door from shutting with his feet and grabbed Laurel's wrist. “I'm serious. I'm in a lot of pain here.” The young man froze and tried to pull his arm back. James held on to it and stared intently at him. “I'm not fucking around. Just a little and I'll be fine.”

Bria put one hand on James's shoulder and the other on his wrist. “Just a little,” she said soothingly. She gently pulled his hand off of Laurel's arm. “Laurel, get the flask. The one behind the shelf. Just make sure Chawr and the rest of the guys don't see you.”

“Thank you,” James said, never meaning it so much in his life. He relaxed and leaned against the door frame. Just the very thought of knowing a few drops were going to touch his lips physically helped his body calm down. His eyes didn't rest until he saw Laurel turn to go. He shifted his attention to Bria, trying as hard as he could to appear casual and collected. “I'm going to need you flyguards to keep me up to date on what's going on with the Elfreth and the fight. I know you're all looking out for me, but the sooner I get back to the fight, the better. You know that, right?”

“Of course, Elder.” Bria told him of the past few days he had been holed up. The Manhattan forces had really taken it to the Co-op, hitting them hard and taking several of their scouts and outposts captive. The Co-op was unprepared for a coordinated and organized enemy and was, for the first time, retreating. The Manhattans were losing three to one, but that couldn't be helped. The monitors were so much better armed and trained than any of them, and the Valta troopers even more so. Regardless, they were finally chalking up victories, no matter how Pyrrhic they were.

“I'm proud of…” James's voice trailed off when Chawr and the rest of the flyguards walked into the room.

“I'm sorry,” Bria said quietly and stepped away.

“Elder,” Chawr said, hands raised. “We've sent for Dr. Titus. Go back into your residence.”

“I trusted you…” James began to see red.

They were looking out for him. A small voice repeated it over and over again. Smitt appeared next to Chawr and shook his head. “Don't do it, my friend. Listen to that voice.”

“You punks are trying to kill me,” he snarled. “Get out of my way. I know where you ingrates stashed it.”

Chawr shook his head. “We're dry, Elder. Oldest Elise spoke with us and we threw the rest away.”

The thought of not having any within reach pushed James into a panic. He charged out the door, only to be surrounded by all six flyguards as they grabbed his arm and restrained him. They were children, though, all in their teens or early twenties. He threw them aside as if they were no more than nuisances, pushing them onto the floor, using his experience and skill to pull them off balance. That small voice in him was begging him not to hurt any of them, and he tried to listen, but he was slowly losing his sanity.

The flyguards continued to fight him, redoubling their efforts and throwing themselves at him every step of the way. Slowly, James tired. It had been two days since he'd eaten, and the shakes had taken a toll on him. He looked on in panic as they, step by step, pulled him farther from the door. A few moments later, he was back in his residence. And then pushed onto his bed. He thrashed as they piled on top of him, but it was futile.

“I'll…” James saw Chawr's puffy right eye. James must have struck him. It would be a beautiful black eye by tomorrow. He stopped struggling. “… I'm sorry.”

They held on to him for several more minutes until Titus, huffing and puffing, walked into the room. The old man, face thunderous, scowled as he saw the pile of flyguards sitting on top of him.

“Do you know what flaming time it is right now, you junkie?” he said. “Couldn't you have an episode at a more godly hour, you inconsiderate ass?”

Smitt appeared over Titus's shoulder. “That
was
pretty inconsiderate, James.”

The old man looked him over and felt his chest. “I'm surprised your heart hasn't burst out of your ribs and run laps around the room.” He chuckled. “You, boy, run to the infirmary and tell them I want a beta blocker and benzodiazepine.” He saw the blank look on Dox's face. “Oh, never mind. Fetch one of their healers.” He looked at James. “Get some restraining straps, too. Just in case.”

“You're not tying me…” James tried to scream.

Titus pulled out a rag and stuffed it into James's mouth. “You talk too much. It's still going to get worse, so here's the deal. You're my flaming patient now. I'll tie you down if you act up. I have terrible bedside manner, chronman, so don't piss me off. Are you going to behave?”

James nodded. He knew when he had lost. He tried to say something through the rag.

Titus pulled it out. “What's that?”

“I'm calm now. I'm sorry.” He'd had to say that a lot recently.

“I'm sure you are, James.” Titus grinned. “In fact, I'm going to move up here for a few days. You, girl, go to my room and pack some of my clothes and my bedsheets. And get a bunch of my pillows too. You two boys go move a bed to a nearby room. One that's heated and clean, damn it. I'm going to stay here with this junkie tonight, but it'll be a cold day on Venus if I'm going to let you interrupt my sleep. I'm an old man.”

James sighed. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse. “Can you at least tell them to get off of me?”

Titus shook his head. “Not until the boy gets back here with the restraints.”

“But you said you'd only use them if I acted up.”

“I changed my mind. When you become a Grand Juror, you're allowed to do stuff like that.”

“Listen, you grouchy old bastard, there's no way in hell you're tying me up for the next few weeks!”

Titus stuffed the rag back into James's mouth.

 

FORTY-THREE

F
AMILY

Levin was surprised James didn't meet him at the landing deck. The former chronman was usually waiting for them once they disembarked, either inquiring about the status of jumps or directing the flyguards on
Frankenstein
's maintenance. It was as if the man couldn't fully let go of his previous life, no matter how much he wanted to. That, or he had too much time on his hands.

Both Bria and Chawr acted cagey when he asked them where James was. Chawr pretended not to hear and ignored Levin completely while Bria mumbled something about Elder James not feeling well. Stranger still, they refused to tell him exactly where he was. When he pressed them, they apologized and nearly tripped over themselves running away from him.

Levin wasn't particularly surprised with how most of the tribe treated him. As far as they were concerned, he was a complete outsider, a stranger who had just appeared one day and now dropped off caches of supplies every few weeks before disappearing again. Why would they answer his questions? The Elfreth, the flyguards especially, were James's people. Levin would have done the same thing if he were in their shoes.

His curiosity piqued, he set out trying to unravel this little mystery. He and James had important things to discuss, not only about Levin's role, but this entire mad operation. He first checked the three main Elfreth floors, and not finding him there, went down to the infirmary, and then to the barricade floor. When he asked about James, no one would give him a straight answer. Something had to be wrong with James Griffin-Mars. It wasn't until he ran into the boy who was friends with James's sister—Sammy or Sammuia or whatever—that he was able to coax, or scare, the news out.

“Elder James is very sick,” the boy said. “No one is allowed to see him.”

Levin grunted. “Sick” was code for only one thing. Due to the nature of their work, all chronmen were heavily immunized with every sort of vaccination imaginable. James couldn't catch a cold if he swam in a pool of the virus. No, the only real sickness he had was completely self-inflicted.

He proceeded up to the sixty-sixth floor, which was now completely quarantined for the chronman's rehabilitation. Two flyguards, Laurel and Hory, guarded the door. At first, they tried to tell him that James wasn't there. Then they tried to say that he couldn't see anyone “at this time.”

“Get out of my way,” Levin said.

They got out of his way.

Levin walked down the hall of the building to James's main living quarters and found him standing near a window looking out into the night fog with a heavy blanket wrapped around his body. Half of the blanket was soaked with sweat. He looked a shell of who he usually was. His face was deathly pale, and his cheeks were sunken in. Levin wondered when the guy had last been able to keep down food.

“You look like shit,” said Levin.

“So I look a little better than I feel, then.”

“At least you still have your sense of humor.”

James turned and gave him a flat stare. “Do I look like I'm joking?”

Levin fought the urge to tell James about all the hundreds of times he had warned him about his bad habit. Instead, he got down to business. “How many days?”

James eyed the wall to the side. Four vertical marks with a diagonal line crossing through them and three more. Levin involuntarily made a face. The guy was in the worst of it right now. Not a good mental or physical state for anyone to be in, and even worse for someone with a job to do. As glad as he was to see James clean up his life, they had more pressing matters to attend to than his personal demons.

“Listen,” he began. “Not the best time, but I need you functional. As much as I hate to say this, if it means you need to drink a little to balance your shit out, then do it. This is more important.”

The look James gave him at that moment was a mix of incredulousness, eagerness, and straight-up murder. “Do you realize what you just fucking said to me?”

Levin pulled up two chairs and slid one over to James. He sat and motioned for James to join him. “Listen, remember the last time we spoke? I told you we were doing this all wrong and you told me to come up with a better plan?”

James nodded.

“Well, I came up with a better plan. Like I said, you're trying to cure the Earth Plague, and you're doing it with little to nothing. In your current state, you have a slim chance of surviving the winter, let alone curing the planet. You need allies.”

James grunted. “Who the abyss is going to ally with us besides the Flatirons and maybe these Mist Isle tribes? Who, by the way, I'm sure are only doing this because we're the best-supplied tribe in the area. So who else, huh? The megacorporations? One of the moons?”

Levin paused before answering. “ChronoCom.”

James choked when he heard that, and his body fell into a fit of coughs. His bloodshot eyes widened when he realized Levin was actually serious. “Are you lag sick already? The agency is in the pockets of the megacorporations. Earth Central is practically a subsidiary of Valta.”

“The leadership is,” Levin said. “Not the people. There's still good people there, and the best are on Earth. You're just too blind to see. If we convert them, the rest of the agency will follow.”

“Did you tell Grace your insane plan?”

“Of course I did. Do you think I would have brought it up if the Mother of Time wasn't on board with it? We need help, and the agency is the best candidate to support us.”

“I don't know how you're going to convince anyone,” said James. “The monitors and handlers are just happy they weren't sent packing after failing the Academy, and the chronmen just want to earn out and retire. No one cares about the Earth Plague or the corruption.”

“You'd be surprised.” Levin leaned forward to James. “Come on, clean yourself up. We're going to Chicago. It's going to be dangerous, and I need someone to watch my back.”