Time Siege (7 page)

A shadow appeared through the mist until she could just make out Rima's face. “Oldest, the last of the tribe is gathering at the base of the bridge. Eriao says we are too exposed and recommends we cross tonight or find shelter. However, Oldest Franwil demands a pause.”

Elise gave the Statue of Liberty one last sorrowful look. “Stay standing as long as you can, old girl.” She turned to Rima, who stood waiting with a chalkboard in hand. “We camp for the night on this side of the river. Tell Eriao to find an open area closed off on at least two sides, either by the river or a building. Two-hundred-meter perimeter guard. Why does Franwil need a pause?”

Rima scribbled furiously on her chalkboard and nodded. “The Oldest is with the kowrus. Moma is giving birth now.”

Elise sighed. Another problem to deal with. “Take me to her,” she said, following the girl back to camp. They passed the team of guardians watching the rear and continued up the length of the procession, turning in to a side street near the front. Elise found the herd of kowrus mewing in an open field just off the main road, attended to by half a dozen women. Oldest Franwil was elbow-deep inside the pregnant mare. Sasha was by her side, trying to soothe the struggling animal. The girl was often at Franwil's side now that Grace and James were out traipsing through space.

The old woman looked up and shook her head. “She cannot be moved. The foal needs to be turned and delivered. Leave us if you must.”

Elise scanned the area. They were completely exposed out here, standing just off a main street that saw heavy traffic. Thank Gaia the fog obstructed the views of most of the natives living in the nearby buildings, especially with both Franwil and Sasha here. A raid right now would be upon them before they even knew it was coming. If something happened to James's sister … Elise shuddered; she couldn't even finish that thought.

A kowru was a valuable animal, and the pack was critical to the tribe's survival. The problem with this species was it had an extreme pack mentality. If one of them couldn't move, the entire herd would refuse to leave. That meant they had to deliver the foal soon or risk losing the entire herd.

Elise had delivered her first foal as an intern at the Prin Ridge Ranch in Montana as a teenager, before she learned how to drive. She wiped her hands and rolled up her sleeves. “Allow me, Oldest. Rima, tell Eriao to bring a team of guardians. Sasha, we need more clean water. Boil some now.”

A team of guardians arrived a few minutes later and took up position around them. Elise was grateful for the additional security. For the next hour, they coaxed and comforted the mare. The stress of their journey must have made it particularly difficult for the expecting mother.

The now-blazing fire nearby had to be a beacon to every predator within a kilometer. No sooner had the foal been delivered and taken its first step, One Huang—“One” being the title for a guardian who commands a team—pushed for them to leave. He barked out several orders and stamped out the fire. “Apologies for rushing you, Oldest, but the tribe encountered raiders from two directions. We are skirmishing with the ones to the north now. Another tribe previously undetected is moving in from the east. I must take you to safety.”

Hastily, she picked up the newborn foal and carried it in her arms. The guardians closed rank around her and sprinted toward the encampment. Gunfire erupted around them, kicking up stones and dirt, the popping sounds bouncing between the buildings and lingering in the air. To her right, one of the guardians fell and came up limping. Another had to help carry him to safety.

Elise looked to her left and checked on Oldest Franwil. A burly man was carrying the elderly woman as if she were a child. A long spear landed a few meters to their side, sticking up from the ground. More echoes of small-arms fire bounced in the air. A rain of arrows dropped nearby. Another guardian took one to the arm, but she didn't lose a step. Fortunately, the rest of them reached the encampment unscathed.

A minute later, they had entered the defensive barricades erected by the wagons and vehicles. The guardians swooped and corralled Franwil into a large tent. Elise was pleased that her pulse had quickened only slightly.

“My, how this future changes a person,” she murmured, taking a deep breath. If something like this had happened a year ago, she would have suffered a heart attack by now. Now these dangers felt like nothing more than an irritating part of her new reality. She looked down at the foal still in her arms. Well, not everything in the world had changed. She ordered Sasha to fetch a blanket to swaddle it.

She looked over at Rima. “What about the mother?”

“Moma is being well cared for,” she replied. “Do not worry, Oldest, we're not leaving something as valuable as a kowru unattended. If you'll excuse me, I wish to join the guardians and help beat back the raiders.” She bowed and hurried out of the tent. The girl still had some wild child left in her. Elise prayed for her safety.

In the distance, the popping sounds increased and the shouting grew louder. The fighting did not seem like it would end anytime soon. Elise got up to make the rounds and see to the rest of the tribe. It seemed that most had made it here without too much trouble.

Elise checked the individual groups huddled around small fires. The constant threats of attack were wearing the Elfreth down. Back in Boston, the Elfreth only had to worry about the Co-op. All the tribes had a shared history after generations of coexistence would unite to fight a common enemy. Now they were in foreign lands. Their enemy was the Co-op as well as every other wastelander tribe that believed their territory was being infringed upon. Everyone was their enemy. How many fronts could the Elfreth face before it broke them?

Elise peered out the tent cover into the sky. “Hurry home, James, or there might not be anything for you to come back to.”

 

SEVEN

B
ULK'S
H
EAD

Locating black market salvagers was a delicate task. Folks in this business didn't advertise their trade and hated inquisitive strangers. ChronoCom hunted illegal time salvagers relentlessly, so those who prospered in this field were either very skilled, highly secretive, or protected by a powerful organization. Usually, it was all three.

The death rate of black market time salvaging was extraordinarily high, often a factor of ten higher than chronmen. Chronmen spent five years at the Academy and were supported by the full weight and technology of the agency. Even then, their odds of surviving past their first year were only around 70 percent. Seventy percent of illegal salvagers, usually rusks hoping to earn quick scratch, did not survive their first year.

And if the job didn't kill them, the auditors usually would. Unskilled salvagers left behind traceable ripples. Those footprints were all an auditor needed to track down exactly what had happened and correlate it with events in the present. Illegal salvagers might get away with a few jumps, but eventually, auditors would catch up to them. The ones who did survive and prosper were usually Academy-trained operatives, often former chronmen within the higher three tiers. They were the ones who were not only skilled in combat, but also familiar with the agency's systems and methodologies, and usually still had contacts within the agency to obtain a steady supply of miasma.The only way to buy access to these skilled black market salvagers was to work underground connections and bribe for the information, which for a newcomer at Bulk's Head was expensive.

It took James days of futilely working on rumors and leads before he got his first break. Word of his inquiries must have spread after the way he threw scratch around at several different establishments. Eventually, on the morning of their tenth day at Bulk's Head, he received a hit. A boy approached him as he was sitting alone at the Drink Anomaly and held out his hand. The boy, likely no older than ten or twelve, demanded James buy him dinner. When James refused, the boy told him that naming a collie
Collie
was stupid and lazy and that James better buy him a meal. James signaled to the waitress and bought the boy all he could eat and drink for the rest of the night.

That bit of information could mean only one thing. Only a few people were aware that James's old collie—the one that was destroyed by ChronoCom when they attacked the Farming Towers—was named
Collie
. It had been a running joke among some of his tier.

He watched as the boy ate his fill and got drunk off two drinks. Before the boy passed out, he handed James a piece of paper. On it was an address. It took only a few more minutes of asking around to find out that this address was located in the Puck Pirate section of the colony. Well, James did want to attract a salvager's attention. It seemed he had attracted the biggest one.

James finished his drink and looked at the young courier passed out on the table. He debated whether he should leave the boy there. If he was lucky, he would wake up with a splitting headache tomorrow. If he wasn't, he might wake up without a kidney.

Feeling parental, James grabbed the back of the shirt and hauled him to his feet. “Let's get out of here, kid.”

He smacked the the boy a few times to rouse him and then escorted him out of the bar. They walked all the way across Bulk's Head until the boy's head cleared a bit. James honestly wasn't sure where the Puck Pirate section was, so he had the boy lead him there. When they arrived, he bought the boy a bag of water and sent him on his way.

James was accosted by three security guards as soon as he neared the Puck Pirate security zone. When he provided his credentials, he was blindfolded and led around for another ten minutes. He had a sense that they were descending to the lower levels after having made dozens of turns. They could be walking him out to an airlock for all he knew. Finally, they took his blindfold off, and he found himself standing in front of an ornate metal door at the far end of a long hallway.

He inhaled; the air here was much cleaner than that in most of Bulk's Head. An important or rich person must live here. The guards spoke with someone through a comm next to the door, and then it clicked opened. James was greeted by a familiar face.

Hubbs had been two years from earning out from ChronoCom when he was caught smuggling miasma regimens to the Puck Pirates on the side. When the monitors tried to take him in, he killed three squads and a Tier-3—he was a Tier-1, after all—and then fled to Bulk's Head, far enough from ChronoCom's grasp not to make it worth their while to get him back. He had been running the Puck Pirates' salvaging operations ever since. Currently, he was hovering at number nine on ChronoCom's most wanted list.

“Black abyss, James fucking Griffin-Mars,” Hubbs exclaimed as he waved James into his extravagant quarters. “I thought you were dead until you started poking around my neck of space. Poked a giant in the eye by now or something. You always were a little broodier than the rest of us. Heard about your split with the agency. Rumor has it you broke a few time laws.”

No sooner did James walk ten steps into the room than he found two burly men on either side of him. He didn't miss a beat as he eyed both men up and down, making note of the weapons in their hands. One had a close-range ion hand cannon and the other an exo-chain.

“Are these guys really necessary?” asked James.

Hubbs shrugged. “You know how it is, can't trust anyone these days, can we? You blue with this?”

“Blue,” James replied.

Exo-chains were the bane of exo wielders, and moderately rare due to the fact that exos were expensive and not common in regular armies. Once an exo-chain was attached, it prevented the wielder from activating his exo. If the exo was already on, it prevented the creation of new coils and leashed the wielder to the chain's length.

James didn't trust Hubbs to be completely unarmed, but he had little choice in the matter, especially since he was here for a favor.

The exo-chain, a red lasso made of energy, struck his body with a jolt and latched onto him. Hubbs, holding on to the handle, led him into a small waiting room. He signaled for James to sit on a settee and walked to a small bar on one end of the room. He took out a decanter and two glasses. “Whiskey drinker, right?”

A shudder coursed through James as his body suddenly tightened. His mouth dried up and he found himself having trouble formulating words. One drink could very easily slip into a binge. He shook his head. “I'm on the job.”

Hubbs paused and then looked back at James. At his hands in particular. He nodded. “I appreciate a man who can keep them separate.” He poured himself a glass of a dark red liquid and brought a glass of water to James. He sat down on the couch opposite him and leaned back. “What can I do for you? Looking for work? I run a top-notch operation. We can always use another Tier-1.”

“I'm actually recruiting.”

Hubbs looked surprised. “A couple months out of the agency and already growing an operation? Color me impressed. Didn't think you had the entrepreneurial chops. Funny, thought I would have heard of a new player in this exclusive market.”

“I'm not working the market.” James mulled over the next thing he was going to say. “I need things salvaged.”

“Why don't you just do it your…” Hubbs stopped. “You miasmaed out, didn't you? How badly?”

“Next jump, perhaps. The one after, definitely.”

“I see.” There was an awkward silence, and then Hubbs slapped his knees with his hands enthusiastically. “Very well then, a client. Even better. Tell me what you're after and I can give you a quote. Can't guarantee I'll be the one jumping, though. I am expensive.”

James took a deep breath. This was the part where he expected to get thrown out of the room. “That's the thing, Hubbs. I'm not hiring. I'm recruiting for a cause.”

He told the ex-chronman as much of the story as possible without giving away the details, glossing over Elise and Sasha and focusing on how they might be able to cure the Earth Plague. He watered down the conflict with the Co-op and avoided telling Hubbs how little resources the Elfreth actually had, especially that they couldn't keep a salvager on retainer. Instead, he tried to appeal to Hubbs's concern for humanity's greater good. Hubbs was already wealthy. What could he acquire to fulfill his life even more? Why not fight for a cause? Why not create a legacy that would outlive him?