Time Siege (29 page)

Elise looked at the guardians behind her. “Put your weapons away. These people need food and water and medical supplies, not more fighting. Run upstairs and tell Franwil to bring all the healers down here. Now.”

They looked at her hesitantly.

“Are you sure about this?” James asked. “We don't have enough supplies—”

“Now!” Elise snapped. “And find me the leader of this group.”

 

TWENTY-SEVEN

O
RDER
OF
T
HINGS

It was the second day in a row James had nothing to do, no responsibilities weighing on his shoulders and nobody depending on him. It was glorious. He had not had a chance to rest when he first returned from space. The raids had been heavy, nearly around the clock, and he was needed to help defend the barricades. He was more than willing to take his place among the guardians. However, once Elise had decided to feed the raiders instead of fight them, the violence had dropped to almost nothing. Now, the Elfreth guardians and Flatiron fights were busier making sure their former attackers had a place to eat and sleep than anything else.

From his perspective, this was an unsustainable, losing situation and James wanted nothing to do with this foolish plan. Their stores weren't large to begin with. Blood corn and many of the other crops the Elfreth planted grew quickly, often maturing in a matter of days, but there was no way they could keep this up. Once word got out that Elise was giving out free food, the number of refugees flocking to the All Galaxy exploded. He understood what she was trying to do, but as much as he hated to say this, it was a much sounder strategy to eliminate the other tribes in battle than to be weighed down with caring for them.

The few times he had tried to broach it with Elise, she had stubbornly stood by her plan, continually citing some twenty-first-century saying that she'd rather use a carrot instead of a stick, and how these other tribes could prove valuable allies. When he told her that their supplies were far more valuable than their goodwill, she flat-out scolded him for how little he valued these wastelander people. In truth, she was right; he couldn't deny his bias.

In any case, this little dip in violence gave him a few days of precious rest and he was taking advantage of every minute. It was early evening, and he was lounging in one of the corner suites high up in the All Galaxy with Chawr and the rest of the flyguards as they passed around the remainder of a three-liter canister of shine, a home-brewed alcohol derived from cany weed and a fungus common in this region. It was nasty stuff, but there weren't many other options around.

Dox, the youngest and newest member of Chawr's crew, held up the round metal container and tipped it to his lips, taking just a small sip before nearly dropping it. The young man, without a single hair on his chin yet, made a face and hissed. For a second, he looked as if he wasn't going to be able to hold it in. He hunched over, and a strange rumbling sound emanated from him. The rest of the group looked at him attentively. A second later, he raised his head and wiped the tears from his eyes. Bleary-faced, he grinned. Aliette handed him a rag to wipe his chin and patted him on the back. The rest of the group cheered and clapped their hands, congratulating him on a job well done.

The boy—the man now—handed the jug over to James, who hefted it in his hands. The liquid inside sloshed around more than he liked; it was probably less than a quarter full. He held the canister to his lips and took a long swig. He felt tinge of pain in his shoulder as he hefted the canister up, but ignored it as the sweet burn of the shine poured into his mouth. The pain, ever since that last jump, lingered, but the drink helped make it bearable.

A part of him wondered and worried where his next drink would come from after this container ran dry. After all, he was grounded. Grace and Levin—now using his bands, flying his ship, and doing his job—were back out in space. James wouldn't be able to fly out to acquire more shine. He pushed that worry out of his mind. For now, he was content.

The canister was passed around a few more times. It was the last of their stash, and the seven of them cherished every drop. By the time they were done, half of the flyguards were giggling with each other, acting like fools. James had always drunk by himself. He had always associated alcohol with loneliness and isolation, so this jovial behavior felt foreign and strange.

His gaze kept wandering back to the discarded canister. Where could he get more? Now that he had free time on his hands, that worry dominated more and more of his waking hours.

“Chawr,” he said, cutting through their boisterous chatter. “That brew equipment you had, it's still with the transports?”

The young leader of the flyguards grinned. “Yes, Elder. Oldest Franwil wanted me to ditch it but…” He patted his chest. “How could I do such a thing to my beautiful invention?”

“Maybe it's time we check up on the transports.” Laurel grinned, smacking Chawr on the shoulder.

“Maybe.” James rubbed his chin. The few remaining vehicles the tribe possessed were stowed with the rest of their large nonessential machinery behind a closed gate in a building parking garage near the Brooklyn Bridge. Elise had ordered the vehicles hidden there shortly after they crossed into the island. Several of the bulkier tools they needed to maintain the
Frankenstein
were stored there as well. They would be needed the next time the ship returned. He had a spare netherstore container. Going over there would be the prudent thing to do. Besides, it had been over a month since the Elfreth had locked up the garage. They really should check up on those valuable vehicles anyway. He'd run it by Elise in the morning.

That is, if she wasn't too important and busy for him now. Since he had returned, they'd hardly shared any time together other than sleep. Running the Elfreth and dealing with all the other tribes in the area took up all of her waking hours. Add that to the fact that she'd practically adopted Sasha, Elise had nothing left for James anymore. In a very short span of time, he had gone from the one person she loved and depended on to an afterthought. It was exactly what he had feared would happen.

“What is this?” a sharp voice snapped. The words lingered in the air.

The small group gave a start when Franwil stomped into the room, as much as an old bent-over woman could. She swung her walking stick in a wide arc, nearly taking Hory's head off. The lad was able to avoid the stick only by tipping backward on his stool and falling onto his ass.

“Oldest.” Dox stood up. Too quickly, it seemed, as he had to lean against the wall for support.

“You, boy,” she hissed. “Go help with the kowrus today. Sober up and make sure you smell like them before you return to your mother, or there will be trouble.” She turned on the rest of the flyguards, waving her stick in the air. “As for the rest of you. You seem to have too much time on your hands. You were exempt from the barricades because of your work on the vehicles. Now that you do have some time on your hands, go tell Eriao you all wish to take shifts on the barricades.”

She gave every one of the flyguards the stink-eye as they filed past, heads down and shoulders drooped. James made a casual motion to stand but a glare from her kept him in his seat. Most of the tribe had come to appreciate the valuable service he provided and had warmed to him because of that. The Oldest was one of the few who never had, despite everything he did to try to win her over.

When he and Elise first came to the Elfreth, Franwil saw him as dangerous outsider. For months afterward, when he used his salvage skills to repay their generosity with a steady supply of food and power, she saw only a dangerous chronman. When he fought and nearly died alongside them, she saw only a killer. Now she saw a drunk.

“And you!” she hissed after the flyguards had left the room. “You are supposed to be an elder, a leader among the Elfreth. Yet here you are, carousing and acting a fool. I expected better from you, chronman.”

Expected better? James felt his hands shake, though he wasn't sure if it was more in anger or something else. Who did this old witch think she was to talk to him like this just because he wanted a drink? He had laid his life down for them time and time again. No, he deserved a drink.

He stood up and towered over her. “I just spent two months going through abyss and back. What's it to you how I choose to spend my downtime? Especially with my wards, who I trained to help the tribe.”

Franwil was not intimidated by his size. She put her hands on her waist and looked up. “Duty is doing what is needed. Leadership is finding what is needed. That's why you cannot be trusted, chronman.”

James choked. “Not be trusted? Are you kidding me? After everything I've done for you?”

“We were peaceful and happy for six generations before you arrived. Now, we have lost our home and many loved ones. Tell me what you've done for us so far.”

Her words hit James in the gut. The anger faded, and, briefly, he saw himself through her eyes. He looked to his right, at his right hand raised high in the air. It had unconsciously formed a fist. He dropped his arms and shook his head. “I'm sorry, Oldest,” he said finally, ashamed. “Elise and I owe a debt to the Elfreth.”

“One she is repaying and you are not, chronman.”

He nodded. “I will do better.”

Behind Franwil's shoulder, Smitt's ghost walked into the room and stared at him with feigned surprise and interest. James wondered where the other ghosts were. Ever since Smitt had appeared, the others had faded into the background. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the apparitions of the Nazi soldier and Grace. Even Sasha, whom he still saw once in a while, had pretty much faded from view ever since he returned to the Elfreth.

Franwil pointed at the door. “The kitchen staff needs help moving stores down to feed all the refugees. Make yourself useful. Go help them.”

“Yes, Oldest.”

As he walked out the door, the hallucination of his dead best friend fell in alongside him. “A year ago, you were a Tier-1 chronman running some of the most important salvages in the solar system. Now you are the kitchen help. How did you get yourself into this situation, James?”

“I'd rather be the kitchen help than do that shit job again.”

Smitt grinned. “No, my friend. You only think that.”

James tried to ignore the ghost as he walked down the stairs toward the storage area. However, Smitt's words bothered him. Inside, he knew his friend was right. It was one thing to hate what you did but know you were making a difference. It was another thing entirely to feel useless and unneeded. James's gut twisted into knots. He didn't know how he got to this place, but somehow, he had fallen into a deeper hole than he ever had back at the agency.

Black abyss, he needed a drink.

 

TWENTY-EIGHT

R
IPPLES

“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this,” Levin said for the sixth time. He knew his complaints were falling on deaf ears, but he felt an innate need to keep saying that until he got his way or it was too late. Since he was bringing up to Grace her carefully-devised plan, he knew exactly how futile his efforts were. After all, the
Frankenstein
was already at the jump point on the sun's side of the Main Belt.

Levin wouldn't have allowed a job like this during his auditor days, but it was no longer his call. Grace was his handler now, and even though he wasn't fully on board with the way she ran his jobs, he couldn't argue the results.

In the past week, he had run three smaller jobs. He had doubts about the planning of every single job, but all three had been executed perfectly. There had been some things she had to adjust on the fly, but overall, Grace Priestly was flawless, and he had learned not to question her decisions. Well, most of them.

“Which part aren't you comfortable with?” Grace quipped. “The part where you're jumping into the middle of an all-out brawl between the Core Planets and the Outer Rim colonies or the part where there's a ChronoCom outpost within spitting distance?”

“I'm actually more concerned about salvaging from a not-dead-end time line. The target survived the scenario. The outpost defenders fought off the Core Planets' boarding party.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “You really are married to my Time Laws.”

“And we're bending quite a few, if not outright breaking them. I'm just saying. There's a lot of questionable variables here. I'm jumping directly into a hot zone. What if someone sees me floating in space? What if someone in the station sees me using my bands and survives? What if—”

Grace raised a hand. “Hush.” Then she ticked her fingers down one at a time. “Four, three, two, one…”

The room turned yellow, and Levin became temporarily disoriented. When he came to, he was treated to a bright and eerie light show in absolute silence. Blossoms of explosions erupted from all sides, leaving behind broken and twisted hulks of metal. Streaks of yellow fire and white-hot beams sliced through the backdrop of black space. A battle was at full pitch, with hundreds of ships on each side buzzing around in an angry and chaotic melee. There were ships of all sizes, small fighters in formation strafing and dogfighting large, older, Hades-class flagships belching choruses of rockets and lasers. There was so much happening that it threatened to overwhelm his senses, and Levin found himself just staring perplexedly at the hauntingly beautiful scene.

“Focus, Auditor. Look for the Bastion.”

“I don't see it. Did we miscalculate the jump point?”

“I had to jump you just to the fringe of its location. Work your way in carefully. This job will require a bit more finesse, none of that bumbling you've given me so far.”

The year was 2301, and this was one of the first of many massive battles waged between the Core Planets of Earth, Mars, and Venus against the newly rich and powerful Outer Rim colonies. Many historians considered this conflict the turning point of humanity's decline. Their species had stopped exploring and pushing the boundaries of space and turned inward against itself. Levin considered it the nail in the coffin. The Gas Wars of 2377 were just the victors of the Core Conflicts fighting over the spoils.