The Split Second (23 page)
“May the spirits of the ancients protect me.”
Shan rolled up her Sleeve and began to climb inside.
274 West 12
th
Street, New York, New York
“Had enough, Draniac?” Thibadeau Freck stood above the bruised and bloodied Fixer, fists curled. “Don’t make me embarrass you in front of everyone.”
Becker took a deep and painful breath, lifted himself off the ground, and spit a broken tooth directly at his former friend. “It’s you who’s gonna get embarrassed.”
A chorus of “doh’s” and laughter shot up among the crowd gathered around the two combatants. Just moments earlier, six members of The Tide had washed up on this roof deck, and Becker’s first instinct had been to pull out his Sticks & Stones™ and plant himself between the insurgents and the Time Being. Thibadeau had waved off his henchman, though, and challenged Becker to take him on
mano a mano.
“Please, gentlemen,” the Time Being calmly intervened. “I’m sure we can find a better way to resolve our differences.”
The owner of this roof deck was sitting on a bench, guarded by two Tide members—a Flavor Miner and an unemployed Wordsmith whom Becker recognized as the same who tried to rough him up that night at The Slumber Party, when he discovered Thibadeau had joined The Tide.
“I got a better way!” cackled the burly Miner. He peeled back the top of his bodysuit to reveal arms rippling with muscles, along with the flavor-stained smock of his profession.
“
Let’s toss him over the side with Thing One and Thing Two!”
Thing One and Thing Two was a reference to a pair of bound and gagged employees of The Seems: the Keeper of the Records—who was sporting a freshly blackened eye—and much to Fixer #37’s amazement, the unconscious Lucien Chiappa. But Becker didn’t have time to wonder how and why his colleague was still alive—he was too concerned with keeping himself in the same state.
“Half of the Duty Roster is on its way to New York right now.” Becker wiped the sweat and a piece of his lip from the corner of his mouth. “So I suggest you guys blow this taco stand before I break out my A game.”
“You are a very bad liar, Draniac.” Thibadeau popped Becker right in the noggin, causing him to see stars yet again. “No one is coming to New York to save you, because all of your transmissions have been jammed. And don’t forget that I kicked your derriere so many times in Fight or Flight it was beginning to hurt my foot.”
There was a grain of truth to what Thibadeau was saying. “Fight or Flight” was required coursework at the IFR, and the two had sparred countless times under the auspices of Fixer Blaque. But in all their matches in the rubber-walled arena, Becker had never been able to overcome Thib.
“Talk is cheap,” the Fixer threatened. “I’ve learned a lot since those days.”
“As have I.”
Thibadeau swung with a kick, but this time his former classmate tumbled, tucked, rolled, and launched himself at the Frenchman, catching him square in the jaw with an elbow and staggering him back toward the ledge of the roof. This sent The Tide into a second round of guffaws.
“Need some help, boss?” asked the Flavor Miner, cracking his scarred knuckles.
“No,
merci
.” Thib spat his own glob of blood from his lip, then raised his fists in front of his face. “It’s time for the
coup de
grâce
.”
Like a cat, Thibadeau feinted his way behind the Fixer, then applied a pythonlike choke hold. For a second, quiet reigned over the rooftop, interrupted only by the combatants’ labored breathing and the occasional honk of a taxicab below. Becker felt Thib’s hot breath against his ear, and he was certain it was to deliver one last taunt. But instead . . .
“Stop fighting, Draniac,” Thibadeau whispered. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“Thanks . . . for . . . nothing . . .”
“Believe me, my people will kill you if you get in their way. Your only chance to stay alive is say uncle, and say it now.”
Becker stopped struggling and wrenched his neck around to look directly into his old friend’s face. Behind the beard, behind the necklace of the cresting wave, behind even the betrayal of planting the Time Bomb, the Fixer saw genuine concern. And he knew that in some sick and twisted way, Thib really was trying to protect him.
“Uncle.”
Lucien Chiappa’s eyes slowly opened and surveyed the bizarre scene that unfolded before him. He knew he’d been administered some kind of sedative before his trip out of Meanwhile— the fruity taste on his lips told him it was probably Knockout Punch—but the last place in the world he expected to be when he regained consciousness was on a rooftop in Manhattan.
“Please be patient, mademoiselle,” said a bearded young Frenchman who looked like he’d just been in a fist fight. “We’ll be ready in a matter of moments.”
“No hurry.” An elegant-looking woman with long gray hair crossed her legs and sat back against the slats of a bench. “I have all the Time in The World.”
Chiappa recognized the Frenchman as Thibadeau Freck, but the sight of the older woman was a stunner. As an expert on Time, Chiappa had voraciously studied the life and work of Sophie Temporale, and though he’d always dreamed of meeting her (he even spent a year casually searching for her whereabouts), he was unprepared for the emotions that swelled within him at the very sight of the Time Being.
“What are they doing?” Sophie was watching a wiry kid in glasses and a raven-haired young woman run cords to and from a square metallic plate on the ground.
“We’re setting up a Calling Card,” answered Thibadeau. “There’s someone who wishes to have a word with you.”
“Why doesn’t this someone just come see me in person?”
“He is a very private man—so much so that his identity is hidden even from us. And I might also add that you are not exactly the easiest person to find.”
The Time Being glanced to her left, where Becker Drane and a guy who looked like he’d stuck his finger in an electric socket were bound and gagged. “I had no idea I was so popular.”
“I’m sure Fixer Drane informed you of what happened in the Department of Time today?”
“He did.”
“Despite what he may have told you, our intention was never to harm The World—or anyone else, for that matter—we simply needed a way to draw you out of hiding.”
Once again Mr. Chiappa’s blood simmered that The Tide would play dice with The World just to achieve its political ends, but it served no purpose to reveal that he’d regained consciousness. So he remained motionless as Freck continued.
“We were worried when you did not appear after the initial blast, but thanks to my old friend’s ingenuity, our plan came together nonetheless.”
Chiappa watched in silence as the Time Being shook her head, then sadly looked off toward the setting sun. “There have always been differences in The Seems about how best to manage The World. But it shouldn’t have come to this.”
Thibadeau was slow to answer, but the Wordsmith was more than ready to sell the party line. “The Powers That Be have refused to listen to reason and are unwilling to accept any adjustments to the Plan. Someone had to take matters into their own hands.”
“Arg . . . napn . . . eklc . . .” Fixer Drane was trying to speak, and after furiously shaking his head back and forth enough times he was finally able to wriggle free of the gag. “All just to find her? Was it also your plan to age The World into dust?”
Smiles and chuckles shot between the Tide members.
“Don’t worry, Draniac,” assured Thibadeau. “The Split Second is safely contained.”
“Then how do you explain why the Essence of Time hit Alaska not twenty minutes ago? Or the Isle of Madagascar?”
This seemed to catch Thibadeau utterly by surprise, and not in a good way.
“You lie.”
“Then why are you shivering?” Becker knew that, just like himself, Thibadeau’s 7
th
Sense was firing on all cylinders. They were both trained in the art, and both would be feeling the impending doom of the Split Second in a major way. “Or why don’t you take a look at my Blinker and see for yourself.”
Thibadeau reached down and pulled the communications device off Becker’s belt. Even though he hadn’t used one in over a year, it only took him a minute to toggle to Missions in Progress and confirm what the Fixer had said.
“Nice job saving The World, bro.” Becker’s smile was even more caustic with a missing incisor. “With friends like you, who needs en—”
“Button it up!” shouted the Flavor Miner, who then smacked Becker across the face with the back of an open hand. Thibadeau nodded toward the edge of the roof, and his henchman roughly dragged the boy away, chair and all.
It took all of Mr. Chiappa’s composure not to come to the aid of his fellow Fixer, but he had a plan of his own, and it was already in motion. Besides, Thibadeau Freck seemed shaken by the news he’d just received.
“Don’t be unnerved,
mon cher
.” The black-haired girl who had thus far let her beauty do the talking rose and joined the Frenchman. “Even if there’s been some collateral damage, no revolution has ever succeeded without a cost.”
“This is too expensive, Lena.”
“If it makes you feel better,” the girl stroked the back of Thibadeau’s hair, “let’s send Ben back to check on the Containment Field.”
The one Tide member who had remained in the increasing shadows stepped into the light. Like the others, he wore a black bodysuit and wave pendant, but he had yet to remove his mask. He was different in one other respect as well . . . Big Ben was literally eight feet tall.
“It’s no problem, sir.” The softness of the giant’s voice belied his gargantuan size. “Besides, I always prefer to be close to the Essence.”
Again, Lena ran her hand through Thibadeau’s wavy brown hair. “Satisfied?”
“When I know the Split Second is safe.” Thibadeau turned back to his humungous comrade.
“Allez!”
Big Ben saluted, then pulled a modified Skeleton Key from a cord around his neck. He inserted it into a section of roof, and a blue circle drew itself across the bricks and mortar. Seconds later, the masked monstrosity was gone.
Beeep! Beeep!
“We got a signal, boss.”
Everyone turned to see the wiry kid with glasses leaning over the Calling Card. From his hoop earring and seafaring tattoos, Chiappa thought he might be a Drifter. “Just give me a second to fix the vertical hold.”
The kid made a slight adjustment to a dial, and with a surge of electricity the image of a figure they now knew to be a man materialized onto the roof. It was almost as if he was actually standing there among them, except for the fact that the face and body were masked by a digital fuzz. He turned directly toward the Time Being and made a slight but courteous bow.
“Allow me to introduce myself, Ms. Temporale . . .” The speaker’s voice was as garbled and broken up as the image. “My name is Triton.”
27
. In Olde Seemsian terminology, “Here” refers to The Seems while “There” refers to The World. See also Appendix B, in
The Glitch in Sleep
.
28
. Jayson Handry, Founder of the Fixers.
From his spot by the edge of the roof deck, Becker Drane craned his head to hear the words of the leader of The Tide, but the distance and the street noise made it nearly impossible. It didn’t help that the Flavor Miner who’d been assigned to guard him kept whispering sweet nothings in his ear.
“It must really burn you up, eh, Fixer boy?” The Miner stank of sweat and stale seasoning. “That everything you’ve done today was all part of
our
plan.”
“Just don’t let me get to my Toolkit, Butter Pecan.” Becker motioned to his replacement Toolmaster 3001™, which had been discarded by some bags of birdseed. “I got a can of buttwhuppin’ in there with your name written all over it.”
“Big words for a little man.”
“Little words for a big man.”
Becker knew that though the Miner was impressive in size, he was nowhere near as well trained as Thibadeau Freck, and if the Fixer could goad him into action, there might be a chance to escape.
“Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t you take these ropes off and we’ll settle this out back like real men.”