Time Siege (11 page)

 

TEN

M
Y
F
RIEND

James Griffin-Mars shivered as he stood watch on Outpost U-B at the northern edge of the ChronoCom Academy grounds on Tethys. The Outpost was nothing more than a rectangular shelter with four walls, a roof, and a trickle charger that barely had enough levels to keep one band charging at a time, let alone an oxygen band, heat band, comm band, and AI band. Not only that, James had to reserve enough of the charge to power his water purifier, ration utility, and in the end, put enough power into the rover to truck his way back to the Academy two hundred kilometers to the south.

This was all part of the box test, the fifth that James had had to survive in five years and one of the most difficult of the tier curriculum. Each year, the test got a little harder, the resources a little more scarce, and the stay in the box a little longer.

This last time, James had to survive twenty days off five days' rations and water. It was a difficult test, but one designed for the initiates to succeed if they managed their meager resources wisely. However, most people failed, with over 90 percent requiring extraction before the twentieth day. The fatality rate hovered around 19 percent.

So far this year, none in his class had succeeded in passing the fifth box test; James was intent on being the first. He was near the end, having survived eighteen days, but was risking failure. He had miscalculated some of his earlier metrics and was scrimping on some of his levels, trying to play catch-up. Right now, he was barely surviving by turning the levels of his oxygen band only high enough for labored breathing, and his heat band just warm enough not to go into hypothermia. However, in doing so, he had let the levels of his comm and AI band lapse so he wouldn't be able to call for help if he were to concede the test, nor could the Academy administrators track his life signs. It was foolish, but James would rather go all out to pass the test than have his odds of success diminished by those level-guzzling safety nets.

Lying on the hard floor of the outpost, shivering and barely conscious, James stared out the porthole at the almost painfully bright reflective icy surface of the moon. Two more days. Forty-eight more hours. The rover required sixteen hours of charge to cover that distance. His oxygen band needed fourteen more to sustain this level of breathing. His heat band … James felt his consciousness leave him as he closed his eyes and embraced the darkness.

“Wake up, James.”

He opened his eyes. The frozen plains of Tethys were still there. Bright, uniform, white. Barren. Except now, there was a small black speck in the distance. He couldn't tell what it was. A vehicle? Hallucination? God, for all he knew.

“It's not God. You're not dead yet, my friend.”

James rolled off his side onto his back and sat up. To his left, Smitt sat on the floor with his back against the wall, chewing on a ration bar. James hoped to the abyss that wasn't one of his. If Smitt had decided to munch on his food, James was going to kick his ass. He had only five left, barely enough to survive the next two days and the return trip to the Academy.

He sat up and felt the room sway. He took a long, slow, labored breath. “What are you doing here, Smitt? If the admins notice you're here, I'll get disqualified. I'm not taking the damn test again because you're bored for company. I swear—”

“Relax, James.” His best friend chuckled. “No one knows I'm here. You powered down your AI band, remember? That was stupid, by the way.”

“I need every edge I can get.” James palmed the wall with both hands and got onto unsteady feet. He looked out the window again. The black speck was still there, growing larger. He turned around and stepped over Smitt on the way to the wash basin. The small container had a fifth of a liter of purified water. James drank a third of that, letting the water sit in his mouth for a good thirty counts before letting it slide down his throat. He took another deep breath.

He turned back to face Smitt. “I can't talk too long. I don't have the oxygen to waste. You can't stay here either.” He paused. “How did you get here, anyway?”

Smitt hopped onto his feet and wiped his hands, scattering the crumbs of the ration bar on the floor. He had always had been a messy eater, though James thought it was cruel to be so wasteful in front of him while he was testing. Smitt walked over and picked up the rest of the water and guzzled it down before James could stop him.

“Ah,” he said, smacking his lips. “Nothing like cool refreshing ice water to wash down a lunch made from recycled plastics.”

James stared at the empty container, stunned. “You just drank the rest of my water.” He considered putting his hands around his best friend's throat and choking the life out of him.

“No, my friend. You only think so. Look again.” Smitt pointed at the empty container in his hand.

Smitt's words slapped James in the face. He looked down. The water had refilled. How was this possible? “What did you…?” He stared at his friend. Funny, Smitt looked much older than he remembered. They were at the Academy. Smitt would be about nineteen right now.
Would be. No, he is.
James noticed Smitt's arms. He wasn't wearing any bands. How was he surviving out here? What was going on?

Then he remembered. This test was a long time ago. A lot had happened since then. James did survive this test. He became a chronman. “Smitt…” He looked back at his friend. “You … you died.”

Smitt shook his head. “I'm sorry we never made it to Europa together.”

“You're not actually here. Neither of us are. You never were.” James looked around the room. “No, you were.” He walked over to the wall with the porthole. The black speck was distinguishable now. It was a rover speeding along the plains, getting larger and kicking up a trail of ice dust as it approached the outpost. He turned back and looked at Smitt. “The real you is there, aren't you? You're coming to check up on me.”

Smitt walked up next to James and looked out the window. “You didn't call in for six checkpoints and your AI band was down for the last two days. The admins assumed, and very accurately, I might add, that you were probably conserving levels and that you were willing to risk retrieval in order to finish the test. They were right, you brave, fucking idiot. Those assholes were applauding your gutsy call even as they wagered among themselves if you were going to survive. I said to abyss with it and came to check up on you.”

James closed his eyes and dug into his past. So many buried memories, so many that he wanted to forget. This wasn't one of them. But he had forgotten. Why? He looked up at his best friend. “I had failed.”

Smitt nodded. “I probably got to you four to five hours before your levels gave out. You were already unconscious for abyss knows how long. I brought you back to the Academy.”

“You got reprimanded for coming out here,” James said.

Smitt grinned. “Screw them. You lived.”

But Smitt didn't. Kuo killed him for helping James. He knew the risks, but James was selfish. If James had truly cared for Smitt the way his friend had cared for him, James would have cut off all contact with Smitt once he had become a fugitive. Instead, Smitt risked his life helping James inside ChronoCom and paid the ultimate price.

James felt his throat catch as Smitt patted him on the back and headed toward the exit. “Take care of yourself, my friend. Don't let my death go to waste, and when I say that, I mean don't avenge me.” He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him.

James ran to the window and saw Smitt's figure disappear into the distance, seemingly fading into the air the farther he walked from the outpost. A second later, the rover zipped past the porthole. James heard the door slam open and saw a much-younger-looking Smitt run into the room.

“James,” he squeaked in a high-pitched voice. “Fuck, you're unconscious. Damn stubborn idiot. I knew you'd pull something like this … Snap out of it!” He slapped the unconscious James. “Come on, don't you die on me and leave me to fend for myself, you asshole. I knew you couldn't survive without me.” Smitt slapped him again. “Wake up!”

*   *   *

James opened his eyes just in time to see Grace hovering over him, her pruned hands held up in the air.

“I'm up, I'm up,” he said.

She brought her hand down on the side of his cheek, ringing his ears. She hit him so hard she nursed her hand afterward. “I knew your head was as hard as a rock.”

“What did you do that for?” He grimaced, rubbing the side of his face.

“You woke me up with your flailing and yelling. And because I wanted to.” She bared her teeth in a wicked grin. She noted the sweat pouring down his brow and dabbed him with a rag. “Hallucinations again?”

Grace moved out of his way as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He buried his head in his hands and took a deep breath. He hadn't thought about Smitt too often over the last six months. To be honest, he had had other things on his mind with Sasha back in his life and the Co-op hunting them down. However, that moment with the bartender had triggered something.

At first, he thought he just missed his best friend, his only friend, really, over the past twenty years. It was more than that, though, he realized, as the feeling lingered and grew. It wasn't just because he missed Smitt; it was because James had never buried him. He had never properly said goodbye. His relationship with Smitt felt unresolved.

So many things pulled at him: Sasha, Elise, the Elfreth, the Co-op, the drinking, and now the ghost of his friend. He was a man trying to tread water as waves crashed over him. Every time he thought he could take a breath, a new weight came and dragged him underwater again. He felt as if he were going to crack. James stood up and walked to the door. He knew of only one way to relieve the pressure.

“Where are you going?” Grace asked sharply.

He didn't look back as he opened the door and stormed out. “I just need to go for a walk.”

“Don't you think about…”

James didn't hear the rest as he raced down the hallway. He didn't consciously know where he was going, but his body knew, as if somehow that would fool his psyche, or his consciousness. He moved quickly down two levels to the pleasure lair, the lowest main floor in Bulk's Head, ignoring the catcalls from the local brothels and the music playing from the discos and lounges.

He found himself standing in front of a small dinky bar nestled in the far corner of one of the seedier corridors of Bulk's Head. He didn't know how he had found this place; he certainly hadn't been here before. A small LED sign blinked the word “Moonshined” in bright purple letters. It was dark inside. He peered through the only window next to the door and saw that this little shithole was long and narrow, with barely anything more than a counter and a row of stools. Definitely not an establishment people went to, to socialize. As far as he could tell, there was no one inside. It was perfect.

James slid the heavy rusted door open and walked in, surprising the bartender, a large homely woman with the front half of her hair shaved and the back in a long queue ponytail. She must be from Larissa, one of the more backwater colonies of Neptune, home of a colony of Chinese descendants who preached blood purity.

He sat on the first stool, and to his credit, second-guessed his decision before opening his mouth. He killed any resistance inside him quickly. “Whiskey. I don't care what kind.” A plastic cup appeared on the counter and the bartender sloppily poured him a shot. He grabbed the bottle before she could take it away. “Leave it.”

James held the plastic cup almost reverently. He noticed his shaking hands as he brought it to his lips. Something in him was screaming. That small voice; barely perceptible, like a tiny buzzing in his ear.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and threw the contents back.

The bad whiskey burned his throat and made his chest tighten. He felt his body physically react as this calming sensation washed over him. He felt like he was in control again, that all the shit he's had to deal with this past year wasn't drowning him, tearing him apart piece by piece. He poured himself another drink and closed his eyes, letting the harsh burn of the alcohol wash through his body. Like a purifying fire, it dulled the pain.

“You're supposed to report to the Hops before you make your way here,” a familiar voice quipped.

James sprayed his drink all over the counter. He ended up coughing in fits as he tried to catch his breath. It couldn't be. He squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths. When he opened them, he stared straight ahead at the shelf of bottles. He had only had two drinks. He had to get ahold of himself. He looked to his left.

Smitt was sitting on the stool next to him. He tsked at the bottle. “If you're going to fall off the wagon, at least do it with good swill. Mark the occasion. I bet they make that crap somewhere in the back room.”

James didn't know the details of what had happened to his former handler. All he knew was that the Valta securitate had tortured him. According to Levin, Smitt didn't give anything away. To the end, his friend had stayed loyal and had paid the price for it by dying at Kuo's hands. James clenched his fist and turned back to the bottle. Smitt wasn't supposed to be here. He was dead. Why did all the dead things in his life keep coming back? “The past is already dead,” he muttered.

“You only think that, my friend,” said Smitt, leaning into James and plucking the bottle from the counter to pour himself a drink. James looked over and saw Smitt holding the plastic cup and examining it under the dirty yellow light. He shook his head. “What I wouldn't give for real glass.” He handed the cup to his left, where Sasha, sitting next to him, took it. Before James could stop her, she put the plastic cup of whiskey to her mouth and drank it.