Time Siege (40 page)

“How many of ours dead from the main fight?” Titus asked as he ordered more cots to be brought in.

Elise smiled. “Nineteen.”

He turned to her, surprised. “That's all? Well done, Mist Queen.”

“Stop calling me that,” she said, but she had to admit she liked it just a bit. For the first time since she'd become the Oldest of the Elfreth, she actually felt like a leader. Between the victory today and the successful rescue, things were finally starting to look up for her people. Now, if she could figure out what to do with James—

“Oldest,” Rima said, running up to her. “Please come quickly!”

“What is it?”

“Just come! Hurry!” The girl took off before she could say another word. Elise ran after her as they went down a level to the barricade floor and headed toward the north end of the building. A crowd had formed near the main barricade. They parted ways before her until she saw the source of the commotion.

Elise gasped. “What in Gaia is going on!”

 

THIRTY-EIGHT

R
OCK
B
OTTOM

James grimaced as he tilted his head back and held the flask upside down over his open mouth. It was the last of the shine from their excursion at the garage. No matter; he knew Chawr and the rest of his crew were rationing their portions. They wouldn't mind sharing with their mentor. Why should they? They looked up to him.

He stood up and hummed to himself, feeling the room sway under his feet. He closed his eyes and enjoyed this sensation of falling, of not being in control. The drink was hitting him a little harder than usual. He leaned against the wall as he stumbled his way down the stairwell toward the Elfreth mess hall. His AI band told him he was two hours past last meal, but he was an elder. They'd find something for him.

A few of the tribe passing by shot him awkward glances and then averted their eyes. It reminded him of the treatment he had received at the Tilted Orbit and Never Late during his chronman days. He scowled. He was no longer a chronman. Why did people keep treating him so poorly, as if he was some sort of outcast? No matter where he was, people were just so unkind. James's veins boiled and he began to get angry.

He thought he had left those judging eyes back in that supposedly more civilized previous life. However, here among the savages—no, he wasn't supposed to call them that anymore—they treated him with just as much distrust. James spent the trip down the stairwell working himself into a rage at the unfairness of his life. Would any place ever accept him?

James made a last-minute decision as he passed the fifty-sixth floor to detour inside and find his flyguards. He didn't need food right now, he needed another drink. He continued along to the smithy, where the flyguards bunked with a few of the other specialized groups. He really should have gotten food first, but he had other priorities right now.

Bria and Dox were in their shared quarters going over the construction schedule for the elevator bank Grace and Titus had designed for the building. The two of them stared as he stumbled in. They looked worried. Worried and mistrustful. That set James off even more. These flyguards were supposed to be his people, his crew. For them to look at and treat him the same way the rest of the Elfreth did was a betrayal. He was their mentor!

He was about to dress them down when he decided to get to the point. “Where's the rest of the shine we brewed back at the garage?”

Neither would meet his eye. Bria looked down at her hands in her lap while Dox stared hard at the ground. Neither said a word.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Elder…” Bria began.

“Oldest Franwil told us we weren't to give you more,” said Dox.

The simmering anger that had been nipping at James since he left his quarters increased. However, he kept it in check and forced a smile. “Come on, guys, it's me. I've taught you everything you know. Help your elder out.”

“But Oldest Franwil said—”

“Who cares what Franwil said?” James snapped. He stopped himself and struggled to remain calm. “Just give me a little of the shine. My back is acting up. That's all I'm asking.” Indeed, his back had been hurting all morning. The little tweaks of pain sometimes became so debilitating it hurt to get out of bed. Only the booze helped him get through some of the worse moments. He took a step toward them. Bria and Dox, twenty and sixteen, respectively, looked frightened.

Finally, Bria pointed at the desk. “Bottom drawer, Elder.”

James opened the two bottom drawers and rummaged through the contents until he found a dented flask. He hefted it in his hand and swished it around. Half-filled at best. It would have to do.

“Thanks, my flyguards.” He grinned. “I'll see you guys tomorrow.”

James waited until he left the room before taking a swig, feeling the warmth flow through his body and the edge in his nerves pulled back. He took another swig and stuffed the flask in his pocket. He had barricade duty now, whenever now was. He just knew that he was supposed to report down to the north barricade tonight, and looking out the window, it was dark outside. Barricade duty was just another job that he was way overqualified for; one more indignation on the long list stacked upon him.

Smitt appeared at the stairwell exit leading to the barricade floor and held up his hands. “Look, my friend. I'm dead, so listening to me might just mean you're crazy, but heading down there is a straight-up-awful idea.”

“I'm fine,” James said. “I'm needed at the barricade. Finally some people around here need me.”

“Not like this they don't.”

The Flatiron fight standing watch at the bottom turn of the barricade-floor stairwell looked at him and then averted his eyes.

“What the abyss are you staring at?” James snapped, his anger lighting up in an instant. Everyone was giving him attitude these days. What a bunch of ingrates. Sure, when he could salvage, at a huge cost to his health, they made him an elder and looked up to him. Now that he couldn't, they all turned on him as if he were a pariah.

“Look, James,” Smitt said. “This isn't why they're all avoiding you.”

“And you!” James turned on him, yelling. His voice carried up the tall narrow stairwell. “This is all your fault!”

James brushed past the fight and kicked the rusty metal door, his foot passing through Smitt's body, slamming the door open with a loud crack. Dozens of eyes followed him as he stomped his way through the hallway to the north barricade. At first, he tried to ignore them, but with each passing step, his anger reached new heights, and he began to throw those looks back in their faces. He stared them down until they looked away and pretended he didn't exist. That was the way he liked it.

The north barricade was silent when he got there. He walked up the stairs to the ramparts and nonchalantly nodded at the five others manning the parapet. No one acknowledged him, including the two Elfreth guardians. It was just another insult to gnaw away at James. This time, he chose to ignore the slight and do his duty. He looked over the side at the wide bridge connecting the All Galaxy to the adjacent building and overlooking the tri-section of Broadway and Twenty-second Street.

On the other side, seven tribes were camped on the bridge. They were spread out all the way across and occupied half of the floor of the River Ford building on the other side. Most of the allied tribes had moved to the lower floors or taken residence in the buildings surrounding the All Galaxy. The new ones—and they streamed in almost daily—were placed here until more permanent arrangements could be found. All in all, it was bound to be a quiet, slow night.

“You, Elfreth.”

James heard footsteps approach as someone walked up the stairs. He turned and saw Maanx, the little snot. James had met the man a few times, and his disdain for all things Elfreth had been obvious from the beginning, worse now that Elise had become the center focus of this budding alliance. The self-important young man—he had to be in his early twenties—walked down the parapet, nodding to his three people and looking dismissively at the three Elfreth.

He turned to James. “You're late. That might be acceptable for your tribe, but the Flatirons do not tolerate such behavior. I especially will not tolerate this at the barricades.”

Smitt appeared in front of James and leaned in. “Apologize and let it go. There is nothing to gain by arguing with a young hothead trying to make a point. You were late.”

James sort of listened to his dead friend and tried to take a conciliatory tone. “I had something come up. It won't happen again.”

“Perhaps we should have some of our commanders instruct your guardians how a good fight crew is run.”

Was this kid purposely pushing his buttons? “Like I said,” James said, in a slow controlled voice. “It won't happen again.”

“It's no wonder your tribe lost your tower.”

Smitt, shaking his head, stepped to the side and waved him forward with his hand. “Do what you have to do.”

James froze and the blood rushed into his head. He looked Maanx up and down. He was tall and brawny, but his hands and face were smooth, partially from youth, but more likely from lack of experience. James knew guardians who were hardened veterans by the age of eighteen, and those who joined the ranks early had the scars, broken bones, and temperament to show for it. This boy had none of the three. “Who's going to teach my people? You?”

“You're the one they call chronman. Maybe I'll teach you right now.” The young man, arrogant and perpetually angry, walked up to James and stared down at him as self-important bullies often did. James wasn't easily intimidated by large youths. He held his ground even as the taller man's face came so close to him that their noses almost touched.

“Leave the barricade. You are not worthy to stand among the fights.”

“Worthy, eh?” James chuckled. “That's rich coming from a kid whose father is the teacher. Did he give you your command as a birthday present?”

The kid's face turned red. He grabbed the front of James's shirt. Left-handed. Kept a low guard. Favored his right foot. In one smooth motion, James trapped the boy's hand clutching his shirt, chopped down on Maanx's wrist with the forearm of his free hand, and spun, sending the young commander crashing headfirst into the wooden floor of the parapet.

He had to give the kid credit; Maanx recovered quickly. In an instant, the young commander was up. He lunged at James, throwing a wild haymaker. Maybe the shine had dulled some of James's senses or the kid was quicker than James had given him credit for, but Maanx's attacks came close to their marks. Close, but not quite.

James stepped to the side, feeling his opponent slip and stumble. As he did, he shoulder-checked Maanx, sending him flying off the side of the barricade. The young commander fell four meters and landed on his side with a thud. He groaned, but got to his feet a second later. Resilient. Stupid, though. James jumped off the parapet and landed on his feet right in front of him.

Maanx pulled out a knife and lunged. James dodged a slash at his midsection and popped the kid in the face. Maanx came again, this time trying to spear him awkwardly with the knife. James toyed with him, kicking the boy's ankle as he came in, sending him tumbling to the ground. The boy wasn't without talent; he was just raw. There was something familiar about the way he moved as well. He had some sort of training, though it was rudimentary.

“Is this the best the fights have, commander?”

Maanx roared and charged in again with two wild swings. James dodged the first and blocked the second with his arm, sliding in and throwing boy onto his back. James dropped a knee until it pressed down on the young commander's cheek. He caught Maanx's knife arm as the boy swung desperately, bent his wrist in awkwardly and plucked the knife out of his hand, then shifted his weight to the knee on the young commander's head and pressed down. A guttural cry escaped his lips.

“What in Gaia is going on!” Elise yelled so loudly her voice echoed around the cavernous room.

James saw her sprinting toward him with Rima at her side. He got off of Maanx and offered his hand. To his surprise, the boy accepted it. James pulled him to his feet and leaned in close. “Your footwork sucks. Next time, I'll show you how to properly hold a blade.” He handed the knife back.

Elise got in between them and pushed James back. “What is wrong with you?”

He tried to brush it off. “I'm just showing Maanx a few tricks.”

She turned to him. “Are you all right, commander?”

Maanx, still holding his wrist, nodded. He looked down at the knife in his hand. “The chronman and I were just running exercises.”

Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them. James offered a small nod of thanks and then turned his attention to Elise, who jabbed a finger into his face. “We didn't mean to make a fuss,” James said.

“Don't try to lie to me.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, this is getting out of control.”

“What's the problem?” he replied. “No one got hurt.”

She turned to the guardians standing in a semicircle behind her. “Escort Elder James to his room. Place a guard there until further notice.”

“Now hang on a minute,” he growled. “You can't do that.”

She rounded on him. “Don't you say a word.”

“After all I've sacrificed for you and these savages,” he yelled. “This is how you treat me?”

Elise slapped him. Hard. James's head swiveled to the side from the impact, and he saw stars. With a snarl, he stuck his face into hers and was about to tell her what sort of ingrate she was for mistreating and ignoring him when he saw the tears welling in her eyes. Something in him broke. It felt like a punch in the gut. The air in his chest abandoned him. His knees went weak and he fell on all fours.