Time Siege (43 page)

Kuo took an elevator—installed by her engineers—to the sixty-seventh floor and walked down the newly-rebuilt hallways of her base of operations on Earth. She clicked her tongue in disapproval when she noticed Gav, her personal assistant, wasn't at his desk outside her office. The man should have known she was returning today and have been at his post. Not being ready was unforgivable. She would have to rescind his contract once it was up for review. She walked into her office and saw Gav standing in front of her desk addressing someone sitting in her chair.

“What is going on?” she began, and then stopped. “Liaison. An unexpected privilege.” She shot Gav a furious glance as he bowed apologetically. He should have found a way to signal to her that one of the most powerful men in the solar system was waiting for her.

Sourn looked at her with open contempt as he swiveled her chair toward her. “Pour me a drink, Securitate. We need to have a talk.” He looked over at Gav. “That will be all.”

Gav bowed profusely before beating a hasty retreat out of the room. “My apologies, Senior,” he said softly as he passed.

“We'll discuss this afterward,” she replied.

“Don't be too hard on your assistant,” Sourn said after Gav left. “He had little choice but to attend to me when I decided to drop by.” He looked around. “Especially with this EMP fog hanging over the island. Fascinating piece of old-world technology.”

“What drink do you prefer, Liaison?” she asked, displaying her assortment of liquor.

“Sparkling wine if you have any,” he replied. “If not, I am content with beer. I have developed an enjoyment for ruck drinks in my time on this planet. If none is available, vodka neat will do.”

She poured two glasses of vodka and brought one over to him. She made sure to drink from her glass first. Sourn took a disdainful sniff of it before taking a sip. She stayed standing and at attention as he leaned back and studied her. He placed the glass on the desk and spoke. “I take it Young didn't give what you asked for.”

“We received a full supply requisition as needed to sustain the next two full cycles.”

“But no more monitors.”

“Afraid not, Liaison.”

He tapped his fingers on her desk. “Are you wondering why I'm here?”

“I have a good idea.”

Sourn leaned forward. “Your latest report. Trooper numbers have increased to 3,043 with another request for four hundred more to stand down two hundred twenty. One hundred ninety-three units of energy consumed, forty-six tons of consumables, and eighty-three deaths within the last seven days. Are these numbers accurate, Securitate?”

“If that's what I submitted, I stand by them.”

Sourn stood up, raising his voice. “For what? You've made headway on three blocks to Sixty-sixth Street on the west end and actually lost a block on the east, getting pushed back to”—he paused as he sorted through his AI module—“Seventy-fifth Street. That means you've acquired a net gain of two blocks. Is this a good use of Valta resources? Explain to me what the abyss is going on here!”

Kuo gritted her teeth. “I make no excuses for the performance of those under me, Liaison. However, the situation has become more complex than originally estimated.”

“Explain.”

Kuo spent the next thirty minutes updating Sourn on the recent developments in Manhattan. She cited not only the enemy's vastly superior numbers, which was expected, but that they had recently unified under one banner to combat the Co-op. Not only that, she detailed to Sourn the savages' recent and substantial technological and tactical gains. They were now simply better armed and organized than they had been just a short month ago.

There was a pregnant pause after she finished. She could see the vice president of Earth operations' mind race as he considered the circumstances. “How are they arming themselves?” he asked finally. “I can see them working together. Even savages could have figured that out, but the leap in tactics and technology is puzzling. Who is helping them? Are they trading with the black market?”

Kuo shook her head. “Valkyries are blockading the entire island. From the different types of weapon use we've uncovered, we believe they have a salvager. It happened once with James Griffin-Mars. He could be jumping for them again, or perhaps the wastelander tribes have found another salvager to supply them. According to the latest report, agency auditors did locate an illegal salvage in Madrid that could be linked. Also, some of the markings on the weapons we've recovered have been linked to a major ripple near the Main Asteroid Belt two months back.”

“Can your forces handle the situation without additional Valta reinforcements?” he asked.

“Not if enemy strength continues to grow, nor if ChronoCom continues to refuse additional monitors. The situation is becoming dire. My forces are already having trouble holding the blocks we do possess.”

“I am not happy with this status, Kuo.”

“Forgive me, Liaison. However, the situation has deteriorated to the point we may need to consider aborting the project. Capturing this temporal anomaly just might not be worth the expense anymore, regardless of contract morality.”

Sourn sighed. “Normally, I would agree. However, that is no longer possible.”

“Sir? Why not?”

“As you know, Valta recovered equipment from the Nutris Platform. It has come to our attention since then that the bacterial sequencer is DNA-locked to certain personnel. One of the sequencers in the past had caused a pandemic. Since then, the scientists locked use authorization of the bacterial sequencers to only a select few. All the scientists who had access to this particular sequencer in our possession perished with the Nutris Platform sinking, save one.”

“This temporal anomaly has access?”

“We have identified her as Elise Kim, one of the head biologists. She is the only human alive who can access this machine.”

“Couldn't we send another chronman back to grab and synthesize a sample of her DNA?”

“We've already tried that,” Sourn replied. “The sequencer requires a full-body DNA scan to authorize. We need the temporal anomaly, and we need her alive. Therefore, aborting the project is no longer an option.”

Kuo had a sinking feeling in her stomach. This information effectively locked her into completion or total failure. “I understand, sir. I could use another thousand Valta troopers.”

“We are resource-constrained as it is, Kuo. The war with the Radicati goes poorly. Make do with what you have. It should be more than enough.”

“Could you at least follow up with ChronoCom again? The situation is desperate.”

“I will see what I can do.” Sourn sighed. “I am disappointed in you, Senior Securitate. This will reflect on your review.”

“My apologies, sir,” she replied. “I will not let you down.”

“You already have, Kuo. This was supposed to be an easy project. The cost overrun has become criminal. How could you have failed so utterly, Securitate?”

“The savages have proven resilient, Liaison.”

“Enough excuses!” Sourn snapped.

Kuo felt her chest tighten. “I will see this project to fruition, sir.”

“For your sake, you had better. Remember, the fate of humanity depends on your success. Stop fucking up.” Sourn downed the last of the vodka and slammed the glass on the desk. He activated his environmental suit; the liaison had an aversion to Earth's environment. “Have my ship ready. I'm getting off this tainted planet as soon as possible. Don't even think you ever will until you finish this project.”

Kuo's eyes lingered on the door as Sourn slammed it shut behind him. This project had become an unmitigated disaster. Sourn had made it perfectly clear that her career within Valta was now at risk. Frustration bubbled from deep inside. These savages were not going to be the end of her. Kuo was going to complete this project if she had to kill every single last wastelander savage on this island.

 

FORTY-TWO

W
ITHDRAWAL

It was five days into James's Elise-imposed rehab and lockdown, and he was in hell. No, “hell” wasn't an adequate word for it. James had been through hell before. He had survived the excruciating training at the Academy, fought his way through hundreds of jumps into terrible times in the past, and had seen many of the few friends he had in his life perish one by one. Each of those afflictions had torn a piece of his soul apart, scarring him terribly, but none of that pain and suffering came close to the misery he experienced right now.

For the first time in nearly two decades, he was denying his body alcohol. Or more accurately, Elise and the rest of the Elfreth were denying it, and he hated them all for it. His tremors began two days after his last drink. At first, it was a familiar sensation, the slight shakes and feelings of anxiousness. It wasn't something he couldn't handle. He had dealt with it to varying degrees for years.

It hit him hard right before dawn of the fifth day. He had woken in a cold sweat. His body ached all over, though he wasn't sure if it was from the withdrawal or from that constant pain that had plagued him ever since his last jump. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, then nearly fell over. It was uncommon for him to have gone this long without a drink. In most of those cases, he had been focused on other matters, either on a salvage or some mission. Busy hands and a working mind helped keep the edge at bay. If push came to shove, he had discovered a little trick early on: that just a few small sips while on jobs kept the shakes down.

This wasn't the case now as he lay trapped in his room completely dry. He had all the time in the world on his hands and he felt every single second as he lay in a cold sweat. James's body screamed all over as if he had been beaten and tortured. He tasted blood on his lips, having chewed them while he slept. He rolled out of bed and staggered to the mirror on the wall, courtesy of Elise, who had it brought up yesterday.

“Good way to self-reflect,” she said.

James saw his gaunt reflection and the redness in his eyes. He touched his trembling hands to his cheeks and noticed how badly they shook. Ashamed of what he had become and terrified that these awful sensations were only going to get worse, he looked away.

He ran his hands along his chest and pressed them hard against his body, trying to will them to stay steady. His fingers itched, and no matter how much he rubbed them together, it was as if he couldn't quite satiate an itching sensation that was just out of reach. It was too much. James let out a snarl like a wild animal, giving into the pressure building inside him, begging for a release. He wanted to claw and scratch his fingernails along the walls to distract his nerves from the pain twisting inside his body.

James screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling the energy release. It felt good, briefly. A minute later, the sensation returned just as badly as before. James let loose in cries of misery until all the air had escaped his body and his head felt light. By now, his throat ached, and it hurt to breathe. He collapsed, weak, and the shakes returned. He sweated profusely, his body flashing hot, cold, and then hot again. He got back to bed and under his covers, shivering until his teeth rattling was the only noise he could hear.

Sometime in between all that—he was too busy suffering to notice when—some people came into his room. They were blurry figures, standing close by, observing but not making any moves to help. He wasn't sure if they were actually there. Could they be more hallucinations, figments of his diseased mind?

At one point, though, one of the figures approached him and laid a warm, damp rag on his forehead. “Elder,” a young woman said. “Be at peace.”

“Bria?” James asked, his voice barely a whisper. He recognized her only after several attempts, her wild mangy hair wrapped around her forehead coming into focus, a style of the Flatirons, something many of the Elfreth women had adopted. Beside her were Hory and Laurel, both looking worried and uneasy. They looked at him as if he were laying on his deathbed. “What are you three doing here?” he asked.

“We stand watch at the stairwell entrance, Elder,” Laurel said.

A punishment. Another slight. These were his people, his wards, and now they were forced to be his wardens. He took a few deep breaths and sat up. He looked out the window and noticed that his sheets were soaked and realized it was still dark out. How could it not be morning yet? How could time be moving so abyss-damn slow? All those terrible moments he had just experienced, the tremors, pains, and sweats: Had time slowed to a crawl just to torture him, forcing him to experience every excruciating, painful second?

He tried to crack a joke. “Did the entire crew get shafted with having to watch over me? I'm sorry to have to put you through this.”

They exchanged looks. “Elder,” Hory said, “all of us, the flyguards, we demanded to watch over you. Oldest Elise had forbidden it, saying you wielded too much influence over us and that we were too close to you. She said that we would cave in to your demands.”

“We told her it was because we were close to you that we would not,” Bria said, dabbing him once more on the forehead. She wet the towel in a warm basin next to her. “Chawr would not accept their answer when they said no. We took our place at the door and forbid others from entering.”

Laurel nodded. “As far as we're concerned, this is flyguard business.”

For a second, the itching and shakes stopped as James looked back and forth among his three young wards. He honestly hadn't realized how much they cared. As far as he was concerned, they had just wanted to learn about ships and engineering, and he needed their labor. It was a fair trade, which was how things were at ChronoCom. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“Don't thank us yet.” Hory grinned. “We should get back to our posts. Is there anything we can get you?”