Time Siege (45 page)

Levin stood up and went to leave the room. He stopped at the door and waited. James hadn't moved. The man just wrapped his arms around his shoulders and stared out the window. Levin had never seen him hurting so much. The two had been friends and enemies for twenty years and this was the first time he had ever seen the ex-chronman so vulnerable. He waited patiently for an answer.

After what felt like an hour, James looked up at him. “What you say makes sense. Curing the Earth Plague was never a serious plan anyway. At least it wasn't supposed to be. It was just a fanciful dream Elise had. I just went along with it because it made her happy and kept her spirits up. I never thought it would grow legs of its own and carry all these people with it. Now it's too late to turn back, and if we're actually going to make a go at this insane dream of hers, what you just proposed might be the best way to do it.”

Levin nodded. “I'm glad you see it my way. Why play a game if there's no chance in winning, right? This plan gives us that chance.”

“I can't, though,” James said. “I'm sick right now and I can't be trusted. People got hurt because of me. I'm no use to anyone, especially to the people who love me.”

“You can address this afterward,” Levin said. “Time is of the essence. The Co-op is creeping closer every day. The sooner we get the agency on our side, the sooner we can all fight them together.”

James shook his head miserably. “I promised Elise I would see this through. Besides, like you said, the Co-op is close. I can't bear to leave her and Sasha right now. I need to be here for them.”

“And you staying here won't make a lick of difference,” Levin snapped, stalking back up to him. “You can, though, if you come with me to Chicago. I can't do this alone.”

James stood firm. “I understand what you're trying to do, but I belong here, protecting Elise, Sasha, and my people. I can accompany you after the threat is over. Not before.”

“I believe the Elfreth's survival and convincing ChronoCom to join us go hand in hand. We need them, James.”

“And I need to be here. I'm sorry; I've made up my mind. Why don't you ask Cole to help you? He's your flesh and blood. Put him to use.”

A bubble of anger erupted inside Levin. He opened his mouth to retort, and then closed it. They both knew that Cole wasn't reliable. At least not yet, if ever. Asking Cole to come was a risk. His nephew had avoided him ever since they had arrived. Maybe it was time to bury the hatchet, though. Enough time had passed since Nereid that maybe they could try to start over. Cole was the only link to his family Levin had left. Perhaps this was their opportunity to work things out.

“Fine,” Levin said finally. “I am leaving tomorrow. If you change your mind…”

James walked up to him. “I won't, but good luck.” He stuck out his hand.

Levin stared at the extended hand and then turned away. “The world needs a better James Griffin-Mars. Give it to them.”

Levin knew he shouldn't be angry with James. In truth, he wasn't, not really. The ex-chronman had different priorities and made the decision he thought was right for himself and his loved ones. Family trumped doing the right thing. Still, Levin couldn't help but feel disappointed. Then again, if put in James's shoes, he might have made the same call.

No, that was a lie: Levin wouldn't have. If family did trump the right thing, than he would have sent someone else to go after his fugitive nephew when Cole had tried to escape into the Ming Dynasty. Levin had known the consequences of his choices back then. He knew that bringing Cole back himself would ostracize him from Ilana, his sister, and the rest of his family back on Oberon. He also knew that if he had failed to capture Cole and bring him to justice, then there would have been gossip that he purposely let his nephew escape.

The smart thing to have done at the time would have been to assign someone else to do the work and let the chips fall where they would. Instead, he waded headfirst into a situation he could not win. Why? At the time, he had said it was the right thing to do. In truth, it was because of Levin's pride. It had forced him to personally bring in Cole to show the agency how dedicated he was to doing the “right thing.”

Levin stopped at the intersection that would either lead to his residence or downstairs to Cole's. He hesitated. Just the thought of getting into another quarrel with his nephew drained him. Perhaps he should sleep on this for a night. Part of him wanted to head to bed and forget all about it. This plan was so brazen and outrageous that the odds of survival were low. It was better than the current doomed plan the Elfreth were following, though. Levin was not in the business of being a martyr. He'd rather follow a plan with low odds than one with no odds. He gave the door to his residence a longing glance before heading to the lower levels.

Cole had joined the guardian ranks shortly after they had arrived, and by all indications, was thriving with them. As a former chronman, he had quickly shown his value. He was quite popular, too, though that was never one of his problems. Cole didn't lack in charisma or skill; pulling a bunch of alpha-male assholes like the Apexes together showed that.

It took Levin nearly an hour to find his nephew. The Elfreth and many of their new allies had commandeered many of the lower floors for different uses. The entire tower was a hive of activity, a city within itself. Everything had changed so much over the past few months he barely recognized the place anymore. It wasn't like Levin had spent much time here. Usually, he and Grace would just return for long enough to charge the collie, rest a few days, and then speed off again.

Levin was finally directed to a hollowed-out apartment tucked away in the far corner of one of the less-used floors. Cole was lounging in the room with his team of guardians, smoking cany weed, a pungent herb commonly chewed to numb off-worlds against Earth's toxins, but also commonly smoked recreationally for its relaxing effect. The weed was banned in ChronoCom because of its addictive nature and its bad side effects when mixed with miasma regimens.

“Uncle.” Cole didn't seem happy to see him, but didn't appear outright hostile. Perhaps it was the effect of the cany weed. “What brings us the honor?” There was only a small hint of sarcasm in his voice. He pushed one of the plastic chairs toward Levin. The four men and three women with him looked decidedly uncomfortable in Levin's presence. Who knew what stories Cole had fed them? One of the women was sitting on his lap.

“I'd like a moment alone with One Cole,” Levin said, not taking his gaze off his nephew.

“My teammates are trustworthy, Uncle,” Cole said. “Besides, we're all Elfreth now, aren't we?”

Levin swept his gaze across everyone. “Leave.”

The battle of wills was waged and won within the blink of an eye. First, the woman sitting on Cole's lap shrank and got up. One by one, the rest of Cole's team followed suit. They didn't leave, though, which, to Cole's credit, was a sign of their loyalty to him.

Cole seemed as if he was going to contest Levin's order, and then finally nodded. “It's all right. This shouldn't take too long.” The team filed out into the hallway. He picked up his half-smoked joint and took a puff. “What do you want?”

Levin sat down opposite him and looked around Cole's new quarters. They were larger and nicer than most; no doubt he had used his charm and rank to pull off these arrangements. It was a shame he had wanted to follow in Levin's footsteps and become a chronman. Cole had always been a talker. He'd had such a bright future ahead of him and could have been so much more. “You're fitting in well with the Elfreth, then?”

“Living in this hollowed-out shithole?” Cole sneered. “Not sure why we went through all this effort to bust out of Nereid only to come here. At least there's women here. How is reliving your chronman glory days, Uncle? Is it everything you remembered?”

The chasm between them was still there, though to be fair, Levin had not done much to bridge it. It wasn't surprising, really. Ilana, his sister, hadn't returned any of his messages, either. Sending your flesh and blood to prison could do that to a family.

“Listen, Cole,” Levin said. “Mistakes were made, and now we're living with the consequences. Let's get past this. We're still family.”

“Really?” said Cole. “Let's be honest. You don't think you made a mistake. You'd go back in time and capture me all over again. So what you're really saying is we're living with my mistake.”

“I'm saying it's irrelevant,” Levin retorted, his patience wearing thin. “We need to forgive and learn to trust each other again.”

Cole finished the cany weed and tossed it out the window. He stood up and looked out into the dark fog. “You sent me to fucking prison, Levin, and you're my uncle. How do you expect me to ever trust you again?”

Levin found an opening here. “I'm heading to Chicago on an important mission. I need someone to watch my back. I want it to be you.”

Cole looked surprised. “Even after everything that's happened, you're going to put your life in my hands? Are you that desperate?”

“One of us needs to start trusting the other first.”

There was a long silence as Cole stared into the fog. Finally, he spoke. “I … I was angry for a long time, and to be honest, I still am. But, these past few weeks, as you're up there salvaging and James working with the flyguards and Elise leading these people, it's made me reevaluate my life. I've been dwelling on the past too much. Perhaps it's time I look to the future. When do we leave?”

“Dusk tomorrow,” Levin said, offering his hand.

Cole accepted it and pulled him into a rough embrace. “You're not going to regret it, Uncle. Let me talk to Eriao and my team. I don't want them to think I'm shirking my duties.”

That had been almost too easy. Levin watched as Cole went out to the hallway to tell his team, and wondered if he had made the right call. His gut told him no. There was a strong chance the boy just wanted to spend some time back in civilization, perhaps simply disappear once they got to the city.

Levin was willing to assume that risk. Like he had said, someone had to trust first. He knew in his heart he could heal this wound between them and rekindle their relationship. He had to. Perhaps it was just his pride talking. In either case, he was willing to take that chance.

 

FORTY-FOUR

T
HE
R
OAD
TO
R
ECOVERY

Titus and Grace's idea of recovery was stupid. The two of them had decided that they were both going to be intricately involved in James's rehabilitation and had come often to mentor and “life coach” him, and talk about his thoughts and feelings, whatever that meant. With Levin off to Chicago, Grace had much more time on her hands, and had chosen James for her new project. She also was trying to teach him to draw and practice a series of exercises called yoga, while Titus thought he'd enjoy learning to play a rock flute, a musical instrument indigenous to Venus. James was awful at everything.

Right now, he was sitting on his balcony trying to draw
Collie,
his old collie, from memory. It saddened him that even after twenty years of flying her, he had a hard time remembering her details. She had been a good ship, and James surprised himself with his nostalgia. He was going through a lot of that right now. It was one of the exercises Grace wanted him to work through: think about things in the past he enjoyed. The good moments, people and places and possessions, that had brought him joy.

It wasn't an easy assignment; good memories were few and far between. James found that he had little skill in drawing; faces were far too difficult, places were far too painful, so he resorted to trying to draw his beloved ship, which Levin had blasted out of the skies. That bastard; a new ship was another thing the guy owed James, especially after how he had commandeered the
Frankenstein
. If Levin lost that ship, too, the two of them were going to have words. James and the flyguards had put a lot of work into getting the
Frankenstein
space-worthy.

Smitt appeared and hovered over him as he hunched intently over the table. “What are you doing, my friend?”

“What does it look like?” James wasn't sure if he was supposed to talk to the ghost of his friend or not. Titus had told him that withdrawal would bring forth hallucinations, but he'd been seeing these apparitions since way before he quit the drink. The thought of alcohol—whiskey, specifically, though shine would do—made his body shudder. He was terrified that he couldn't drink anymore. Ever again. For the rest of his life.

The expression “rest of his life” had never meant much to him. He had always measured how long he'd live in months, if not weeks. The fact that he'd survived as a chronman for so long still surprised him to this day.

“I'd like to think I had more than a little to do with your making it so far,” Smitt said.

James ignored him and continued to draw. He chose the hangar in Himalia Station as the backdrop and proceeded to populate the space around the ship with what he imagined would be there: a tech crew, power generators, module outputs. Then he focused on the details. His old ship was actually two different collies welded together, with one half of the ship nothing more than a patchwork of metal plates over holes. He couldn't quite remember the exact details, though; his memory of his chronman days had faded so much.

Smitt leaned over him. “Is that supposed to be me?”

James froze. He had inadvertently drawn two figures standing next to it. One of them looked like James, with short hair and a wiry body. The other, shorter and squatter, could only be Smitt. How had he put his friend in there without realizing it? He crumpled the blood-corn husk he was drawing on and threw it off the balcony.