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Doctor
believed he was in charge of the laboratory and in a way he was—as long as he was needed he would be allowed to be in charge. The man had lost his calm mien with the earthquakes. White showed around the Doctor’s eyes and he looked like he stank of fear. It was a good reason for Faustus to be grateful he was virtually present, not actually present.

Odd to feel pleasure and annoyance jostling his insides. Until today Doctor had appeared oblivious to all emotion. Faustus decided he liked knowing the man could feel fear, but he was less enamored with seeing it.

“Report.” He kept his voice curt, no problem keeping his gaze cold. He hadn’t felt anything but cold since—he cut that thought off. Now was not the time to remember.

“There have been several malfunctions, master.”

He appeared genuinely puzzled.

“Of?”

“Several specimens have become self-controlling and one automaton has ceased to function. He collapsed. Crushed one of the specimens. Not one of the pins, master,” Doctor added hastily. “One of the test subjects.”

He frowned, trying to see past the data, trying to find a link to the time anomaly he’d observed. “Tell me what happen just
before
the malfunctions.”

* * * *

After the river turned, the not-Colonial man lead them a weary while along the East River toward the bending horizon. Emily found it odd that she felt tired. It was her dream, so she should be able to feel what she wanted, which would be not tired. The pitying looks from Robert and not-Colonial guy nipped at the edges of her certainty, but she had to be dreaming. Rivers didn’t flow backwards. As fun as it was to be time traveling to Roswell and points beyond, it just wasn’t possible. And—this invoked a further sigh—as wonderful as it was to be doing it with a guy both geeky and hot—also not within realms of her reality. The smell did give her pause. Couldn’t remember smelling her dreams, and this was well in the noxious range, but a dream was the only logical explanation. She was surprised and a bit embarrassed she hadn’t realized it sooner.

The ground shook, as if the whole of this place had sustained a mighty blow. If Robert hadn’t been gripping her arm, she’d have tumbled into the nasty looking river. As it was, part of the bank crumbled, sending showers of clods plopping into it, and the horizon flickered, as if its power supply had been interrupted. When it flickered, she thought she saw another New York, one brighter and with more people and stuff.

Yeah, that was normal.

A derelict warehouse, half sunk into the riverbank, loomed in the gathering gloom of what passed for sunset. The horizon’s bend appeared to cut off part of it, which pretty much confirmed the dream reality—or unreality. She wasn’t sure which was correct.

“How often does the river change direction?” Robert finally broke the silence that had reigned since they’d had the neck check.

“In four-hour intervals,” not-Colonial man said, slowing to a stop a few paces away. “Wait here until I come back. If I don’t—”

“Run?” Robert finished for him.

“Run,” he agreed. “And if an airship or ’ton approaches…”

“Run,” Robert said again.

That was a bummer. She’d kind of hoped for an airship ride. She’d have to try to bend the dream that way before she woke up.

The lightning was worse here, giving the scene a horror movie vibe that suited the downshift in her dream’s details. So far cool had dominated, but now creepy started to inch ahead. The air smelled and felt weird, very metallic and nasty, and the river was an unattractive grayish brown. The temperature hovered in an uncomfortable zone that somehow managed to feel chilly and hot, which was also creepy, but supported her dream conviction. Reality couldn’t be hot and cold. Not-Colonial disappeared into the doors hanging askew in the framed opening. That seemed creepy, too.

Robert, who had held her hand for their clamber over bank and down dip, tugged her into the shadow cast by the looming bank. It wouldn’t hide them from a determined search, but it was better than standing in the open on the bleak riverbank. She looked at Robert, because she liked looking at him. It was probably a bad idea to spend the wait kissing on each other. Alert and attentive seemed indicated. But it was her dream. If she wanted to be inattentive and kissed, surely that was her call. Robert’s brows arched, as if he sensed something.

“I suppose he has to check necks with whoever is in there,” she offered in lieu of saying
please kiss me until I wake up
. She felt conflicted about trying to wake up. Despite the creepy details, she enjoyed being with Robert. It was a steampunk dream with a hot, smart guy. Reality would never measure up to this and when she woke up she wouldn’t have visitors or hope of a sign for her museum, because she wouldn’t have had the actual visitors. Kind of funny, in a not funny way, how detailed her dream had been about the bug. She’d read a lot about Roswell, so that part didn’t surprise her, but the parts in Uncle E’s original warehouse? It had felt so real, smelled so real, sounded so real, it had taken her too long to realize it couldn’t be real. She had to be dreaming, which brought her full circle back to embarrassed. The hot kisses should have clued her in. Crazy girls with crappy museums and an addiction to steampunk did not get hot kisses from “oh my darling” geek guys.

The chuckle was louder this time. And she was staring right at Robert, so had the evidence of her eyes that it wasn’t him, though in this dream, that didn’t mean that much. In her real life, a few snickers and a mental “hello” would be significant, but in this dream world, adding a voice in her head to the mix kind of made sense. She felt an “of course there is a voice in my head” rightness about it.

I’m Nod.

The voice had a name. An odd name. One didn’t run into that name outside of nursery rhymes.

It is a metaphor for our journey.

So I’m the wooden shoe.
She frowned.
We
. Since this was, technically, now a conversation, she couldn’t ask a question.

The others are in Robert.

And the others would be Wynken and Blynken.

Do you find it challenging to never ask questions?

Answers are still harder than not asking.

We like questions and answers.

Different strokes for different…folks.

“Are you all right?” It was like the tenth time Robert had asked, but he looked so cute when he asked it, she didn’t mind. It made her tingle to know his worried look was worried for her.

You had a strange look on your face.

Emily could only think of a question to respond to that, so she ignored the comment. It was her voice, her head, so she could do that.

“This dream keeps getting weirder and weirder. Now I’m hearing voices in my head.” She gave a weak chuckle. Maybe alert and attentive was a bad choice. “Actually it’s just one voice.”

“Nod.” Robert looked anxious. “He didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

Emily blinked. It didn’t help. Then she realized, it was her dream, so of course, he’d know what or who was in her head.

It’s not a dream, Emily.
Nod sounded sorry.

If he weren’t an imaginary voice in her head, and therefore part of her dream, she’d have felt sorry for him.

I could show you I am real, but this place is hostile to us.

Hostile.
She’d dang near asked a question. Made her dang near get a headache. If she’d been awake. Except the almost ache smoothed away, like a soothing touch against her temples.

There is something about this place that is inimical to nanites.

“Nanites.” She managed to keep it not a question, though it was close. Did it violate her rule if she broke it in a dream? It felt like it did, but then everything felt rule-break-ish.

We like you. So does Robert.

Maybe she was awake. It was possible. If she didn’t look around too much and focused on the moment. A moment that included Robert liking her, maybe even falling in love with her wasn’t half bad. Definitely better than her usual.

“Nanites are microscopic computers.”

“Nanotechnology,” Emily agreed, her tone knowledgeable, even though that was the extent of her knowledge.

“Wynken, Blynken and Nod were cooped up in test tubes for centuries, perhaps longer. In that time, they became sentient, because, well, we’re not sure exactly how that happened, just that it did.”

“I can see why you’d be unsure. It’s sentience, after all.” Emily wasn’t sure why she said that, but was glad she had when Robert smiled.

“That’s true. We live together, but we’re still working to understand each other.”

He was crazy, but that wasn’t that big of a problem. Crazy was her home, too, and the kissing was great. She did a bit of lean, just to be friendly. Not because she as begging for it. Instead of reciprocating with a lean, his chin jerked up. She matched his move, though without the jerk. She’d gotten so used to the rumble of steam engines she’d forgotten to be alert for airships.

She should have stayed alert. Because an airship was heading straight for them. And just like that, getting a ride in one lost it appeal.

* * * *

Faustus could have had Doctor open up the malfunctioning automaton, but it satisfied something in him to use a live specimen instead. They cared when someone cut into their head. The automatons didn’t. And he was annoyed by the unknown incursion into his laboratory. The perimeter was seeded with alarms when anyone arrived in the laboratory, so that the automatons could be sent out. He’d done the math and it was too soon for the snare train to arrive, so who had arrived right before the laboratory became unstable? Whoever had breached containment would be sorry now and sorrier later, after collection. In the meantime, this specimen would pay for the incursion.

The screaming stopped far too soon. He’d been in the mood for more. No sense wasting anesthesia on a soon-to-be-deleted specimen, but the shock killed the specimen very quickly. Perhaps, it had had a weak heart.

He waited while the Doctor finished removing the control device from the base of the neck, then moved to a large magnifying device where he opened it up, a process complicated as more quakes shook the operating facility. Faustus assumed the lightning storm continued outside, though he lacked the visual evidence. And while he waited, with a growing sense that somewhere time tried to slip his leash, he pondered the situation with the laboratory. He still required the laboratory, so the instability must be resolved. Had the recent arrivals caused it? They shouldn’t have the power, but if they had, who were they, and how had they managed an unscheduled arrival?

He frowned. He’d activated the portal diversion program, just in case the possibly missing tracker tried to use it to get home, but hadn’t really expected it to snag anything. The portal hadn’t been used by the Time Service for, well, no one knew exactly, but a very long time. It was too unpredictable, too imprecise—except during retrieval. Could that be how they’d penetrated his security? Had he set the parameters too wide? Picked up someone from a time when the portal was still in use?

An alternate reality was tricky to create, challenging to maintain. Specimens had to be introduced with care or the reality resisted. It had taken much trial and error to determine what parameters caused the reality to resist a specimen’s introduction, and he still had the occasional problem with one. Luckily, a quick deletion usually solved the problem.

Doctor’s hands stilled and he looked up. It took a moment to read the unfamiliar expression. Faustus decided he looked puzzled.

“Master.” He stopped, as if unsure what to say next.

He arched his brows and Doctor paled. “What’s wrong?”

“The power source.” He swallowed, the action too visible in the extreme thinness of Doctor’s neck. “It’s…gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Just gone. Like it was never there.”

He tensed. “Check the remaining supply.” When Doctor didn’t move right away, he added with silky menace. “Now, Doctor.”

He stumbled to the storage container and manipulated the locks. His shoulders slumped, but it wasn’t until Doctor turned to look at him, that he saw relief on a face that looked better with no expression.

“It’s still here.”

“All of it?”

A pause while the Doctor checked. “Most of it. Some is missing.” He appeared puzzled. “No one can access this place but me, Master.”

He waved Doctor to silence. “No one did.”
Time.
It
wasn’t alive, though it sometimes felt as if it were. He had been concerned that the time change and his laboratory problem were connected. It seemed he had been right to be concerned. Wasn’t it lucky for him that he knew where to plug the problem, or rather, he knew which stream to use to counter Time’s play.

“I’ll need one of the native specimens.”

TWENTY

Ashe looked from Chameleon to her man, a very pretty Gadi in attire typical of the same period as the woman’s. Her nose, his eyes—no surprise the paradox tremors returned when he arrived, but they’d smoothed down some during their retreat to a small conference room. It seemed the tremors mostly liked retreating, though they lapped at her knees as if she moved through unfriendly water. She sat down fast, though not so fast she showed weakness, and looked around with feigned interest, because the windowless room had nothing in it to be interested in, other than her companions. Lurch assured her their communications were secure, that she was safe here. Easy for him to be unworried. Even if she vanished from time, he’d exist in another host somewhere.

I am trying to protect you both.
A long pause.
I would think I’d earned your trust.

Did he sound a tiny bit hurt? She could only hope.
I trust you as much as you trust me.
He might have winced. Ashe saw the Chameleon suppress a smile.
She looks like she can take care of herself and a few other people. I don’t know why you’re so worried about her.

She is the most dangerous woman I have ever known.