Time Salvager (15 page)
He should be merciful and kill her right now. It wouldn’t take much. A quick squeeze of his exo-powered arm would crush the life out of her in seconds. It would be more humane than exposing her to this radiation. If he cared for her at all, he would kill her right now.
The young Nazi soldier appeared, standing on a piece of burning wreckage off to the side. The boy waved. James tore his gaze away and looked again at Elise. His stomach twisted into knots.
Elise looked at him, alarmed. “Are you all right? I thought you said your shield would protect us.” She gently cupped his cheeks with her hands and studied his face. “Okay, I need to know. Are you responsible for all this? Did you cause this explosion?”
He shook his head. “I had nothing to do with this. I swear.”
She studied him for a few seconds and then finally nodded. “I’m not sure I believe you, James the time-traveling liar, but you saved my life. I owe you one. If we get out of this alive, I’ll show you around 2097.”
That forced a grin out of him. “I would like that.”
She still didn’t believe who he was, but, except for Grace Priestly, no one ever did. In nine months, World War III would consume the planet, marking the end of the Final Golden Age and killing a quarter of the world’s population. Following the war, a worldwide famine would ravage civilization for another thirty years. Then the outbreak of the AI Wars in 2170 would kill another quarter of the population. No, death now would be a blessing. At least, he kept telling himself that.
The Nazi soldier, suddenly standing next to him, murmured in his ear, “You only think that.”
James checked his power: 15 percent. Maybe he was losing that option after all, but he wasn’t returning to the present without the damn salvage. Might as well just die here. He knew in his heart he couldn’t survive another five years. He’d rather fly into Jupiter than endure any more of this. So either he came home with the goods or he died here with Elise. He could think of hundreds of worse ways to leave this life.
“What’s the future like?” she asked, leaning against him.
“Are you making fun of me or do you actually believe me?” he asked.
“Little of both,” she said. “Anything to keep my mind off what’s happening to all the poor people out there. What year are you from, James the time-traveling liar?”
“Twenty-five eleven.”
“Snazzy. You guys must be flying to Alpha Centauri by now. Must be grand.”
James’s response caught in his throat. Maybe it was better she didn’t know. After all, was there a point in burdening her with the knowledge that the future was a desolate shit hole?
“It’s pretty grand,” he choked the words out. “Beautiful and prosperous worlds.”
“Unicorns and spaceships for everyone, huh?”
James looked down again at his power: 9 percent. He could lower the shield level to extend it. It would leak a little radiation in, not enough to kill him, but it’d make them sick. It would buy a few more minutes, at least. Or maybe he should give up the netherstore. Give it up to live or risk keeping it and possibly die? The choice was obvious.
“James,” Smitt’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You’re out of the tear. Just in the nick of fucking time. Your power is about to fail. I’m pulling you out now.”
“Give me a minute, Smitt.”
“No time…”
“Give me a fucking minute. I’ll let you know when to initiate the jump.”
There was a pause. “All right. On your mark, but hurry up. You’re at eight percent.”
He grabbed Elise and squeezed her, and she squeezed back. His thoughts drifted back to Sasha and his mother.. He had failed them both. His failure to protect the ones he loved was the one constant, and now this pattern was about to repeat itself. He lifted her chin with his finger and stared into her eyes.
“What is it?” she asked.
He leaned forward, arched her back and kissed her, a gentle touch of the lips. At first, she stiffened in surprise and pushed back, and then she relaxed. He felt the coolness of her wet skin against his, and the warmth of her tongue as she reached up and pulled him into her. At that moment, his heart hammered his chest so hard it threatened to break out. He could hear it screaming at his brain as his brain told his body to let her go.
“James, you’re too low. I don’t give an abyss what you say. You’re coming in now! Jumping in five…”
“Damn it, Smitt, wait!”
“Four…”
James pushed her away and turned his back to her. Tears that hadn’t fallen since he lost Sasha flowed down his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, confused.
“Three…”
Smitt’s fucking buzzing. James wanted to strangle him right now.
“It’s not that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Two…”
“Good-bye,” James said.
“One…”
“I don’t understand,” Elise said.
The yellow light began to flash. James turned to capture her memory in his mind for the last time. She would succumb to the radiation within minutes of his jump. Another ghost in the long trail of deaths. She was already dead. Just another …
There you go again,
Grace echoed in his other ear.
What’s another death among thousands?
The Nazi soldier shrugged.
Sasha looked at him and then turned away, saying nothing.
“Fuck my life!” he screamed, grabbing Elise by the arm and pulling her close.
Then the entire world turned yellow.
Levin was not looking forward to the Auditor Chain Council today. He was sitting at his desk when the surroundings of his room disappeared, overlaid by an image of a large round table with twenty auditors encircling it, a modified paint module beaming each and every one of their images to the rest.
Cole’s trial was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and Levin could tell that the other nineteen high auditors in the solar system were all walking delicately around the subject. He was grateful for their sympathy but irritated by their consideration as well.
After all, if these seniors of the chain felt the need to dance around him with such care in regards to his nephew’s trial, this meant the dishonor still clung to him. Even personally capturing and sending Cole to Nereid, the most severe of all possible sentences, did not seem to fully restore his standing among them. And if he had not reclaimed his respect among the most senior of his colleagues, what chance did he have with the lower of the chains? Or the chronmen tiers? Or even the monitor ranks?
Authority might stem from rank but leadership stemmed from respect; therefore, if Levin no longer held his peers’ respect, it did not matter if he was a high auditor or fresh to the chain. In the end, Levin did the only thing he could do: he faced their backhanded sympathies with as much dignity as he could muster, and took his rightful place as high auditor of Earth.
The beginning of the meeting went as planned. High Auditor Lynch of the first chain gave the signal. Each of the high auditors began by providing a status of their region. Levin, as the steward of Earth, was last, given the planet’s honored status as the ancestral home of the civilization, with the deepest trove of salvages. It was also the most difficult to manage and the largest pain in the ass for the agency.
It was an important position even though Levin was only of the ninth chain, which was considered low for the high auditor of Earth. In his case, it was doubly unusual because though he was considered one of the most successful stewards of Earth in the past hundred years, he still had not risen up the chain. That was another sore for Levin, one he preferred not to delve into.
When it was his turn, though all his peers were already well aware of Cole’s infraction, Levin summarized it once more, priding himself on his passive, unemotional delivery. Whether Cole was his nephew or no, Levin Javier-Oberon was still the high auditor of Earth, and he intended the rest of the Chain Council to be aware that his diligence and dedication were intact.
“Very well.” Lynch nodded when Levin finished. “Off to the space sectors. Auditor Rowe?”
The high auditor of Space Sector Six spoke. “A Tier-5 chronman by the name of Bond, less than two months from achieving the Tier, recently tried to jump back to 2377 and prevent the outbreak of the first Gas Wars from happening. Her initial job was to return to 2335 for a minor plutonium shipment recovery, but she changed her jump setting at the last second. Fortunately, her handler caught the violation and pulled Bond back before she could do any harm.”
“Consequences?” High Auditor Marn of Ganymede asked. That was what anyone here really cared about. Nobody on the Chain Council cared why the chronmen did what they did. Everyone had their reasons—personal, political, religious, or self-righteous. In the end, the only thing the men and women who dedicated their lives to ChronoCom cared about was whether the time line remained intact, and what was the potential impact of forever losing that chronological location.
“Modest,” Rowe continued. “The location was the Dione Skirmish; the sixth one. Affected jump region was the battle between two now-dissolved Pangaea patrol ships and a Valta Corp transport. Anticipated potential recovery of one hundred thirty-one units of recoverable power.”
Lynch grunted. “Not insignificant. Root cause action?”
“Bond’s ancestral family had significant shares in Pangaea. Seems after they lost that war with Valta, it impoverished the family. We believe Bond joined the Academy expressly to accomplish this coup.”
There was a low muttering among the council. This was uncommon but not unheard of. Every year, there were always a few fools who believed they could change history for one reason or another by joining the Academy and becoming chronmen, not realizing the extent the checks and balances the agency wielded in order to prevent such occurrences. Most of these crimes were cut off at Hops. The handlers had the ability and full authority to retrieve their chronman at will if they believed Time Laws were being broken. Still, isolated incidents did fall through the cracks once in a while.
“We need more stringent psychological standards and testing at the Academy,” Levin said, memories of Cole fresh in his head. “We should have had issues like this weeded out before these unqualified candidates are promoted to the tier.”
Joellen, the Academy auditor, rolled her eyes. “We already have difficulties replenishing our current ranks. You want to make it more difficult to promote to the tier? By the abyss, we
lowered
standards twice now in the past six years and we’re still not making minimum quota.”
“You put waste on the line and that leaves more cleaning for the frontline auditors,” said Levin, knowingly walking dangerously close to calling out her ability to administer her stewardship. To accuse another auditor of waste was as grave an insult as one within the chain could give.
Joellen bristled and laid into Levin defensively. He didn’t blame her. The Academy auditorship was a difficult position, probably second only to that of Earth. However, Cole might still be his nephew if the Academy had adequately weeded him out as it should have. And Ilana might still be his sister.
“That’s enough,” Lynch said, finally interrupting them after allowing Levin and Joellen to have their say. Both auditors immediately became silent and bowed to each other. They were still colleagues, after all. Lynch’s gaze drifted from Levin to Joellen. “Joellen is correct. We’ve had to become more flexible with standards on every level in order to fill our Academy quotas, which we’re still not hitting. Those have been deemed acceptable compromises. However, due to recent events, Levin is correct as well. The mental state of our chronmen especially cannot be lowered. Raise psychological standards and mental trials back to the standards pre-2505. Agreed?”
“As you wish, Highest Auditor,” said Joellen.
Levin nodded. “Thank you, Auditor Lynch.”
“Moving on,” continued Lynch.
The next case was a more interesting one. High Auditor Marquez of Mars summarized a situation where Tier-3 Chronman Taylor actually succeeded in preventing the Enipeus Vallis Colony from being destroyed in the 2472 Mars Famine. It seemed many of Taylor’s family had lived in the colony. Fortunately, the auditors were able to detect the ripple caused by Taylor’s action before that ripple reached the present. Marquez sent Auditor Sykes back to Enipeus Vallis twelve days after Taylor committed the infraction and destroyed the colony himself, healing over most of the time line.
By that time, though, Taylor had smuggled his family members off Mars. It took Sykes six more weeks of tracking him down before he located Taylor and his family on Proteus. He had to kill Taylor and fourteen of his family members in order to fully restore the chronostream. Auditor Sykes was meticulous on that job, and the ripples caused by his actions did not last out that year. Levin had a feeling Sykes, already a fast climber in the chain, would one day join the Chain Council. The man deserved his place among them.
The list of jobs and crises continued. Even though the auditors were vigilant in guarding the chronostream, not everything could be prevented. It was up to the auditors to implement corrective action in the time line before ripples reached the present. If that happened, then that time line became present, the chronostream was irreparably altered, and there was nothing that could be done. The auditors of ChronoCom could count on one hand the number of times a significant event had ever altered the chronostream.
The council meeting wrapped up shortly afterward, much to Levin’s relief. He had not felt this nervous about an Auditor Council meeting since his very first one. When the rest of the council disappeared from his office, he stood up and poured himself a drink. It had been a trying year. He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped the golden brown contents inside, savoring the sweet burn at the back of his throat. Then he poured himself another.
It seemed more often than ever, chronmen were trying either to escape from the present or meddle in the past. It was to be expected, of course. Each year, humanity died a little more. ChronoCom’s charter was to fight that decline, yet things had never gotten better. Every year, there was a little less power to utilize. People went hungry a little longer. Lived lives a little harder. They were losing this war.
