Time Salvager (5 page)

Humanity seemed to shit itself the same way in 1551 C.E., during the height of the Ming Dynasty, as it did in the present. For some reason, the damn race never learned how to stay out of the gutter. Maybe that was why scientists estimated that mankind would be extinct by the year 3000. Well, not if Levin and the rest of ChronoCom had a say in the matter.

He passed by a small koi pond in the slightly less squalid merchant district and paused to observe the ghostly glassy-eyed fish swimming around in the clear water. He looked at his own image reflecting through the ripples, his paint band doing an admirable job blending him in with the thousands of pedestrians walking through the city.

His gaze moved up beyond the waterline to the stone and wooden building that wrapped around three sides of the pond, to the curved tiles that arced up to the center point of the roof. Behind it, the sun was half covered as it made its daily journey toward the western horizon. It was almost time.

Levin willed the fourteen bands clinging loosely against both of his arms—six on his left, eight on his right—to tighten. He didn’t bother masking them with his paint band, instead passing them off as iron rings, commonly used by mercenaries as a blocking bracer. Like most operatives, he preferred to use as little of the paint as possible when on a job. Assuming his paid sources were correct, he would have need of those bands very soon. Levin walked up a short flight of stairs and swung open the red double doors that led him into the Hong Jiu Inn.

It was a busy night, filled with patrons, but not more than the usual that he had observed over the past two days. The eating area was packed with merchants, locals, and soldiers. A group of drunken Uyghers filled three tables on the far left, caravan troops by the look of them. The table adjacent to theirs seated a group of Mongols. The guards kept careful watch over that entire end of the inn. It wouldn’t take much to ignite a confrontation.

To the right of the door were at least three of the city’s gangs. Levin recognized two of them: the Yellow Snakes and the Dirt Dragons. Levin frowned; none of these people looked like any of Cole’s men. Then he noticed a scrawny ruffian walk up the stairs to the second floor and disappear into one of the rooms.

Of course. Cole was a big man now. These grunts weren’t worth his time. Levin walked through the crowded area, slipping between benches and chairs filled with toughs, traders, and pleasure girls. Doing this quietly probably wasn’t going to be an option, but he’d have to try. It had taken him two weeks just to locate the feared and infamous Fist of the Low Laying River, or whatever the hell he was calling himself here. It’d be another month to find him again if he left this inn without Levin’s hands around his neck.

A bouncer standing at the base of the stairs stopped Levin with a hammed fist and shook his head. “What’s your business, pig?”

“I have business with big brother up top,” said Levin, his comm band translating his words into Han.

The bouncer looked him up and down, and grunted. “A pig like you belongs down here with the other swine. Go away before I beat you so terribly your mother feels it.” He shoved Levin on the chest.

Levin caught the shove nonchalantly with his left hand and twisted the bouncer’s thumb at an odd angle. He tried to pull away but Levin’s exo held his grip like a vise, and he squeezed until the bouncer’s knees buckled.

“Are you sure you wish to block my path, friend?” Levin tightened his grip. “The Jiang Hu is vast. Do you know all its masters?” He squeezed even tighter.

The bouncer quivered and bobbed his head up and down several times. “I’m … I’m sorry,
Sifu
, Please forgive me.”

Levin let the bouncer go. The fewer ripples the better, though he didn’t worry much about that here. The odds of a time chronostream self-healing in this cesspool of an inn were high. Still, best not to take chances. That boy had already made enough ripples for both of them, running away from the present. The poor fool knew better. No one ever escaped the auditors.

“Next time, know who you disrespect before you are taught a permanent lesson,” he said.

The bouncer scurried to the side and let him pass. Levin continued to the top of the stairs, which opened to a hallway that overlooked the eating area on the right and had a row of doors on the left. He went to the door on the far end, where the sounds of revelry were loudest. Cole would want easy escape routes out of the building, and the window overlooking the eating area below gave him a clear view of people coming into the inn. Not that it would help him much in this instance. Levin’s paint made him look like the other thousands of Han walking in the city.

Levin slid the double sliding panels outward and intruded on the private dinner of two dozen scruffy-looking men at a pair of long tables on each side. Two men and a girl sat at a smaller table on a raised platform on the far end. The one on the left looked the part of a Low River gang member, possibly a lieutenant or a second lieutenant. The one on the right was a pleasure girl draped over the man in the middle.

“I seek Ko Li,” he said formally.

All eyes turned toward him. Levin stifled a grunt. Of course Cole would make himself look like a god among these men. The real Cole looked ordinary in every way possible, save for a pockmarked face from a childhood disease that had ravaged his body. This paint job he now wore made him look like an Adonis. No wonder he was causing ripples. Vain and stupid. At least Cole had made himself look indigenous enough; just taller, more beautiful, better fed, and built like a giant. Definitely not the best way to remain inconspicuous. Well, if the guy was going to try to live a fantasy, he might as well have gone all the way.

“How dare you?” A skinny bandit at the end of the table stood up and snarled, puffing out his chest. He must be the lowest among them.

Levin kept his eyes on Cole, half-expecting the fugitive to take off at any moment. Instead, Cole nodded at the skinny bandit.

The bandit stomped up to Levin and pointed at the ground. “You address Sifu Li as ‘master,’ you insolent dog.” The bandit tried to slap Levin.

Levin didn’t bother using his exo. Doing so could give him away to Cole. Besides, he didn’t need to use it against this scrawny thing. Levin slipped forward, spun, and used the bandit’s momentum to send him sprawling into the center of the room. The rest of the bandits stood up, cleavers and broadswords drawn.

“I wish to speak with Sifu Ko Li, better known as the Fist of the Low Laying River,” Levin repeated, his voice low and measured. He waited for Cole to make his next move.

There was tension in the air, the calm right before hell cracked open and brimstone spewed forth. Levin was content to wait. Cole’s next move would determine what the fugitive was thinking. If he fled, then he already knew Levin was an auditor. If he sent his men to attack first, he was insecure of his position here. If he was …

“Please join me,” Cole said, standing and clapping his hands. “It is always an honor to have another master in the room. Please sit. Sit.”

Levin kept his face on his prey as he walked into and through the group of thugs with their weapons still drawn. He stopped just opposite Cole at the end of the table. Once there, both sat at the same time.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Levin.

“Who do I have the honor of sharing this table with, Master?” Cole asked.

“I am a master of nothing.”

Cole chuckled. “How true. Are we not always students thirsty for more?” He gestured to the woman, who picked up the teapot. “So you wish to see a test among skilled students of the world then. But first, my table is yours. Would you like some tea?” She poured Levin a cup before he had a chance to respond.

“They don’t have tea where I come from.”

Cole raised an eyebrow and his hands froze. The two stared at each other long and hard before Levin finally leaned forward and spoke Solar English in a low voice. “There was some real genius in your plan. Forging your requisitions to obtain a solar charger. Poisoning your handler. Corrupting your jump records so we couldn’t pull you back. Fleeing to a time and place where you can mask the use of your bands as mystical martial arts. You had this planned out pretty well.”

The blood drained from Cole’s face. His gang looked on with interest, no doubt thinking there was some mental battle passing between two masters. They were a superstitious lot, which of course was why the fugitive chronman had fled here to begin with.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Cole finally said, recovering from his initial shock and pretending to shrug it off.

Right there, Levin knew he had made up his mind and was going to try to make a run for it. He leaned forward. “Tell me. Is it Past-Era Addiction? If it is, we can help you.”

Cole threw his head back and laughed. “No, you fool. I’m not addicted. I just hate the present. Any sane man would.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said Levin. It really was. If it was Past-Era Addiction, he could use that to argue leniency for the boy. Instead, Levin would now have to apply the full force of his directive.

“So now what?” said Cole.

Levin picked up the small teacup and took a sip, curious to try it. Bitter but aromatic; he kind of liked it. “Depends on you,” he said. “You can surrender, and we can return peacefully, and I’ll be sure to note that in my report, or you can try your odds fighting with an auditor.”

“If we war, won’t it create large ripples?”

Levin shrugged. “Perhaps, but in this time and region, I have little doubt the chronostream will self-heal. The question is, will you survive? Is that something you’re willing to risk?”

Cole spat on the floor. “As opposed to die in the present? What kind of a question is that? Listen, Auditor, no matter what you think, I’m not going back. The only thing you’re taking back to that shit hole is my dead body.”

“Technically,” Levin said, “I don’t need to care how you are brought back.” He took another sip of the tea. He was really getting used to this bitter drink. Maybe he could take some of it back with him to the present. “Tell me, Cole, why didn’t you just hide here and keep a low profile? Why did you have to use your bands and make a name for yourself as some master?”

The Tier-4 chronman shrugged. “Tried that for the first couple of weeks. Got tired of being nobody with no money. Couldn’t take it anymore. Used a little power. Then had to use a little more.”

Levin nodded. A common story among runaways, which was why fleeing into history almost always failed. The path to becoming a chronman was long and difficult. Survivors of the Academy often wielded their power not only as a status symbol but a badge of honor. Power like that was hard to relinquish after a person was used to it for so long.

“But to become a famed master of the east?” Levin chuckled. “That’s a little much.”

The last comment earned a grin from Cole. “What can I say? Word spreads fast in these parts. Show some power, attract a few more masters to challenge me, and before I knew it, I’m big-time.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I’m so good, even I can’t suppress myself.”

Levin eyed the two dozen men seated behind him with their hands still on their weapons. He turned his attention back to Cole. “Why don’t you send your men away? We’ll go find a nice open area with no one around to conclude our business.”

Cole stood up and waved his arms magnanimously at his gang. “Now, why the fuck would I want to do that? As long as there are witnesses, I know you’ll hold back. I won’t have that problem now, will I?” He looked past Levin’s shoulder and shouted in Han, “Brothers, teach this dog some respect!”

Levin stood just as the first of the idiots behind him charged in with a cleaver. Levin’s exo-powered movements and shield kept him out of danger, but Cole wasn’t wrong. It was Levin’s duty to display as little superhuman power as possible. It was important to him to minimize the casualties as well. Still, it didn’t mean he had to be gentle.

The edge of the cleaver struck his shield, sparking orange stars into the air around him. In a second, Levin had grabbed his assailant by the armpit and hurtled him toward two more of the thugs. The crowd descended on him, swinging bats and blades as Levin joined the fray, using his natural skills as well as his exo to slice through them, seeming to move just out of their reach, dodging their swing as he mowed down three to four at a time.

Cole joined in the melee, powering his exo to full and launching himself at Levin. The Tier-4 had only four kinetic coils active. Levin doubted he could produce any more than that at his capabilities. In this situation, Levin made sure to fight down to Cole’s level in order to keep up the pretense of an actual hand-to-hand fight. He sprouted four of his own coils to lock down Cole’s and proceeded to beat him down with his exo-powered fists.

Cole struggled to break free even as more of his gang joined in the fight, adding to the chaos. Every time their weapons struck his exo, small sparks glimmered into the air. Levin scolded himself for being so obvious. He continued to fight by hand, kicking any thugs in reach and battering at Cole’s shield.

The number of bodies became overwhelming as a surge of the gang distracted Levin long enough for Cole to shake free. The fugitive chronman jumped out of the window overlooking the main room and landed on one of the long tables below, shattering it and scattering the patrons.

Levin gritted his teeth. There went any hope of doing this quietly. He followed suit and jumped out the window as Cole ran from the building. Levin landed with a thud on top of the shattered remains of the table and sprinted after the fugitive. Hopefully, the damn guy had enough common sense not to exercise his exo to its full extent.

Levin ran outside just in time to see Cole leap atop a tile roof and sprint down its length. Well, so much for that. The sooner he got Cole out of this time, the better, regardless of the consequences. He followed suit, shooting up to the roof, to the gasps of the crowds nearby, and gave chase, using his superior bands to catch up.

The game of rooftop cat-and-mouse continued for nearly a minute as the two bounded across the city’s skyline. This was the opposite of keeping things low-key, but the trap has been sprung. One way or another, Levin was going to haul Cole in.