A Mutiny in Time (Infinity Ring #1)

It wasn’t.

Sera had finally agreed to leave the presentation early, but only because the speaker kept using the words baryon and meson interchangeably when, according to Sera, everyone knows that’s not proper.

Suddenly Dak had an idea. He ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair and stared intently at his color-coded floor plan. “I guess we can skip the Hope Diamond exhibit if we’re short on time. It’s supposed to be cursed, which is cool. I’m not sure what it means by ‘an exploration of the biogeochemical processes that give minerals their unique properties,’ though. It sounds like a total snooze fest if you ask me.”

“Who asked you?” said Sera, putting her SQuare down. “Let me see that map.”

By the time Dak and Sera marched off the bus, Dak’s heart was giddy with excitement.

They had two hours and forty-seven minutes before the earthquake that would almost kill them.





POOR DAK, Sera thought as she and her classmates filed through the entrance to the Smithsonian. Her best friend was always annoying people with his ill-timed speeches on useless historical facts. And his obsession with cheese was just . . . well, weird.

Last year in fourth grade he’d written an entire poem about types of cheeses and how each one of them was like a family member to him. Mrs. E’Brien had finally relented and let him recite it to the class in exchange for his promise to spare them any spontaneous sermons about people who were dead. He’d proudly done his performance, but then only made it a day and a half before he suddenly blurted out a five-minute information dump about the guy who invented the stepladder.

So yeah, Dak was quaint and unique and a little bit annoying in his own quaint, unique way. But none of these qualities were what made Sera think Poor Dak that morning. What worried her was how clueless he seemed to be about the true state of the world. The SQ. The natural disasters. The ever-increasing crime rates.

The Remnants.

That last thought made her pause, a deep ache pressing against her heart. . . .

And then the stinky kid named Roberk bumped into her from behind.

She knew it was him because an untimely draft pushed the boy’s patented smell across her body like rotten air escaping from a newly unsealed tomb. The odor itself was a one-of-a-kind mixture of fried liver and boiled cabbage — it definitely put her in mind of hydrogen sulfide. “Geez, Sera,” he said. “If you want a hug, just ask for it.”

Sera wanted to tell him all about hydrogen sulfide, about how it was usually produced by swamps and sewage, which basically made Roberk a walking sewer — but it was hard to say anything while holding her breath. So she just gave him the biggest eye roll she could muster, then continued walking. She caught up to Dak in the atrium of the building, where the exhibits began on the other side of a huge open archway. Dak was craning his neck so much she thought he might strain a muscle. He was obviously dying to see what awaited them in the museum.

“Don’t hurt yourself, there,” she leaned over and said to him, determined to slam a door on the sour mood that had crept up on her when she’d thought of the Remnants. “You’ll miss the whole tour if they have to take you away for emergency neck replacement.”

“Whoa!” he whispered back fiercely. “I think that’s a Viking longship in the next room! Must be a new exhibit. Do you think it’s a karvi or a busse?”

Sera got on her tiptoes to look — through the archway she could see the ornate carved dragon head at the bow of what had to be a massive wooden ship. “Cool.” She would’ve said more, but Mr. Davedson had just cleared his throat to get the class’s attention. Their teacher was an odd duck — the word crooked described his features the best. Hair, eyebrows, mustache, ears, tie, pants. Everything about him seemed to lean to the left.

“Okay, kids, listen up!” He always called them kids, and she’d been tempted for months to respond, “Yes, Grandpa?” But she hadn’t gotten up the nerve quite yet.

“We’ve got an awful lot of things to see today, and not much time to do it. Remember not to question the docent when he speaks — he’s a representative of our beloved SQ.” He shot a nervous look at a tall, smartly dressed bald man standing by the door. Sera had seen him when she’d come in, but she hadn’t noticed the silver SQ insignia he wore on the lapel of his suit. “I expect everyone to be on their best behavior — in tip-top shape and proudly representing the fine institution of Benedict Arnold Middle School! Can I have a woo-hoo?”

Oh, please, Sera thought in a panic. Not this — not in front of the museum staff!