“You need to get out of there,” Imogen whispered.
She did, but she couldn’t. Too many things tied Eliot here, the cable among them. Its download wasn’t finished yet, and it was the datastream’s ending they needed most. As per Vera’s updates: TRANSFER OF CTM AB AETERNO 95 AD MISSION RECORDINGS IS 87% COMPLETE.
Even if she was able to stall 13 percent more, there was the matter of the beacon. Ackerman had tracked her here, would continue to hound her as long as Vera ran. Eliot couldn’t teleport back to the Invictus without bringing a load of trouble with her, and warning Imogen would only tip off this cucurbita…
89%
“Shazm,” Imogen breathed. “He can teleport-track you. Time to storm the brain…. Got any ideas, Gram?”
Eliot couldn’t hear what the Engineer suggested. She was too lost in her own whirlwind thoughts: Stall, just stall. Tangle him up in by-the-book rules, the way Dr. Ramírez did. “If you’re asking me for a report, I’d prefer to give it in person to your authorities in MB+251418881HTP8.”
“I’m under strict orders not to let you leave this universe until you scan free of countersignature emissions. The Fade must be contained at all costs.” The man’s voice went a shade deeper, his shoulders a notch larger. “I asked you a question, Cadet McCarthy, and as my subordinate you’re required to answer. Where is the catalyst?”
91%
“I’m working on the neutralization.”
“The boy’s still alive?” Agent Ackerman reached past the ellipses of blood on his sleeve, hand vanishing through his wrist. It returned from his pocket universe holding a blaster. “Figures you’d be too softhearted to pull the trigger. Take me to the catalyst and I’ll get the job done.”
92%
Eliot didn’t have another eight percent of stalling in her. She held up her palms. “I’m not so sure point-and-shoot is the solution here. The Fade was kicked off by an event, not a person. If we go back in time and alter—”
“More pivot points are the last thing this mess needs!” the Bureau agent snarled. “Besides, do I look like a history hopper to you?”
“A porkpie hat as fine as that would throw anyone.”
93%.
Imogen returned, her suggestion soft: “Get him to step a smidge to your left.”
Eliot shifted to the side. Agent Ackerman mirrored her, fingers tight around his gun as he moved away from the glass door, into the security camera’s line of sight. The room began to wail from the ground up—throaty sirens, strobe lights slashing every which way. Alert. Intruder. Face not recognized.
How did adding the Corps to their list of complications help anything? The situation only escalated: blaster barrel rose to meet Eliot’s chest, and Agent Ackerman’s forehead veins filled with squiggly-worm rage, rooting from the brim of his hat. A scream warped his mouth, but Eliot couldn’t hear it for the alarms. 96%. Seconds crawled. Agent Ackerman was turning into a tomato of a man, trigger finger too twitchy for her liking.
97%. Noise from every source—alarm, comm, the Bureau agent’s mouth—crashed into an incoherent blur.
98%.
She could jump soon, but where? Ackerman would only follow her, unless—
Another brightness joined the strobe lights. Corps security had arrived, along with their highly charged weapons: stunrods. Agent Ackerman’s eyes went white with the voltage, one hit to the neck and another to the side. Eliot—hands lifted high, wearing what passed for a Corps uniform—was spared the onslaught. The closest guard of the four, a man with copper hair whose name tag read J. DYKEMA, held out a hand to steady her.
“Are you okay?” he mouthed.
99%.
Eliot nodded, looking down at Agent Ackerman. His fetal position was halfhearted, porkpie hat flopped feather-side to the floor. No chance he’d be tailing her anytime soon. Both his body and his interface had absorbed too much electricity to function properly. A genius solution. No doubt she had Gram to thank….
But solving this problem only made way for a dozen more. J. Dykema was doing a double take of her Corps badge—reading Temporem Ullum Homo Non Manet, realizing the Latin didn’t add up with the motto on his own sleeve. His freckled fist tightened around his stunrod.
“Hey…”
TRANSFER COMPLETE.
Eliot vanished, in full view of everyone, leaving the cable, an unconscious Bureau agent, and four shocked security guards in her wake.
38
THE LAST DAY
FAR WATCHED THE OUTCROP GOATS FROM his captain’s chair, taking in their shadows against the growing pulse of Central time’s dawn. The animals were a poor distraction: The few that weren’t asleep grazed on dew-coated grass, boring and bored. He wanted to move, but with clothes strewn across the floor there was no room for pacing. Instead Far began picking a hole in his armrest’s leather—worrying the orange wider and wider, while the rest of the crew troubleshot behind him. Having never been on this side of a mission, Far had nothing to offer.
He sat it out in the chair, picking it to pieces, watching goats take shape against the sunrise. Eliot’s landing—and consequent scrambling—made enough noise for the animals to perk up their ears and stare at the empty patch of field. Had their eyes and minds been sharper, they might’ve noticed the seam where the TM’s holo-shield met true air. Being livestock, they just went back to eating.
The Invictus tore out of Central time, goats giving way to the Grid. Absolute dark stared into Far, and the truth hit him: They weren’t going back. Whether they succeeded or failed, he would never see Central as himself again. It was a smaller good-bye, but even the tiny lasts felt huge stacked up like this.
“You were right.” He swung his chair toward Eliot. Her comm was still connected to the Invictus’s systems, every breath magnified. It sounded as if she’d just run a marathon. “Agent Ackerman is a total arse.”
“I forgot”—gulp, gasp—“about Vera’s beacon. It wasn’t in my self-briefing. The zapping was brilliant, though. Even if Ackerman gets his teleportation system back online he won’t find us. Multiverse Bureau agents aren’t equipped to travel through time.”
“Great clicking, Gram!”
“Good swirling, Imogen!”
The two grinned at each other, bridging the space between their consoles with a high five. Far couldn’t shake the feeling that these celebrations were preemptive. They’d only escaped the Multiverse Bureau by poking the dragon that was the Corps, who did possess time-traveling capabilities.
“When the alarms sounded, I wiped the security footage,” Gram explained when he caught Far’s expression. “The Corps will have no idea what went down.”
“That’s something, at least.” Far turned to Eliot. “Did you download the file?”
She pulled off her wig, nodding. “One hundred percent.”