Time Siege Read online

  James swung his head to the side just as the pipe thunked against the floor. He kicked out, taking one of her legs from under her, and rolled to his feet. He was immediately tackled by another individual—this time a scrawny man with powered gauntlets. A punch to the gut sucked the wind out of him, and he doubled over. Another strike to his chin almost knocked him out. James fell backward until his back slammed against the wall panel. A second later, Scrawny’s shoulder rammed into his gut.

  “Release your bands, asshole, and we’ll let you live.”

  James’s consciousness ebbed in and out. He took another glancing hit to the side of the face, managing to partially dodge the blow. He raised both hands and slapped Scrawny in the ears and then put him in a headlock. James threw his free elbow down on Scrawny’s back until he forced the guy to his knees. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman fly at him again. He caught her arm as she swung the club. James spun to the left and threw both of his assailants onto the ground.

  “Who do you think you’re dealing with?” he snarled, his anger boiling over. His frustrations from the past weeks overcame him as he turned on the figure holding onto his exo-chain. The man pulled out a pistol and fired. The beam of light went wide left, but seared James’s left arm, spinning him around. James continued charging, ducking underneath another shot before he pounced on top of the man. Two quick looping punches on the crown of his head folded the man in a crumpled heap. The handle to the exo-chain dropped to the ground and powered off.

  James powered on his exo and shot coils from his body, wrapping them around his assailants and lifting them up into the air. Two of them were unconscious; one moaned softy. The three of them looked like nothing more than thieves.

  “Please,” the one still conscious, the woman, begged. “Don’t kill us. We’re just trying hock some gear for food and air. We’ll leave the colony. We won’t bother anyone anymore. I promise!”

  James was unsure what to do with them. A quick squeeze of the coils would end them. They deserved it. Who knew how many people they had entrapped with this scheme. Still, he was tired of all this killing. These shits were young, barely in their twenties, probably getting by the only way they could. They got their hands on the exo-chain and decided it was going to pave their way. He saw a lot of himself in them.

  He looked at the exo-chain lying on the ground, and for a second considered confiscating it to sell. He picked it up and examined its condition. It was a moderately valuable piece of tech. Then he noticed how worn it looked and wondered how many people this gang had entrapped with it. There was blood on this thing. He created an additional coil and smashed it.

  “I’m sending your prints and images to the Puck Pirates,” he said. “I don’t know what they’re going to do with this information once they receive it. I’m sure you don’t either. You might want to reconsider your scheme at Bulk’s Head.”

  James dropped the broken fragments of the exo-chain on the ground and stormed out of the room. He made the long walk back up the main stairwell in silence. His face ached in several places, and the laser burn on his shoulder stung. It had been a closer call than he cared to admit. Anyone semi-competent would have been able to finish him off three-versus-one once he got caught in the exo-chain.

  He was angry at himself. He should have known better. The old James would have for sure. He had gotten desperate. These three punks had probably scouted him out, knowing that he was making the rounds. They probably sent the information to Grace right after his last rejection to entrap him. If he had been anyone else, a Tier-3 or lower, they would have succeeded. Probably forced him to give up his bands and then jettisoned him out into space, never to be seen again.

  Deflated, James dragged his exhausted and hurt body back up to the main levels and made his way to the residence. He had been up nearly twenty hours now, working fervently to find solutions to his many problems before hitting that dead end. Well, it seemed the end was in sight now, and he had still made no headway. It was over. He had failed.

  The longer he was away from Earth, the likelier it was that something was going to happen to Elise and Sasha. He just needed to go home. It made him feel slightly guilty that the fight with the three hooligans had felt good. He was so frustrated recently that he had been itching to break something. Break someone.

  He passed the now-familiar hallway leading to the Drink Anomaly, and the neon sign blinking pink, bathing the area in its sugary glow. He stopped and stared. Of all the times he had needed a drink and forced himself to keep walking, this was the time he might actually deserve one.

  “The past is already dead,” a soft voice whispered.

  He stood there and watched the patrons walk in and out. The alcohol inside beckoned him. He felt his body pulled toward the bar as if there were a powerful magnet in there, and his skin had turned to metal. James almost felt himself lifted off his feet as he stumbled forward.

  The hallucination of Sasha stood next to the entrance and folded her arms in front of her chest. She seethed. James avoided looking at her. If he couldn’t see her, she didn’t exist, right? She didn’t exist anyway. The real Sasha was on Earth. Alive. As he entered the Drink Anomaly, he saw Sasha leave her post and stomp around the corner.

  “The past is already dead.”

  That damn voice. Where was it coming from? James entered the main room of the bar, and the sounds of the crowd drowned out the whisper in his head. It was packed. Brightly-garbed pleasure boys and girls were sprinkled among dozens of surly-looking patrons. James felt energized and alive again as every step took him closer to what his body needed.

  The bartender walked by James a few times as he waited at the counter. The first few passes, the bartender must have appraised James’s clothing and decided he wasn’t worth paying too much attention to. Then he proceeded to ignore him for the next twenty minutes. James felt an itch crawling up his neck as he tried to stave off the shaking in his hands. Finally, the bartender, taking his time wiping the counter, looked his way. “What will it be, my friend?”

  That once-familiar phrase, something he often heard in his head while on jobs, stunned James as if he were splashed by a bucket of cold water. Waves of grief long-suppressed washed over him, and he felt stabbing pain rend his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed hearing those words until someone else spoke them. The bartender had to be from Proteus, the same moon colony that Smitt came from.

  James’s vision blurred and he wiped his eyes. “Whiskey. Make it a good year.”

  One drink. That’s all it would be. One drink to wipe away all of today’s rejections and failures. Tomorrow, he would start anew. Let this one drink clear his mind. He promised. That’s all he would be here for.

  “I knew you couldn’t survive without me.” That voice again.

  A tin cup appeared almost instantaneously, and then the bartender was gone, moving over to serve another patron. James stared at the cup sitting on the counter. He felt his throat dry in anticipation. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to pick it up and inhale the alcohol inside. He put both hands on the cup and pressed down, forcing it to stay on the counter. He was squeezing so hard its sides began to dent. He felt the urge to lift it again and throw its contents back in one smooth motion. Just one wouldn’t hurt, would it?

  He looked back at the bartender chatting with another patron and stopped. The man’s face had changed. Perhaps it was the light reflecting off his complexion. Perhaps it was his slightly familiar-sounding accent. Then the man’s features seemed to wash off his face, as if it were a paint mod erasing itself, except what was hidden behind it was someone familiar. He forced himself to look away and scan the crowd, trying to keep his shaking hands from being noticed.

  “You all right there, my friend?” the bartender returned and asked. He even sounded familiar.

  James inhaled and turned back toward the counter. The bartender’s face was normal again, unfamiliar. James picked up the whiskey and lifted it to his mouth. His hands were
shaking so badly he had slopped half of it out of the cup. He felt himself lean toward the left, almost falling off the stool. He was just tired. The stress. Problems stacking on top of problems.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered desperately over and over again. “Shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be here. Need to get out of here.”

  The voice whispered, “We’re both right here, where we’re supposed to be.”

  James slammed the cup down on the counter and stormed out. Pushing his way through the crowd, he headed straight for the residence, knocking aside anyone who got in his way. All the voices nearby sounded like insects buzzing, and the room swayed at an odd angle, the right corners turning into parallelograms. He stumbled into the residence and collapsed onto the bed. Fortunately, Grace wasn’t there at the moment. He wouldn’t have been able to explain what was going on right now.

  “I just need to get some sleep,” he mumbled.

  He had been under a lot of stress lately. It had been a while since he had felt this sort of pressure. Sleep would do some good. He crawled under the sheets. His body shook uncontrollably, and he felt chilled to the bone as he huddled in a fetal position under the blankets. A few seconds later, a drowsiness washed over him. James wiped his brow; it was wet. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and a cool breeze brushed his cheek. That shouldn’t be possible. Then, he closed his eyes and suddenly felt very cold.

  TEN

  MY FRIEND

  James Griffin-Mars shivered as he stood watch on Outpost U-B at the northern edge of the ChronoCom Academy grounds on Tethys. The Outpost was nothing more than a rectangular shelter with four walls, a roof, and a trickle charger that barely had enough levels to keep one band charging at a time, let alone an oxygen band, heat band, comm band, and AI band. Not only that, James had to reserve enough of the charge to power his water purifier, ration utility, and in the end, put enough power into the rover to truck his way back to the Academy two hundred kilometers to the south.

  This was all part of the box test, the fifth that James had had to survive in five years and one of the most difficult of the tier curriculum. Each year, the test got a little harder, the resources a little more scarce, and the stay in the box a little longer.

  This last time, James had to survive twenty days off five days’ rations and water. It was a difficult test, but one designed for the initiates to succeed if they managed their meager resources wisely. However, most people failed, with over 90 percent requiring extraction before the twentieth day. The fatality rate hovered around 19 percent.

  So far this year, none in his class had succeeded in passing the fifth box test; James was intent on being the first. He was near the end, having survived eighteen days, but was risking failure. He had miscalculated some of his earlier metrics and was scrimping on some of his levels, trying to play catch-up. Right now, he was barely surviving by turning the levels of his oxygen band only high enough for labored breathing, and his heat band just warm enough not to go into hypothermia. However, in doing so, he had let the levels of his comm and AI band lapse so he wouldn’t be able to call for help if he were to concede the test, nor could the Academy administrators track his life signs. It was foolish, but James would rather go all out to pass the test than have his odds of success diminished by those level-guzzling safety nets.

  Lying on the hard floor of the outpost, shivering and barely conscious, James stared out the porthole at the almost painfully bright reflective icy surface of the moon. Two more days. Forty-eight more hours. The rover required sixteen hours of charge to cover that distance. His oxygen band needed fourteen more to sustain this level of breathing. His heat band … James felt his consciousness leave him as he closed his eyes and embraced the darkness.

  “Wake up, James.”

  He opened his eyes. The frozen plains of Tethys were still there. Bright, uniform, white. Barren. Except now, there was a small black speck in the distance. He couldn’t tell what it was. A vehicle? Hallucination? God, for all he knew.

  “It’s not God. You’re not dead yet, my friend.”

  James rolled off his side onto his back and sat up. To his left, Smitt sat on the floor with his back against the wall, chewing on a ration bar. James hoped to the abyss that wasn’t one of his. If Smitt had decided to munch on his food, James was going to kick his ass. He had only five left, barely enough to survive the next two days and the return trip to the Academy.

  He sat up and felt the room sway. He took a long, slow, labored breath. “What are you doing here, Smitt? If the admins notice you’re here, I’ll get disqualified. I’m not taking the damn test again because you’re bored for company. I swear—”

  “Relax, James.” His best friend chuckled. “No one knows I’m here. You powered down your AI band, remember? That was stupid, by the way.”

  “I need every edge I can get.” James palmed the wall with both hands and got onto unsteady feet. He looked out the window again. The black speck was still there, growing larger. He turned around and stepped over Smitt on the way to the wash basin. The small container had a fifth of a liter of purified water. James drank a third of that, letting the water sit in his mouth for a good thirty counts before letting it slide down his throat. He took another deep breath.

  He turned back to face Smitt. “I can’t talk too long. I don’t have the oxygen to waste. You can’t stay here either.” He paused. “How did you get here, anyway?”

  Smitt hopped onto his feet and wiped his hands, scattering the crumbs of the ration bar on the floor. He had always had been a messy eater, though James thought it was cruel to be so wasteful in front of him while he was testing. Smitt walked over and picked up the rest of the water and guzzled it down before James could stop him.

  “Ah,” he said, smacking his lips. “Nothing like cool refreshing ice water to wash down a lunch made from recycled plastics.”

  James stared at the empty container, stunned. “You just drank the rest of my water.” He considered putting his hands around his best friend’s throat and choking the life out of him.

  “No, my friend. You only think so. Look again.” Smitt pointed at the empty container in his hand.

  Smitt’s words slapped James in the face. He looked down. The water had refilled. How was this possible? “What did you…?” He stared at his friend. Funny, Smitt looked much older than he remembered. They were at the Academy. Smitt would be about nineteen right now. Would be. No, he is. James noticed Smitt’s arms. He wasn’t wearing any bands. How was he surviving out here? What was going on?

  Then he remembered. This test was a long time ago. A lot had happened since then. James did survive this test. He became a chronman. “Smitt…” He looked back at his friend. “You … you died.”

  Smitt shook his head. “I’m sorry we never made it to Europa together.”

  “You’re not actually here. Neither of us are. You never were.” James looked around the room. “No, you were.” He walked over to the wall with the porthole. The black speck was distinguishable now. It was a rover speeding along the plains, getting larger and kicking up a trail of ice dust as it approached the outpost. He turned back and looked at Smitt. “The real you is there, aren’t you? You’re coming to check up on me.”

  Smitt walked up next to James and looked out the window. “You didn’t call in for six checkpoints and your AI band was down for the last two days. The admins assumed, and very accurately, I might add, that you were probably conserving levels and that you were willing to risk retrieval in order to finish the test. They were right, you brave, fucking idiot. Those assholes were applauding your gutsy call even as they wagered among themselves if you were going to survive. I said to abyss with it and came to check up on you.”

  James closed his eyes and dug into his past. So many buried memories, so many that he wanted to forget. This wasn’t one of them. But he had forgotten. Why? He looked up at his best friend. “I had failed.”

  Smitt nodded. “I probably got to you four to five hours befor
e your levels gave out. You were already unconscious for abyss knows how long. I brought you back to the Academy.”

  “You got reprimanded for coming out here,” James said.

  Smitt grinned. “Screw them. You lived.”

  But Smitt didn’t. Kuo killed him for helping James. He knew the risks, but James was selfish. If James had truly cared for Smitt the way his friend had cared for him, James would have cut off all contact with Smitt once he had become a fugitive. Instead, Smitt risked his life helping James inside ChronoCom and paid the ultimate price.

  James felt his throat catch as Smitt patted him on the back and headed toward the exit. “Take care of yourself, my friend. Don’t let my death go to waste, and when I say that, I mean don’t avenge me.” He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him.

  James ran to the window and saw Smitt’s figure disappear into the distance, seemingly fading into the air the farther he walked from the outpost. A second later, the rover zipped past the porthole. James heard the door slam open and saw a much-younger-looking Smitt run into the room.

  “James,” he squeaked in a high-pitched voice. “Fuck, you’re unconscious. Damn stubborn idiot. I knew you’d pull something like this … Snap out of it!” He slapped the unconscious James. “Come on, don’t you die on me and leave me to fend for myself, you asshole. I knew you couldn’t survive without me.” Smitt slapped him again. “Wake up!”

  * * *

  James opened his eyes just in time to see Grace hovering over him, her pruned hands held up in the air.

  “I’m up, I’m up,” he said.

  She brought her hand down on the side of his cheek, ringing his ears. She hit him so hard she nursed her hand afterward. “I knew your head was as hard as a rock.”

  “What did you do that for?” He grimaced, rubbing the side of his face.

  “You woke me up with your flailing and yelling. And because I wanted to.” She bared her teeth in a wicked grin. She noted the sweat pouring down his brow and dabbed him with a rag. “Hallucinations again?”