The Chameleon’s tone was neutral, not a question, but Ashe felt the need to respond.
“Neither am I. Interesting.”
There is a dampening field in or around the device and the brass surface is coated with an anti-nanite substance. The drones appear to have penetrated the underside, though their fate is unclear.
“So the drones didn’t make it—”
Light emerged from the device and traveled back up the forceps and into the Chameleon’s hand. Data exploded inside Ashe’s head, through the link. It was almost too much, but Lurch quickly focused on the most relevant. More than interesting.
Fascinating.
It seemed that the underside had some anti-nanite protection, too, but it was thin, perhaps because of the porous qualities. The first of the drones had ceased function on contact, but had cleared the way for the next wave to enter. Whoever had designed it had considered the threat of penetration there to be less likely, or it wasn’t possible to do more. Something about the porous surface allowed the device to tap into brain function. That might have inhibited the ability for more protection.
“It is similar to the Dusan mind control device, but the design is—very vintage.” The Chameleon frowned, though not at Ashe this time. “It looks like a tiny steam engine. What’s that red dot?”
Ashe had the odd sense of having gone full circle. “The power source. Constilinium, a minute amount, but it is potent enough to power a device this small for a very long time—”
It sometimes happened that disconnected thoughts would, almost without volition, connect inside her head. The process sometimes felt so abrupt, she felt sure the clicking together must be audible to those around her. Like a vid inside her head, all that had happened since everything went wrong played in her head, though in snatches, as if the key stuff had been highlighted for her by someone else. Her brain had always been this way, but it still startled her when it happened without conscious direction.
Their arrival in the alternate reality outpost.
The various Constilinium trails, altered and unaltered.
The organized attacks on the nanites and the trackers.
The dark edge of the void where she’d lost Smith’s trail.
Her arrival here. The changes following the device extraction.
The things she knew. The things she didn’t.
The things Lurch knew and said he didn’t or didn’t admit he knew.
And the things that hadn’t changed.
The kaleidoscope spun and formed, then reformed into a new and enlightening pattern, or perhaps the beginning of knowing, with the
things that hadn’t changed
at the heart of it. Either her companions heard the click or her eyes widened and gave the mental shift away. The Chameleon’s eyes narrowed. Ashe was distantly surprised Lurch didn’t just do a data dump of the whole mess. Instead, she sensed his…retreat.
“The nanites,” she hesitated, feeling her way through the maze of ideas, “provided protection from the time quake we experienced. They threw up a shield around this room.” How had they known what to do? It had been classified by the Time Service, so no one would know how to breach it. And no one, no
thing,
in this time should know what to do.
The Chameleon nodded, her look edging into the “so what” zone.
You protected her before. That’s why you and she remember what happened in those alternate time lines.
No sense of denial or an admission from him and she didn’t have time to call him on it.
“But it’s more than that.” She looked around. “This place is infused with nanites.” She paused. “There’s no history, no time line of how the Council came to be. Who discovered what? No time trail to follow.”
“Wouldn’t that be classified?” The Chameleon asked it, her tone that of one fishing for information, while at the same time wary of getting it.
“Or lost in a reset.” Ashe felt Lurch bracing inside her. She braced, too, but for a time paradox to stop her. Or end her existence. “Or perhaps that knowledge was locked away by the scientists who figured it out, because they knew it was too dangerous to get out. They were so focused on learning, they forgot to ask if they should do this, if it was wise to know. When they realized it, they locked it and fled. Locked it, when it should have been destroyed, because what can be locked, can be unlocked.”
Time didn’t even flinch. Which meant what?
“Perhaps,” this from the man, “they couldn’t bear to destroy it. For good or ill, it was their life’s work.”
She’s the one, isn’t she? She figured it out. Or you all helped her figure it out.
Silence.
You know. You know, right now, inside her, inside you, how to do it all. You could turn this into a time base right now. Set the time shields.
Another silence, longer this time. From him she felt an odd sense of shame and relief. What had he been afraid she’d figure out? What was worse than this?
You can do all of it.
It’s all here. Maybe you learned a few new things, but the core of it is there. Isn’t it? And whoever is doing this knows it? Knows it all came from the nanites? He just doesn’t know when.
Yes.
THIRTY-TWO
You need to chill, Em
.
Emily knew it. Managed to stop the thin, high-pitched wail, though not the jumping up and down. Or the trying to shake it off. And the wail was totally ready to make a comeback. “It’s a bug.”
You’ve like, been through it, girlfriend, during this ride with Robert-oh-my-darling. This is easy beans,
Wynken pointed out, managing to sound both anxious and incredulous. And a bit something else that if she didn’t have a bug on her finger, she’d try to figure out. But she did have a bug on her finger.
“It’s a
bug
.”
Blynken also seemed stuck in incredulous.
Girl, you helped capture the airship and kicked zombie ass. No big deal.
No big deal?
“It’s a bug!”
You escaped an automaton with your wits and the Wonder Wrench 2000.
Wynken was now completely living in incredulous with Blynken.
And, girl, you ninja defeated three zombies,
Blynken said, then added,
it’s not like it’s a real bug.
It’s a brass, mind-controlling, zombie making,
“BUG!” She shook her finger.
And it could be sucking my brains out right now!
She switched to whine-one-one mode because that always worked with Ed. “Getitoffmegetitoffmenow!”
Emily knew her freak out was a bit over the top, that trying to shake it off her finger wasn’t accomplishing that much, and that hyperventilating did nothing to clear her head, but it was a
bug
and she wanted it off her finger
now
.
It’s clamped to your finger, not your brain, Em.
“It’s a bug!”
The huge, hulking automaton didn’t scare you but the tiny little bug does? Seriously, girl, you need to get a grip.
Emily got a mini-grip, but felt compelled to point out that
, it’s called a phobia. Lots of people have them.
Interesting.
It is not interesting.
“It’s a BUG!”
“We do understand that it is a bug,” Carig said, trying to mash through the wall at his back.
“It’s not just a bug! It’s a BUG!”
The word bug seemed to echo and echo and echo some more. It echoed so much Emily had to pause the panic attack and wonder why, though not enough to ask, of course, not that the two girls were in the same country as an answer to any question. She didn’t have to anyway. She followed the sound to the window. She eased back a filthy curtain, using the bug finger, since it was already hosed, and peeked out.
The zombies were all doing this strange, hopping dance and yelling, “It’s a bug!” Then they yelled,
“Getitoffmegetitoffmenow!”
It was enough to distract her from the bug. “They’re mocking me.”
They are mimicking you.
Emily wasn’t sure what the difference was, and it didn’t matter because another question was bubbling up and trying to crawl out her lips. Something along the lines of how did they know what she was doing so they could mimic her, only without a question mark at the end. She was also sort of aware that both Glarmere and Carig sat up, their backs to the wall, looking less pale now that the zombies had mysteriously vanished, though still a bit wide-eyed about something. Maybe they didn’t like metal bugs either.
Girl, they’re afraid of you.
The nanites seemed to like that a bit too much and they weren’t doing anything to get her free of the bug. They could fix a butt, but not de-bug finger, it seemed.
Outside the zombies had quieted down. Now they stood staring at their fingers. Their index fingers. She looked at her finger, gave it a wave. It took a few seconds—twenty-five according to Wynken—and they all waved their fingers, too. In slow motion, she lifted an arm and wiggled it. Same interval later, the zombies echoed the move. She tried some dance moves. They did them.
Wow, did not know I looked like that. If I get out of here, I will so have to get some new moves.
She tried a different set, added some
Ice, Ice Baby
lyrics. Stopped as soon as she could. Felt like it took the zombies took too long to stop.
That feels way different than it looks.
Girl. Your pitch. Hurts the ears something fierce.
Something was definitely going on with Blynken.
I’m better at loud.
She felt their agreement, though neither was unkind enough to express it. She’d heard worse slams on her pitch from Ed and most of her friends, so was able to shrug it off as she continued her experiment in seeing herself as others saw her.
They probably just aren’t as good at it as I am.
She almost had the sensation of whistling in her head.
Okay, so I suck at every form of dancing. And I can’t carry a tune, but it’s still hilarious making them do stuff—oh!
“Oh, oh, oh!” The kernel of an idea formed inside the brain the peeps so admired. She wasn’t getting admiration vibes from Glarmere and Carig, but despite the fact that their association was recent, she’d already learned not to expect to. It almost felt like the nanites sat up and clapped as they processed her thoughts.
The dude was with two zombies at last sighting.
Her zombies had vanished, but even if his had vanished, too, there were all the zombies in the street. If they all started singing off key, he had to notice that. Of course, there was the airship engine, but if she sang really, really loud, which they’d already established she could—outside the zombies started to shamble, their movements sort of in the normal range, if a zombie had a normal range.
They’re getting away.
She launched into
New York, New York.
It was a belt-it-out kind of song, practically demanded some moves. The zombies stopped their sort of normal progress and started to sing and dance.
I really thought that one was, you know, pretty good.
So all her moves needed work. She could handle a critique. Probably. Both men tried to become one with the walls at their backs and clapped their hands over their ears. What a couple of girls.
I knew I was off key, but didn’t realize I was that off key.
Do you think that the dude will catch a clue with just singing?
Maybe you should tell him. Using, oh, words?
But anything I say that the zombies say would also tell the evil overlord—
Oh!
She grinned at the girls. “I have a plan.”
They did not have to look so horrified. They’d so done that look to death.
* * * *
No one knew what to expect when the ex-zombie opened his eyes. There’d been no way to clean up the blood, so the scene looked a bit gruesome, though the peeps had left him without a scar. It would be disconcerting to open your eyes and find yourself surrounded by the motley crew, so Robert wasn’t surprised when their test subject exhibited alarm.
“What do you remember?” the Colonial asked, reassuming his role as titular leader of the group. The rest of the men hovered between helping and pouncing as they awaited his response.
The man touched the back of his neck, frowning, then finally shaking his head. “Not much.” He looked around. “Not this.”
“Are you a pin or a tracker?” this from Purple guy.
“We are all pins,” the Belle added, as if to reassure him.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about it.”
“You’ve been diverted, dude. Talking about it is the least of your problems,” Biker said, flexing his huge arms. His confidence appeared to be on the rise.
It had to help knowing that what had been done to the zombies could be reversed. If there was someone around to reverse it. It didn’t seem a good idea to point this out, when Robert’s main desire was to get shed of them.
“A pin.” He sat up, with a little help from Purple, and looked around. “And this is not my destination point.”
“It’s not anyone’s destination.” The Belle started tart, but ended with a simper, perhaps at the introduction of another male to the group.
Robert was not surprised this didn’t reassure him, nor did the sight of the bedraggled belle initiate the desired physical response from the former zombie.
She needs a look in a mirror to cool those jets.
Nod started and ended with tart.
Robert could almost see the guy consider—and discard—several questions. Which question he might have settled on got lost when they heard shouting—not close. Out in the street perhaps?
“They found us!” the Belle looked wildly around, as if planning to bolt.
Their hiding place suddenly felt more like a trap than cover.
Always leave yourself a way out.
Robert fought his way clear of the drooping envelope, determined to meet any attack out in the open, but the rooftop was empty. He angled his head, listening. No thump of footsteps on wooden stairs or banging on the roof access door. It almost sounded like chanting. He went to the edge, aware the motley crew, including the new member, followed, though at a few paces behind. Nice of them to let him be the first to engage any enemy. He peered over, cautiously at first, but then realized none of the zombies were paying any attention to anything. Instead they seemed to be engaged in some sort of synchronized hopping.