“I’d recommend deploying some troops and fighters, sir.” Her gaze flicked to Hel, including him in the recommendation. His nod was almost imperceptible, but his
agreed
came over the peep link. She got a mental HUD, compared it to the visual bleed-throughs, projected it so the general and Hel could see it. “We appear to have something incoming there,” she pointed toward the beach section that appeared to have been breached, “and back there.” She gestured to the rear. “And I’ll bet we’ll see some action from the other directions, too.” Didn’t seem unreasonable to expect an evil genius to know battle strategy. Both men started barking orders in their respective radios. After a pause for responses, Hel looked at her.
“The Garradian ships are experiencing problems,” his calm remained commanding, but Doc sensed concern. “Whatever is affecting the outpost is affecting them, too.”
“The
Doolittle
is unaffected.” The general probably couldn’t help sounding a bit smug. “I’ve ordered two
Dauntless
squadrons to deploy. ETA five minutes.”
That seemed to confirm her gut instinct that this attack wasn’t meant for them. Anyone from the future would know the outpost had Earth defenders in this time. Doc felt a quiver of something else in her gut. If this battle wasn’t supposed to happen here, it didn’t mean they couldn’t get hosed, or trigger more time problems by getting involved. “I would respectfully suggest that nobody starts shooting until we know what we’re shooting at.”
Both men nodded, with obvious reluctance, but seemed to pick up on what she hadn’t said as they turned to stare at the strange horizon. She hesitated, hating to lose her view, but felt a need to be down there, on the ground when crap started to happen. She’d never been great at delegating and she did specialize in handling crap. As she hit the lift, she got a portal alert.
Incoming travelers.
Robert—
before the thought could finish their ID tags came up. Colonel Carey and Fyn? She looked at Halliwell, who had followed her out, just as he looked at her.
“Did you—” they started and stopped together.
“We should debrief them ASAP,” Doc said.
“Agreed. Where?”
“Maybe have the
Doolittle
grab them? Carey’s gonna want to be in his
Dauntless
if crap starts happening
.
” And she didn’t trust any of the Garradian transport systems right now. “We can talk to him on the radio.”
“And Fyn?”
“I’d like him here if you don’t mind, sir.” Fyn was a pilot, too, but if a FUBAR was incoming, she wouldn’t mind having him at her back and he had been in the museum with the others. He didn’t talk a lot, but surely he’d have something to say about that.
Halliwell nodded and snapped the orders into his headset. She thought she had her thoughts locked down, but as she shoved open the doors to the outside, a question slipped through a crack in the lock down. If the glitches had triggered recalls of off base personnel, why hadn’t it grabbed Robert, too?
“We’ll find him,” Hel said. “Or he will find us. Someone once told me that the impossible just takes longer.”
“Smart someone,” Doc shot back.
“The most dangerous someone I know.” He half grinned at her, his love and affection surging through the peep link.
Dang, he was good. Knew just what to say to make her feel better.
FORTY-ONE
Robert felt the tug in his midsection and made a lunge toward Em, but she flashed out, his hand closing on empty air. He had a brief sensation of her scent lingering in the air and then the tug turned into a yank in the center of his suddenly hollow chest, and he was in the transport beam. It felt wrong to be there without her. It was wrong. She was alone…
Dude, she has Nod and Wynken.
He knew that, but the reminder helped him remember that he knew that.
Wow, that almost sounds like something Em would think.
Blynken sounded about how Robert felt. A bit hollow, a lot lost.
I shouldn’t have let go. I knew I shouldn’t and I did it. I let go.
He wanted to wail and beat his chest, neither possible in the stream—the stream turned from a semi-smooth ride to a roller coaster. Robert had the sensation of going feet over his head, then reversing that several times, had the sense he wasn’t alone in the wave, though the eyes might have been paranoia or wish fulfillment. Red eyes gleamed out of the blackness, like the automaton eyes. That had to be paranoia. And then, as if a giant hand reached out, he was yanked in a different direction, almost to the point of yanked in half. A wave sucked him into a sideways somersault and then he rolled free of it and onto grass. He finished the tumble on his back. Overhead, the shadow of an airship tracked across him, the chug of the engine oddly placid considering the canon muzzle sliding into view. And then the horizon shivered and the only thing he saw was a couple of white clouds drifting across the blue-green Kikk sky. He was back, though he should have arrived through the portal, not out here.
He rolled over and onto his knees, trying to assess his location. Down toward the beach, the horizon pulsed some more, a bit like it had in the alternate reality, but slower and more regularly.
This could be bad.
Dude, what’s been good about events since we left the museum? Well, other than Em.
Before Robert could think a response, he saw her.
Em.
Phasing into view for several seconds, though not completely. He could see the rolling surf through her. Zombies clustered around her and others fell from the sky, and then she and they faded like movie credits. All except for one figure. A man. Tall, cadaverous, ugly, with cold eyes. Eyes so cold, so dead, Robert felt Blynken shrink inside him and wished he could shrink from sight, too. There was curiosity in the cold gaze, though the detachment muted any softening that might have flowed from that very human emotion. Robert gathered himself in and upright, grateful for the presence of even a scared Blynken, as his body settled into one of his sister’s defensive postures.
“The evil overlord wannabe, I presume.” The sound of his voice, calm and collected, would have impressed him if he hadn’t known how thin the veneer of confidence actually was.
Amusement sparked in the dead gaze, though it also failed to warm or humanize him. A sort of smile edged up the thin line of his mouth. He tipped his head to one side, then to the other, as if assessing Robert. A weapon appeared in his hand, a ray gun. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you…Chameleon.”
That this creature had mistaken him for his sister could be good, though it didn’t feel good. It felt bad, even without the gun in play. Odd that the weapon didn’t scare him, but the eyes did.
* * * *
Fyn arrived in a flash of light, looking both reassuringly large and stoic, the same, in fact, as he’d looked the last time she’d seen him. He’d toned down the weaponry for the op, but still managed to give off a bristling-with-weapons vibe. She liked that about him. Doc felt a sudden longing to see Sara, his wife and her friend, but the recall couldn’t affect her, despite her nanites. She’d made sure of that when they handed majority control of the outpost to the Gadi. She and Fyn still didn’t quite trust Hel, though Sara tried to like him for Doc’s sake. Fyn still wanted to shoot him, if the look in his eyes was any indication.
“Please don’t.” Punctuating the request with a grin. Almost got a grin in return.
Doc had the twit’s version of events from the museum, but she’d arrived in the middle of it all. She needed Fyn and Carey’s take on what had happened before the machine flashed out. She didn’t even have to ask. The general did it first. Fyn’s report was predictably laconic. Good thing she hadn’t expected him to be disconcerted by the arrival of automatons or a transmogrification machine.
“Daniels has a cleanup team incoming,” Carey concluded his summary over the radio, as he and his squadron approached the Kikk atmosphere. “When the machine flashed out, I figured the prof had worked it out, that it was headed for Area 51. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
The only one of them who had been inside before the flash out was Daniels and he didn’t have a recall device. What had happened inside the machine? Had Robert been able to get control? Or was it jumping through time and space with Smith on his heels?
Halliwell scowled, something he did with considerable skill on account of his extensive practice. “I don’t like the arrival of a time warden in the middle of it, even if she did come in on your side.”
They say confession was good for the soul. Doc had never believed in confessing anything, but sometimes even she had to. “She wasn’t a warden. She was a tracker. Sir.”
Halliwell’s gaze—and attention—swung her way, not unlike the swing of a bat incoming. Doc stood her ground, took the hit without a visible change in expression. If her insides flinched, well, that was her business. He didn’t ask how she knew. Halliwell never wasted time on the things he already knew.
“You’re only just mentioning this—” The tone of his voice and the look on his face told her he’d forgotten she wasn’t in his command anymore. And she respected him too much to remind him.
“Events have moved rather quickly, General,” Hel put in, happy to remind him, without saying it, that Doc was on his team now. It would be payback for the general loving that the Garradian ships were down. “She only just left.”
Halliwell visibly gritted his teeth, managed almost polite when he asked, “So what happened in the museum is connected to this?” He gestured at the darkening sky.
Clouds swirled in odd patterns, even by Kikk storm standards. As if waiting for their notice a gust of wind swooped down, curling through them like they were an obstacle course. It didn’t feel like wind against the skin though. More like a mild power current passing through.
“It’s all connected,” Doc wanted to stop there, but couldn’t, “somehow. She was tracking Smith. Said he was up to no good.”
“That’s not a news flash, though she wasn’t a bad shot,” Carey put in, his voice warmer as if he approved of her tracking Smith. “I guess I’m glad I didn’t shoot her.”
“I’m not sorry I tried,” Fyn said, looking not sorry. “Missed.” He didn’t sound glad or sad. Might have been a bit disappointed.
“It was a righteous shot. Would have hit her if she hadn’t flashed out,” Carey put in, as his
Dauntless
made a high pass over their position. “Um, sir, you should check out your six.”
As one their group did a one-eighty to check out their six. A ragged line of what looked like robots now clumped inland from the beach. No, automatons.
* * * *
Robert found he still had trouble with expecting the unexpected when Faustus didn’t shoot him. It had seemed a reasonable expectation from someone who appeared to know about the Chameleon. Delilah wouldn’t have hesitated, but, based on her memories, she was always ready to shoot first, so Faustus would already be unconscious. Robert, who hadn’t been ready to shoot, had tried to prepare to be shot, had run scenarios on how to avoid it, had calculated his chances of dodging it—not great but better than not trying—and had wondered whether he could get his weapon out and shoot back before he was taken out—worse than his chances of dodging the shot, he’d been forced to conclude. Instead, Faustus hadn’t fired.
So either Faustus didn’t know enough about the Chameleon to shoot first and fast, or he thought he could handle the Chameleon. Whatever the reason, Faustus was wrong, but Robert was okay with wrong.
Don’t get shot
was a memory from his sister he could heartily concur with. And if Faustus felt the need to chat Robert was happy to go along with that until the odds tilted in his favor.
That is also Chameleon SOP.
Good to know, but not a shock. From what he could tell, his sister spent a lot of time calculating odds. Interesting.
“Keep your hands where I can see them while we adjourn to a more private venue.” The weapon, directed by the steady hand holding it, indicated the direction where this privacy might be secured.
Robert’s senses prickled with discomfort at walking ahead of Faustus.
Never turn your back on the bad guy.
A corollary on what to do when you couldn’t help it would have been nice.
I’m looking.
It seemed Blynken didn’t like the feeling either. He’d forgotten to channel Em or toss in a dude. Fighting a fight-or-flight instinct—mostly fight—Robert climbed a gradual rise, toward a place he’d often come to sit and think and be alone, a gazebo positioned at the highest point of the outpost, actually the only true high spot on the outpost.
When are we? Can you tell?
Blynken felt embarrassed not to already know.
Sorry. Accessing…we are one hundred and thirteen years into the future.
Smith said you’d know what to do.
It was a comment with a question in it.
He might have been overly optimistic.
Robert had a sense that Blynken had hoped he’d forgotten that comment.
The Chameleon often faced uncertain situations. She adapted, hence the Chameleon code name. We must adapt, too.
He did know that much, it was how one adapted—his thoughts stopped, half in wonder, half in pain. He’d watched someone adapt again and again during this very long day.
Em.
For the first time, he sensed what it meant to expect the unexpected, or rather how not to be thrown by it. Felt pelted by more of Delilah’s corollaries, which could be summed up in:
be
ready to
seize the moment.
Robert didn’t flex in preparation, because there was a weapon pointed at his back, but he did it internally, felt new knowledge flow into play, coalescing into determination. This man sought to change time, possibly to change or erase the two women who meant everything to him. Whatever it took, he had to stop him.
Smith knew you knew. It’s got to be in your memory databanks somewhere.
I am searching.
Did Blynken seem miffed? Could be worry, he supposed as he paused at the arched entrance, his gaze sweeping the peaceful scene now visible from four sides of the structure. Clusters of people moved between buildings, the surf rolling in to stroke the beaches, the sun at its highest point in the blue-green sky. Faustus had chosen his position well. The high ground and the gazebo provided some cover from overly prying eyes. What it didn’t seem to have was monitoring equipment, though an evil overlord would surely have something portable to keep him in touch with his dastardly scheme.