Courageous Page 13

  “What?” Petra asked when I told her that. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”

  “Looks like cyanide capsules,” I said as I noted the foam coming from the corner of his mouth. “You broke his jaw and the capsule. This guy, too,” I said, nudging the other one with my toe.

  Petra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Crap. I hate killing people,” she whispered.

  “It was an accident, love,” I said, getting to my feet and putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “I know,” she replied. “And it was an us-or-them situation. It’s just such a waste.” She gave herself a shake. “What’s our next move?”

  I ran a hand over my face. “Well, I can’t see what Eva was doing, but I know where to go. If Eva was a Chronicler, then Tempus will want to know that Treggen’s got his hooks into some his people. If she wasn’t, he’ll want to know that Treggen is handing out the Tempus’s toys. Plus, we need to tell him about Treggen’s plans to take over the timestream.”

  “So we’re going to the Citadel to warn him?”

  I nodded. “I don’t like the guy, and I sure as hell don’t trust him, but given the choice between trusting Treggen and trusting the Tempus…” I shrugged. “Well, it’s a shit choice, either way, but I’m always going to side against Treggen.”

  “What about them?” Petra asked, gesturing to the corpses.

  “Normally, I’d call it in to Uncle Dave, but that’s out. Even if he weren’t being monitored, it’d raise too many questions about who called in the bodies and why. I guess we’ll leave them here for the time being. I don’t really want to lug a bunch of corpses around with us.”

  We left the chamber, the door shutting and vanishing as soon as we crossed the threshold back into the church. I portaled us from the basement to the Tempus’s office in the Chroniclers’ Citadel. As the portal sizzled shut behind us, I looked around. The Tempus’s office hadn’t changed much since I’d last been here. The massive desk against the far wall, the obsidian-tiled floor, and a window that let a person view the timestream itself, which appeared as a field of stars through a massive window that dominated the wall directly opposite us.

  “Hello, anybody home?” I called. Silence.

  I stuck my head out the door. No guards, no sign of anyone, and sadly no convenient “Back in Ten Minutes” sort of note tacked up anywhere.

  “All right,” I said, running my hands through my hair. “Let’s see if we can find someone.”

  We left the office and found ourselves in a massive corridor leading off in three directions. It was wide enough for two semis to drive side-by-side, and just as tall. Thick red and gold carpet ran along the floor, and tapestries depicting great historical events hung on the walls. “Huh,” I said, glancing around. “You know, I’ve been here a couple of times now, but I’ve only ever been in two rooms. This is the first time I’ve seen the hallways.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s a map with a giant You Are Here arrow around?” Petra asked hopefully.

  “Not seeing one. Well, we can camp here until the Tempus gets back, or we can try and find someone who can help us.”

  Petra raised an eyebrow at me. “So, which way do you want to go?”

  “How did you—”

  “Vincent, I love you. But you are never one to sit and wait when going into motion is an option.”

  “You know me so well, love. Let’s try this way.” I pointed to the right, and we started walking. It wasn’t long before we came to another junction, identical to the one we’d just left. “Man,” I said. “This is like the first Zelda game, when you get locked in the repeating screens unless you know the right pattern.”

  Petra was frowning. “Vincent, we’ve been walking for a little while. Shouldn’t we have seen someone else by now?”

  “I don’t know how many Chroniclers there are, but yeah,” I said, turning in a circle as I looked around. “Okay, screw this,” I said, gathering up extradimensional energy. “I should’ve done this first thing.” I created another portal into Wheatson’s chambers. The portal sizzled and died. What the hell? I tried again, same result. I concentrated, focusing all my power on what I remembered of Wheatson’s ugly-ass kitchen. The avocado green floor stood out in my mind, and I envisioned the portal snapping open above that. To my great relief, the portal sizzled Open, and we stepped through.

  Immediately, I realized what had tripped me up. The last time I’d been in his apartment, it had looked like something out of the 1970s. Chronicler living quarters had the ability to change to different time periods, though, and the apartment currently seemed like an art-deco showroom from the mid-eighties.

  A deep gray carpet covered the floor, the coffee table looked to be made of wrought metal and glass, and the light gray sofa and matching chairs definitely looked like they were much more stylish than they were comfortable. A pair of twisty vases, each nearly as tall as I was, flanked the door leading to what I guessed was Wheatson’s bedroom. The only part that was the same was a patch of avocado-colored tile on the kitchen floor, where we were standing now, and that was rapidly shifting to a black-and-white checkered pattern.

  That explained why I’d had trouble Opening the portal. The place looked completely different. Five minutes more, and I wouldn’t have been able to get in here at all.

  “Wheatson?” I called. “It’s Vincent Corinthos, you home?”

  The door to the bedroom opened, and a bleary-eyed Wheatson, dressed only in a pair of Iron Man pajama bottoms shuffled out. He ran a hand through his shaggy salt-and-pepper hair as he let out a cavernous yawn and scratched his hairy chest. Wheatson wasn’t exactly ripped, but he definitely looked like he worked out more than I would’ve given him credit for.

  “You know, Corinthos, in most societies, including the one you’re from, it’s considered polite to knock.”

  “Right, sorry about that,” I said. “Wheatson, Treggen’s back on Earth, and he’s planning something big. He’s arming rogue agents with chronometers. I don’t know if they’re Caulborn or your people, but either way, it spells trouble.”

  Wheatson’s eyes cleared so fast it was like someone threw a switch. He stood straight and focused on me. “When? Where? Who? And how many?”

  “Boston, my time, a woman named Eva, and she’s the only one I know of, but where there’s one—”

  “There are likely more. Damn.”

  I pulled out my phone and thumbed to the camera roll. I’d snapped a few pictures of Eva and her pals before we’d left. “Do you know them?” I asked, handing the phone to Wheatson, whose brow furrowed intensely as he scrolled through the images.

  “Nope, nope, and nope,” Wheatson said, tossing the phone back to me. “They’re not Chroniclers, but that doesn’t make this any less bad.” He hustled into the kitchen and pulled out a box of brown-sugar-cinnamon Pop Tarts from a cabinet. He tore open the foil package with his teeth and took a huge bite out of one of the pastries as he glanced at his own chronometer. “No alerts from Webb,” Wheatson said around a mouthful of food. “He’s the quartermaster in charge of chronometers.” Wheatson pulled open the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk. He glanced over his shoulder at Petra and me. “You want one?”

  “Are you seriously stopping for breakfast right now?” I asked.

  “It’s the most important meal of the day, Corinthos,” Wheatson said. “That, and we’re time travelers. Or had you forgotten that again? Hard to be late when you’ve got one of these.” He jiggled the chronometer on his wrist.

  “Fine,” I said and glanced at Petra, who shook her head. “And no, we’re not hungry. Let’s stay on topic here. How could Treggen have gotten chronometers for his flunkies?”

  “It’s possible that Treggen had the chronometers from back when he worked for us. The bastard was a complete genius when it came to extradimensional space. I
t wouldn’t have been hard for him to squirrel away a little cache of artifacts in a pocket dimension.”

  I froze.

  “What is it, Vincent?” Petra asked.

  “A pocket dimension. A pocket dimension like the one Megan used to have. What if Treggen managed to keep that for himself? Megan thought the pocket dimension was the size of a shoebox, but what if it was bigger? What if Treggen really had tons of things hidden in there that she didn’t know about? He might have had weapons and artifacts and all sorts of other crazy shit tucked away in there, just waiting for him until it was time for him to move.”

  “But move to do what?” Wheatson asked.

  “I’ve been told that Treggen wants to take over the timestream.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “A guy who betrayed the Caulborn to work with Treggen. He’d said that Treggen’s ultimate ambition had been to wrest control of time itself from the Tempus.”

  Wheatson ran a hand over his stubbly face. “I can see that. Treggen and the Tempus didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things toward the end. He thought the Chroniclers should control the events in the timestream, not just let things run their natural course.”

  “What if he’s trying for that again?” I asked. “What if he thinks he can take over the Chroniclers?”

  Wheatson nearly snarfed his glass of milk. “You’re joking, right?” he asked as he wiped his mouth. “The Chroniclers all despise Treggen and what he stood for. We see him as a traitor to everything we do. It’s not like he can rewrite time around us, change the past to put it like he’s always been in charge of us, like he did for so many of Sakave’s conquests. Our chronometers wouldn’t allow something like that.”

  “But that’s exactly what La Place’s demon did, isn’t it?”

  Wheatson rolled his eyes. “Sure, Corinthos, but there’s a big difference between the two. On the one hand, you’ve got an omniscient demon that can see all points in time simultaneously. And on the other hand, you’ve got Treggen, who, true, is clever and ruthless, but he’s not omniscient or omnipotent. The Tempus and the rest of us will resist Treggen.” He put his glass in the sink and stretched. “Let me put on some clothes, and we’ll go find Webb. Then we can all go to your time and see if we can get a lock on Treggen. If we’re lucky, we can find the bastard and bring him in once and for all.”

  “Shouldn’t we tell the Tempus?” I asked.

  Wheatson shook his head. “Can’t. Every hundred years or so, the Tempus takes a holiday. He’s completely isolated from everything for a short time.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “Of all the times to take a vacation. And seriously? He’s isolated from everything?”

  Wheatson gave me a flat look. “Corinthos, you were a god. You know what it’s like to have people constantly asking you for things. Didn’t you ever want to get away from it all? And how do you think he feels? You’re from a time when just about everyone gets two or three weeks’ vacation every year. Imagine what it would be like only getting a long weekend every century.”

  “Wow. Well, when you put it like that…”

  “Right. Now give me two minutes to get dressed, and we can go.”

  “Five minutes, and you can brush your teeth, too,” I said.

  Wheatson bobbed his head side to side, as if he were considering this. “Yeah, okay. I suppose.” And he disappeared back into his bedroom. Three minutes later, Wheatson re-emerged, dressed in black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a worn black-leather jacket.

  “You couldn’t have brushed that fast,” I said as we left his chambers.

  “I used Listerine,” he said. “Now then, Webb’s down in the arsenal. Let’s pick him up.”

  “Where is everyone else?” Petra asked as we followed Wheatson down the corridor.

  “Missions, mostly,” Wheatson said. “The Citadel is a living space, not really an office. We get our duties relayed to us on our chronometers, and then we go do our thing. When people are here, they usually just pop back into their chambers. Using the hallways is sort of a novelty.”

  “Then why aren’t we just popping down there?” I asked. “Treggen’s on the loose, and—”

  “And we’re outside time here, Corinthos. Or did you forget that? Back on Earth, time isn’t passing at all. We could go back to my place, play forty games of Risk and binge watch all the episodes of every Star Trek show that has ever or will ever air, and we’d still be able to get back to Earth at the moment you left it.” He picked up his pace. “Besides, a brisk walk is good for the heart, you know.”

  We went through endless corridors until we finally came to a door marked “Arsenal.”

  Wheatson snapped his fingers, as if he’d just remembered something. “Okay, did you break Webb’s nose last time, or was that your alternate-future self?” He shook his head. “Nah, never mind. Doesn’t matter. Webb hates every incarnation of you. He probably won’t be friendly, but he’ll warm up pretty quick once he knows we’re after Treggen.”

  Wheatson pushed the door open, and we entered a small room with glass walls. Through the glass, I saw a much, much larger room, brightly lit with brilliant white lights, showcasing rack upon rack of weapons from every period in history, and I’m guessing every period in the future, too. There were blaster rifles and laser pistols and sabers and flintlocks. And off in the back, I saw a rack of neatly polished guns that looked like a cross between a flintlock and a phaser. Chronopistols.

  Ahead, seated on the opposite side of the glass on a wooden bar stool, was Webb. The big Chronicler glowered at me as I walked in, and cracked his knuckles.

  “Easy, Webb,” Wheatson said, raising his hands. “We don’t have time for that right now. Treggen’s back in Corinthos’s time. If you and I hurry, we might be able to get a lock on the bastard and finally put him away.”

  Webb’s face completely changed, going from irritation at me to shock at Wheatson. “Is that so? Well, then, let me grab some gear.” He practically leapt off the stool and grabbed a pair of chronopistols, some ammo, and a few other things I couldn’t readily identify.

  “Doesn’t someone need to mind the, um, shop?” I asked.

  “Screw that,” Webb said. “We’ll return here at the precise moment we left. It’s part of what time travel does you know, Corinthos.” He shook his head. “Always so smug, acting like you’re so damned smart and clever, and you’ve yet to wrap your head around fourth-dimensional thinking.” He scowled at me.

  “Not now, Webb,” Wheatson said as he began tapping at the face of his chronometer. Showing me the display, he said, “All right, Corinthos, do I have the date and time of when you left correct?”

  I nodded, and the Chroniclers vanished. I Opened a portal to the same spot. Petra and I stepped through as the Chroniclers appeared beside us. “I could’ve taken us all here,” I said.

  “True,” Wheatson said. “But one of the functions of a chronometer is to make Webb and me blend in with whatever time we’re entering. My clothes aren’t that out of place in this time, but if we’d gone back to ancient Rome, the chronometers would project an illusion of me wearing a toga and thongs.”

  “Can we go back in time and make it so I don’t get that image in my head?”

  “Focus, Corinthos.”

  “Getting a reading on Treggen,” Webb said, fiddling with one of the dials on his chronometer. “Looks like he’s five kilometers from here. Underground, too.”

  “That would make sense,” I said, looking at the coordinates displayed on Webb’s chronometer. “He’s in the Undercity.” I portaled us to a spot just outside Undercity Hall, where Gears, Kristin, and I had once rescued a bunch of civilians from some pukwudgies. Wheatson and Webb adjusted their chronometers, presumably to refine their searches further. “Hey, I’ve got some friends who can help,” I said. “Let me call them.”


  Webb shook his head. “This is Chronicler business, Corinthos.”

  “Bullshit,” I replied. “That asshat has been a thorn in our sides for a while now. After what he did to my partner, she deserves to help bring him down.”

  Webb’s face darkened, and he jabbed a finger in my face. “Listen here, upstart. I’m not going to have you tag along and play hero, nor will I have any of your amateur pals tagging along. They’ll get in my way, and no doubt, Treggen will escape.”

  Petra took Webb’s pointing finger between her thumb and forefinger and bent it back, dropping the Chronicler to his knees. “You will be more polite. You wouldn’t even know Treggen was here if not for Vincent, so mind your manners.”

  “Will you all shut up?” Wheatson snapped as Petra released Webb. Webb shot her a look as he cradled his hand, but then turned his glare back on me. Wheatson continued, “Look, Treggen is here, now. I know you want payback for what he’s done to your friends, but let’s just focus on nabbing the bastard, all right?” He frowned at his chronometer. “Damn, I’ve lost him.”

  “I’ve still got a blip,” Webb said quickly, looking at his own chronometer. “Come on, this way.” He and Wheatson winked out of existence, and I was able to create a portal to their location by following their extradimensional energy signatures. We popped into an expansive, dimly lit room that looked something like an amphitheater. Rows of chairs on raised platforms extended up behind us, and a desk and an old-style chalkboard were just ahead.