Crucible Zero (25 page)

He had two backpacks out on the table in front of the couch where he sat, and was going through the contents of one of them.

“Everything fit okay?” he asked without looking up.

“Good enough,” I said. “Have we heard anything from Oscar—I mean, Binek—yet?”

“No, but I expect to any minute. No matter what you think of him, he is reliable.”

“I know.” I sat down across from him and looked through the second backpack.

“You know?”

“I knew him.”

He finally glanced up at me. His eyes widened a bit, and one eyebrow slipped upward. “You underplayed the fit. Those look great on you.”

“I do like the jacket,” I said, running my fingertips down the metal zipper teeth. “Who did it belong to?”

He tipped his head. “Old history, really. A woman I was very fond of.”

“Your wife?”

“No. Jealous? She was a . . . she was . . . remarkable.”

“Not jealous,” I said. “What war was this?” I pointed at the patch of a diamond with wings.

“World War Two. She flew in the ATA.”

“World War Two. That's a long time to be keeping a jacket.”

“I was very fond of her.” He said it clearly. And I knew that would be the last he would talk of it.

“You might want to look through the backpack,” he said, changing the subject. “This is all we'll be taking in with us to House Fire.”

“You mean this plus weapons?”

“Yes.”

“And Oscar's going to cover that too?”

He smiled at me using his first name.

“Binek,” I corrected.

“Weapons are easy. It's the intelligence to get into House Fire that's taking time.”

“And the vehicle?”

He shook his head. “No problem with that. We'll want to leave soon, though. I don't want to wade through another night of ferals.”

I suppressed a shudder. I knew how to kill, and had done it many times with the ferals that roamed our land. But last night had been a bloodbath. If Abraham hadn't signaled Coal and Ice, and if the other vehicles hadn't shown up to draw the beasts off us, we would have been buried beneath the sheer mass of them.

We'd be dead.

I dug through the backpack. Fresh medical supplies, a walkie-talkie, a rope, rations, and a case of lockpicking tools.

“Ooh,” I said, pulling out two very nice daggers. “I likey.”

He nodded. “Those are yours, of course. Also . . .” He got up, walked across the room, and opened a cupboard.

He pulled two doors away to reveal a nook, in which hung very carefully maintained firearms. “Handgun. Preference?”

“Semiautomatic if you have one, but I'm not picky. I can handle anything.”

He chose a firearm, checked the breach, then picked up a couple extra clips.

“What about the big guns?” I asked.

He chose a handgun for himself and then closed and locked the cabinet. “Too much of a chance we'll be stopped if we are carrying visible firepower.”

“Stopped where? I'd like a clear idea of exactly what you think we're trying to do and how we're trying to do it.”

“You're the planning type suddenly?”

“When it comes to dealing with Slater, we will need all the plan A's, B's, and Q's, R's, X's, Y's, Z's as we can. He knows us, Abraham. Knew us in a different time, and knows us in this time. And he's had three hundred years to think about how to keep himself safe from us. He's had three hundred years to try to kill us.”

“He hasn't been successful,” he reminded me.

“I don't know why he didn't just kill you the first day he saw you, but he only recently found out I exist. And he knows I have my memories of what he's done. Of that time we were all caught in. He knows about time travel, the way the Houses used to be ruled. He told me he wants to kill us all. Kill Quinten. Kill me.”

“He told you?”

I stopped. Realized I hadn't shared the time-slip thing with him.

“It doesn't matter.”

He leaned back and somehow made it look even more intimidating than if he had leaned forward and grabbed my arm.

“It matters very much. You've had contact with him? When?”

I could lie. I didn't see how that would help. “Just before we went over the cliff.”

“Explain.” It wasn't a question. It was a command. His hazel eyes had gone dark and closed off. As if he'd decided Oscar was right to be suspicious of me.

“There's something here in this time, some part of the Wings of Mercury machine, that is causing ripples in time. I've slipped into my original timeway and another, I think. I've seen Slater there.”

“Has he seen you?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know what is causing the ripples?”

I shook my head. “He thinks I have whatever it is. He thinks Quinten has it. He doesn't. Welton told me I'd have to find it and break it if I wanted to kill Slater.”

“The custodian? What does he have to do with this?”

“Not the Welton from this time. Welton from my original time.”

“He knows how to kill Slater?”

“He knows Slater and I are tied together because of the Wings of Mercury time-travel event. He said I wouldn't be able to kill him unless I first broke the item that is causing the time slips.”

“You believe him?”

“He's a genius. He understood what little we knew about the Wings of Mercury experiment. Also, Slater shot me, but the bullet wound disappeared, so that part of his theory seems valid.”

“He shot you. When you saw him in the other timeway?”

“Yes.”

“I'm annoyed you didn't think this was important to mention to me.”

“I haven't had a chance. Not really.”

“You can't kill Slater,” he began.

“I can after I break whatever is causing the time ripples.”

“We have no idea what that item might be, where it might be, or who might possess it,” he said. “What happens if I kill Slater?”

“He dies?”

“What happens to you?” he asked.

Oh. I hadn't thought that through. We were tied together. If Slater died, did that mean I died? “I don't know,” I said. “But we're not going to let that stop us from killing him.”

Abraham didn't say anything. His face was carefully closed down, though his eyes flickered with red: anger.

“We?” he said.

I shrugged.

“You said there were other timeways. What were they?” he asked.

“They don't matter.”

“We don't leave this room, we don't leave this town, until I know.”

“They might have been dreams.”

He waited.

“You were in them,” I said quietly. “But you were happy. And you weren't a mercenary.”

“And?” he asked when I could no longer hold his gaze and looked instead at my hands.

“And you loved me.”

“You think that was a dream?”

I glanced up at him. “Isn't it?”

Abraham—this Abraham—was not the sort of man who settled down in a house with lace curtains. Was he?

“It doesn't have to be.”

Wait. Had he just admitted to loving me?

“You told me you believe the galvanized are human,” he said. “Do you think that I'm incapable of emotions just because I lack sensation? Do you think I'm incapable of caring?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Do mercenaries fall in love?”

“Very rarely,” he said. “Which is why we fight so hard for it when we find it. And if you think
we
are not going to make damn sure you survive this fight with Slater, then you are very wrong about me. About us.”

“Us?” I said, stupidly.

“Yes. Us.” He watched my reaction: a shock of disbelief backed up by a big helping of hope.

I must not have kept it hidden very well, because he leaned back, the intensity in his eyes down to a simmer again, satisfied with himself.

“I guess,” I said, clearing my throat. “I guess I didn't think. Didn't think we could even be a . . . anything until after we took care of Slater. Saved the world. . . .” My words sort of gave out, which only made him smile wider.

“The world is always in need of saving,” he said. “Always. Can't let that stop you from living. Or loving.”

I nodded. “I want that. I do. But first we need to find the piece of the Wings of Mercury experiment. Do you have any information on it?”

“Not personally. But I know some people we can ask.”

“Okay. Well, I've told you all I know about the time slips. Your turn.” I sat back and hooked the ankle of my boot over my knee. “Tell me what you know about House Fire.”

“House Fire is a walled city. Not as open as Coal and Ice, not as primitive as House Earth compounds. It is a very modern, technologically advanced city.”

“What kinds of defenses do they have?”

“Everything. Cameras, computers, guards, weapons, trip lines. We need Hollis to get us in. If we walk up any road, reach any gate, or tried to infiltrate through underground tunnels, including the sewer system, we would be stopped.”

“I'd be more comfortable about the whole thing if we could draw Slater out,” I said. “It's stupid to walk into a lion's den and fight there.”

“With night coming on, and by the time we get there . . . I don't know how that's possible.”

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, both to try to figure out our options and to look away from him. Sexy Abraham was a growing force in the room. I could almost feel the heat radiating off him, the hunger barely contained.

I wanted to kiss him until he begged for mercy.

“How about you turn me in?” I asked, trying not to picture him naked. “There's a ransom on my head, right? And you're a mercenary, a bounty hunter. We can walk right up to the front gate and let Slater know we want to see him.”

He thought it over for a moment or two, then leaned forward and rummaged through the backpack, resettling the contents that were already settled. There couldn't be much in the backpack to look over, and he'd probably been through it several times.

He was stalling.

“You'd trust me to do that?” he asked.

Don't make me doubt you, Abraham,
I thought.

“You've proved that you'll save my life. In more than one time.”

He angled a look my way. “Good to know.”

“What? That you came to my rescue in the past?”

“No. That you've always attracted trouble.”

“You like living in constant danger?”

“I like knowing life with you will never be boring.”

He was doing it again. Talking like we were going to make it through this. Like we were going to be together. I hoped he was right, but I wasn't as sure. We had a very dangerous man to kill, and we still had no plan.

“Speaking of not boring, I don't see a downside to you turning me in to Slater so I can get close enough to kill him.”

“You would be unarmed,” he said, back to business again. “No gun. No knife. No Shelley dust.”

“I know.”

“And completely dependent on him believing I'd do it.”

I paused. Searched his face. Was he trying to tell me something? “Wouldn't you? Collect on the price on my head if . . . well, if things were different?”

“Maybe. But I would never get that close to Slater and not try to kill him. It's an agreement he and I have.”

“That you'll kill him the next time you see him?”

“Pretty much. Yes.”

“Think you could sell him on your wanting the money?”

“I don't know.”

There was a knock at the door. “That's our call.” He stood and pulled on a long gray jacket, then shouldered the backpack. “Are you ready?”

“Since we've decided on exactly no plan? I'm just gold.” I shrugged the backpack over one shoulder and followed him to the door.

A kid about ten years old stood there. “Binek wants to see you,” he said.

Abraham dropped something into the kid's hand. I thought it looked like a half stick of dynamite. “Thanks, Cart.”

The kid gave me a hard look, like he'd be willing to describe me to the local law if needed; then he took off down the street and around the corner at a jog.

Abraham shut and locked the door behind us, then started down the sidewalk. “Let's go make us a plan,” he said.

Slater found me. He isn't shy about torture. Libra unloaded House Technology's artillery to get me back. I had no choice but to tell him what he wanted to know. But only half of it. Only half of the truth.

—W.Y.

T
he door to Oscar's office was closed. Abraham had been standing in front of it for a good two minutes.

“Want me to knock for you?” I asked from where I stood, leaning against the wall in the silence of the hallway.

His shoulders tightened. Then he turned around. “If his door is closed, he is not to be disturbed. I'm sure he'll see us soon. Let's find the others.” He pushed past me, and I really didn't have a lot of other choices but to follow.

We crossed to the lobby area, then up the stairs on the other side of the room.

“What others?” I asked.

The stairs ended one flight up. A set of doors were closed, but I could hear the sound of voices behind them. The “others,” I presumed.

Abraham straight-armed his way through the doors. The rich fragrance of food—warm bread and something sweet—reached out and wrapped around me.

“Abraham!” A woman's voice called out.

I stepped into the room of delicious smells and killed the conversation flat.

The room was a cross between a lounge and a bar, with a kitchen off to one side, booze on the other, and between those two points, an unused pool table, some couches, chairs, and tables.

Scattered around the room were the galvanized. Oh.
Those
others.

All six of them. Two men and four women. Most of them glaring at me.

Dotty, or Dolores Second, as I'd known her, was a lovely woman who appeared to be in her late forties. Her ginger-and-brown locks swung about shoulder length, fringe across her green eyes. She wore a loose orange blouse under a vest that hid at least one gun, and tailored, wide-legged slacks. She seemed more curious than angered by the sight of me, though her gaze fixed on the patch on my jacket for a long moment before she shifted her gaze to Abraham.

I don't know what she saw in his expression, but it seemed to impress her.

“My, my,” she said, settling back to stare at me again.

I glanced at each person in the room. Wila Fifth, along with Vance Fourth, sat on one of the couches. They'd been a part of House Blue in my time, but that was where their similarities ended. Wila was maybe in her thirties and dusky-skinned, her heavy black dreadlocks pulled back in a massive knot to make her rounded face and cheekbones even more prominent. She had a curvy figure even under the layers of shirts and slacks she wore. If she carried a weapon, I didn't see it.

Vance was a short, trim, pale, red-haired troublemaker, with a rifle next to his knee. He and Wila seemed to take in the sight of me with curiosity.

But January Sixth didn't. She rested in a wooden chair, the queen of ice and cool, her platinum hair cut spiky and short, her face stitched with such a precise hand, it only exaggerated her beauty as she glared at me.

So she still didn't like me. Good to know.

Off to her left was long-limbed, too-tall Clara Third. Her red hair was cut in the same single swing that made her stark, melancholy features even more masculine. She wore clothes most resembling Vance's—practical denim, long-sleeved shirt, and vest with enough pockets to hide an assortment of weapons.

The last galvanized in the room was Buck Eighth. He lounged near the pool table, wearing dark trousers and a couple of layers of shirts, all in black. He cut a striking, dangerous figure, his hair shaved down to his skull, making his intense gold-green eyes practically glow within his dark-toned skin, and giving his angular face a feral cast.

“So,” Dotty asked with just the hint of a Southern accent, “who do we have here, Bram, darlin'?”

“Everyone,” Abraham said, “this is Matilda Case, the tenth galvanized. Matilda, this is Dotty, Wila, January, Vance, and Buck. You know Foster.”

Foster sat on a stool in front of the bar, winding a pocket watch. He glanced up at me, frowned a moment when he saw the jacket, threw that same sort of look at Abraham that Dotty had given him. This time I noticed Abraham nod ever so slightly.

Foster slipped a look to me, and his smile was warm. Then went back to winding the watch.

“Tenth?” Vance asked. “Where have you been hiding for all these years, Matilda?”

I shrugged. “I grew up on a farm. And stayed there.”

“Isn't that cute?” January said. “Three hundred years on the same farm? You don't believe that crap, do you, Abraham?”

Okay, so January was the same bitter thing I remembered from my time. It was good to know some things never changed.

“I think she's lying,” January said, as if I didn't have ears.

“I don't really care what you think about me, January,” I said. “You can just step back and relax. I won't be here, and I won't be in any of your business, for very long.”

“Good,” January said.

“No.” Dotty stood and walked over to me. “This isn't at all how we should welcome one of our own. Matilda, I'm Dolores—please call me Dotty. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand and I shook it.

“What?” She snatched her hand away. “I felt that.”

Right. I'd forgotten she didn't know I could make her feel.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I have that effect on galvanized.”

She rubbed her palms together and studied me more closely. “Well, that's a surprise,” she said. “Quite a big surprise. When did you happen across our Abraham here?”

“He found me, actually.”

Buck
tsk
ed and shook his head. “This is the girl?
The
little future girl you used to talk about?”

“Not a little girl anymore.” Abraham strode over to the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“We can see that,” Vance murmured. “And we approve.”

Wila slapped his arm.

“This,” Abraham continued, “is apparently the future.” He gulped the shot, refilled the glass, and took that down too.

Wila raised one eyebrow, looking from Abraham to me. “Lot of drinking for a man who's found the one thing he's been looking for all his life. Foster, my delight, you simply must fill me in on everything that's happened between these two.”

Foster shook his head and tucked the watch away into his pocket. He looked over at Wila. “Slater,” he said.

That one word stalled all the questions, all the dirty looks, all the conversation. And then everyone was looking at Foster before shifting that look to Abraham.

“Slater?” Vance said.

“Matilda and I intend to kill him.” Abraham refilled his glass. “I don't suppose any of you would like to join us?”

Still the silence.

Abraham swallowed half of the shot. “Of course, I don't need to tell any of you what I will do to you if you stand in our way of killing him.”

He waited, measuring their response. As far as I could tell, they gave off very little emotional cues.

“It's been a long time since you've threatened us, Abraham,” Buck finally said, picking up a pool stick and testing the balance, like maybe he was getting ready for a fight. “Not sure you want to be doing it now.”

Abraham downed the rest of the whiskey and set the tumbler carefully on the bar. “Don't stand in my way,” he said with a hard smile, “and we won't have to find out. But if you want a part of this, the offer stands.”

“I'll bite,” Dotty said. “How are you going to kill him? Just getting into House Fire will be hard enough. Getting to a newly minted head of a House won't be a stroll through the daffodils.”

“I didn't say I was going to tell you our plan. If you're in, you're in. If you're out, clear a wide berth.”

“Is she a killer?” quiet Clara asked. It was almost more than she'd said to me all at once, in any time.

They all looked at me again.

“I know my way with weapons,” I said. “And, believe me—I have a need to see him dead.”

“But are you a killer?” Clara asked. The intensity behind the question gave it more weight. She wanted to know that one thing about me. Slater or no Slater.

“I've protected my family, fought ferals. But I haven't killed a man, no.”

All eyes were on me again. The silence and judgment were deafening.

That seemed to mean something to all of them, just like it had meant something to Abraham.

I still didn't know how my not being a murderer would make any difference in how the world perceived and treated galvanized.

“I will help you, Abraham,” Clara said solemnly.

“So will I,” Vance said. “But only because I'd like to see a world without that dick Slater in it.”

Buck nodded. “You know I'm a sucker for a cause. I'll do what I can.”

“I'm in,” Dotty said.

“Y'all know how I feel about that man,” Wila said. “He should have been put out of our misery years ago. Count me in.”

“Fine,” January said. “I'm not going to be the only one who misses out on seeing Slater die.”

“What do you need?” Buck asked.

“You to follow my orders.” Abraham stepped away from the bar and paced, every inch a commander addressing his team.

“Of course we will, Bram,” Dotty said. “Unless you're being a complete idiot. Otherwise, we'll stand aside and let you walk into whatever fire you set off, if that's what you want.”

“Dotty,” he sighed. “Following orders means doing so even if I'm being an idiot.”

“I know,” she said. “But I, for one, reserve the right to follow my own judgment if things go completely to hell. It's more of a promise to cover your ass than a prelude to mutiny, darlin'.”

He tucked his thumbs into his belt. “Fine. We also need information. Do any of you remember what happened to the Wings of Mercury machine?”

Vance whistled. “That's digging back a ways.”

“Wasn't it taken apart and destroyed?” Wila asked, frowning. “The scientist, he decided it shouldn't be replicated because it was too dangerous, or some such. He tore it down, broke it up. Or did the government confiscate it?”

“I thought there was a fire,” January said. “Hot enough, metal and all the components melted.”

“I remember hearing that too,” Wila said. “Why the interest in that old thing, Bram?”

“There is a piece of it, or a piece of something from that experiment, that is causing ripples in time.”

No one said anything. Finally Buck spoke up. “Bullshit.”

“Don't care if you believe me,” Abraham said. “But if any of you kept a token, an heirloom, or a piece of the Wings of Mercury machine, or know of anyone who might—a historian, a museum—I need to know now.”

“Why?” Clara asked.

“Without it, we can't kill Slater.”

“Are you confusing murder with daydreams again, Abraham?” Wila asked. “Slater ain't any more immortal than the rest of us. He can be killed with enough bullets to the head.”

“Not without destroying the piece of the time machine,” Abraham said. “He's hooked to it.”

Vance shook his head. “You're not making sense. No judgment—we've all stepped off the deep end now and then, some of us more often than others.” He nodded at January, and she flipped him off. “But there is no time machine, Abraham. Never was. Whatever the Wings of Mercury experiment did to us had nothing to do with time.”

Abraham glanced over at me. He hadn't asked me to state my case, and from the mood in the room, I didn't think they'd believe me anyway. Still, I figured I should offer my position on this mess.

“Alveré Case, the scientist who built the machine, was my ancestor,” I said. “It was built to manipulate time. It didn't produce the results he expected. But it did create a weird situation where Slater might not be able to be killed unless we make sure he's not tied into a relic from the past. A relic that was a part of the Wings of Mercury machine. If Slater can be killed”—here I held Abraham's gaze—“we're going to take that shot, even without destroying the relic. No matter the consequences.”

His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed before he went back to that stony expression.

“Oh, now, this is just too much,” Dotty said. “Honey, you might think your great-granddad was a time traveler, but we've been alive for hundreds of years. Time travel isn't anything more than fairy tales. Do you understand?” Dotty looked over at Abraham. “She does understand that, doesn't she? Or is she the flighty type?”

“She's sane,” Abraham said. “And she's proven to my satisfaction that what she says is true.”

“You'd believe anything she says,” January said. “She's your will-o'-the-wisp. Now that you've caught her, you can't believe she isn't magic. She's playing you.”

“I'm not playing anyone,” I said.

“Is there proof?” Clara asked.

“Yes.” Foster stood. “This.” He was holding the pocket watch in his hand again.

A chill washed over me as I realized it wasn't a pocket watch; it was
the
pocket watch that had been handed down from Case father to Case son.

“Is that Quinten's watch?” I asked.

“You gave it to Alveré,” Foster said. “Alveré gave it to me. A gift. For the corrected formula.”

“What formula?” Vance asked.

“Time,” Foster breathed. “Mend time. Save billions.”

I walked over to him and looked at the watch in his palm. It was worn, the shine by the watch stem rubbed off, the face scratched a bit at the edges, and the chain replaced. But that was the watch I'd carried with me back in time.

I didn't feel any different standing this close to it. I didn't feel the world shift or time slide. I didn't smell roses or hear bells. If it was causing the time slips, it was not doing so now.