One Second Per Second Read online

  “Send me home. Send us all home.”

  Asmus affects to weigh this up. “Joad, what have you achieved in your life?” He puts on a concerned, paternal look. “I mean, you sit in the middle of nowhere waiting for some poor bastard in Seoul to haplessly make the wrong chemical cocktail and then you reflect a few tachyons to shut it down. That’s it. Hell, you don’t even do that. You do theory. Theory that might increase the efficiency of detection by a percentage point or two. Doesn’t it strike you that what you do is utterly insignificant?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “No?”

  “You’re a Tardis full of shit, Kasper.” He shakes his head and again looks up at Bess as if expecting her to defend him. She glances at him and then at me. I can tell she wants this to end with me intact and I’m not helping.

  “You know Joad, you might not like me or what I’m doing, but you can’t deny that I’m significant.” He looks up at the ceiling. “There are, what, a hundred billion stars in the galaxy, and who knows how many planets? And it’s pretty likely this is the only one of those planets with life–at least intelligent life. So if you’re going to have influence, then this is the place to have it. And what better way than to own the timeline. Be master of it. Tie it up into bows of your own design.”

  “Your own design? You have no design. You’re just wreaking havoc that you can’t control. You’re a vandal, that’s all. And that’s what you call ‘influence’?”

  Asmus ponders this and then stands. “I shouldn’t do this, but you do tend to make me do silly things. Come with me.” He exits the room and Mancini shoves me to follow. The two guards bring up the rear, sporting breeches and assault rifles. He leads us through a door under the grand staircase on the other side of which is a long, thin hallway that ends at another door. We walk down it single file and as he faces the far door I hear it unlock–some kind of biometric mechanism I assume although there’s no scanner in sight. We follow him inside.

  It’s the height of anachronisms. The furniture is Georgian: plush chairs and mahogany tables strewn around the room, the wall lined with fine art–portraits of white-wigged men and rosy-cheeked women, landscapes of meadows and brooks. But this room is not lit by flame. I see a black cubic unit in the corner of the room that’s humming, likely an electrical generator: maybe a micro-reactor. The cylinder against the far wall, set between portraits of be-wigged generals, I’d guess to be an tachyon shield, maybe containing an accelerator and arrival area. It’s ten feet in diameter and about as tall. Two slovenly eighteenth century goons are lifting a crate out of it. My guess is that it’s full of twenty-first century arms. They place the crate on what looks like an oversized dumbwaiter and it descends from view. In the middle of the room is a baroque table at which a small woman with short, spiky red hair is sitting. Her clothing is twenty-first century and over her eyes she’s wearing something that looks like a more compact version of a virtual reality headset. Her table is bare and seemingly redundant. Asmus looks at me for a reaction and I resist giving him the satisfaction.

  “Controls rooms, big chairs, monitors, analysis stations, accelerator facilities, staff of twenty,” says Asmus with a smirk. “None of that. This room and one operator equals and exceeds the capability of all that, and the art is a nice bonus isn’t it? Exadata analysis algorithms you never dreamed of, my friend. I’d try to explain some of it to you but you never did have time for that, so why start now? By the way, we’re sitting on a tachyon detection array less than a thousandth the area of your TMA’s yet with double its T1 detection accuracy score.” I raise my eyebrows despite myself. “Yes, indeed,” he says. “Not all my ingenuity I admit. I had mid twenty-first century tackychemical technologies to draw on, but then I made all this happen, with a little help from my friends.” Mancini smiles toadishly. “Right here in 1777.”

  “You’re pretty proud, huh?” I say.

  “Proud? Sure, why not Joad? But how would you recognize something to be proud of? You have no experience of that, you see.”

  It occurs to me that being shown all this is a prelude to being killed. He’d only take the risk if it were moot. But then, maybe he thinks my being stuck here is as effective as being dead. The goons reopen the tachyon shield and remove another crate.

  “Anyway, you caught me on a busy day, Joad. I’ll let you get back to your team.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  I’m left to walk back to the barn. The thought of seeing Gallie is the helium that lifts my mood.

  I enter to what, by TMA standards, is chaos. From a knot of people there comes shouting and they seem to be vying for position. I part the throng with sheer brute force and what I find at its center is Gallie holding two men apart. Don Marlowe and Hugh Wagner are red-faced and yelling incoherently at each other.

  “Enough!” Gallie shouts louder than both of them. “If you wanna fight then fight with me.” There’s a ferocity in her voice that scares even me. I suddenly see a younger sister who’ll now take nothing off the table. But Wagner is dumb enough to push forward. “I mean it. You testing me? Are you?” She’s facing away from me and her fine couture is now crushed like an old handkerchief and layered in straw. The two men each take a step backwards. “Wise. Listen to me: If this happens one more time ...” The threat is left unfinished. The two men walk toward opposite corners of the barn. Gallie turns and it takes a moment for her to register me. Then everyone turns, including Arun Ramuhalli and I glower at him.

  “We need to talk,” I say to Gallie and escort her out of the back door, navigating people who are throwing questions at me. Once out, I shut the door and walk Gallie backwards until she’s crushed between me and the barn wall. I kiss her, my palm on her cheek, and she kisses me back just as hard. I pull back and look at her. There are no words for a while. Then she leans forward to kiss me again, this time less urgently. I walk her away to put a few trees between us and the barn.

  “What was all that?” I ask.

  “Just Marlowe and Wagner being jackasses,” she says. “The tension’s getting worse. It was bound to happen.”

  “Let them fight it out. No point you getting hurt.”

  “By Wagner and Marlowe?” she asks? I smile. Then I give her a download–everything that happened. The weapons, the massacre, the jail, the accelerator facility. “Horrific, but I’m not too surprised, Joad. Prasad’s rarely wrong.”

  “Yeah, he called it,” I say. “So Ramuhalli showed up?”

  “Uh huh. He never took to the road. He was just out having introspective thoughts in the woods.”

  “That may be another fight you’ll need to break up. Little prick.” I hear the voices of TMAers looking for us, speculating on our whereabouts. “What’s Prasad thinking? Why has there been no rescue mission?”

  “I never know what Prasad’s thinking. That’s a pretty unique brain he has there. One thing that occurs to me is that we each had an accelerator pre-set to return us after four hours. So either Asmus undid that preset, or they did activate and all that arrived at TMA was the accelerators with no bodies attached. Either way, Prasad must have known there was trouble. So what would he do? If two security guys did us no good, then would he think his main option was to send a bigger security team?”

  “Maybe.”

  “But as you know, accelerating people en masse is a dangerous proposition. Something in the timeline is bound to get screwed up by that.”

  “But we’ve already got a barnful of TMAers here.”

  “Yeah. But the argument still holds doesn’t it? The more people out of time, the bigger the risk. Truth is, we didn’t have much of a plan. We just wanted to get the reconnaissance done and then draw up the plan. I see how that thinking was flawed.”

  “Ha. The great Prasad.”

  “He was trying to get you out of danger,” Gallie says.

  “So, on a scale of 1-to-10, how well would you say that worked?” She smiles. Within minutes we’re found and escorted back to the barn for what I expect to be an inten
se townhall meeting.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Barn life drags on. Health deteriorates. Any pharmaceuticals that were being taken before the abduction had been left behind or had run out, and there is no way of treating new ailments. Chrissie Kim is in the worst shape, doubled-up in pain when it gets really bad, whatever it is. Fights break out more often and Mack McEwan has taken to being Gallie’s right-hand man when it comes to policing. He has the look of a someone you shouldn’t upset. The balance is to keep the peace in our displaced little community without going full-on Animal Farm. The food continues to arrive, but my ongoing nightmare is that it stops. I convince myself that if Asmus were a cold-blooded killer then I’d already be dead–so would we all. But then the guards ...

  Gallie and I take off regularly, sometimes to test each other’s sense of reason and strategize. This is generally a failed effort. Sometimes it’s because an exchanged glance ignites something. This is always successful.

  It’s a week, I think, since I was in the mansion. Hugh Wagner tells me I have a visitor, nodding toward the back door of the barn. I’m guessing it’s the same visitor I had last time and I take Gallie with me.

  There’s still a faint shadow of Bess’s bruise. She’s wrapped in a heavy woolen shawl, shivering in the cool morning air. “Hello Joad,” she says, breathing out vapor. She nods at Gallie. She sees I’m looking at the sack she’s holding close to her chest so she hands it to me. I open it to see a semi-automatic handgun, and I tilt the bag toward Gallie so she can see it, too. “Kasper gave it to me in a moment of affection. For self defense.”

  “Did he give you that bruise?” I ask. She looks at Gallie but doesn’t answer.

  “I need to escape,” she says.

  “What do you think we can do with this?” Gallie asks, pointing at the sack. Bess looks around cautiously.

  “I can get you in the house,” she says. Gallie and I exchange a glance. “Middle of the night is best.”

  “What about the sentries?” Gallie asks.

  “They’re incompetent. Clowns. For all Kasper’s determination and planning, he’s never gotten any discipline into them.” She shivers. “There‘s a way in.”

  “And once we’re in?” I ask.

  “If you can get your hands on accelerators, that’s all you need, right?”

  “Maybe,” I say. “But I saw the woman in the headset and I’m guessing there’s no way we could figure out how to work the technology. It’s too different.”

  “There may be wrist accelerators in there–our wrist accelerators,” Gallie says.

  “But they were programmed to return after four hours.”

  “Wouldn’t Asmus have deprogrammed them?”

  “You’d think so. Allowing unattached accelerators to show up at TMA would be asking for trouble. But then, that’s how a rational lunatic would think.”

  “And even if they’re in there, could we find them? And get to them?” Gallie says.

  “I know one thing,” Bess says. “Outside of what he calls ‘The Center’, the house is strictly contemporary, give or take a few weapons. That’s how Kasper wants it. We get a lot of high-ranking visitors–British army, mainly.”

  “Is the Center the place where the arms are received?” I ask. Bess nods. “But that has some kind of biometric scanner for entry doesn’t it? How do we get in? Do you have access?”

  “No, but Mancini does.” We ponder this.

  “So,” I say “if we can get into the house undetected, if we can coerce Mancini into giving access to the Center, if the accelerators are there, if we can find them, and if we can operate them, then this will work.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Gallie says.

  “And I come with you,” Bess says as a statement, not a question.

  “You come with us,” Gallie says. Bess looks at me. I nod. “And once we’re back, we figure out how to free the rest. So–”

  “Gallie,” Bess interrupts. “Can I have a minute with Joad?” Gallie gives me a look that’s gone too quickly to interpret, takes the sack from me and disappears into the barn. I’m left with Bess. What now? “Joad, how long were we married in your ... version of things?” She has jumped straight into it.

  “Ten years.” She smiles and takes a few moments, seeming to prepare whatever she’s about to say. “Was I a good wife?” I hesitate too long.

  “Yes,” I say. “A good wife. Of course you were.” She ponders my face and I try to hold an expression consistent with my answer.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have been scared off by your father,” she says. I work harder on my expression. “Maybe that was just the first in a string of terrible decisions I’ve made.” I smile but neither of us speaks for a moment. “Will you tell me the full story after this is over? Tell me what I missed out on?”

  “In appalling detail, unexpurgated” I reply, smiling.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The plan had been made. Admittedly, a plan that calls for more than one miracle is a flawed plan, but it had been the best one Gallie, Bess, Jenn and I could come up with.

  It’s three AM. Gallie and I are behind the tree line, kneeling and looking at Jenn over the foliage for the signal to go. Our faces are blackened with dirt. My pulse is racing. I’m staying positive despite every impulse of my nature. Unlikely things happen all the time, so why not the success of this plan? Either way, we won’t be returning to the barn. I know that much. No possible outcomes have us returning.

  Jenn raises her thumb. This is it. That means she saw the flapping curtain. Gallie and I run to the edge of the forest and now we’re looking at the back of the mansion. We see the silhouettes of the sentries under the oil lamps at each side of the house, but no one at the back. We exchange a glance that says, we’re really going to do this, and then we launch ourselves. We’re crouched and running toward the mansion. We know that we need to hit our spot the first time. Fumbling around on the grounds will get us caught for sure. Gallie sees it first and pulls my arm. I scan around us as Gallie grabs the hatch handle. If Bess hasn’t unbolted it, this is over. Gallie opens the hatch and I exhale. She lowers herself in, I follow and then close the hatch behind me. We pick up the two lit candles waiting for us in their holders. We protect the flames with our palms as we descend the steps and set out along the passageway ahead. It’s dank and the light from the candles is feeble, barely illuminating six feet ahead. Gallie looks back at me, her face haunted in its own flickering shadows. I feel for the pistol in my pocket and nod that I’m fine. The passageway is frigid and the air is stagnant. All I can hear is my own panting.

  I see a small spot of light ahead. We get closer. It’s a keyhole. The passageway ends at the door. I knock. Nothing. This is taking too long. I lift my hand about to knock again and the door opens. Bess is looking back at us.

  “He’s in the kitchen?” Gallie asks.

  “Yes, usual routine. And Kasper’s out cold,” Bess replies. “Stay behind me.” She leads the way. We follow her up the steps from what must be the cellar, she slowly opens the door at the top and puts her head out. No sentries in the house unless there were questionable guests was the rule as Bess had described it. She waves us to follow and we enter what looks like a library, although the tiers of bookshelves that reach to the high ceiling are all empty. We scurry across the room and when she opens the next door, we see the grand staircase. Under it, directly opposite, is the doorway leading to Asmus’s Center. I look at Gallie and nod encouragement. Bess tells us to stay put and then runs over to the door. She opens it, looks around, and then beckons us energetically. Once we’re all in, she shuts the door and now it’s safe to hyperventilate.

  “Fuck,” I say, and Gallie and Bess agree.

  “Now we wait,” Bess says. “He usually stuffs his face for about twenty minutes. So it could be any minute now.”

  “We know what to do?” Gallie asks. We nod. Bess moves down the corridor, I take the middle position and Gallie stands by the door. I remove the handgun from my pocket and we wait.
The sound of three people panting fills the long, narrow corridor.

  It’s an eternity. I look at Bess as if to ask has something gone wrong? Then I hear the footsteps. I raise the gun and point it at the door–what I guess to be chest level. Gallie is up against the wall, next to the handle side of the door which we know opens toward the outside. It opens and she reaches out, grabs Mancini by the collar and drags him in. I step forward, rack the pistol slide and point it at his head as Gallie shuts the door behind him.

  “Not a word,” I hiss. Gallie gives him a shove and I pull him ahead of me. Bess stands aside and I push him forward.

  “Seers, hud?” he says, regaining his composure.

  “Don’t know what the fuck that means, but keep walking.”

  “It means ‘you can’t be serious’,” he says. “What are you trying to do?” Within a few paces of the door he stops. I push him but he resists. “There’s no way I can let you in there. That can’t happen.”

  “Then your ‘seers hud’ ass will be shot.”

  “You’re not going to shoot me. You’re not a murderer. And if you did, where does that get you?”

  I’m thinking of my reply when Bess snatches the pistol from me and shoots Mancini. I think it was through the shoulder. He screams and slides down the wall to the ground.

  “You shot me,” he says in disbelief and nods his head in pain, mouth open. The wall is splattered with blood and he places his hand on his shoulder as the red gushes between his fingers.

  “Now this has to go fast,” Gallie says. “Real fast.” Bess places the gun barrel between Mancini’s eyes.

  “Okay,” he says and I help him struggle to his feet. He faces the door and I hear the clunk of the lock. I push him in, and Gallie and Bess follow. No one is in the room–Bess had been right: Mancini is the entire night shift.