Extracted (7 page)

I take a deep breath. “And what if someone dies because of me? Because, for some reason, my life is worth more than theirs?”

Flynn lowers his head, looking me in the eye. “That is a burden you will have to learn to carry.”

* * *

My stomach is churning by the time I make it to my next lesson, which is already in full swing when I slide into my seat. After a few minutes, a wadded-up wrapper hits me in the side. I turn and Ethan is staring at me.

He mouths, “What happened?”

I roll my eyes and mouth, “Later.”

Lucky for me, Kara has somehow managed to smuggle in a few pieces of chocolate from who knows where. She passes me a few while Professor Mortimer scribbles on an archaic chalkboard. Good thing chocolate works on hunger and on nervousness.

Mortimer teaches time manipulation studies. Across the board, he has scribbled a list of names. One of them jumps out at me.

“Can anyone tell me who these people are?” he asks, tugging his striped vest down over his rotund belly.

I raise my hand. Kara and Ethan exchange bored looks. I swear I hear Ethan mutter, “Overachiever.”

“Ember?”

I lean forward over my desk, swallowing the last of the chocolate quickly. “Survivors of the Titanic?” I say.

“Correct.”

“So what?” Kara asks sarcastically, twirling her long loose hair around her index finger.

Mortimer points to the third name on the list. Molly Brown.

“This name wasn’t on this list last year.” He lowers his chin, looking at us over the top of his bifocals. I’m about to ask how that’s possible, but then it dawns on me.

The Hollows.

He must be able to read my face because he nods. Point made.

In the back of the class, slacker-boy Roy raises his hand for the first time possibly ever. “So what happened? I mean, what changed?”

“Everything, according to Tesla. The ripples caused by the change in the event were far-reaching and unstoppable. That one minor change affected history for the next three hundred years. Can you imagine if they had done more?”

“More?” someone asks behind me.

“He means, like, what if they had prevented the ship from sinking altogether?” Kara answers, still managing to sound vaguely uninterested.

I consider her words. “It would have been like setting off a nuclear bomb in the time stream.”

I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Mortimer agrees.

“You are very close to being literally correct. The fabric of time is fragile. Every ripple is a small tear, if you will, that weakens the stream. That’s why we are so careful with our assignments.”

It’s a lecture I’m all too familiar with. Behind me, others groan in unison. He turns back to the chalkboard and a wad of paper whizzes past his head, bouncing off the wall and landing in the trash. Kara snickers and holds her arms up over her head mouthing, “Three points.”

“So why don’t we send a few Rifters back and stop the Hollows from saving her?” Marcia asks from the seat behind Ethan. I turn to look at her. Her gaze is hard. She’s one of the kids we call arcs. They are more brawn, less brain—quick tempers and fists to match. Marcia is one of the few Rifters taking the Trial this year besides Ethan, Kara and me, and she’s the odds-on favorite to wash out.

Behind her, Liam is chewing his cuticles nervously. He falls into another group which Kara has affectionately dubbed the nerdlings. They are the polar opposites of the arcs: super smart, and mostly unable to hurt a fly. Tech heads. We don’t see them much. They tend to hang out down in the labs. They are nice enough, just not really my speed. No, I’m perfectly content with my little trio. Across from me, Ethan smiles.

“We did. They failed. It happens often, unfortunately.” Mortimer sweeps his gaze my way, and I flush. Glad to know I’m not the only one who botches missions, but I still feel unbelievably guilty. He continues, “We only get one chance to set things right.”

“Why is that?” Ethan asks. “I mean, why can’t we go back and try again?”

“Good question,” Mortimer says. “Does anyone know why we can’t go back to the same time more than once?”

I raise my hand again. “Because you already exist there. If you come into physical contact with yourself, you create a paradox in the stream.”

“So send in another group of Rifters,” Kara offers thoughtfully.

“Not a good idea, either,” a voice from the back of the class chimes in. I glance over my shoulder to see who it is, though I could have guessed. A shorter, dark-haired boy with glasses sits two rows back. Riley. He’s one of the few people in the class who can give me a run for my money in the testing scores arena. If the nerdlings had a king, he would wear the crown. “With a team already in play, the stream is vulnerable. You risk other, unintended alterations to the timeline. It becomes almost impossible for Tesla to work out the calculations at that point.”

“Correct, Riley,” Mortimer says. “The Tesla computer can calculate millions of ripples—minor alterations in the time stream that don’t change the overall course of history. But when you have multiple teams on the ground, those ripples become more like tidal waves. Even his system can’t keep up. We risk serious timeline changes and the chance of creating a major paradox.”

Paradoxes aren’t something we mess around with. We’re not really sure exactly what they do, and we’ve been very careful to never create a paradox in the time stream. At this point, the paradox is just a mathematical theory that has never been tested. To test it would mean creating a paradox intentionally, and the effects of doing so could be catastrophic.

Mortimer looks at me and I realize I missed something he said. I play it off and tune back in as he goes on. “But consider this. Time is a living thing, and it will always try to heal itself. So in a scenario where two versions of a person exist in the same space and time, time would have to either eliminate one version or break the stream itself into two separate pieces.”

He pauses, giving us a minute to absorb what he’s saying before he continues. “Either way, the damage caused would be unthinkable. Our best way to prevent the Hollows from damaging the timeline is to stay one step ahead of them.”

“How exactly are we supposed to do that?” I ask, almost growling in frustration.

“Their numbers are superior to ours, that’s true. But you will always be vastly superior to them. Tesla selects only the brightest, strongest Rifters to bring here and train. Be assured, you were all chosen to be here for a purpose.”

“How?” I ask before I can stop myself. “How are we chosen? How did Tesla know what we were, what we could become?”

Mortimer tugs at the collar of his shirt and stands, moving back to the old chalkboard. “I don’t know how he finds you, but I do know that the key to your abilities is in your genetics. So the fact that you are here tells me your genes are very strong.” He takes a deep breath and begins furiously erasing the notes from the board, creating a cloud of white dust. “In the end, I’m confident that we will prevail,” Mortimer adds over his shoulder before turning back to the board.

He finishes erasing the names on the board and turns back to us. Clapping his hands together, he creates a small cloud of chalk dust.

“When are we going to learn about something cool?” A voice I don’t recognize floats up from the back of the class. One of the arcs, no doubt.

Mortimer sits on the edge of his desk, looking surprised by the question. “And what, pray tell, would you consider cool?”

In front of me, a hand shoots up. “What happened to the Lost City of Atlantis?”

Mortimer flicks his hand. “It never existed. It was a literary object lesson.”

Another voice calls out from the back of the room, “Who was Jack the Ripper?”

“A woman named Christine Lafourche. Interesting story, that—” Mortimer begins, but he’s cut off.

“What happened to the Lost Imperials of the Romanov Dynasty?” Riley shouts.

“How exactly is any of that cool?” Ethan asks, not bothering to raise his hand. “I mean, seriously. Who cares? About any of this.” He makes a swirling motion with his finger in the air. “Shouldn’t we be spending more time tracking down the Hollows?”

“Ethan has a point,” Kara cuts in. “I mean, why all the history lessons? Everything we need to know, Tesla will tell us in the field.”

“The story is legend.” Riley’s voice is shrill with excitement.

Mortimer clears his throat. “How did you hear about this story, Riley? I’m sure there are no references in the library.”

A sudden flush rushes to my cheeks, making my ears and neck burn. I’m getting light-headed. I grab my desk and hold it tightly, struggling against the waves of nausea threatening to bring up my chocolate. Out the corner of my eye, I can see Ethan staring at me. He reaches over, but I shake him off.

“Yeah, and why is that, anyway?” Riley asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “The Russian Tsar and his entire family were slaughtered by the Bolsheviks. Only one of the Tsar’s daughters and his son escaped. It’s a huge unsolved mystery. Supposedly the family was told they were going to take a photograph, and then a bunch of gunmen opened fire on them.”

I can feel prickles of ice climbing up my back and shooting up my neck as he goes on. I’m struggling to breathe as my lungs constrict. “Wow, nerdling. Do you dream of books?” Kara scoffs.

“I came across it on one of my missions. They made, like, a dozen movies about it. Anyway, it got me curious, so I did a little digging. A few women surfaced after a while claiming to be the missing princess, but they were all phonies.”

Mortimer interrupts, trying to regain the student’s focus. “Yes, thank you for that, Riley. Now, as I was saying—”

“But the real story is much more interesting,” Riley interrupted. “Some people say the women didn’t die from the gunfire because they’d sewn their jewels into their corsets, and they kept deflecting the bullets. The Bolsheviks had to chase them down and cut their throats.”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I blink, trying to focus on Ethan’s face, but everything goes dark, and in the darkness, I hear a scream.

I think it’s mine.

For Gloves to venture out of his office, something must be seriously wrong.

Stein and I share a worried look over the tech table before he gets to us.

“How did something this small do so much damage?” I ask Nobel, glancing over my shoulder to the gurney behind us where Bruce writhes as some of the Hollows hold him down. His arm has been partially chewed off.

“Are you going to be able to help him?” Stein wonders quietly, following my gaze.

Nobel wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. “I’m going to try.” He rounds the table holding a syringe and heads for Bruce.

Stein shakes her head. “What is this thing?”

I poke the mutilated robot. Glass shards protrude from a hole in the head casing, which was probably once an intact dome. The joints are made with small gears and pistons. It has one arm affixed with a large pincher claw—the other must have been ripped off.

“I have no idea,” I answer honestly. “But this is bad. Really bad.”

I don’t say the next thought that pops into my head, but from the way Stein is looking at me, her face pale and somber, I can tell she’s thinking the same thing. There’s only one place this could have come from. Only one person who could have sent it.

Tesla.

Gloves chugs across the room, stuffing small bits of coal into the furnace of his locomotive wheelchair as he makes his way to us. The look on his face is a combination of fear and worry that leaves deep lines around his eyes and across his forehead. I take a deep breath, preparing for bad news.

“Clear out!” Gloves commands, glaring at the others. Then he points to Nobel, Stein, and me. “Not you three. You stay.”

Nobel nods to Journey. “Take Bruce to my lab. He’s stable for now. I’ll be there shortly.” She nods, and the handful of Hollows who’ve been helping quickly wheel the gurney from the room.

Gloves slumps in his locomotive chair as he delivers the verbal blow. “We have a lost Hollow. Sisson.”

The air goes out of the room like a crashing hot air balloon. For a minute I’m mute, trying to convince myself that I heard wrong somehow. It’s Stein who speaks first.

“Sisson?” she asks, as though she, too, thought she must have misheard. Sisson is a petite girl but more than capable, one of the quickest, and most deadly, of all the Hollows. Stein glances at me with an expression that clearly begs the question: how is that possible?

“Yes. She was commissioned on a mission to the future, and she has been lost in the time stream.”

I frown. Future travel is tricky on a good day, dangerous on a bad one. It’s too fluid—too hard to predict how events will unfold. We go, sometimes, but it’s rare. This is exactly why.

“She missed her check-in time. Another Rifter caught sight of her in the time stream but couldn’t get to her,” Gloves continues.

“So do we have to go into the future or the past?” I ask.

“Neither, Lex. She’s been trapped in the time stream for the last couple of days, from what we can tell. She ran out of Contra and can’t rift back to us. We aren’t sure what happened. You need to go into the stream and find her. The Contra I am going to issue you haven’t been programmed with a date to leave the stream, so they won’t spit you out. You can stay in the stream as long as possible to find Sisson. Once you find her, take these to get you all back here. And you need to do it quickly. Claymore’s leaking.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“Leaking?” I spit out before Stein can beat me to it.

“You know that black liquid in his diver’s helmet?”

Stein and I nod. Claymore wears a massive, copper deep-sea diver’s helmet, and he never takes it off. Heck, I don’t even know if Claymore is a he. The front and side ports are so black and cloudy that I can’t tell if there’s a living head in there or not. The copper is dented, and there’s a pattern of blue-green tarnish all over the helmet that makes it look like a global map from a far-off land.

I mean, the guy can’t even talk. According to Nobel, he’s never uttered a word. A huge arrivals and departures board hangs behind the gnarly old desk where he always sits. He remains there, unmoving, with his helmet plugged into his desk. He communicates using letters that fall into place with loud clicks. The different time zones being displayed by various clocks are mounted at the top of the arrivals and departures board. When I first arrived at the Hollows, Claymore had put up on the board, “GOOD TO HAVE A KID OF YOUR CALIBER AMONGST US HOLLOWS.”