Timecaster: Supersymmetry (10 page)

Then Alter-Vicki went under.

I held on tight, and we both were dragged down in applause.

&en chest compressions.

ut the pto the murk.

It felt like I was being towed by my arm behind a motorboat. I squinted, saw the salmonster had engulfed Alter-Vicki’s entire lower body, only her head and arms still protruding. The creature was at least five meters long, and it was picking up speed, pulling us back into the depths of Lake Michigan.

I was underneath the fish, its tentacles wound around my waist and trying to pull me off. But I refused to let go of Alter-Vicki’s hand.

I still had the spork handle, and I plunged it into the fish’s underbelly, over and over, but that didn’t even slow the massive beast down.

Bubbles burst from Alter-Vicki’s mouth. Her eyes, wide with hysteria, met mine, and even as the water grew dimmer the deeper we got, I could see her mouth some words.

“KILL ME.”

I kept hacking at the fish, but the spork might as well have been a toy.

“KILL ME!”
she screamed.

I had no choice.

I couldn’t let her be swallowed whole and digested alive.

I raised the handle, clenched my teeth—

—and plunged it into
Alter-Vicki’s throat.

Her eyes went dead.

Her grip went slack.

A cloud of blood billowed around her face.

The salmonster released me, swallowing the rest of its prize and disappearing into the dark water.

When I made it back to shore, sitting on a stretch of sandy beach teaming with cold-weather palm trees, I was shaking, tears in my eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

It wasn’t Vicki. I’d known that woman for only a few hours. She was a stranger to me.

And yet the loss I felt was real.

Using the pain, I brought the spork to my wrist.

Then I began to stab.

The obfuscation disk over my chip had fallen off during the swim, so this was my only alternative. My tears turned into clench-jawed screams as I dug my ID chip out of my arm. I’d done this once before, and it hadn’t gotten any less painful. When I was finished, I tossed it into the water. Then I tore off my sleeve and used that as a makeshift bandage.

I needed to get out of there. The authorities tracking my chip would soon converge on this area, and I didn’t want to be here when that happened.

Getting to my feet was problematic.

Walking, even more so.

Not only were my extremities going numb, I felt applause.

&en chest compressions.

ut the p the same tingling in my heart.

If I didn’t get the antidote for the nanopoison, I was dead.

Alter-Talon had an antidote, but I didn’t know where he was. Since he was basically a version of me, I tried to think what I’d do.

He was probably looking for a doctor to do the transplant. Then he’d go to the SS Wisconsin for me and his wife. When he discovered we were gone, he’d try to get in touch with me, probably by calling on my headphone.

But I could be dead by then. Alter-Talon made it clear he could harvest my parts even if I wasn’t alive.

Of course, he wasn’t the one who had poisoned me. Sata was.

Which meant I had to go to Sata.

Luckily, Alter-Talon and I shared the same passwords, and I was able to access the Chicago Peace Department GPS uplink to locate Michio Sata.

His address on this earth was the same as on mine, in Schaumburg.

And according to a live satellite feed, he was home.

Time to pay my evil mentor a visit.

Alter-Talon stared at
Dark Alter-Talon, amused by this turn of events. Science theorized there were an infinite number of parallel universes. If each universe also had a dark matter universe counterpart, that was infinity times two.

Or something like that. Concepts like dark energy, dark flow, dark fluid—Alter-Talon couldn’t wrap his mind around those things. Supposedly there was something we couldn’t see that had gravitational pull. If Dark Alter-Talon said the pull was really an unseen universe within our own that was exactly the same as ours except for having more mass and being 3.4 hours ahead, so be it. The whole alternate worlds thing was crazy enough, why not add more crazy to the mix?

Besides, if it were true, then this was an extraordinary opportunity. As a timecaster, Alter-Talon could use a TEV to see what happened in the past. But the future remained elusive.

If Dark Alter-Talon were from 3.4 hours into the future, he would know what was going to happen for the next 3.4 hours. That gave them a tactical advantage.

It might also be a smart idea to by some hyperlottery tickets.

“We should buy some hyperlottery tickets,” Alter-Talon said.

“I don’t know what the hyperlottery numbers are.”

“You didn’t look before coming into the past?”

“I didn’t know I was going into the past. It’s a long story.”

“How about some sporting event? There’s a hyperbaseball game in Chicago today. Did you see who won?”#bu glance maybe I pu

“Wasn’t paying attention. If you knew all you have to do in the next three point four hours—”

“How about your DT?” Alter-Talon interrupted, pointing to Dark Alter-Talon’s digital tablet. “Is the information on it from three point four hours in the future?”

“I haven’t checked.”

“Maybe you should.”

Dark Alter-Talon made a face. “Why? You want to bet on
sports
? This earth is going to end in less than four hours. It’s going to blow up, along with any credits you have in the bank. AFAIK, Sata hasn’t invented a way to transfer credits through the multiverse.”

Alter-Talon frowned. “Not that I’m against genocide, as you well know, but can we stop the earth from ending?”

“Why? We can just go to a parallel earth.”

“All my stuff is here.”

“You’ll get new stuff.”

Alter-Talon crossed his arms. “I don’t want to get new stuff.”

“Neither did I. But all my stuff is gone.”

Alter-Talon folded his arms over his chest. “Well, you’re not taking my stuff.”

“Your stuff is going to be gone, too.”

“Gentlemen…”

They both turned and stared at Dr. Patel. She was standing in her living room, a supplication collar around her neck. She had a blossoming bruise on her chin, but her han
ds were on her hips and her expressions was anything but cowed.

“I couldn’t help but overhear that this planet only has three point four hours left—”

“With all this time we’re wasting, it’s more like three point three.”

“Whatever. You want me to do the transplant, but even with bot assistants, that surgery takes a minimum of three hours.”

“That’s enough time,” both Talons said at once.

“For one of you. But not for both of you.”

Once again they each drew their guns and simultaneously pointed at one another.

“But if myself and my family are going to die in three point four hours—”

“Three point three,” they both corrected.

“Then I have no reason to help either of you. So you’ll either have to save this planet, or take us with you so I can perform the surgery on a parallel earth.”

Alter-Talon glanced at the woman, then backed tachyon emission visualizered to Incredibly, G at Dark Alter-Talon.

“You want to hit her, or should I?”

“I slapped her around when I first got here,” Dark Alter-Talon said. “It’s your turn.”

Alter-Talon stepped up and slapped Dr. Patel across the cheek. Then he nodded and said, “I hear what you’re saying. I could play the raving psychotic and say something like ‘You’ll do whatever we tell you to do’ and then threaten you with unimaginable pain, but it’ll be quicker and easier just to take you and your family with us.”

Patel brought a hand to her face. “So why did you hit me?”

“Because I am, indeed, a raving psychotic.”

Both Alter-Talon and Dark Alter-Talon began to laugh. It was a raving psychotic laugh.

“Her children don’t get home from school until four,” Dark Alter-Talon said between giggles. “Her husband works until five.”

“How do you know this?” Alter-Talon asked.

“I went through all of this once, already. It didn’t work last time, but this time it will, because I know what’s coming.”

“And because this time, you have help.”

“Two are better than one,” Dark Alter-Talon agreed. “We have a window of two and a half hours to find and subdue both Talons before we need to get back here and deal with the doctor’s family.”

“So where do we find them?” Alter-Talon asked.

“It will be easy.” Dark Alter-Talon smiled wickedly. “Because I know where they are.”

I left the beach
, staggering onto the greentop like a hyperdrunk, my thoughts scrambled and my body getting weaker with each step. According to the DT, I was south of Kenosha, Wisconsin. The stretch of highway was flanked by living billboards, towering liquid crystal algae displays that showed commercials in high definition. These were tinted slightly green—overgrowth—and I spotted a recycle truck harvesting the biomatter from one of the screens. I needed a vehicle, but their tanker truck wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous. Instead, I wandered up to a red light and approached a man on a biofuel scooter. I put my hands on his handlebars while he stared at me, incredulous.

“Sorry, buddy, but I’m stealing your scooter.”

“You can’t take my scooter. You’ll be caught.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“But you’ll be caught.”

“Please get off the scooter.”

“You have absolutely zero chance to make suret glancehere areI puof getting away with this. You’ll go to jail.”

“Get off the scooter, or I’ll punch you in the face.”

He shook his head. “You can’t punch me in the face. You’ll get caught.”

“I also need your gloves,” I said, eying the faux-leather.

“You can’t—”

I punched him in the face, pulled off his gloves, and stole his scooter. Not something I was proud of, but I did warn the guy.

I took the highway heading south, the twelve-lane jammed with motorists and powerbockers. Every heliplane flying overhead made my shoulders bunch in anticipation of a nanotube net launch or TTS. But the obfuscation disk did its job, and no one could track my chip.

It took me an hour to get to Schaumburg. Sata’s neighborhood on this earth closely resembled his neighborhood on my earth—thick fields of tall bamboo making the clover streets resemble a labyrinth. His home was surrounded by an acre of hemp and kudzu, and I parked next to a concrete fountain—an indicator of extreme wealth because it took up real estate where foliage could be grown. Or in this case, overgrown. Sata was behind in cultivating his foliage.

I climbed off the bike—

—and promptly fell onto my face, my legs unable to support me.

It took me a minute to get the circulation going and get back on my feet.

I was worried. Really worried.

Michio Sata was a formidable man. Though twice my age, he kept in excellent shape, maintaining a strict regimen of diet, exercise, and HGH steroids. He was a champion at the Japanese fighting art, kendo, and regularly kicked my ass at the sport.

In my weakened condition, I didn’t have a chance subduing Sata. But I hoped I wouldn’t have to. In my universe, Sata had conspired against me with Alter-Talon. Since Alter-Talon and I were just alternate versions of the same person, I hoped I could fool Sata into thinking I was Alter-Talon long enough for me to gain some sort of advantage.

A flimsy plan, but all I had.

I pulled on the stolen gloves and warily approached the house, noticing more overgrowth, and dozens of small, brown rocks on the walkway.

No, not rocks. Some kind of animal droppings.

I got to the front door and hit the videobell.

No answer.

I pressed it again, wondering what I was going to do. If Sata wasn’t home, I could always break in and look for the antidote. But it was unlikely he had it in a bottle that was clearly labeled. Drinking random flasks of fluid in Sata’s lab probably wasn’t a wise idea.

The monitor flickered on, and I tensed up.

“Talon?” to make sureat. “Good luck.”G

“Sata? WTF?”

I’d expected him to be injured from our previous encounter, but this man wasn’t the same man I’d recently fought with. The Sata I was looking at was pale, gaunt, his eyes sunken and his hair ratty and snarled. He was at least sixty pounds lighter than the Sata I knew.

This Sata looked about three breaths away from his last.

“Please let me out,” Sata said. “I can’t—”

And then he collapsed, the monitor going blank as his hand fell away from the button.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around complicated physics scenarios like alternate realities, but I knew that if there were alternate versions of me and Teague, this might be an alternate version of Sata. One who might not want to kill me.

Energized by the possibility, I quickly tried the doorknob. Locked. The door was solid, made of steel. A quick spin kick did nothing but hurt my foot.

I began to walk the perimeter of the house. The windows were barred with carbon nanotube webbing—a change from his house on my earth. Nothing could get through that. I made my way around back, fighting discouragement, and noticed a ladder to the greenroof.

Sata was rich. That meant his greenroof would have automatic drainage in case of heavy rains. Drainage required an access panel to service the pump, and those could usually be reached from both the roof and the crawlspace.

In other words, a way inside.

More animal droppings, probably raccoon, crunched under my feet, and as I began to climb the ladder I got that involuntary spasm of panic when my face encountered some unseen strands of spider web. I did a quick palm across my eyes and mouth—I hated spiders—and then continued up to the greenroof.

Like the grounds, the roof was overgrown with foliage. But that was the least of Sata’s problems. What I’d thought was a spiderweb, and what I’d thought were raccoon droppings, each belonged to something else entirely. The entire roof was covered in a skein of white silk, shiny and glinting in the afternoon sun. Gray sacks hung from trees—the sucked-dry remains of birds and animals unlucky enough to wander up here.