“Your voice adorns another sky, but I will always hear it, and my feet will find you again.”
~ excerpt from A Hidden Road by Meiko Orui I1—2073
Wednesday December 4, 2069
Cannonvale, Queensland
Australia
Iteration 2
Moonlight spilled across a white quilt, the shadows of palm fronds danced in silhouette as Mac came to awareness. Beside him there was sound of soft breathing and the heat of Sam’s body as she slept. Their room was filled with familiar scents: the lavender of the laundry soap, the honest smell of clean sweat, the smell of Bosco the dog, and a hint of garlic wafting down the hall from the kitchen.
Eyeing the open door, Mac slid his hand down the side of the mattress and retrieved the military-issue gun he’d smuggled out of the Americas six years earlier. Every night, the door was locked.
Bosco slept on the cool tiles in front of the door, 180 pounds of heavily muscled mastiff who had been trained to attack on command. Mac slept between Sam and the bulletproof glass they’d installed. Carefully planted shrubbery made sure no sniper was getting a clean shot, and the reinforced walls had been the final step to turning the bedroom into a bunker.
But something in the darkness disturbed him. A scent or a sound out of place that woke a sixth sense and brought him into battle mode. Hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he silently stood and crossed the carpeted bedroom floor to survey the hall. Bosco was nowhere in sight.
Logic said that Bosco, despite his training, might be wandering the house. Maybe the dog had wanted to pee and gone out his doggy door. Maybe a kangaroo was sleeping on the other side of the fence, and Bosco had gone to plan his next battle with the monsters of Australia.
The problem with “maybe” was that Mac knew the other maybes meant terror teams might have infiltrated the house. This might be the night they found Sam. This might be the night the war began.
“Captain MacKenzie?” The calm voice was so familiar it startled him. But Sam was back in the bedroom . . .
He turned the corner to the kitchen with his gun up, safety off. “You are not welcome here.”
Shadows played across the woman’s face. Black hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Her face was thinner than Sam’s, the features more pronounced. Without needing an X-ray, Mac was confident there were signs of a healed fracture on her left ankle.
She stepped away from the counter with a cold, cruel smile. A twisted parody of the woman he loved.
“Where’s my dog?” If this other-Sam had killed Bosco, she’d be fish food by dawn. His Sam wouldn’t even question the blood on the tiles.
“Sleeping outside,” the woman said. “I locked his doggy door. He whined a little, but I suspect he’ll live.”
Mac kept his gun trained on her chest. “Excellent. You’re now free to leave the way you came. We don’t want anything to do with you. Not now. Not ever. Go back, and tell Emir to stay on his side of history.”
She tilted her head to the side in a waggling shake that was equal parts familiar and foreign. “I wish it were that simple, Captain. I really do.”
“I never made captain,” Mac said. “You’re in the wrong iteration. Leave. This is my last warning.”
She stepped toward him, making herself an easy target. “I choose to believe that it is you in the wrong iteration. You are Captain Linsey Eric MacKenzie of the 23rd Home Regiment. Einselected designation: Warrior. We need you, Captain.”
In one quick motion, she grabbed his wrist with a cool, clawlike hand. He felt something sticky, then felt the ground fall away, then he knew nothing at all.