40

A NEW LOW FOR ACKERMAN

AGENT AUGUST ACKERMAN’S VISION WAS BEGINNING to pull itself back together. Instead of three steel tables, twelve men, and an infinity mirror, his surroundings were thirded. He found himself restrained to a chair with handcuffs. There was a coppery residue coating his tongue, but a swallow determined it to be the aftermath of the stunrod’s current. Not blood.

“He’s awake!” one of the guards announced.

This was August’s first good look at his assailants. His eyes focused on their sleeves’ loopy hourglass symbol. Corps. August came from a long line of career Bureau men and consequently had a patent dislike for anything to do with the Corps. They were forever stealing things—funding, recruits, public interest—and leaving messes in their wake. Pivot point had become akin to a curse word in Ackerman families across the HTP8 string. Unauthorized worlds popping up like fungi, all because this lot was so obsessed with looking backward. August couldn’t understand why. What sort of person would want to make a career wallowing around in history’s diseases and odious smells?

These sorts. Amateurs who thought a few links of metal could tie him down….

…

…

When August did not vanish, he sat straighter in his chair. His interface—and the teleportation equipment linked to it—had been scrambled by the surge of electricity. Much like August’s body, it needed a reboot. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for some time, unless these guards decided otherwise.

The flame-haired one leaned in, elbows locked as if he was bracing for something. “What were you doing in the Corps’ restricted archives?”

That explained the servers, as well as the alarm. Both had been unexpected. This entire assignment was, really. He’d spent most of his twenty years with the Bureau mopping up time- traveling messes—observing oopsy-daisy universes, numbering them in the ever-changing system—but the Fade was a first for his career. Whatever Farway McCarthy had done to cause it was a muck-up of catastrophic proportions. Despite the many Dr. Ramírezes’ valiant efforts, it could not be cleaned up, only contained. The quarantine should’ve been simple: Follow the beacon, X out this final catalyst, confiscate Cadet McCarthy’s jump equipment before she could create more spin-off worlds. Of course, history hoppers never made anything simple.

Lightning bolts streaked down the side of August Ackerman’s throat as he swallowed a second time.

“Who was that girl?” the guard tried again. “How is it she vanished into thin air? Why was the motto on her badge different? Why was she tapping into the Ab Aeterno’s 95 AD archives?”

Because Cadet McCarthy was foolish enough to think time might change things, and she would keep creating pivot points, spreading the Fade into world after twisted world, until she gave up and jumped to an innocent string, dragging the countersignature’s infection with her.

That couldn’t happen. Metal bit into August’s skin as he tried to lift his wrists. Chained to this chair, stranded in this rotting universe… He wasn’t going anywhere if he kept silent.

“Some very unfortunate events are about to occur,” he informed his questioner. “I was in the process of preventing them when you intervened.”

Eyes widened. The guards glanced at one another.

“You’re from the future, aren’t you?” the red-haired guard offered. “Explains why we didn’t recognize your credentials.”

The thought of the respected emblem of the Multiverse Bureau—the infinity symbol linked over and over again into a circular chain-mail pattern—being mistaken for a time traveler’s badge ticked August’s blood pressure up a few notches. Somewhere in universe MB+251418881HTP8, the Ackerman forefathers were rolling in their cryonic suspension chambers.

“Sharp young man you are.” Agent Ackerman’s gaze flicked past the guards, to the mirror. Whoever was calling the shots of this interrogation stood behind the glass, listening. August stared past his reflection as austerely as he could. “Your present is in peril. Cadet McCarthy is traveling back into the past to alter events, but she is playing with forces vastly beyond her qualifications—”

CRACK! The door to the interrogation room opened so hard August expected the sound to spread to the mirror and spill into a thousand silver shards. The glass held. Agent Ackerman recognized the newcomer from the datastream of his trip to MB+178587977FLT6. Headmaster Marin’s alternate was identical in this world—right down to the mustache. It was an admirable lip wig, waxed into knifepoint ends that quivered when their owner spoke.

“Did you say McCarthy?”

“Yes,” Agent Ackerman answered with care. The name was obviously an explosive one.

“First day of a new promotion and that hashing family shows up. Never could stand Farway, always preening about being born outside of time. As if having a mother irresponsible enough to watch gladiator matches during labor is a bragging point!”

Ah. The history hoppers had a history, something painfully personal, gathering from the mustachioed man’s tone. It was the born-outside-of-time bit that piqued August’s interest. Could the circumstances of Farway McCarthy’s birth be the event to which Cadet McCarthy had been referring? Was 95 AD the time she was so determined to alter?

“Who is this girl? Farway’s daughter?”

“What she is, is a danger to you and your timeline.” Cadet McCarthy was probably in 95 AD already, catalyst alive at her side, attempting to spread this decay even farther…. Even if August could get his teleportation capabilities back online, they wouldn’t do him much good. “It was a disaster I was in the process of preventing, but your stunrods have interfered with my equipment. Headmaster Marin—”

“Headmaster?” It wasn’t until Marin frowned that Agent Ackerman realized his slip. Different world, different title. “No, no. It’s Commander Marin.”

“Commander Marin.” Frozen Ackerman corpses kept rolling round and round, but family honor could wait. The Fade had to be contained. If Agent Ackerman had to time travel to kill the final catalyst, so be it. “I’m going to need a ride.”