She made it as far as the middle of the corridor when it happened. It was sooner than she remembered, butthen every time she came back to save him—to save the world—things were different.
They came out of the doors on both sides of the passageway. Six men in total; less than half of the mercenaries, Billie knew, but the passageway was tight and combat was going to be difficult. This was merely the first wave.
They were armed with blackjacks, knives, and pistols, but in the close quarters of the narrow passage their primary tools were their fists, encased in heavy protective gloves, the knuckles studded with brass.
That was the same every time, and for that fact, Billie was grateful. Because, as big as the men were, they were no match for her.
As they moved in to crush her from all sides, Billie raised the odd artifact that had replaced her right arm, and a weapon materialized in it, coalescing out of mineral shards and metallic slivers—a knife, the grip square and heavy, the two parallel blades straight and sharp and sparking with a light from another place, another time.
The Twin-bladed Knife, but from days to come, from a time that had not yet transpired.
Billie hefted the weapon and attacked—the best defense was, of course, to go on the offense. And she was ready for them—more ready than her opponents could ever be. Because she had fought this battle before. In fact, she had almost lost count of the number of times she had seen this fight, had fought this fight. Every time was a little different, but the elite team stuck to their training.
This gave Billie the advantage. She knew this, and was determined not to waste the opportunity again.
Despite her experience with this very fight, she couldn’t allow her concentration to falter. Each time she had come back, she had failed. Each time she had learned, she hadremembered, but each time the fight had been different, and it had taken her far too long to realize that fact.
Something was interfering with time, working against her, preventing her from completing her own mission to stop Daud. Because his quest to kill the Outsider was going to ruin everything.
How and why things kept changing, she didn’t know—maybe she was doing it herself, her repeated re-visits to this single point in time pushing at the fabric of the world, causing it to crease and ripple. So while she learned about her attackers at each encounter, learning their moves, their tactics, their decisions, their instincts, each and every time she returned, something was off. And each and every time, that change, however small, led to failure.
All she could do was fight, hoping that this time—this time!—she would succeed. That she would get Daud out, away from Karnaca, away from his quest, and that when she returned to her own time, the world would be fixed.
The men swarmed around her, their combat dance expertly synchronized. Billie ducked and weaved, parrying blows, riposting with her own. In such close quarters, the fight was little more than a brawl, bodies crushing together between the paneled walls, Billie and the men bouncing off one another as they struggled.
One man swung high; Billie ducked, spinning on her toes, slicing out with the Knife. Since the fall of the Outsider, the weapon was no longer capable of striking with the power of the Void, but it was still a masterwork of blacksmithing and a formidable blade when wielded by her expert hand. The parallel blades caught two attackers in the calf, the knife slicing through flesh and bone like it wasn’t there. They screamed and collapsed—not dead, but incapacitated. Billie stood and pushed through the gap now formed in the pack, then turned, ducking left and right asarmored gloves ploughed through the air toward her face.
Remembering what the man on the left would do next, Billie countered, almost too soon. He swung a fist, then swung his other arm, the blade of his dagger held tight against his forearm. Billie parried, the Twin-bladed Knife sliding off the dagger with a flash of sparks, causing her to lose her footing as her body lurched forward.
Seeing a window of opportunity, one of the other men punched her in the gut. The air left her lungs in one explosive gasp, and Billie staggered, the fingers of her mystical arm suddenly grasping at air. She watched as the Twin-bladed Knife spun down the passageway, coming to rest by the door of the big office.
No! It had happened again. No matter the differences, no matter how long or short this fight, this was the one thing that never failed to occur. And no matter how many times she came back, she seemed to be powerless to prevent it.
Billie lunged forward, throwing herself toward the Knife, but she was immediately grabbed from behind, one arm around her middle, others taking hold of her by the shoulders. She thrashed against them, but it was no use. The four men left standing were joined by others, the elite force now packing the passageway as reinforcements poured out of the adjoining offices.
The fight was over, the combatants standing, chests heaving, looking at Billie.
Then, almost as one, they turned to face the other end of the corridor. After all, Billie was not their target.
Daud was.
One of the men, perhaps the leader, stepped forward, heading toward the closed office door.
The door opened. Daud stepped out, rolling his neck, cracking his knuckles.
The group froze. Billie could sense their hesitation—it wasn’t fear. These men were trained soldiers, the best Morley had to offer. They weren’t afraid, but they were cautious.
The closest men charged. Billie watched as Daud bent down, scooping
