“You shot me,” he says in disbelief and nods his head in pain, mouth open. The wall is splattered with blood and he places his hand on his shoulder as the red gushes between his fingers.
“Now this has to go fast,” Gallie says. “Real fast.” Bess places the gun barrel between Mancini’s eyes.
“Okay,” he says and I help him struggle to his feet. He faces the door and I hear the clunk of the lock. I push him in, and Gallie and Bess follow. No one is in the room–Bess had been right: Mancini is the entire night shift.
“Accelerators,” I yell at him. “Where?” He looks at me but seems more focused on coping with the pain. I tilt my head toward Bess. “Listen to me you little prick. Those accelerators are the only thing between your brains and that artwork. For art’s sake, get them.”
“I hear yelling,” Gallie says, looking out of the door.
“No one’s saving you, Mancini,” Bess says. “You’ll be my final pleasure.” He takes what looks like a painful breath then staggers over to a black, smooth wall unit about six feet high. He runs the palm of his good hand across it and a drawer opens smoothly.
“Any second now,” Gallie shouts. “No time.” I lope to the drawer and see the accelerators inside–our accelerators.
“Gallie, over here,” I shout taking out three accelerators and throwing them onto a highly polished baroque tabletop. “Program them. Bess, give me the gun.” I take it and stand by the door. Then the door at the far end of the corridor slams open and I fire a burst of shots at it. A guard falls backwards and his rifle clatters on the ground. I hear shouting but no one follows him. I look back at Gallie.
“Just a few seconds,” she says, jabbing at an accelerator. The shouting continues as if they’re mustering the courage for a full assault. I hear Gallie say to Bess “Hold this. No need to wear it. Then press this. Go!” Then I hear Asmus’s voice.
“Get in there you pathetic bastards,” I hear him shouting. “They’ve got one gun between them.” He can’t know that but he has nothing to lose except a few goons.
“Hey, Kasper,” I shout.
“Get in there,” he screams.
“Here,” Gallie says from behind me. “It’s ready, give me the gun.”
“No. Leave mine there,” I say. “You go.” I look back at her and she shakes her head. “Go!” I shout. A hail of fire comes through the door, ripping into furniture, equipment and artwork, and hitting Mancini’s crumpled body with enough force to propel him into the far wall. Gallie vanishes. I put my hand around the door and fire off a few shots which are feeble against the incoming bursts but enough to pause them. As I look back to locate my accelerator I hear Asmus screaming at his thugs. I run back and grab the accelerator, holding the wristband tight in my fist. The screen is blank. Oh, fuck. I hear the clatter of a multitude of feet coming up the corridor. This is it Joad. The way I die is in a hurricane of lead and steel. I think to touch the screen and it comes to life. But it’s got to be too late. I don’t look up and I press ‘Activate’ to the roar of a hundred detonations.
THIRTY-NINE
The ambient light is dimmer and deafening noise is replaced by silence as I fall to the ground. I’m at Gallie’s feet and she’s looking down at me. Two men are running toward us.
“You okay?” Gallie asks. I pat myself down for pain, blood or holes and then I nod. One of the two men is Boris Zhivov and it takes a second for me to realize I’m lying on the concrete pad of the TMA accelerator facility.
“What the hell happened?” Zhivov asks. “You’re caked in crap.” I run a finger over my mud-blackened face and inspect it. “And that sounded like a ricochet.” I realize a bullet must have gotten into the tachyon blast and finished its journey a couple of centuries after it set out. I check myself again for holes. Gallie pulls me to my feet. I notice the air smells different: cleaner, crisper, metallic.
“Where’s–?” I begin and then Bess appears between us and the accelerator cylinder. She arrives standing but then falls backwards with a cry. Gallie and I run over and help her up. Zhivov peers at her.
“One of your team?” he asks.
“No. This is Bess ... Asmus,” I reply. Zhivov looks bemused. “She used to be my wife, depending on who you ask,” I say. “How long have we been gone?”
“An hour maybe,” Zhivov replies. So of course there was no rescue mission. Temporal logic makes fools of us. “Where are Morales and Byrne?” Gallie and I exchange a glance and she shakes her head. No one is in the mood to explain and Zhivov doesn’t press it. We catch our breath in silence. “Nothing personal but why don’t you start by taking a shower?”
“Do you have clothes?” Bess asks. “I just want to wear regular clothes.”
“I’m afraid you’ll all be guests at The Tacky Hotel until we figure out what’s happening,” Zhivov says. “And don’t worry, I’ll feed your fucking cat,” he tells Gallie pre-emptively. “Toad, your old room is waiting for you.” That would have horrified me just a few week ago, but today I’m excited to sink into the plush luxury of its army cot and feel the hot, foul coffee on the back of my throat. “Gallie, you know the routine. Full written report. Take your time and give it to me by two. Got a feeling it might be one of the more interesting
