Extracted

NINE

LEX

I open my eyes. I can feel my heartbeat in them. They feel like they’re going to pop out of their sockets, and without looking in the mirror, I can tell they are bloodshot.

“Hey,” Nobel says, leaning over me.

I respond with a faint moan. The sound vibrates in my head, and spikes of pain shoot through my skull. My whole body aches. It’s all I can do to blink against the bright lights of the lab. He sighs, relieved.

“How long was I out?” I ask hoarsely, sitting up on the rusty metal table. I wiggle my toes and electrical currents drive their way up the muscle. Something is wrong. Looking down, I see the problem. One leg is gone. Nobel has given me a prosthetic made of leather and metal, gears and copper.

“About a day,” Nobel answers, his voice tight.

I flex the appendage at the knee joint. Steam hisses out of the side. It’s almost as bad as a boiling teapot. There’s even a little whistle. I groan again, flopping down onto my back. I open my mouth to ask about Stein, but I already know where she is—at the bottom of that cliff back in 1905. For a while, I’m paralyzed by the memory of it. Staring up at the peeling plaster ceiling, I replay the mission in my head, looking for the moment where I screwed up, looking for the wrong turn, the bad decision.

Stein is gone.

And it’s my fault.

The realization rips its way up my chest, clogging my heart until I’m sure I’m going to die from it. I can’t breathe. Doubling over, I gasp and convulse. There are no tears, though I’m sure they will come eventually. Now, it’s just hot, unbearable agony.

Nobel tosses a dirty rag over his shoulder and leaves. It’s his way of giving me time to mourn. If I want to cry, I can do it now and no one will witness it. I’ve never been so glad to lack an audience. Then I remember how much Stein had hated it, the audience—always being watched and never having enough time alone. I wish I’d been better. Given her more. If I had another day with her, I’d do it right. Tell her how much she meant to me.

The guilt crashes down on me like a giant brick. Every muscle in my body aches with the strain of it. I can even feel it in what’s left of my leg.

I tap on the dented brass of my new limb. I should have gone off that cliff with her. It would hurt less, at least. I continue to tap the metal leg as tears roll down my face. The idea of never seeing Stein again cuts me to the bone. It’s as if my soul has been torn from my body.

I scream and throw a metal tray full of tools against the wall. They hit the ground with a loud crash. For a while I just sit there, hitting the leg over and over as if there were a cramp in the muscle. The hollow thuds echo through the room.

How could I let her go? Why couldn’t I have held on just a little longer? I stare at the far wall. “Skinard hearts Blu” is spray-painted in big red letters. I have never seen it before—in fact, I’ve never realized how filthy the Tower is. The furniture in this room in particular is being held together by rope and propped up by cinder blocks. Even though this is thought to be our operating and recovery room, nothing is clean or sterile. I can actually smell death hidden in the walls.

My leg lets out a hiss of steam in protest as what’s left of my quad spasms. Slipping my other hand in my pocket, I caress the old bottle caps I keep there. The familiar motion helps me focus, helps me push the pain down inside. The tears streak my face even as I realize the obvious.

I’ve got to get Stein back. Living without her isn’t even an option.

I’m a time traveler! What good are my abilities if I can’t use them to get her back?

The prosthetic grinds and hisses as I stand, but it holds up. I take a step and fall over, and I end up kissing the floor with my face. With renewed purpose, I haul myself upright and limp into the main room. All the rage, all the pain, I funnel it into a single thought.

Getting Stein back.

“It’s the best I could do,” Nobel says, pointing to the leg. He isn’t apologizing and he doesn’t need to. He saved my life, whatever that’s worth.

“I know, Nobel.” I try not to look sad about it. “Stein is dead and I have a pressure cooker for a leg.”

Nobel wipes his hands on the grimy towel over his shoulder. “You made quite a scene when you rifted back. You were lying in a pool of blood—you and your detached leg, with bits of metal embedded in it.”

“Gear Head shrapnel,” I growl.

“I’m so sorry, Lex.”

I can’t stand the look of grief on his face, so I put my head in my hands. I can still smell Stein’s lotion on them. It’s enough to start the tears up again, and I’m glad Nobel is the only one around.

“Has Claymore said anything yet?” I ask, exhausted by the idea. I’ve been on the receiving end of Claymore’s wrath before, but not for anything as serious as this. The last thing I want right now is to get lectured.

“I’m sure he was waiting ‘till you woke up to talk to you.”

Great.

Usually I go to Gloves for our missions, then he reports to Claymore. I suspect these missions always come from Claymore, but Gloves is the buffer, the middleman. It’s the chain of command. Now, however, I have to go talk to Claymore directly. Something about the thought of sitting in the same room as him makes my skin crawl.

“What happened in there, Lex?” Nobel asks. He tries to look like it isn’t a big deal, but I know better.

I shrug, mostly because it’s too excruciating to put into words. But I know I’m going to have to. All that thinking, all that playing it over and over in my mind, and I still can’t find any mistake on our part. “Did you know it was the third time we went to the Amber Room?”

Nobel’s eyes widen and his jaw muscles slacken a little bit. “I didn’t know that.”

I shake my head. “Exactly. So why risk it?”

“Gloves just has some fascination with the Amber Room. You know it was built in Russia in 1701? Then it just vanished. Poof. But it’s still not worth going in three times.”

That’s how the Gear Heads found us, I realize. They followed the weak spot and came through it. That’s why the mission went bust. That’s why Stein’s dead.

“Did you at least get what you were after?” Nobel asks.

I reach into my vest pocket and pull out an old amber hairbrush. I thought it was beautiful when we lifted it, but now it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. All I can think is how little it’s worth. Not worth Stein. Not worth her life.

I want to chuck the brush across the room, but I don’t.

Twisting the beautiful, jewel-studded amber brush in my fingers, I take a deep breath and recount everything that happened up until the moment I let go of Stein’s hand. Nobel listens intently.

“I just couldn’t hold onto her anymore,” I say, failing to blink back tears.

“I’m sorry,” Nobel says softly, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I swallow, massaging the handle of the brush with my thumb. I feel sick and sad and pissed all at the same time. “I want to go back and get her,” I whisper.

“You can’t go back because you’re already there. The paradox would be catastrophic, Lex.”

He’s right. The rational part of me knows that. But that tiny, rational part is quickly silenced when the memory of her smile floats like a ghost to the front of my mind.

Nobel sits down and slides onto the edge of the trunk. He stares at me thoughtfully, tugging the grimy mask down around his neck. “There might be something. The Institute has a whole vault of tech that Tesla created. I’ve heard rumors about it.”

“What have you heard?” If there is any chance of saving Stein, any at all, I’ll gimp through hell itself to get to it.

“Supposedly, there’s something there, like a temporal Band-Aid that can repair a paradox. It might just be a rumor, but…” He trails off with a shrug.

Just the thought of it gives me hope and makes the tension in my chest melt away like a snowflake landing on the surface of one of Nobel’s steam machines. I know I’m grinning like an idiot, but I can’t help myself.

“If anyone would know, it would be Claymore,” Nobel adds finally.

“I’ll just have to convince him to let me go get it, then,” I say, knowing that when I make my mind up about something I tend to get my way. And there’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more than this.

“If we can get Gloves to sanction it, then maybe Claymore would be on board,” Nobel suggests.

He’s right. Gloves is only motivated by tech and expensive, rare objects from the past. Since we don’t have tech he doesn’t already have access to, we’ll have to bribe him with something from the Amber Room.

It dawns on me. “During my first rift to the Amber Room, I took more than just the pendant we were supposed to steal.”

I limp to my room with Nobel close at my heels. I manage to fall twice before we get there. Reaching under my bed, I pull out a small, brass box.

“This should buy me some leverage,” I say, reaching my hand inside.

I place a small, Egyptian scarab-shaped brooch in Nobel’s hand.

“It looks like it’s made of honey,” Nobel says, holding it up to the light. “Why will this be a good bribe?”

“Because. Hold it up again and look at the head.” I wait while he holds it up to the bare bulb on the ceiling. “That amber has liquid in it. The last time Stewart Stills was here, I asked him to look at it. He said it might be some kind of organic rifting serum. As much as Gloves wants all the stuff from that room, we can’t send in another team thanks to the Gear Heads. So I bet he’d do just about anything to get his hands on this.”

“Why didn’t you turn it over when you took it?”

I stare at the brooch. “Honestly? I’m not sure. Insurance, maybe?”

“Kleptomania, maybe,” he mutters.

I can’t help but smirk. Standing up too quickly, my leg lets out a large burst of steam and I pitch forward onto my hands and knees.

“Whoa,” Nobel says, offering me a hand up. “Are you okay?”

“I guess I’ll need a lot of practice,” I mutter.

I brush off his hand, struggle to one knee, and drag myself toward the old Victorian chair in the corner of the room. When I start to fall again, Nobel comes to my rescue.

He reaches under my armpits and helps me into the chair. The springs are long gone and the seat is worn to threads. I sink in and rest against the once-plush backing of the purple velvet chair.

“Thanks,” I say, more bitterly than I mean to.

“You are welcome,” Nobel says without hesitation, ignoring my sarcasm. “Wait here for just a minute.”

“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “Where would I go, anyway?” I don’t expect an answer. I sit waiting, watching the steam from the geared hinge moisten the purple chair. That spot probably hasn’t been steam-cleaned in a century.

While I wait for him to come back, I start to think about Stein again. How could I just let her go like that? Why couldn’t I have been stronger? Why did they send us back there, knowing the risks? My heart is racing and I almost start to tear up.

“Here, this should help,” Nobel says, carrying a cane. “I was hoping you wouldn’t need it, but I wanted to be sure I didn’t set you up for failure.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t need this,” I point to the booby trap on my leg. Nobel looks away sadly.

Guilt bites into me. “Dude, I’m sorry. It isn’t your fault. You saved my life. It’s just…” I point at the leg and Nobel nods.

“It was the best I could do. I’m working on some other ideas, but for now you’re just going to have to suck it up, Lex.” He holds the cane out to me. “Now, let’s try this again.”

The cane is actually kind of cool. A set of gears underlines the handle, and Nobel has carved some ornate engravings along the shaft.

“I could use this as a weapon,” I say, turning it over and over in my hand like a baton.

“You can,” he agrees. “It’s temporary, but I made some useful modifications. Here.”

Nobel points to the various gears on the handle. “The oil slick is triggered by the rusty gear. When the shiny gear is spun, it emits a noxious gas.”

Suddenly, I love this cane. Then Nobel turns the handle to show me the small gear with one .45 caliber bullet loaded.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to marry this thing,” I say without thinking. Suddenly the memory of Stein is there again, threatening to crush me. I breathe deeply, trying to focus on the plan. The chugging of Gloves’s train chair pulls me from my thoughts.

“What do you want, Gloves?” I ask as he glares, obviously annoyed with me.

He gives me a stern frown. No sympathy from him, I suppose. “Claymore would like you to grace him with your presence.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be right there.”

Gloves turns his train chair around and chugs off. I try to stand up again. Luckily, Nobel is here to lend me a hand. Once I get to my feet, I keep the cane on my right side. Nobel tells me to swing the cane parallel to each step with my right leg. I take an experimental step with my left leg first, as lifting and stepping requires full concentration. With a hiss, and metal grinding against metal, I take another step. It sounds like a new teenage driver learning how to drive a stick shift.

“The grinding sound will go away as you learn to use it,” Nobel assures me.

I shrug. The sound doesn’t bother me so much. “Well, wish me luck.”

Oddly enough, there isn’t much pain now that I’m upright. Hiss, grind, pop. Hiss, grind, pop. I stop at the threshold and turn around.

“Thanks for the cane,” I offer. “I hope I won’t have to use it on Claymore.” I smile, turn, and hobble down the hallway toward Claymore’s office.

I’m not sure what hits me first—the bitter smell of brass polish or the sound of the arrivals and departures board ticking. Someone is already in Claymore’s office.

The office door is slightly ajar when I arrive. I knock. All I can hear is tick, tick, tick.

“Come in,” a girl’s voice calls out to me.

I use my shoulder to open the door, then, without any grace, I stumble in. Fortunately, I stay on my feet just until I can safely fall into one of the office chairs. Sisson breaks into a slight smile, all traces of her near-death incident erased. Small and fox-like, she moves across the room without making the tiniest sound. She’s wearing dark goggles and scraps of brown leather wrapped around her body in a makeshift corset. Darting for the door on the very tips of her toes, she looks a bit like an insane ballet dancer. As she passes me, she taps me on the mechanical knee.

“Thanks for the rescue, Lex.”

The prosthetic seizes at her touch. “Dang leg,” I say, grinding my teeth as I adjust it under me.

PLEASE SIT DOWN LEX, the ticking board spells. I can sense the sarcasm even though I have to read everything Claymore is saying.

Claymore rests his hands on his scarred, leather-surfaced desk as if paralyzed from the neck down. I tap my cane on the wooden legs of the desk. The bottoms are so old and mangled it looks like a Gear Head has gnawed at them. Sunlight shines in through the dirty windowpanes, landing on Claymore’s canvas overalls.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m still getting used to the leg Nobel gave me.”

OH YES, THE LEG…tick, tick, tick…LET’S TALK ABOUT THE LEG. HOW DID YOUR LEG BECOME…tick, tick, tick…DETACHED FROM YOUR BODY?…tick, tick, tick…OR BETTER YET HOW DID YOU BOTCH THE MISSION…tick, tick, tick…SO SPECTACULARLY THAT YOU LOST ONE OF…tick, tick, tick…OUR BEST RIFTERS AND ONE…tick, tick, tick…OF YOUR BEST APPENDAGES?

“So much for small talk,” I mumble under my breath. I don’t want to recount what happened. I stare at the condensation forming on the brass panel of my leg, knowing that Claymore probably already has a pretty good idea what happened.

“Sir,” I begin, leaning forward with my hands on the arms of the chair. “This mission was a failure from the beginning.”

Tick, tick, tick…WHAT DO YOU MEAN A FAILURE?

Just thinking about what happened to Stein forms a lump the size of a hard-boiled egg in my throat.

“Right when we got there, we could feel a difference in the stream, but we still proceeded as ordered. As soon as the alternate us from the last rift left, we snuck in and retrieved the brush. It wasn’t until we were actually inside the Amber Room that we ran into Gear Heads.”

Tick, tick, tick…CONTINUE.

I walk him through the mission, not holding back anything. At least, until I reach the part about Stein going over the cliff. I can’t seem to force the words past my throat.

Tick, tick, tick…GO ON.

I continue to rehash the horrible events while I stare at the front porthole and try to see if there is any emotion sloshing around in Claymore’s helmet. No, nothing but blackness.

Tick, tick, tick…WELL THAT IS VERY UNFORTUNATE FOR US…tick, tick, tick…STEIN WAS A GOOD RIFTER…tick, tick, tick…WE WILL HAVE TO RECRUIT A REPLACEMENT QUICKLY.

I stiffen in my seat. Replace Stein? Is he smoking crack?

I stare at him, unable to tell what Claymore is feeling. His ticking text doesn’t have any emotion in it. I debate telling him about my plan to go back and get her, but I bite down on my tongue instead. If he doesn’t approve it, I’ll just go without permission. It’ll mean exile, but I can live with that. I’ve already decided. Still, I’ll wait until I can get Gloves on my side.

“Can I go now, sir?”

Tick, tick, tick…YES. AND PLEASE GET USED TO THAT LEG…tick, tick, tick…WE NEED YOU BACK IN THE FIELD.

“Yes, sir.” I take that as my dismissal, so I grip my cane and hoist myself from the chair. Getting this leg to do exactly what I want is a huge chore. In fact, it does the exact opposite of a forward walking movement. Kicking back with a forceful thrust, it knocks over the chair I was just sitting in. I can just imagine the look on Claymore’s face, if he has a face. Not knowing what this leg is going to do next, I don’t even try to right the chair on my way out.

The hallway to Gloves’s office is in the opposite direction from Claymore’s. Walking there is still a huge task to undertake for me. Granted, it has only been three hours since I woke up. Still, I feel like I should be more resilient than this somehow. I shake my head, mentally promising to allow myself a little leeway.

Wardenclyffe Tower’s hallways all run off from a central common room like spokes on a bicycle wheel. Hobbling down the hall is more of a chore than I imagined.

As I walk to Gloves’s office, the voices from the common room are replaced with the sounds of hissing steam and whistling of trains. Stumbling toward Gloves’s door, my leg starts to ache. My hand is already closed around the brooch in my pocket. I rap on the door with the end of my cane. I figure it is appropriate for a man with a cane to use it in every aspect of life. Plus, it makes me smile.

“Enter,” Gloves calls to me.

I turn the handle and push open the door. Immediately, I’m hit with a thick wall of smoky steam. Gloves is in the back corner, diligently feeding one of the many small furnaces.

My cane taps on the wooden floor of his office as I stagger toward the back wall.

“What can I do for you?” Gloves asks without even looking up.

“I have something for you.” I hold the beetle in my hand, staring at it under the glow of the furnace fire. The light glints off the two emerald eyes set above one-inch golden pincers. The back is covered with diamonds. Funny that the things that make it valuable are the only things Gloves won’t find interesting about it. He turns in his wheelchair and chugs toward me. I hold the scarab steady in the palm of my hand. The presentation is perfect. The liquid in the tail end of the beetle seems to light up like a firefly.

“What might this be?”

“It’s a scarab brooch. I picked it from the Amber Room. I think it’s some kind of rifting serum. It can be yours for a very small favor.” I sound like a game show host, I know.

“Yes. I believe I know what it is, thank you.” He holds out his hand.

I quickly stuff the beetle back in my pocket and lean on my cane, looking at Gloves. His face is covered in soot and sweat, and his clothes are filthy, except for his gloves. He looks like he’s been sleeping in a pile of coal—come to think of it, maybe he has. I can see the indecision playing across his smudged face. Finally, he squints, making his thick eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead.

“What’s the favor?”

“All I need you to do is have Claymore commission two operations for us and then supply us with the Contra we’ll need. I think he’ll let it fly if it comes from you.” I find a pile of coal and sit down. My new leg is aching and my back is tight from compensating for the limp.

“What’s the mission?” he asks, still hesitant.

“We need to break into the Tesla Institute and steal some tech from them. That is the first one. Then we are going to go back to where we lost Stein. I want to save her and use the tech to prevent a paradox.”

“Ah. The Dox. I remember it. Untested, as I recall. Very dangerous. “Hmm. Let me see the brooch again,” Gloves says, holding out his white hand. I stand so that he knows he won’t be able to just take the beetle from me. Slowly, I reach into my pocket. I hesitate, watching the reflection of the furnace fires in Gloves’s eyes before I hand it to him.

Using the back of his pristine white gloves, he polishes my oily fingerprints off the beetle. He holds it up to the light and inspects the liquid. As he stares at the brooch, a large smile spreads across his face.

“And you’re sure you can get the Dox to work?” he asks, not looking at me, as if he’s no longer all that interested in me or my deal anymore.

“I’m sure, sir,” I lie. But I’m confident that, between Nobel and me, we’ll be able to figure it out.

“Then you have a deal. I’ll make your Contra and talk to Claymore later tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, Lex.”

Gloves turns the brooch over and over, letting whatever the strange liquid is in the beetle lap back and forth. With this mission a go, I feel a slight sense of relief. Finally, I can let go of all the sadness and helplessness I’ve been feeling and just focus on getting her back. Before he can change his mind, I follow the red locomotive toward the exit.

“Wait…” he yells after me. I turn, half-expecting him to throw something at me. “Rifting back into the time stream, to a place where you already are, could create a huge paradox. So if you can’t get your hands on that tech, the deal is off.”

He tucks the beetle into the inside pocket of his soot-covered jacket and turns back again to his trains. I back slowly out of the room, feeling like I’ve just gotten off very easy.