Timecaster

FIFTY-TWO

Some days a guy just can’t catch a break.

If the TTS had locked onto me, the missiles had locked on as well. I guessed them to be airburst, which meant they wouldn’t even need to hit me to kill me. They would explode within a few hundred feet, the shock wave and shrapnel ripping me to shreds.

I tried to recall if anything in my peace officer training dealt with dodging missiles while parachuting at fifty thousand feet, and came up empty. But I hadn’t gone this far to get shot out of the sky like a fat, lazy duck.

Pulling up the TEV to chest level, I fumbled with the counter, trying to find a button or knob to reset the countdown. Sata wouldn’t make it obvious. But there had to be some way to program it, some way to reset the wormhole.

I glanced beneath me. The missiles had gotten much bigger, and I could hear the roar of their engines. I didn’t have much time left.

The normal TEVs-the ones that didn’t transport matter to dinosaur planets-worked by tuning in to the fabric of spacetime. When I pet the bunny and found the octeract point, I did it through concentration and slight adjustments of the control knob.

This TEV didn’t have a control knob. Or did it?

What if the knob wasn’t physical?

I remembered when Sata set the device. He’d done so without touching anything. He’d closed his eyes, and the LED had begun its countdown.

I closed my eyes as well, letting my brain stretch out into infinity, trying to block out the missiles, the environment, and all physical sensation. Not the easiest thing to do while parachuting, exhausted, and terrified, but I didn’t have time to fail. Instead of manipulating a knob, I imagined it, fine-tuning until my mind was flooded with light and the bunny appeared.

I pictured the bunny with a timer on its head that displayed 0:03.

When I opened my eyes, the TEV displayed three seconds, and was counting down.

The missiles were within airburst range. I pointed the lens and held my breath.

The counter reached 0:00.

The TEV shuddered.

The missiles disappeared. So did another chunk of Lake Michigan. I hoped I hadn’t hit any boaters.

“Can anyone hear me?” I asked. I had no idea what radio frequency the helmet microphone was tuned to, or how far its range was, but it was worth a shot. “This is Talon Avalon. I’m carrying a device that can destroy the entire city.”

“This is the Chicago Coast Guard,” came the response. “What are your demands?”

Demands? “Uh, it would be nice if you stopped firing missiles at me.”

“Why are you shooting your device at Lake Michigan?”

“It’s not my device. It belongs to Michio Sata. He programmed it to destroy Chicago, and I jumped out of a space station to stop him.”

No answer.

“Hello?”

I wondered if I’d gone out of range. I checked around for more missiles, but didn’t see any. Maybe they actually listened.

Leaving the TEV to hang from my wrist once again, I altered my course, continuing on to Milwaukee.

“Avalon, this is Mayor George W. Dailey. You really think you can force your demands on the great city of Chicago and get away with it?”

“My only demand is for you to stop shooting missiles at me.”

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists, Avalon. And we won’t bend in the face of extortion.”

“What am I extorting?”

“You’re scum, Avalon. There isn’t a place on earth you’ll be able to hide. We’ll hunt you down like the rat you are.”

So much for getting the authorities on my side.

“Listen up, Mayor Dipshit, because I’m only going to say this once. Leave. Me. Alone. Any further attempt to talk to me, shoot at me, or otherwise engage me in any way will be viewed as an attack and will be dealt with harshly.”

More silence.

“Hello? Mayor Asshole? You there?”

“Look, Mr. Avalon, my legal advisors have informed me that I may have come off a bit, um, harsh, and they’d like me to once again ask what your demands are. Under no circumstances do we want to provoke you any in way.”

I didn’t trust politicos, especially Chicago politicos. But if they thought I was a real threat, maybe they’d give me some breathing room.

“Here’s what I want, Dailey. I want you guys to check out the video from the space elevator station earlier today. I also want you to locate Neil Winston and interrogate him. He’s in Zelda Peterson’s apartment at thirteen twenty-two Wacker.”

“What do you want us to ask him?”

“Ask him what he knows.”

“Anything else?”

I thought it over. “Yeah. I want my neighbor, Norm Chomsky, to go on the six o’clock news tonight, and apologize to me for being a dick.”

“Which channel?”

“All of them. And better make it national news.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s all. Now, stay out of my way, and don’t try to contact me again. My device is wired to my heartbeat. Any attempt to attack me will destroy fifty square miles.”

“You have my word I’ll do everything in my power to see your demands are met.”

Satisfied I’d be left alone, I drifted toward Milwaukee to save Vicki and face my doppelganger.