Timecaster: Supersymmetry (16 page)

“You know,” Teague said, draping his arms over the Sata’s. “I really dig you guys. How about we go to your place, watch some hyperfootball? Do you got potato chips? I love potato chips. I can’t afford the real ones, but the ones made from bat guano are pretty good. Well, not really. They give me the runs. Do you guys have real potato chips? You’re rich, right? I’d love some real potato chips.”

“I like how you think,” Dark Alter-Sata said to Alter-Sata. “If we do that, we really don’t need our good friend Teague, do we?”

“Not as far as I can tell.”

Acting as one, they dragged Teague into the closest alley and spent a very satisfying five minutes beating him to death while he unconvincingly pleaded that he really didn’t want any real potato chips and would be okay with the guano kind.

When they were finished, the Satas were feeling pretty good. Unlike the corrupt versions of Talon, who slowly lost their minds after losing their appendages in an explosion, these versions of Sata always had homicidal tendencies that they’d kept suppressed. The invention of timecasting technology had originally been a way not to eliminate crime, but a stepping stone in discovering how to get away with it. Now that there were navigable wormholes to the multiverse, they could indulge—without fear of repercussion or punishment—in genocide as they saw fit.

But there was something both Satas knew, yet refused to acknowledge. Though brilliant scientists, the core principles of the TEV too much woman for that.”

“m roider named Rocket Corbitz.onTp, and its subsequently more complicated later iterations, weren’t the result of brainstorming, experiments, mathematical equations, or even genius.

The formulas came to the Satas in dreams.

All the schematics. All the math. All the physics.

It all came, fully realized, in incredibly detailed, highly lucid dreams that were dictated to them with crystal clarity by a godlike entity named Mu.

Either that, or the Satas were just batshit insane.

Being men of science, it was tough to believe in the divine or the supernatural. Tough, and highly unpopular among their peers. It was much easier believing in insanity, brilliance, and a propensity for evil.

“All that is necessary for evil to triumph,” Alter-Sata said, licking a smudge of blood from his knuckles, “is to eliminate all the good men.”

“Agreed,” said his doppelgänger. “Now let’s go and murder a few.”

“Open the door, McGlade,”
I said, breathing heavy after the two kilometer jog.

The scruffy man staring back at me through the video monitor needed a razor, a comb, and a bar of soap to wash his neck. His scowl was unpleasant and he probably smelled bad, even though the monitor had no scent-o-vents to prove the assumption.

“No way. You’re mean. I don’t like mean people. They suck.”

“I’m not the Talon you know. I’m another one. See?” I held up my hand. “This isn’t a transplant.”

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you in.”

“I need to buy something from you. One of those items you specialize in.”

“There is no way I’m ever letting you through this door. Never ever. No way, no how, and there isn’t a single thing in the whole world that could change my mind.”

Alter-Vicki stood next to me and pulled up her top.

McGlade yanked open the door. The anticipated smell hit me hard, so thick you could practically see it. A decomposing-garbage odor, mixed with a tinge of something spicy. Oregano? Was he putting oregano on his garbage?

Unfortunately, the decor matched the smell. Take-out food boxes everywhere. Dubious stains on the floor and walls. Foliage that needed to be trimmed, needed to be watered, or needed to be thrown away because it was dead.

“Why are there two of you?” McGlade asked, his eyes flitting from me to Talon 2. “One is bad enough.”

“Long story. I’m from an alternate universe where—#amCan you walked“Yes.””

He held up his hand. “Too late. I’m already bored. Can I see those tits again?”

“After you help us,” Alter-Vicki cooed, cupping his cheek. “If you’re very helpful, I’ll even let you touch them.”

“Really?”

She pouted chewing lightly on her lower lip. “If you help us, I’ll let you touch me
all over
.”

“Even in the va-jay-jay?” he croaked, barely audible.

“For as long as you’d like,” she breathed.

McGlade shuddered. Then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed onto the floor, sprawling out onto his back.

Sata knelt next to him, feeling for a pulse in his neck.

“He okay?” I asked.

“He fainted. All the blood rushed from his head, to his penis.” Sata pointed at the considerable tent McGlade was pitching in his pants.

Alter-Vicki giggled. I pulled the door closed behind us, then helped Talon 2 carry McGlade to the nearest couch, almost entirely hidden in an overgrown hemp bush. On my earth, McGlade was a friend of sorts. Well, maybe
friend
was too strong a word. I’d known him a long time, and occasionally paid him to do favors for me, some for the Peace Department, some a bit more personal. Harry was okay in small doses, and about as trustworthy as a wolf in a chicken farm, but if anyone on this earth had access to illegal ordnance, it would be McGlade.

I gave him a brisk slap on the cheek.

“Harder,” he mumbled. “I like it rough.”

“Wake up, McGlade. We need weapons. It’s an emergency.”

His eyes fluttered open. “You’re a dude. What happened to the hot chick?”

“Later. You have to help us out.”

“I haven’t had sex in months.”

“Weapons, McGlade.”

He sat up. “I bought one of those robot sex dolls—a pleasurebot—but it runs on Windows 35. She won’t let me touch her. She just sits in my armchair all day, watching soap operas and ordering pizzas.”

He pointed. What looked like a naked female mannequin with big hair and comically large breasts was propped in a chair in front of a projector, surrounded by stacks and stacks of pizza boxes.

That explained the oregano smell.

“She can’t even eat!” McGlade whined. “There’s a disposable bag in her throat that’s supposed to be for me, but now it’s clogged with rotting pepperoni.” His eyes began to tear up. “That should be
my
pepperoni in there.”#emd Ralph.

ut the p

Talon 2 gave it a try. “Harry. Please. This earth is going to be destroyed. We need weapons.”

“She’s costing me a fortune. She tips the pizza delivery guy fifty duckets a pop. I think she also lets him nail her.”

“That’s too bad, McGlade,” Talon 2 said, “but we really need—”

“She’s trading bread sticks for sex! I hate Windows 35!”

For the umpteenth time, Talon 2 and I both had the same idea, albeit with opposite hands. We each reached down and slapped the shit out of McGlade.

“Weapons,” he said, his cheeks blossoming red. “You need weapons.”

All four of us nodded.

He made a face. “I don’t have any weapons anymore. I sold all my contraband to buy that pizza-snarfing robowhore.”

Perfect. I checked my DT. A hundred minutes before this earth was destroyed. I couldn’t face Alter-Talon without a weapon. And if Dark Alter-Talon sought out his evil counterpart like Talon 2 sought me out, then they’d know we were coming and were no doubt preparing for it.

“Your husband,” I asked Alter-Vicki. “Does he have access to weapons?”

She nodded, looking as grim as I’d ever seen her. “He’s got a stockpile. He told me about it once.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“No. He didn’t go into any details.”

I rubbed my face. The situation was getting pretty grim.

“If you need weapons, why don’t you ask your grandfather?” Harry asked.

Talon 2 and I each did a double-take and said, “Huh?” It was getting pretty old, doing that all the time.

“Your grandfather. If anyone has some guns hidden away, it’s that old kook.”

“My grandparents died years ago, Harry.”

He shook his head. “No. Just your grandmother did. Last I heard, your grandpa is still around.”

I accessed the CPD tracking database and punched in my grandpa’s name, trying to track his ID chip.

McGlade pushed my DT away. “No chip. He’s a dissy, Talon. Went off the grid back when firearms were outlawed. Said no one was taking away his guns.”

“Where does he live?”

“In the woods, outside of Rockford’s dissytown. About ten minutes from here.”

“Take us,” I said.

He shrugged. “Can over, unconscious.

os peace officerG’t. I’ve got a packed schedule. Today is shower day. Then I’ve got to go to work.” He lowered his voice and cupped a hand around his mouth. “I just got a job delivering pizzas.”

“Harry, if we don’t get our hands on some weapons and get back to Schaumburg in the next seventy minutes, this world is going to be destroyed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

“No shit?”

Alter-Vicki touched his arm. “We’re telling the truth.”

“Fuck work, then.” He called over our shoulder. “You hear that, you sex-withholding bitch? The world is ending! No more spending my hard-earned credits on Italian food you can’t even digest!”

“I’m ordering a pizza!” she yelled back.

“I hate you!” Then McGlade clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, grinning wide. “Okay. Let’s roll.”

• • •

Though McGlade was short on contraband, he had a garage full of biofuel scooters in various stages of disrepair. We managed to find five that worked, and McGlade took us down some side streets, which led to trails, which led to what seemed like a directionless drive through the woods. This was territory appropriated by the government to dissys.

Each big community in the USAC had an area set aside for the disenfranchised. If you wanted to be part of society like a good utopeon, you paid taxes. Since tangible currency was a thing of the past, everyone’s bank account was directly connected to their ID chip. Those who didn’t want that way of life had no way to survive in the utopias—begging was impossible—so they formed dissy communities. Dissys didn’t pay taxes, and didn’t have any of the benefits of society that came with paying taxes. Being off the grid was akin to living in the early twentieth century. Some didn’t even have electricity or running water.

Because this area was protected land, it hadn’t been harvested in ages. Seeing these huge oak and maple trees made me think of my youth, before the nation switched completely to biofuel and foliage tax was just a dream in the mind’s eye of some politico. While I wouldn’t want to give up creature comforts and societal
rules, Grandpa sure picked a beautiful area to live in.

The memories I had of my grandparents were pleasant ones. They often babysat when my parents went out. Grandpa taught me to fish, and hunt. Grandma taught me some basic tae kwon do. I remember them smiling a lot. I also remember their inner strength, the same kind my own parents had. Grandma was a Chicago cop, back when they used to be called police officers. I never knew much about Grandpa’s past, but from what I understood he was a badass in his day.

I missed them.

The thought that I would see Grandpa again, after all this time, was tantalizing. I buzzed with that same sense of excitement I used to get when I went to visit them at age ten.ering pizzas.”

ed to , Sata-san.G

But it wouldn’t really be my grandfather. It was Alter-Talon’s grandfather. Which meant we might not be
welcome at all. Alter-Talon seemed very good at mucking up his relationships.

McGlade came to a stop at a barbed wire fence. He reached down into the saddlebag on his scooter and removed a pair of wire cutters.

“I got this.”

“Harry,” I said. “I think that’s—”

My words were interrupted by a loud
CRACK!
accompanied by a blue spark when McGlade touched the wire with his tool. It threw him off his bike and into a fluffy-looking brown bush.

“—electrified,” I finished.

McGlade sat up, a halo of smoke around his head. Pieces of the fluffy brown plant clung to his body. I’d never seen anything like it before.

“Is the plant attacking him?” Talon 2 asked.

“They’re burrs,” Sata said. “Seeds of the cocklebur plant. Entirely covered with tiny hooks so they stick to fur, hair, and clothing. It’s how the seeds travel long distances. They hitch a ride.”

McGlade got to his feet. The burrs stuck to his shirt and pants by the hundreds. He must have been ten pounds heavier.

“WTF?” He plucked at the burrs on his pants. “These things don’t come off.”

“They’re the inspiration for Velcro,” Sata explained.

“Shit. Do I have any in my hair?”

He had so many in his hair it looked like he was sporting an afro.

“A few,” I said.

“How do I get them out?” McGlade whined.

He tugged at the clump in his hair and yelped. I picked up the wire cutters, carefully avoiding the burrs, and then dug into McGlade’s saddlebag until I found some rubber-lined gloves. As I snipped the remaining wires of the fence, Harry’s complaints got more and more frantic. When I glanced at him again, I noticed he was bare-chested, burrs stuck to the hair on his back and stomach. His shirt was also balled up around his head, making him look like a lollipop.

“I can’t get my shirt off!” It sounded like he was crying.

Alter-Vicki and Talon 2 gave it a go, trying to yank it off Harry’s head. There was screaming, and some ripping sounds, but if anything the shirt seemed to stick to his face even tighter.

“You’re pulling off my eyebrows!”

“You shouldn’t have tried to take your shirt off,” Talon 2 said.

“You think?!”

The muffled screams gave way to mu over, unconscious.

os peace officerGffled crying. “I can’t breathe in here! I hate burrs!”

Sata took the cutters from me and went to work on McGlade. He didn’t cut the shirt away. He just made some eye holes and a mouth hole.

Harry now looked like a pale, flabby scarecrow.

“There,” Sata said. “That should do until we find some scissors.”