“This way!” His voice was pretty hoarse, though.
Boots hit metal as two grunts dropped into the recess, impact reverberating, lasers on, slashing upward. One trooper headed left around the ring, the other right. Pincer.
Will had popped open a decent-sized hatch—no crab-crawling through vents for them—dragging Jack behind.
“Is it dark in here?” Jack’s nose and throat were on fire. He couldn’t even open his eyes, overflowing with caustic tears faster than he could wipe them away. “It seems really dark in here.”
“The Techs mostly use headlamps down here. We’re inside the machine. The actual machine. The entire building is given over to maintaining and running the core and Promenade, making time travel as safe and accurate as possible.”
Jack hacked and spat. The walls were bolted metal, occasional tangles of cables, hot technology, still running. It was fifty degrees warmer in here than in the lab. “I thought small was the new big.”
“The Large Hadron Collider has a circumference of seventeen miles,” Will replied. “A lifetime of study and sacrifice has allowed me to harness the laws of time and causality within a space no larger than the apartment building from Seinfeld. So I, and the greatest minds to have ever lived, would appreciate you keeping your observations to yourself.”
Despite the dire circumstances, it was good to hear Will back in form. Jack coughed repeatedly; all he could taste was salt and snot and acid.
“Time travel’s one thing; what’s harder to believe is that you know what Seinfeld is.”
“You haven’t changed at all. Can you fathom how serious these events are?”
“Will,” Jack said, gasping. “Levity is a strategy adopted by many to deal with crisis.”
“You’re always like this.”
“You’re always a crisis.”
“That’s simply untrue.”
As if in rebuttal green lasers snapped on over Jack’s shoulders. Will shoved him to the ground as two silhouettes snapped off a series of probing three-round bursts. Gun-cracks reverberated down the narrow throat of the corridor.
“I never shot at you,” Will said, face-to-face. “I needed your attention.”
“We have to get out of this tunnel.”
Tactical lights snapped on atop the troopers’ assault weapons. They were coming in. Jack reached up, yanked the pistol from the back of Will’s pants, rolled, and squeezed. Nothing happened.
“What was that?” The troopers crouched.
Jack flicked off the safety and squeezed again.
His wrist took the kicks, shots going everywhere. Silhouetted and vulnerable against the light from the entrance, the troopers scrambled back into the maintenance loop. Will grabbed Jack by the collar and hauled him upright. By the time the troopers hosed down the tunnel, Will and Jack had crashed around a left-hand turn.
Jack pressed Will against the warm wall and dragged him down into a kneeling position. Pistol braced, he aimed at the corner as best he could, and waited.
The guards didn’t pursue. “I need an eyewash station,” Jack croaked. “Or a cafeteria.”
“Cafe—?”
“Milk, Will. Something alkaline. For the eyes.” He stood up, tried to bring the tunnel into focus. It was like staring into hot light.
“Follow me.” Will moved off, then stopped. “‘It happened once before,’” he muttered.
Jack blew a nose full of something offensive onto the floor. “Will, we gotta go.”
“Back there, you said, ‘It happened once before.’ The stutter. How could you know that? If time had stopped and restarted, it would have appeared to you as it did to me: seamless. Unless—”
“The world froze, but I didn’t. Then I grabbed you and—”
Will’s eyes were scanning again, not seeing Jack. “Your proximity to the pulse altered your relationship to the chronon field. My reanimation must … there must have been chronon-transference from you to me. Meaning a non-affected person can act as a kind of causality battery, of sorts. Chargeable,
Boots hit metal as two grunts dropped into the recess, impact reverberating, lasers on, slashing upward. One trooper headed left around the ring, the other right. Pincer.
Will had popped open a decent-sized hatch—no crab-crawling through vents for them—dragging Jack behind.
“Is it dark in here?” Jack’s nose and throat were on fire. He couldn’t even open his eyes, overflowing with caustic tears faster than he could wipe them away. “It seems really dark in here.”
“The Techs mostly use headlamps down here. We’re inside the machine. The actual machine. The entire building is given over to maintaining and running the core and Promenade, making time travel as safe and accurate as possible.”
Jack hacked and spat. The walls were bolted metal, occasional tangles of cables, hot technology, still running. It was fifty degrees warmer in here than in the lab. “I thought small was the new big.”
“The Large Hadron Collider has a circumference of seventeen miles,” Will replied. “A lifetime of study and sacrifice has allowed me to harness the laws of time and causality within a space no larger than the apartment building from Seinfeld. So I, and the greatest minds to have ever lived, would appreciate you keeping your observations to yourself.”
Despite the dire circumstances, it was good to hear Will back in form. Jack coughed repeatedly; all he could taste was salt and snot and acid.
“Time travel’s one thing; what’s harder to believe is that you know what Seinfeld is.”
“You haven’t changed at all. Can you fathom how serious these events are?”
“Will,” Jack said, gasping. “Levity is a strategy adopted by many to deal with crisis.”
“You’re always like this.”
“You’re always a crisis.”
“That’s simply untrue.”
As if in rebuttal green lasers snapped on over Jack’s shoulders. Will shoved him to the ground as two silhouettes snapped off a series of probing three-round bursts. Gun-cracks reverberated down the narrow throat of the corridor.
“I never shot at you,” Will said, face-to-face. “I needed your attention.”
“We have to get out of this tunnel.”
Tactical lights snapped on atop the troopers’ assault weapons. They were coming in. Jack reached up, yanked the pistol from the back of Will’s pants, rolled, and squeezed. Nothing happened.
“What was that?” The troopers crouched.
Jack flicked off the safety and squeezed again.
His wrist took the kicks, shots going everywhere. Silhouetted and vulnerable against the light from the entrance, the troopers scrambled back into the maintenance loop. Will grabbed Jack by the collar and hauled him upright. By the time the troopers hosed down the tunnel, Will and Jack had crashed around a left-hand turn.
Jack pressed Will against the warm wall and dragged him down into a kneeling position. Pistol braced, he aimed at the corner as best he could, and waited.
The guards didn’t pursue. “I need an eyewash station,” Jack croaked. “Or a cafeteria.”
“Cafe—?”
“Milk, Will. Something alkaline. For the eyes.” He stood up, tried to bring the tunnel into focus. It was like staring into hot light.
“Follow me.” Will moved off, then stopped. “‘It happened once before,’” he muttered.
Jack blew a nose full of something offensive onto the floor. “Will, we gotta go.”
“Back there, you said, ‘It happened once before.’ The stutter. How could you know that? If time had stopped and restarted, it would have appeared to you as it did to me: seamless. Unless—”
“The world froze, but I didn’t. Then I grabbed you and—”
Will’s eyes were scanning again, not seeing Jack. “Your proximity to the pulse altered your relationship to the chronon field. My reanimation must … there must have been chronon-transference from you to me. Meaning a non-affected person can act as a kind of causality battery, of sorts. Chargeable,
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