carrying the elderly woman as if she were a child. A long spear landed a few meters to their side, sticking up from the ground. More echoes of small-arms fire bounced in the air. A rain of arrows dropped nearby. Another guardian took one to the arm, but she didnât lose a step. Fortunately, the rest of them reached the encampment unscathed.
A minute later, they had entered the defensive barricades erected by the wagons and vehicles. The guardians swooped and corralled Franwil into a large tent. Elise was pleased that her pulse had quickened only slightly.
âMy, how this future changes a person,â she murmured, taking a deep breath. If something like this had happened a year ago, she would have suffered a heart attack by now. Now these dangers felt like nothing more than an irritating part of her new reality. She looked down at the foal still in her arms. Well, not everything in the world had changed. She ordered Sasha to fetch a blanket to swaddle it.
She looked over at Rima. âWhat about the mother?â
âMoma is being well cared for,â she replied. âDo not worry, Oldest, weâre not leaving something as valuable as a kowru unattended. If youâll excuse me, I wish to join the guardians and help beat back the raiders.â She bowed and hurried out of the tent. The girl still had some wild child left in her. Elise prayed for her safety.
In the distance, the popping sounds increased and the shouting grew louder. The fighting did not seem like it would end anytime soon. Elise got up to make the rounds and see to the rest of the tribe. It seemed that most had made it here without too much trouble.
Elise checked the individual groups huddled around small fires. The constant threats of attack were wearing the Elfreth down. Back in Boston, the Elfreth only had to worry about the Co-op. All the tribes had a shared history after generations of coexistence would unite to fight a common enemy. Now they were in foreign lands. Their enemy was the Co-op as well as every other wastelander tribe that believed their territory was being infringed upon. Everyone was their enemy. How many fronts could the Elfreth face before it broke them?
Elise peered out the tent cover into the sky. âHurry home, James, or there might not be anything for you to come back to.â
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SEVEN
B ULKâS H EAD
Locating black market salvagers was a delicate task. Folks in this business didnât advertise their trade and hated inquisitive strangers. ChronoCom hunted illegal time salvagers relentlessly, so those who prospered in this field were either very skilled, highly secretive, or protected by a powerful organization. Usually, it was all three.
The death rate of black market time salvaging was extraordinarily high, often a factor of ten higher than chronmen. Chronmen spent five years at the Academy and were supported by the full weight and technology of the agency. Even then, their odds of surviving past their first year were only around 70 percent. Seventy percent of illegal salvagers, usually rusks hoping to earn quick scratch, did not survive their first year.
And if the job didnât kill them, the auditors usually would. Unskilled salvagers left behind traceable ripples. Those footprints were all an auditor needed to track down exactly what had happened and correlate it with events in the present. Illegal salvagers might get away with a few jumps, but eventually, auditors would catch up to them. The ones who did survive and prosper were usually Academy-trained operatives, often former chronmen within the higher three tiers. They were the ones who were not only skilled in combat, but also familiar with the agencyâs systems and methodologies, and usually still had contacts within the agency to obtain a steady supply of miasma.The only way to buy access to these skilled black market salvagers was to work underground connections and bribe for the information, which for a newcomer at
A minute later, they had entered the defensive barricades erected by the wagons and vehicles. The guardians swooped and corralled Franwil into a large tent. Elise was pleased that her pulse had quickened only slightly.
âMy, how this future changes a person,â she murmured, taking a deep breath. If something like this had happened a year ago, she would have suffered a heart attack by now. Now these dangers felt like nothing more than an irritating part of her new reality. She looked down at the foal still in her arms. Well, not everything in the world had changed. She ordered Sasha to fetch a blanket to swaddle it.
She looked over at Rima. âWhat about the mother?â
âMoma is being well cared for,â she replied. âDo not worry, Oldest, weâre not leaving something as valuable as a kowru unattended. If youâll excuse me, I wish to join the guardians and help beat back the raiders.â She bowed and hurried out of the tent. The girl still had some wild child left in her. Elise prayed for her safety.
In the distance, the popping sounds increased and the shouting grew louder. The fighting did not seem like it would end anytime soon. Elise got up to make the rounds and see to the rest of the tribe. It seemed that most had made it here without too much trouble.
Elise checked the individual groups huddled around small fires. The constant threats of attack were wearing the Elfreth down. Back in Boston, the Elfreth only had to worry about the Co-op. All the tribes had a shared history after generations of coexistence would unite to fight a common enemy. Now they were in foreign lands. Their enemy was the Co-op as well as every other wastelander tribe that believed their territory was being infringed upon. Everyone was their enemy. How many fronts could the Elfreth face before it broke them?
Elise peered out the tent cover into the sky. âHurry home, James, or there might not be anything for you to come back to.â
Â
SEVEN
B ULKâS H EAD
Locating black market salvagers was a delicate task. Folks in this business didnât advertise their trade and hated inquisitive strangers. ChronoCom hunted illegal time salvagers relentlessly, so those who prospered in this field were either very skilled, highly secretive, or protected by a powerful organization. Usually, it was all three.
The death rate of black market time salvaging was extraordinarily high, often a factor of ten higher than chronmen. Chronmen spent five years at the Academy and were supported by the full weight and technology of the agency. Even then, their odds of surviving past their first year were only around 70 percent. Seventy percent of illegal salvagers, usually rusks hoping to earn quick scratch, did not survive their first year.
And if the job didnât kill them, the auditors usually would. Unskilled salvagers left behind traceable ripples. Those footprints were all an auditor needed to track down exactly what had happened and correlate it with events in the present. Illegal salvagers might get away with a few jumps, but eventually, auditors would catch up to them. The ones who did survive and prosper were usually Academy-trained operatives, often former chronmen within the higher three tiers. They were the ones who were not only skilled in combat, but also familiar with the agencyâs systems and methodologies, and usually still had contacts within the agency to obtain a steady supply of miasma.The only way to buy access to these skilled black market salvagers was to work underground connections and bribe for the information, which for a newcomer at
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