“Jimmy?” Elation and relief arose inside Kameron to be immediately clouded by suspicion. Something was not right. Kameron started to rise, but stayed put. “Jimmy, did the Director send you as backup?”
“I’m not your backup, Kameron.”
Shock froze Kameron where he crouched. It took every ounce of reorientation for him to find his voice. “Are you trying to kill me, Jimmy?”
“I’m afraid so, Kameron. You took out three of my best operatives. You’re certainly no easy prey.”
Jimmy might as well have been commenting on Kameron’s skill as a spin ball player for all the companionable ease his tone conveyed.
“Kameron, I think we should talk.”
“I think we should talk, too,” agreed Kameron.
“I’m in the kitchen. Please don’t shoot.”
“Toss your darter on the floor.” Kameron risked a peek over the couch.
Down a narrow hallway leading to a small kitchen space Kameron saw Jimmy emerge, gingerly gripping his darter by the barrel.
“Tossing it,” Jimmy said as he underhand lobbed the weapon into the living room where it landed next to the couch.
Kameron stood and rounded the couch, his darter trained on his former protégé. He squatted down, picked up Jimmy’s darter and tucked the weapon in his belt at the small of his back.
“Come forward, slowly,” Kameron ordered. “I want to make sure it’s really you.”
Jimmy obeyed, both hands up, palms facing outward.
“Stop right there.” Kameron stared hard at this man who had been like a brother for the past four years. “What’s going on, Jimmy?”
A smirk raised one corner of Jimmy’s mouth. The mischievous quality that was such an endearing asset morphed into an ugly distortion beneath the cruel light glimmering from Jimmy’s eyes.
“The Director received an urgent dispatch from the 47th century, shortly after you left,” Jimmy explained. “You were tagged by Upstream Watch. According to their report you failed to complete your mission tonight. You extracted and disappeared. A month later by our timeframe you went rogue. You became a temporal renegade—or will become one—a particularly notorious one.” Jimmy let out a grin that did not quite reach those compassionless eyes. “You’re number one on our list of most wanted renegades. That’s one thing I respect about you, Kam, you sure know how to kick ass regardless of what team you’re playing for.”
Kameron went numb. Upstream Watch? A future DTPI, looking into the past, had implicated Kameron for a betrayal he had not yet committed? Of course Upstream Watch was no mythical oracle propagating vague predictions. Upstream Watch observed the timeline closely. Past events witnessed by UW were actual occurrences. If UW tagged Kameron for a crime he was going to commit then that meant he was guilty, simple as that. Kameron’s rapidly diminishing interest in this mission was another reason why he wasn’t going to dispute the UW report.
“So,” Kameron began, focusing on Jimmy. “The Director sent you after me? It must have been hard for you being assigned to track down a former friend.”
Jimmy raised his brow, his enthusiasm jumping out like grasshoppers leaping from an open jar. “Hard for me? Not at all. I practically had to twist the Director’s arm to put me on your case. I always enjoyed a challenge. And you haven’t disappointed. I’ve been on your trail from the Mesolithic to the 33rd century. You’re slippery as an oiled up rattler and every bit as dangerous.”
That settled it. Jimmy was a psychopath. Kameron had long suspected it, dismissed it, but now the evidence could not have been more plain to see. What frightened Kameron even more was how much he might have been like Jimmy.
“I just want to know what you were thinking about tonight,” Jimmy solicited, lowering his hands to chest level. “I’d always wanted to catch you at that crucial moment before you turned on us to ask you what the hell was going through your mind. You were a top operative. Who knows a few years down the line by our time frame you might have been promoted to Director.”
As Kameron considered the question it was his turn to present a cold grin. “You really want to know what I was thinking? What I am thinking? I was sent here to protect an assassin who is destined to murder a decent man. There was a time when I wouldn’t have given a second thought to killing or facilitating the deaths of good people if it helped restore Baseline history, kept the timeline stable. Good, bad, innocent, guilty…those things were immaterial to the task at hand. After all historical subjects are not human beings, right? Then I started questioning this concept of history and time as being inviolate. Who says history has to remain the same? Why can’t history be altered for the better? The Division exists to safeguard history, but what are we safeguarding, Jimmy? The Holocaust? The Inquisition? A war here, a massacre there, disease outbreaks? I thought I was becoming burned out because of the strain of too many missions. Then it dawned on me right here just before I came into this house why I no longer felt the passion for this job like I once did. Once again I was being sent into a situation that required me to allow an event leading to the death of a good person to unfold. I was sick of it. That’s why I was about to walk away.”
“We took an oath when we joined the Division,” said Jimmy. “Preserving Baseline history is our primary purpose, nothing must impede the pursuit of that purpose. Neither sentiment nor guilty conscience.”
“My motivation supercedes sentiment or a guilty conscience,” Kameron countered. “What have we done with this gift of time travel other than allowing a few academics to traverse the timeline to peep in on whatever events suit their fancy? We’ve turned time into a menagerie, a thing to be observed and preserved but not adjusted. We should be aiding humanity with this gift, not propping up a temporal status quo.”
“That’s not your call, Kameron.” Jimmy let his hands drop, his face registering strong dismay. “You sound every bit the overly zealous do-gooder renegade that you’ve become, with your pious platitudes that amount to nothing more than unleashing chaos on the timeline.”
“How much more chaotic can it be? Baseline history is a bloodbath. Why shouldn’t we at least try to mitigate the misery when and where we can?”
Jimmy shook his head, disappointment amplifying the significance of the gesture. “You know what pisses me off other than you turning into a pompous ass renegade? It’s the fact that I once looked up to you. A part of me still does.”
Jimmy ducked and rolled before Kameron could react.
Something flew toward Kameron, a small tear drop shaped cylinder.
Kameron identified the object and its threat level in a heart beat and flung himself to the floor. What Kameron took to be an anti-personnel charge bounced off the wall behind him. Kameron scrambled for his extractor just as the charge exploded.
Kameron reappeared three seconds in the future, sixty yards down the street from where an enormous blast consumed the rooming house, collapsing the structure. Flames stabbed the darkness. Smoke bubbled from the house’s mangled ruin like an awakening black beast. Kameron’s assessment was flawed. That was more than an anti-personnel charge.
Kameron stayed out of sight for the next twenty four hours, but managed to obtain a copy of the local newspaper. Blast Possibly Intended to Kill MLK Destroys Rooming House, the headline read. The article went on to speculate about the explosion, making it appear to be the bumbling result of perpetrators targeting the wrong building. Three bodies were discovered at the site of the blast. The authorities suspected that the bodies were that of the culprits and that they may have set off the blast prematurely.
Three bodies? Not four bodies? Kameron looked up from the article. Jimmy must have extracted. Most likely he did. Jimmy had a knack for getting out of tight spots. He was going to be a worthy adversary. After all, Kameron trained him. A tiny smile cracked the grim resolve of Kameron’s face. He discarded the newspaper in a trash can on a deserted Memphis street and took out his extractor. Destination? Any timeline where he could make a difference.
