Last Victim

I was running.

My heels clicked hard against the pavement as I tore down the street, a mob of people somewhere behind me. I could hear shouting. Gunfire. Someone was screaming instructions to someone else who wasn't listening.

Blood streaked the side of my face.

Not mine.

Mostly.

I had the quarry. I had the evidence. Everything I had been sent to retrieve was stuffed into the bag strapped across my body.

All that was left was getting home.

A bullet struck the wall beside me.

"Seriously?"

I ran faster.

The portal opened ahead, light tearing through the darkness.

I jumped.

For a fraction of a second there was nothing beneath me. No ground. No air. No direction. My stomach climbed into my throat while the rest of my body felt like it was simultaneously stretching and collapsing.

Then gravity found me again.

I hit the floor, rolled and landed on my feet.

The portal snapped shut behind me.

Silence.

Then the room erupted.

"She got it!"

Cheers.

Applause.

Someone actually screamed my name.

"Fox!"

The lights came up across Central as technicians and other Blades crowded around me. Some were preparing for assignments. Others had just returned. Veterans mostly ignored the spectacle. The newer ones watched with the kind of admiration I'd probably had once.

I didn't remember.

I handed my bag to a technician.

"Careful with that."

He looked inside.

His eyes widened.

"Is that..."

"Yes."

He closed it.

Another technician reached for my weapons.

I surrendered those too.

Then Andrew appeared through the crowd.

My commander.

He looked at the bag, then at me.

"Good job."

"That's it?"

"What do you want, a parade?"

"I was thinking a raise."

He laughed.

"You already make more than I do."

"That's because I do the dangerous part."

"Go clean up."

I grinned.

"Yes, sir."

He started to walk away, then stopped.

"I'll come by later."

That got my attention.

"For what?"

"We'll talk."

I watched him disappear into the crowd.

Great.

Another assignment.

My quarters were better than most.

I'd earned them.

Mission after mission. Win after win. Quarry after quarry.

Success had its privileges.

I stripped the second I got inside and dropped my clothes in the decontamination unit. Normally I would have taken a shower.

Not tonight.

Tonight I'd earned a bath.

I sank into the hot water and closed my eyes.

The assignment hadn't been the worst I'd ever had.

Close.

There had been a moment when I'd been reasonably certain I wasn't coming back.

But almost wasn't the same as dead.

I'd learned that a long time ago.

When I finally climbed out, I pulled on something comfortable, tied my hair into a ponytail and considered pouring myself a glass of wine.

Then I remembered Andrew.

He'd bring something.

He always did when the next assignment was bad.

I turned on some music instead.

Jazz.

Old jazz.

I dimmed the lights, stretched out on the couch and let the last mission work its way out of my muscles.

My eyes were beginning to close when the door buzzed.

I looked at the time.

Andrew.

I got up and checked through the viewer.

Full uniform.

Bottle in one hand.

Bag in the other.

Folder tucked under his arm.

And nervous.

Damn.

I opened the door.

"It's good to see you made it through, Fox."

"Always a pleasure to disappoint the people betting against me."

He didn't laugh.

That wasn't good.

I stepped aside.

"Come in."

He walked into the living room and put everything on the table.

I sat.

He remained standing.

I watched him.

Andrew was a good commander. One of the best I'd worked under. He respected boundaries, didn't play games and never pretended the work was something it wasn't.

He also didn't get nervous.

I'd seen him like this exactly once before.

I hadn't enjoyed that mission.

A lot of people hadn't come back.

I had.

Andrew finally looked at me.

"Want a drink?"

"Considering your face, I think I need one."

He pulled the bottle from the bag.

Scotch.

Good scotch.

Very good scotch.

I pointed toward the kitchen.

"Ice."

He nodded and went to get it.

I listened to the freezer open. The clink of cubes dropping into glasses. Then he returned and poured.

I took mine and smelled it.

"Oh, this is expensive."

"I know."

"How bad is this assignment?"

"Drink."

I swirled the scotch once and took it down.

Smooth.

Warm.

The finish stayed on my tongue.

I handed him the glass.

"Another."

"Fox."

"If I'm about to die, I'm having another."

He poured.

I smiled.

"Thank you."

Andrew sat across from me, nursing his own drink.

"You know why the rules exist."

I closed my eyes.

"Oh, no."

"Fox."

"Please don't give me the timeline lecture."

"You need to hear this."

"I really don't."

"We made a promise a long time ago."

"We?"

"Humanity."

I took another drink.

"I wasn't there."

"No."

"Then don't blame me."

Andrew sighed.

"When temporal travel was first developed, we thought we could fix things."

"Yes, yes. Terrible things happened. People made stupid decisions. Timelines collapsed. Civilization almost destroyed itself. Everyone panicked and created rules."

"That's a spectacularly irresponsible summary."

"Is it inaccurate?"

He stared at me.

"No."

"Then we're good."

I finished the scotch.

Andrew leaned forward.

"We don't change history."

"I know."

"We don't prevent wars. We don't assassinate dictators before they rise. We don't stop disasters because we know they're coming."

"I know."

"We protect the established timeline."

"I know."

"Then listen to me."

Something in his voice changed.

I put the glass down.

"Fine."

"There are two temporal lines forming around this assignment."

I groaned.

"Andrew."

"One ends."

That stopped me.

"The other doesn't."

I watched him.

He continued.

"If you succeed, there will be a last victim."

"And if I don't?"

"The killings continue."

"For how long?"

"We don't know."

That interested me.

"Why?"

"Instability."

"That's a scientist's word for 'we have no idea.'"

"In this case, yes."

I smiled.

At least he admitted it.

Andrew picked up the folder.

"You leave tomorrow."

"Fine."

"Fox, this one matters."

"They all matter."

"Not like this."

He held out the folder.

I didn't take it.

He knew I wouldn't.

"You aren't going to read it?"

"I stopped reading those a long time ago."

"You should read this one."

"No."

"Why?"

"You know why."

He did.

Files had photographs.

Names.

Families.

Histories.

Victims.

Lives.

I didn't need any of that.

Information created connection.

Connection created empathy.

Empathy created hesitation.

And hesitation got Blades killed.

I wasn't there to understand the quarry.

I wasn't there to forgive them.

I wasn't there to decide whether they deserved whatever was coming.

I was there because somebody had already made that decision.

I was the result.

"Give me the target when I get there."

Andrew lowered the folder.

"That's all you want?"

"That's all I need."

He studied me for a moment.

"Sometimes I worry about you."

"Don't."

"That's exactly why I worry."

I smiled.

"I'm not a victim, Andrew."

"I know."

"I'm a Blade."

He nodded.

"I know that too."

He put the folder back on the table.

I picked up my empty glass.

"So when do I leave?"

"Morning."

"Good."

Andrew stood.

He hesitated.

That bothered me more than anything he'd said.

"You're not expecting me to come back."

"I need you to come back."

"That's not what I said."

He didn't answer.

I leaned back.

"Then I'll come back."

"It's not that simple."

"It usually is."

"Not this time."

I watched him.

He picked up the bottle, thought about it, then left it on the table.

That really wasn't good.

He walked toward the door.

"Andrew."

He stopped.

"If I succeed, what happens?"

He turned.

"If you succeed, he never kills again."

"That's generally how killing someone works."

Andrew didn't smile.

Then he added:

"Just make sure nobody finds him."

Interesting.

"Good night, Fox."

"Night, Commander."

The door closed.

I looked at the bottle.

Then the folder.

I considered opening it.

Didn't.

Instead, I poured myself one last glass of scotch.

I slept well.

I always did before an assignment.

The next morning I reported to Central, went through medical and headed to equipment.

My clothes were waiting.

I stared at them.

"What the hell is this?"

The technician smiled.

"Your wardrobe."

"Obviously."

Long skirt.

Blouse.

Coat.

Hat.

Boots.

"Am I assassinating someone or joining a play?"

Someone behind me laughed.

I turned.

"Want to go instead?"

The laughter stopped.

"Thought so."

I dressed.

My weapons were concealed throughout the clothing. Nothing obvious. Nothing that would attract attention where I was going.

Wherever that was.

Andrew met me at the portal.

He looked tired.

"Didn't sleep?"

"Did you?"

"Like a baby."

"Of course you did."

The technicians started their final sequence.

Andrew walked closer.

"Remember what I told you."

"Don't change history."

"Fox."

"Kill the quarry."

"Fox."

"Don't leave the body."

He nodded.

"That's the important one."

The portal began to activate.

Light filled the chamber.

I stepped toward it.

Andrew reached out and slipped a folded piece of paper into my pocket.

I looked at him.

"Target?"

"Target."

Finally.

The portal stabilized.

I stepped toward the light, then glanced back.

"If I succeed?"

Andrew held my eyes.

"We'll see you soon."

"And if I don't?"

He didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

I smiled.

"Keep the scotch cold."

Then I stepped through.

The pressure hit first.

Then the noise.

Light ripped around me.

My stomach turned.

My skin felt like it was being stretched away from my body while every bone inside me compressed.

I'd hated it the first time.

Now?

It was kind of fun.

Like an amusement park ride designed by psychopaths.

Then it stopped.

My boots struck stone.

Click.

Click.

I steadied myself.

Cold air touched my face.

Darkness.

Fog drifted between narrow buildings.

I looked around.

Old buildings.

Old streets.

No electric lights.

Gas lamps glowed weakly through the mist.

Somewhere in the distance, carriage wheels rattled against stone.

I looked down at the ridiculous clothes they'd put me in.

"Oh."

Now they made sense.

England.

London, probably.

A long time ago.

A century?

Two?

I started walking.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The streets weren't empty, but they were getting there. A handful of people moved in the distance, disappearing into doorways or vanishing into the fog.

Cold night.

Not the sort of place I would have chosen for a vacation.

I reached into my coat and checked one of my weapons.

Ready.

Now I just needed to figure out who I was hunting.

I hadn't gone another block before I felt it.

Someone behind me.

Not close.

Not yet.

I kept walking.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The footsteps followed.

I smiled slightly.

That was fast.

I turned down another street.

The footsteps followed.

Interesting.

Whoever it was knew how to keep distance.

So did I.

I slowed.

The footsteps slowed.

I stopped beside a darkened storefront.

The footsteps stopped.

I could feel him back there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hunting.

A little excitement moved through me.

Maybe this assignment wasn't going to be so bad after all.

I started walking again.

The footsteps returned.

Closer now.

I slipped my hand into my pocket.

Andrew's paper.

I'd almost forgotten about it.

I pulled it out and unfolded it beneath the weak glow of a gas lamp.

One word.

One name.

I stared at it.

Then at the clothes I was wearing.

The street.

The fog.

The gas lamps.

The footsteps behind me.

Suddenly Andrew's nervousness made sense.

If you succeed, there will be a last victim.

The footsteps moved closer.

Just make sure nobody finds him.

I folded the paper and slipped it back into my pocket.

Then I turned toward the darkness.

And grinned.

"Hello, Jack."

**

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