Quantum Chain (eBook)

1

The sound in my dream wrenches me awake.

“Huh, what?” I flail around in the dark until I find the cord of my bedside lamp. I switch on the light, whining, still trying to figure out where I am. The numbers on my digital clock inform me that this is a very unsociable hour. My heart is racing. The air-raid siren blares from my phone, which vibrates facedown on the side table. My anger builds. Suddenly, it all makes sense. Only one person would call me at this hour, the woman who earned this dramatic ringtone.

“Seriously? It’s five a.m., Gabrielle! This better be important.”

“I’m good, Golden Balls, thanks for asking.” There’s a boozy slur in her voice. “How you doin’?”

“Fine, thanks,” Annoyingly, my British mental programming forces me to respond politely, which makes me even more irritable. The fact that she saved me from a guilt-ridden nightmare is beside the point.

Gabrielle Green is a touchy American time traveler who works for The Continuum, the organization based in the future that sends time travelers back to fix the past. I had the dubious pleasure of accompanying her on a mission to 1873 Paris a few weeks ago. I nearly died. Twice. She’s pushy, annoying, and rude, and she always manages to brush me up the wrong way, but occasionally her cold black heart is in the right place.

I rub my face vigorously and swallow my annoyance. “OK. I’m awake now. What’s up?”

“Oh, you know, making friends with a bottle of bubbly, minding my own business. Gimme a minute, will ya?” I hear muffled voices in the background, then raucous male laughter. She shouts, “What’s your problem?” without moving her mouth away from the microphone. I yank the phone from my ear.

“Bridgeman? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Where are you?”

“I was over at Bruce’s house the other night, and—”

“Who’s Bruce?”

“Hang on, I need to get away from these guys.” She breathes heavily, apparently walking, and then resumes. “He’s a singer, you’ve heard of him. If I told you who he was, I would have to kill you, or at least drug you and leave you for dead in the Nevada desert. Anyway, I was at his place the other night, and we’re on the wrong side of a bottle of scotch, and he’s getting all teary-eyed. I’m thinking either he’s going to make a move, or he’s getting choked up about his latest divorce, or both, but no. Turns out Bruce was coerced into selling an antique from his personal collection.”

“Right.” I rub my hand wearily across my eyes, trying to figure out where this is going. “What did he sell?”

“One of his horses. He collects them—not real ones, obviously. Antiques. He sold it to a collector ‘under duress,’ his words. I’m like, Bruce! Why the hell did you sell it if you didn’t want to? Anyway, he did. It was old. Chinese. Yang dynasty, I think.”

“Tang dynasty?”

“That’s what I said.” She sighs heavily. “It’s mega-ancient, apparently. Some kind of kimchi—no, wait, that’s not right.”

“Mingqi.” Now my interest is piqued. I’ve read about the objects the Chinese used to bury with their dead, but I’ve never actually handled one. I’d be afraid of dropping it too—some of them are worth a ton of cash. “Is it pottery?”

“Like I said, a pottery horse. Geez, Bridgeman, do you listen to anything I say?”

“I do actually, but what does this have to do with me?”

“Finally, the right question.” Her voice drips sarcasm, but when she speaks again, she shows signs of the Gabrielle who turned the Paris mission around, the woman who’s a legitimate asset to The Continuum. “Bruce didn’t know what he had, obviously. He just loved the thing, but it turns out the horse is a focus object, a powerful one too. Its story involves union, one of the most powerful forces in the world and a massive multiplier on the Future Change Index, which means we need to get it back ASAP, before it gets sold and we lose it for good.”

I’ve completed a couple of missions myself, which means I’m sort of part of this too. It’s how I know about focus objects. They get charged up with the past, and when travelers touch them, they form a bond and create a portal back through time.

“What’s the mission?” I ask.

“Oh, great, here we go.”

“Er, are you talking to me?”

“Yes!” She growls, “I know what you’re like, panicking already.”

“I’m not panicking, I just want to know—”

“The horse links all the way back to ancient China. It’s a love story, and those always have far-reaching outcomes, but listen, before you get all wound up. We don’t need to actually do the mission, there’s plenty of time for that. The problem is losing track of it. Bruce was supposed to keep a hold of that horse for at least another twenty years.”

Visions of rock stars as time guardians for The Continuum fill my mind. “Hang on, are you saying that Bruce knows about time travel? That he takes care of focus objects?”

“Nooo.” She says this like I’m being slow. “He doesn’t know the horse is special in that way, but it was supposed to stay with him, to follow its correct and known path, nice and quiet, until we were ready. But in a massive case of Murphy’s Law, the dummy sold it! Which means that now we have to get it back. Once we do, The Continuum can take it from there. Got it?”

“Er, yes, I think so.”

“Good. So, are you in?”

I consider this carefully. Gabrielle prefers to work alone, has made it clear numerous times, so she wouldn’t ask me to join her for the fun of it. There’s more to this. “Obviously. I want to help, but I’m trying to figure out why you need me.”

“I don’t.”

“OK, so why don’t you go and buy it back yourself.”

“So annoying.” She tuts. “All right, listen. I’m in the middle of a mission, and my next jump is coming up any day. I could travel now, while we’re on this call. Who knows?” I guess that makes sense—if it’s true. Once you are bonded to a mission via an object, time decides when to throw you back. “And the dealer who bought Mister Ed from Bruce is super picky about who he’ll work with. I tried, but he runs his whole setup face-to-face and won’t talk to anyone who’s not in the biz. So, I thought, who do I know who’s into boring antiques and has nothing better to do? I’m not asking you to head over there on your own. I’ll come with you, but like I said, I don’t know when my mission might drag me away, and we can’t run the risk of missing our chance to get this focus object back.”

I’m actually quite excited about getting my hands on such an ancient object, but I’m not going to let Gabrielle get off so lightly. “So what you should’ve said, when I answered the phone, was ‘Hey Joe, we lost a really expensive, very important focus object and need to get it back, but I’m clueless about antiques, so I need your help to secure it, pretty please, cherry on top, etc.’ Does that about sum it up?”

“Whatever,” she says sulkily. “Listen, my champagne is getting warm and my guys are getting cold, what’s it gonna be?” I hear her take a slurp. “It’s a really special piece, eighth century, I think Bruce said. Just your bag, right? Come on! How often do you get your clammy paws on stuff that old?”

She’s right. I do want to get my clammy paws on it.

“Anyway,” she continues, “you’d better say yes because I already booked you a flight.”

“A flight?” I’d assumed it must be in the UK, since she was asking me to join her. That will teach me.

“Yep. Leaving tomorrow, three p.m. I’ve checked you in already.”

“Where to?”

“Amsterdam.”

“Gabrielle!”

“What?” I can imagine the face she’s pulling, the picture of innocence. “It’s only an hour’s flight from Heathrow. I’ll meet you there tomorrow night, presuming I don’t time travel on the plane, although I guess I could go hide in the bathroom. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone pop in the middle of a flight, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Gross.”

Gabrielle laughs gleefully. “You’re just jealous. Anyway, see you at the hotel tomorrow. I’ll text you the deets. Ciao, Chosen One.” She hangs up.

I put my phone back on the bedside table and stretch, breaking into a yawn. It’s 5:10 a.m. I consider trying to get some more sleep, but my heart is racing, and my brain’s in overdrive. I have to say, despite the short notice and sideways manner of her invitation, Gabrielle’s call at least interrupted one of the most bizarre and uncomfortable dreams I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something, given my viewings. Her call also got my antiques juices flowing.

I grab a nearby antiques magazine. I sometimes read them at night to help me drop off to sleep. Did she call me boring? I’m searching for a particular article . . . there it is. The headline reads: Chinese Grave Goods Back in Fashion. Maybe that’s why this dealer bought the horse, wanting to cash in on this year’s fad. There’s plenty of money in this business if you play it right.

It’s funny. None of the other focus objects I’ve come across have been worth anything, other than sentimental value. The radio, the metronome. Hugely...