Sherry Ficklin - Extracted

Without hesitation I move to the next object on the table, the Tether, and snap it onto my forearm like an oversized mousetrap. Copper wires and tiny hinges securely hold what looks like a massive watch face. There is a tiny pin with a spoke at the end that allows me to adjust the current date and time.

I run my fingers over the final piece of hardware before I lift it into my palm. It’s the most impressive of the three and the most difficult to conceal. An Earwig. Carefully, I wind the tiny machine over my left ear and pull my long chestnut hair free of the tight braid I usually keep it in. I run my hands through it and shake it loose so it will hide the tech now attached to my ear. Immediately, the tiny spokes and gears of the Earwig come to life with a series of chirps and clicks. Then Tesla’s thick voice rings in my ear.

“Remote Tesla activated. Authorization code?”

I clear my throat before answering, “Marconi is a fraud.”

“Authorization code accepted.” Apparently, being a computer has not diminished Tesla’s heavy Austrian accent or his intense dislike for his former competitor.

I walk on steadier legs to the platform and grab onto the rails, waiting for my assignment.

“I’m ready,” I say, hoping my voice sounds stronger than I feel.

Above me is the viewing booth, a large glass window where the teachers and other recruits are staring down at me. Below that is a series of ornate clock faces and a ticker board with red lights. A series of numbers flashes across the screen.

“This is your assignment, your final test. Travel to this point and make contact with Flynn at the assigned location,” Tesla’s computer voice orders.

I look at the screen. I’m going back to 1996. Not very long ago in the grand scheme of things—less than a hundred years. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed. I plug the numbers into my Tether and nod.

Closing my eyes, I feel the charge building in the room around me. My hair starts to lift off my head—even the metal buckles on my boots and vest hum. Then I feel a jolt on my arm, the connection to this time being made through the Tether. I breathe out slowly, but inside my head I feel the heat build until it is unbearable, like I’m melting inside. I take a deep breath, hold it, and then let go of the rails.

LEX

Something isn’t right. The room is different somehow. We have been to the Amber Room before, but this time it feels like there is something missing. Not in the room itself, but in the air around us. There is a void in the time stream, like the air in the room is going to implode on itself. I glance into the corner of the room, searching for the source of my discomfort. A crack that was never there before splinters down the wall. Subconsciously I reach back, taking Stein by the hand as I watch. The crack widens, and a small metal leg struggles through, tearing the crack into a small hole. It emerges like a mechanical chick bursting through an egg. I take the brush and shove it in my pocket. When I look back it’s not just one Gear Head, but three of them making their way through the crack.

“Run!” I scream.

Picking up the ornate chair from the vanity table, I chuck it through the window.

“I really hope Gloves doesn’t need that,” I say, urging Stein out. As I dive out the window behind her, a piece of glass grazes my shoulder. Instantly blood flows down my arm, soaking my sleeve as I fall.

We land on the main deck of the airship. The wind gusts across the steel bow, forcing us toward the railing. Stein grabs my uninjured arm and tugs me to the back of the ship, where long ropes tie it to the rocky cliffs below.

“Why are there Gear Heads?” Stein gasps, leaning forward over the rail. “They weren’t here last time.”

“I don’t know,” I answer, shaking my head. It doesn’t make any sense. Somehow they have tracked us to this place, and I have no idea how we are going to get past them.

I swear under my breath. “How could Claymore miss the disturbance in the time stream?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the Serum didn’t fix the problem and he’s still not functioning at one hundred percent,” Stein suggests, breathing hard. She holds my arm and peeks around my shoulder, looking more freaked out than I’ve ever seen her. She grabs me by the sleeve, “Lex, my Contra. It’s gone.” I glance down and see her vest torn, the pocket where she keeps her Contra hanging open.

“We need to move,” I say, ushering her forward. “If we can get far enough away, you can take mine and go for help.”

She nods grimly. “I don’t see them. Can you see them?”

I’m about to say no, but out of the corner of my eye I see movement. They are coming. And there are so many of them I can’t even count. I look back at Stein; her face is resigned. I nod over the edge to the ropes draped between the giant brass propellers.

“Remind me again how hiding the Amber Room fifty stories above the Grand Canyon was a good idea?” Stein says, climbing over the edge as she speaks.

The Gear Heads are advancing, chewing up the deck with their sharp pincers as they move. Sparks fly off the deck as the little robots rev the saws affixed to their other arms.

“They are going to tear through this thing like a can opener,” I say, clinging to the thick lead.

I look to Stein. A Gear Head leaps to the deck inches from where she holds the other rope. It turns its saw on the cleat holding her rope.

I lurch back onto the rail and swat the machine over the edge. It hits the propeller and red liquid from its domed head splatters across the bottom of the ship.

Cursing Gloves in the most colorful ways we can think of, we coil our legs around the ropes and begin our impromptu descent.

The heavy wind pushes at us as we dangle helplessly. “I don’t think this was covered in the orientation manual,” I say.

Stein laughs. “There was a manual?”

Once we are close enough to the ground, we let go, landing with a puff of dust near the edge of a deep chasm.

I look up to where the Gear Heads are climbing down the ropes behind us. “I’ll cut these tethers. You get the ones over there.”

Steins sprints to the cliff edge to untie the lashes holding the front down while I tackle the ones right around the base of it.

Untying one of the leads in front of a large outcropping of rocks, I pull the other one free from the sand. Just then I hear Stein scream.

“Lex, help!”

I look up and Stein is surrounded by more Gear Heads. They are pushing her to the edge of the cliff. “I’m coming!”

Dropping the last rope, I run to her. I don’t see it happen, but one of the updrafts from the cliff twists the large rope and it somehow wraps around my ankle. I trip, sprawling forward onto my face. As I flail to catch myself, I manage to push one of the Gear Heads right off the cliff. I wrap my hand around a chunk of root, which is poking up from the ground, to catch myself from going over. Dazed from smacking my head against the dirt, I look up, focusing on Stein. She loses her foothold as the Gear Heads drive her back again, and she kicks at them, but they are too quick. She tilts off-balance, falling backward off the cliff.

Screaming, I lunge forward from my knees to see that she’s got a one-handed grasp on a jagged rock just over the edge. I reach out, barely able to snatch hold of her before she slides over completely. She reaches up, trying to get a grip on my arm, but it’s slick with blood and she slips off, unable to get a firm hold.

“Stein, look at me,” I order, clutching her tightly by the wrist as her feet scramble to find purchase on the rocky cliffside. I scream again from the burning pain as my shoulder is ripped out of its socket. She’s not that heavy, but the angle is bad and I can’t make my muscles cooperate.