Time Salvager (Time Salvager #1)(60)
“Brothers,” he began, eyes still focused on the fast-scrolling vid. “I trust you have reviewed the operational scope?”
“Fugitive chronman hiding in the present,” Geneese said. “Should make our lives easy. I’m surprised three auditors are being allocated for this, especially one so high up the chain.”
A minor dig at his weakened status; Levin let it slide. “It’s the least of my penance for allowing it to happen on my watch.” He looked over at Shizzu. “You and James were in the Academy together?”
Shizzu shrugged. “Five years and we barely shared a hundred words. Even less as chronmen.”
Levin pulled up the man’s records and skimmed through the surprisingly brief transcript. The only real skill Shizzu had that made him stand out from other chronmen was his ambition and ability to kiss the right asses. Other than that, he was an expert tracker and investigator, and a poor team leader.
It still puzzled Levin how he had obtained an auditorship with such an undistinguished career. He found the answer at the end of the transcript. His last mission was completely redacted. It must have been a golden ticket assignment that had elevated him to the chain. Funny, Levin hadn’t realized it was for sale.
Against proper decorum, he asked, “Tell me about your last job as a chronman, Shizzu.”
Shizzu’s spine stiffened. “The auditor files are open to all. You may take a look if you like.”
“They’re all redacted, brother.”
“For good reason, then. Someone of sufficient rank—”
“I’m ninth in the chain. If I can’t view it, no auditor can.”
“Then the directors see fit to keep it from the eyes of the auditors.”
This piqued Levin’s interest even more. His instincts told him that it was important to pry, and they were rarely mistaken. It was unusual for chronmen to operate on jobs that kept auditors in the dark. Only directors had this authority, and with the recent occurrences and Shizzu’s sudden promotion, there were far too many coincidences here for Levin to overlook.
He approached it tactfully. “You are a new brother working with two experienced auditors. There is a level of trust necessary for us to function as an effective unit. Obviously, your last job elevated you to your auditorship. I need to know what it is so I know if I can depend on you.”
Shizzu pondered Levin’s demand before finally answering, “It was a corporate-sponsored salvage into the late twenty-first century.”
That time period set off an alarm in Levin’s head. Where had he read another report regarding this recently? Then he remembered. Levin leaned forward on his desk. “Tell me everything.”
The meeting lasted another five minutes before Levin barged out of his office, leaving his two underlings there, confused and unsure if they were excused. Levin didn’t care if they sat there until they starved to death. Those two were the furthest thing from his mind as he nearly sprinted out of the auditor wing, causing anyone who saw his stormy face to scurry out of his way. He couldn’t remember a time when he was this angry, not even when he found out about Cole’s desertion.
No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t angry at Cole, just profoundly disappointed. Deep down inside, he knew that he would have to be the one to hunt down his wayward nephew, and that once he did, it would spell the end of his relationship with his entire family. None of them would ever speak to him again, even though it was Levin who pulled the entire Javier-Oberon clan out of poverty. They knew Cole’s fate was sealed the instant he poisoned his handler and fled into the past, that Levin had no choice but to hunt him down himself.
Levin guessed that he could have assigned the hunt to someone else; Shizzu would have been perfectly suitable for the task. But no, it had to be Levin, even at the cost of his relationship with his family. There was no other way to clear the dishonor. ChronoCom was all he had left, and those fools in the directorships were endangering it.
Levin barged past the Watcher’s Board, taking only a moment to pay it proper respect: 50,373 monitors, 3,479 chronmen, and 223 auditors. A class at the Academy must have recently graduated. The numbers were still below what they should have been but at least they hadn’t plummeted precipitously. Six years ago, the number of monitors was below thirty thousand after the ill-fated conflict with the Puck Pirates of Uranus. Four thousand monitors had died in a span of two hours.
Levin ground his teeth and slammed open the double doors to Young’s office. The director, face buried in a book—a real bound one made of paper—ignored him, his eyes still focused on the pages as Levin stomped up and pounded a fist on the desk.
“You authorized the Nutris job?”
Young put up a finger to his lips, flipped to the next page in his book, and continued reading. Levin had the urge to reach over across the desk and yank the old man out of his chair, but he stopped himself. There were many ways to be suicidal; assaulting a director was probably the worst. His only recourse then was to tower over Young and wait for a response. Six minutes later, Young seemed to have found a good stopping point and finally snapped his book shut.
He looked up at Levin. “You’re still f*cking standing? Oh yeah, with that stick up your ass, I forget you won’t sit down without being invited. Sit.”
Levin stayed standing and jabbed a finger down on Young’s table. “Shizzu’s Nutris Platform job. The one that elevated him to the chain. Is it true? Who authorized it?”