Steamrolled by Pauline Baird Jones

stream, sifting what she saw, heard and smelled into slots for further study. Experts called it a stream, but wrong time sometimes resembled earthquake damage, with fractures and fissures going off in jagged directions. Eddies, currents, even waves—some of them tidal in character—fanned out in more directions than the wrong time, making her bounce in the current as she drifted along. At a safe distance from the fractures, the effect was mild, but it would be worse when she got close.
    Wrong time also smelled and sounded different and required care not to miss the subtle nuances. She couldn’t have done it without a nanite, even with her heightened time senses.
    The phosphorescence of Selnick’s passage lingered in the vein he’d used, which also happened to be the most direct route to the station. Ashe hated direct routes and didn’t trust this one, so kept her pace cautious, and when she could, she shifted into a different time vein at random intervals. Though time passed differently in the stream, it still surprised her how fast she caught up with Selnick.
    He’s not moving.
    She slowed, alerts firing on all her senses, and eased in, searching for the outer edges of—got it. It had the form and feel of a station, but one that blended into the stream. Stations were little islands for trackers. They monitored time, but also provided rest—traveling in the stream was exhausting, particularly if turbulence was present—and information and they could be used as holding areas for time violators. The station’s shields funneled time around them, though time passed through the sensors. Ashe had seen the science behind them and didn’t ever want to do that again. This looked a bit like a station, but not enough.
    It’s a time trap.
    You’ve seen this before?
    It is very like the holding space inside the station.
    Just past him, the station beacon placidly called all trackers to what used to be safety. Ashe took her time, studying the veins of time around the trap. She didn’t want to get caught, too. It appeared to be active across both the approach veins and cross-stream. She drifted closer, careful not to get so close to the barrier that an unsteady eddy pushed her into it. Up close, it was more defined, but it would be all but invisible to someone not looking for it. A fast moving time tracker wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d probably been in it before he knew it was there. This type of trap would only work near a station. Too many approach vectors for random time stream travel. Good thing she’d already killed her beacon.
    She tensed on a sudden thought, but Lurch said it first.
    This type of trap would also be effective around the base.
    She suppressed the urge to let loose with another round of alien swear words.
    If we can’t go back—
    —we’re on our own out here.
    It was a good thing Lurch had jacked into the upper level Service databases when they were inducted into the Service. At  least they had that to help them.
    This couldn’t be naturally occurring, could it?
    Lurch seemed intrigued by the idea, though doubtful.
    Can you get within a meter of the barrier? I’ll send in a drone.
    Ashe closed the gap some more, then reached out her hand. A tiny spark of light left her middle finger, shooting toward the barrier. It hit it, sparked once, and went out. Ashe pulled back, emotionally and physically. Drone scouts weren’t sentient, but it was still creepy. Did that thing just delete your drone?
    His grim assent wasn’t verbal. Can we tell how deep and wide it is?
    Ashe mapped the boundaries for him. When she drifted around to the backside, Selnick’s eye lids flickered, almost in slow motion. He’s still alive. She signed a question—since deleted nanites couldn’t connect—but all he managed was a twitch of one finger. It’s got him immobilized and I can’t release him without more information. Information wasn’t available if drones couldn’t assess. Likely his distress beacon wasn’t