Submitted for the March 2025 prompt: Begin at the Big Ending

Special Agent Ajal turned the empty whiskey tumbler upside down on the bar-top. His hand trembled, his breath stuttering as he reached for the second drink. After a few slow sips of amber gold, his nerves settled enough to input coordinates into the Jumper sheathing his left arm. No putting off his final appointment at The Samarra.

 

Ajal slugged the rest of his whiskey. He tapped the transit icon and Jumped.

 

* * *

 

From the outside, The Samarra, with its mid-century techno facade, was indistinguishable from the rest of New Amsterdam. Inside it rivaled any ancient Persian pleasure palace. Patrons revelled amidst a four-storied maze of intricate tile-work, exotic carpets, and graceful pointed archways surrounding a spacious courtyard.

 

Ajal, ignoring the opulence, scanned The Samarra. At low tables in shadowed alcoves, mixed clientele transacted all manner of business. Licit or illicit, Angelique Vos, aka the Sultana, did not care, as long as she got her percentage.

 

He spied his quarry, Zmok Basilisca, archaic bowler hat rakishly askew, entering the Sultana’s private platform. The platform promptly detached from its second story berth and rose high into the courtyard to hover in regal isolation.

 

Part of Ajal’s mind, in the voice of his murdered partner, admonished him to wait for back-up. Instead, he tapped a quick sequence into his Jumper, and then another. He drew his stunner and initiated transit.

 

Despite appearing out of thin air, no one seemed surprised. Angelique’s three massive turbaned bodyguards, pistols already drawn, merely shifted their aim to Ajal’s position. His partner’s nagging whisper returned: reckless, lad, reckless.

 

“As promised, two Jumpers,” Zmok said.

 

“Indeed,” the Sultana replied. “Though you have yet to prove you can access even one.”

 

Ajal spoke. “Sera Vos, this man tortured and murdered a Senior Special Agent — my partner. Stole Temporal Authority property.”

 

The Sultana merely waved her hand, as if brushing away a fly. One of her heavies stepped toward Ajal.

 

With no override received, Ajal’s second pre-programmed Jump executed. He arrived five seconds earlier, but behind the trio of guards, who remained focused on his earlier version. No one noticed his arrival this time.

 

See, I can plan ahead. The memory of his partner just harrumphed.

 

When Ajal saw himself disappear, he fired his stunner. The two closest goons went down together. The third had barely turned before Ajal’s second shot sent him unconscious to the platform’s floor.

 

Ajal shifted to Zmok, who was rising, reaching inside his jacket. Zmok, seeing the levelled stunner, froze.

 

“Hands where—”

 

Zmok abruptly vanished.

 

Shit! So much for Jumpers being unhackable.

 

Ajal tapped his Jumper’s temporal tracker. It locked onto the most probable target within the Jumper’s one-hour spacetime range. He Jumped.

 

He reappeared at the edge of Rembrandtplein. Zmok was entering The Samarra. No, that’s an earlier slice. And there’s my prior slice, following behind. So, where’s current Zmok? Ajal spotted him lurking in an alleyway, plas-pistol raised, targeting his earlier version’s back.

 

Ajal shot, hoping to distract him. The bowler flew from Zmok’s head. Ajal fired again, but Zmok was already Jumping.

 

A plasma bolt punched completely through Ajal’s left shoulder from behind. He slammed his Jumper’s emergency evade icon.

 

He arrived on one of The Samarra’s third-floor balconies. Below, an earlier version of himself was surveying the establishment.

 

Ajal’s arm started spasming. Definitely nerve damage, but at least I still have the arm. Motion attracted his eye. Across the balcony, a Zmok lifted his plas-pistol, aiming at newly-arrived Ajal below.

 

Ignoring the radiating agony, he raised his stunner and fired. He missed high, the stun-beam splashing against the tiled wall. Startled, Zmok discharged a wild plasma bolt into the courtyard’s fountain. As Zmok turned, Ajal fired again right on center mass. Too late, he realized this Zmok still had his bowler hat. Dammit! A version before the one I shot at outside!

 

Zmok disappeared before impact. Ajal didn’t hesitate. Like a sniper relocating after each shot, he Jumped. Just in time. The last light to hit his optic nerves registered a Zmok, sans bowler, popping in to his left.

 

Ajal rematerialized in a shadowed, empty alcove. He checked his Jumper — maybe enough juice for one more Jump.

 

He peered out of the alcove. Across the courtyard, next to The Samarra’s ornate bar, a version of himself appeared. This version’s Jumper strobed recharge warnings. Must be a future slice. Left arm dangling listlessly, his future self slumped into a barstool, put his stunner on the bar and held up two fingers.

 

A bowlerless Zmok appeared right behind his future self. Ajal wanted to shout, but a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. By the time he recovered, his doppelgänger was blithely savoring one of two whiskeys, while Zmok raised his plas-pistol.

 

Ajal started sprinting.

 

“So nice of you to order one for me,” he heard the sadistic bastard say.

 

Unperturbed, the seated Ajal downed the rest of his whisky before replying, “It’s not for you.”

 

Zmok fired. Ajal couldn’t help but stagger as he saw himself lifelessly collapse from the barstool, a seared smoking hole through his head. Zmok unfastened the Jumper from Ajal’s corpse and pocketed it. He reached for the second whiskey.

 

“I said it wasn’t for you!” earlier-slice Ajal said, firing. Zmok collapsed in a motionless heap.

 

Ajal heard a humming whine and looked up. The Sultana’s platform was descending.

 

Quickly, Ajal searched Zmok’s unconscious form. He removed two Jumpers, his future-self's and his partner’s, from Zmok’s jacket. Using Zmok’s plas-pistol, he slagged them both. The acrid tang of burning quantum filaments filled the air.

 

Ajal’s ear-com pinged. A full TA Tac-squad was less than two minutes out. Good. They can deal with cleaning up. Ajal sat down at the bar. I’ll be joining you soon, old friend. But first, one last thing to take care of.

 

Ajal turned the empty whiskey tumbler upside down on the bar-top. His hand trembled, his breath stuttering as he reached for the second. After a few slow sips of amber gold…