Free Extracted by Sherry Ficklin, Tyler Jolley

deep-sea diver’s helmet, and he never takes it off. Heck, I don’t even know if Claymore is a he. The front and side ports are so black and cloudy that I can’t tell if there’s a living head in there or not. The copper is dented, and there’s a pattern of blue-green tarnish all over the helmet that makes it look like a global map from a far-off land.
    I mean, the guy can’t even talk. According to Nobel, he’s never uttered a word. A huge arrivals and departures board hangs behind the gnarly old desk where he always sits. He remains there, unmoving, with his helmet plugged into his desk. He communicates using letters that fall into place with loud clicks. The different time zones being displayed by various clocks are mounted at the top of the arrivals and departures board. When I first arrived at the Hollows, Claymore had put up on the board, “GOOD TO HAVE A KID OF YOUR CALIBER AMONGST US HOLLOWS.”
    Nobel fidgets with a prototype weapon on the table. “It’s called Medulla Serum. That’s what keeps him ticking. He can only function when his tank is full.”
    Gloves explains. “Nobel was able to repair the leak, but he lost a lot of Serum. We sent Sisson to the future to retrieve some more.”
    “Why the future?” Stein asks. I shoot a glance at Nobel, wondering why he never mentioned it.
    “That is the only place to find it,” Gloves says.
    “Wait, this has happened before?” I ask Nobel.
    “It did. Before you got here. He lost about seven milliliters before I could stop the leak.”
    “Seven milliliters? That isn’t that much,” I say.
    “Seven milliliters doesn’t seem like a lot, but it was enough to cripple his ability to monitor the time stream.”
    “How many milliliters did he lose this time?” Stein asks, concern growing in her voice.
    “Too many,” Nobel answers, looking up at me for the first time.
    “If Claymore loses any more Medulla Serum, he won’t be able to make the time stream safe for the Hollows to rift,” Gloves adds. “He won’t be able to monitor ripples, and no matter how well Stills hides our beloved Tower, without Claymore keeping a finger on everything that happens in the time stream, our location could be compromised.”
    Staring us down, Gloves adds, “Your whole existence is because of Claymore.”
    “Let’s go get Sisson, then,” I say.
    * * *
    “Let me grab the DNA Detector before we go,” Nobel says when we get back to the common room after picking up our Contra. Stein tugs on her long jacket and stuffs a short knife in her boot. Then she gives me a noncommittal shrug that says better safe than sorry. I can’t agree more.
    “I’ve got it right here,” I say, handing the device to him.
    Rummaging through the tech bench, Nobel opens a wooden box by breathing onto the lock. Inside the box are dozens of test tubes with blood in them. Our blood—DNA samples for such an emergency. He walks his fingers along the corks until he finds Sisson’s sample. With a small dropper, he puts a few drops of her blood into the machine, which then beeps to life.
    I realize I’ve never rifted and not been spit out somewhere in history. It’s going to be strange just mucking around in the time stream without any specific destination. The stream can be disorienting at times, painfully mind-bending. That’s why we use the Contra.
    We stand in the middle of the common room and swallow the smooth, green pills. The Amber Room mission will have to wait. Priority calls. The Contra that will bring us back is secure in the small hidden pocket inside my vest. All Hollows have one, a secure place to keep their pills.
    After Stein takes hers, I hold tight to her hand and smile. Something about Contra creates an almost euphoric effect, and it always makes me happy and tingly inside. As serious as our missions are, some of the side effects are laughing and smiling. We look at each other, and Stein has a huge smile across her face. Nobel smiles behind his surgical mask and his eyes