Downtiming the Night Side

EPILOGUE LEADING EDGE, MAIN TIME LINE

It literally looked like Hell in the Party’s headquarters; half the place seemed to be on fire. Actually, dozens of frantic aides were rushing about pulling and destroying files, computer records, and all the basic control machinery that had managed Earth for so long a time from this tiny spot. Of particular import were all materials in any medium referring to time travel, the time project, or the master computer far downtime.

These were the lucky ones—the one hundred men and women who would be allowed to go back. There might have been more, but there were only one hundred time belts available and the prehistoric complex could comfortably house and provide for no more than a few hundred anyway.

A dozen were the Central Committee, of course, and that was to be regretted, but no project like this could go through to completion unless they were included, even if they were far older than would be useful. The rest were family, close associates, trusted aides, and their families.

Most of the complex of several thousand thought they were going, too, and awaited the transfer of the first hundred with nervous anticipation. The belts were then to be homed back to the time control complex and be used again, and again, a hundred at a time, until all were safe.

They didn’t know how limited the facilities were downtime, and never suspected for a second that those belts would never return.

Nor did they know that Chairman Shumb had already read in what were known as the Armageddon Codes into the master computers worldwide that would explode within an hour of the Chairman’s own farewell with such monstrous force that they might well shake Earth’s orbit and blow so much radioactive debris into the air that the world would be plunged into a horrible, cold darkness for years, while radioactivity scoured the planet of even the hardier forms of life.

They didn’t even know about the massive superbomb sitting underneath this very complex, which, when it went, would make their silly scramble to destroy all records and controls an exercise in childish futility.

Max Shumb sighed, looked at his watch, then got up from his big desk and looked around the office he’d occupied for so many years. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to give up what had become so much a part of him, but it was either do so or perish with the Earth. He had no intention of doing that. One of these days they might work out a way back there in the great prehistoric wasteland to keep this from happening, to prevent what was now inevitable. He liked to think so, if only because of the great art and great works of literature he would lose here.

The death of the population of the Earth did not trouble him in the slightest. Only a few human beings really mattered other than himself. The rest were mostly cattle, easily replaced if you had enough time and enough women.

General Kolodin entered and saluted smartly. “Sir, we are ready to transport and time is getting short. I must insist that you come with me immediately.”

Chairman Shumb nodded and sighed. “Yes, you’re right, Alexei.”

The general looked around the room and read his leader’s thoughts. “It’s not really gone, you know. Not so long as the belts work.”

Shumb grinned. “You know just what to say every time.”

“The Russian is a pragmatist at all times. It is the climate that does it.” He paused a moment. “There is still the matter of Eric Benoni.”

“Huh? Second Wave, isn’t he? Won’t that take care of itself?”

“Sir, he’s quite clever and he thinks well ahead for self-preservation. He is insisting on First Wave priority.”

“That son-of-a-bitch is a pushy bastard, isn’t he? He’s the one who was supposed to bail us out and instead we’re riding down the toilet, and now he expects to get a free ride. Where is he now?”

“In the reception area near the time project control center.”

Shumb nodded. “Well, come on, Alexei. Time to march forward into the past. On the way down we’ll find a squad of protectors and order them to shoot the son-of-a-bitch.”