Hellfire Rebellion

8

The small, secluded country chapel stood in the middle of a grove of trees, well hidden from the road. The estate on whose property it stood was out of sight over the next hill. It belonged to a wealthy Boston Tory who only made use of it on weekends, except on those nights when the Hellfire Club met. On those nights, he would saddle up his horse and ride over to the chapel. tie the horse up outside in the grove, take the hooded black robe out of his saddlebag and tie it around him with a monk’s cord, then put on the black mask that covered his entire upper face and join the “congregation.” He always felt a profound thrill of anticipation at such times, like a small boy about to do something that he knew was wrong. His young wife, with whom he had sexual relations perhaps once a month, would have been surprised at the vigor with which he participated in the night’s events.

It was late and the moon was full as John Hewitt rode up to the chapel in his carriage with Lucas Priest and Finn Delaney. When told that “young Andrew” would not be joining them. Hewitt had merely shrugged and said. As you think best.” Then he grinned and added, “But it would have been a good education for the lad.”

The grove was already full of horses and several carriages, being attended to by servants. Finn and Lucas both noticed several men moving about, armed with muskets, pistols, and swords. A wooden table stood not far away, beneath the trees, with several men seated around it, drinking wine, smoking their pipes, and playing cards by lamplight. Several more men were gathered around a crackling fire. Except for the carriages, the scene resembled the camp of a band of forest brigands.

“It seems that most everyone’s arrived.” said Hewitt. He reached beneath the seat of the carriage and pulled out two black parcels tied with cords. “Put these on.” he said.

They were the robes and masks.

Now remember the rules.” said Hewitt in a somber tone. “You are not to ask anybody’s name, under any circumstances. This is a secret brotherhood.”

“How can it be secret when you all seem to know one another?” Delaney asked.

Hewitt looked irritated at the question. “That is another matter. Once the vestments have been donned, each man is without a name. We are all merely secret brothers of the Hellfire Club. Keep your vestments on at all times, and especially you must not remove your masks nor ask anyone else to remove theirs. You may not leave until the meeting is concluded. The doors to the chapel shall be bolted, if you need to relieve yourself at any time, use the side door of the chapel and follow the path to the outhouse. Remember that wandering about outside is not permitted. There are guards on duty. We must protect ourselves against unwanted intruders. Afterward, we shall meet back here at the carriage. Any questions?”

Delaney glanced at Lucas. “No. no questions,” he said. “Shall we ‘don our vestments.’ brother?” Lucas gave him a warning glance and Delaney rolled his eyes. They put on their robes and masks and stepped out of the carnage, allowing Hewitt to proceed ahead of them.

“I feel like Zorro disguised as a monk,” whispered Delaney.

“Keep a handle on it, Finn.” Lucas whispered back.

“Shouldn’t we be chanting something?” said Delaney.

They joined a group of silent, hooded figures moving through the chapel doors. Spread out and hidden in the woods around them, dressed in black and with their faces camouflaged, were the other two commando teams, ready to move in quickly it anything went wrong or if Nikolai Drakov put in an appearance, though it was doubtful if they’d recognize him among all the hooded figures. They had no idea what they could expect, so they were prepared for anything. The armed guards moving around outside presented no real problem. The commandos could easily stay out of their sight, and if, by chance, one of them were spotted, the guard would be quickly rendered unconscious before an alarm could be given. Inside the chapel, the glow of candlelight provided a dim, shadowy illumination. The pews had been removed and in their stead were wooden tables, chairs, and benches with cushions, giving the interior of the chapel the aspect of some bizarre religious coffeehouse. There was no altar, merely a tall wooden pulpit looking down upon the congregation. The robed figures were seated at the tables, many of them smoking, while masked women, dressed in white robes, moved among the tables, serving drinks. The soft undertone of conversation was broken only by the rustling of robes, the sound of pewter mugs being put down on wooden tables, some coughing and the tapping out of pipes.

“You believe this?” whispered Delaney, standing close to Lucas. They had lost sight of Hewitt, who had vanished among the hooded figures.

“I figure at least forty, fifty men,” said Lucas, glancing around.

They found a table and sat down. A white-robed woman, hooded and with a white mask tied around her face, leaving only her eyes, mouth, and chin visible, wordlessly set down two mugs of wine before them. She gave them a knowing smile and proceeded on to the next table. Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of the chapel organ playing a dirgelike, somber melody and the white-robed figures all retreated to the back room. Everybody stood. A man robed and masked in black like all the others mounted the pulpit and stood with his hands braced on the sides, surveying the room. The organ stopped and there was silence.

“Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!” the man at the pulpit said, in a loud voice that echoed through the chapel.

“Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!” the congregation responded in chorus.

“Be seated, brothers.” They sat with a rustling of robes.

“You recognize the voice?” Delaney whispered.

Lucas shook his head.

“The horseman is among us,” said the figure at the pulpit and an excited ripple ran through the crowd. “He is pleased to see so many loyal subjects of the king gathered here together. Long live His Majesty. King George!”

“Long live His Majesty. King George!” the congregation responded.

“We live in perilous times, my brothers,” said the man at the pulpit. “We have seen the Sons of Violence attack our fellow loyal citizens of Boston. We have seen them burn and pillage. We have seen them loot and plunder. We have seen them stone our houses and smash out our windows while our families huddled terrified within and we ourselves shook with rage and indignation, helpless in the face of their superior numbers. We have been forced to stand by and watch while they tarred and feathered our officials and belabored them with clubs. And then we have all read how they justify their actions in their lying newspapers, accusing us of treason, accusing us of disloyalty, accusing us of being the oppressors!” An angry undertone ran through the crowd.

“They want the freedom to speak out, but only for those who would agree with them! They want the freedom to assemble, but only so that they can fire up the common mob and break into our homes and make off with our possessions! They demand freedom of the press, but only so that they can fill their newspapers with their seditious lies! They demand freedom from taxation, but only so that they can continue smuggling with impunity! We, who import our fabrics and our wines from England, our carriages, our furniture, our tea and other necessaries, must pay our legal duties to the Crown as loyal subjects, yet they, a bunch of upstart common laborer, and rabble, feel that they must be exempt! They cry out that Parliament oppresses all Americans, yet who among us has not felt oppressed by them? Ours are the families who have founded these thirteen English colonies. Ours are the families who have built the cities, who have fought the Indians and the French, who have built the ships and founded trade and established our colonial assemblies! Ours was the toil, ours the sweat and blood! And now these dock porters and simple cordwainers, these rope makers and illiterate apprentices descended from indentured servants would bite the hand that feeds them and dictate terms to us! Well, we shall suffer these indignities no longer! We say to them, no more!”

“No more! No more!”

“It’s like a revival meeting,” whispered Delaney. “There is one among us who has set us all an excellent example,” said the speaker. “One who has spoken to the Sons of Violence in the only language that they can understand. Until now, the rabble has been unopposed, free to strike at night and to terrorize anyone they pleased. My friends, that time has ended! The choice is ours, my brothers! We can unite and end this reign of terror, or we can huddle, quaking in our homes, waiting fearfully and helplessly to see whom the Sons of Violence will choose for their next victim.” He suddenly pointed at one of the robed figures below him. “Will it be you?”

The man shifted uncomfortably. The finger moved on.

“Or will it be you? Or you? Or you?” He pointed at another man. “Will yours be the next home that they tear down’?” He pointed again. “Will you be the next one to be seized and dragged into the Common, stripped naked for all to see, and basted with a coat of steaming tar and feathers’?”

He pulled his hand back and clenched it into a fist. “And can we believe that the outlaws will stop there’?” he said. “With no one to oppose them, will they not grow bolder still? In the middle of the night, they will come and visit you,” he said, pointing suddenly at another member of the congregation, and in their frenzy of destruction, while they hold you helpless, they will look upon your daughter and they will find her pleasing. Two of them will hold her while she struggles, yet a third will tear her nightdress from her innocent young body; they will run their filthy, rough, and callused common hands over her sweet virgin flesh; they will bear her down and have their way with her while she weeps and screams in terror and you are forced to watch! And afterward, when you walk the streets together, which one of the carters who pass by you will smirk with secret knowledge? Which one of the drunken dock workers will call out her name after you pass?”

He looked around at the entire congregation.

“It could happen to any one of you,” he said, “And it will happen, unless we stop it now!”

The sense of outrage and indignation surged throughout the crowd.

“These common criminals must be taught a lesson!” he shouted. Who will be the next to learn?”

“ Ebenezer Macintosh!” a deep and resonant voice coed out.

“Drakov!” said Delaney, looking all around, as did many of the others, but there was no way to tell where the voice had come from. The speaker waited until the undertone died down.

“Our friend has chosen well,” he said. “The horseman has named Ebenezer Macintosh. A drunken cobbler. A common brawler, the leader of the South End Gang. It was he who led the mob against the home of our good friend “Thomas Hutchinson, thereby reducing our proudest citizen to penury. And was he punished for this crime? No sooner was he thrown into jail by our sheriff than he was released as a result of threats from the very rioters he led! And today, he swaggers through the streets and boasts of his invulnerability! Is he invulnerable’?”

No!” the crowd yelled.

“Is he beyond the law?”

“ No!”

“Is he going to pay for what he’s done?”

“Yes!” voices called out. “Yes, hang him, make him pay! Hang him!”

“The jury has reached its verdict,” said the speaker. “The accused, Ebenezer Macintosh, stands guilty, as charged. So say you all?”

“ Aye! Aye!”

“Then, Ebenezer Macintosh, for your crimes against the loyal citizens of Boston, we hereby sentence you to hang!”

“Jesus, now what do we do?” Delaney said.

“We’ll have to stop them,” Lucas said. “We’ll have to get to him before they do and warn him.”

“In ancient times,” the speaker continued, “warriors united in a common. sacred cause would gather on the eve of a great battle to celebrate their courage and to fortify their manhood. Thus do we revive this ancient custom. Thus do we celebrate our unity and fortify our cause! “Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty, my brothers!”

“ Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!”

The organist began to play as the speaker descended from the pulpit and the white-robed women came filing out with trays of wine, ale, rum, and food. The women moved along the tables, setting down their trays and being pulled into the laps of the robed men. At the table next to theirs, a man pulled the cord holding a woman’s robe fastened around her waist and it fell open, revealing her to be completely naked underneath. He started fondling and kissing her. None of the men undressed. They merely pulled open their robes and loosened their clothing underneath, pulling the laughing women down into their laps, dragging them to the floor, laying them out on top of tables and benches. One of the women came and sat down on Delaney’s knee, smiling and reaching for the cord that tied his robe.

“Not now.” he said. “A moment. Nature calls.”

She shrugged and moved on to another man.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” he said to Lucas.

They rose and moved to the side door. All around them, the orgy was in progress as masked men and women fumbled inside one another’s robes, laughing and indulging in the license of anonymous sex. Finn and Lucas left by the side door and stepped out into the cool night breeze.

“Stand where you are!” said a voice out of the darkness. “Raise your hands above your heads!” They froze and did as they were told. Several men stepped out of the shadows, holding muskets and pistols aimed directly at them.

“What is this’?” Lucas said, in an angry tone. “Can’t a man even relieve himself in peace? Put down those guns!”

Another man, this one dressed in a black robe and a mask, unlike the guards, stepped forward.

“Hold your arms out straight, away from your sides.” he said. They both recognized the voice of the speaker in the pulpit. They did as they were told. “Pull back their hoods and remove those masks. If one of them so much as blinks, shoot them both at once.”

They stood absolutely motionless as one of the men stepped forward, yanked back their hoods, and removed their masks.

“Do any of you know these men?” the speaker asked.

The guards all shook their heads.

“Neither do I,” the speaker said. “It appears that we have caught ourselves sonic spys. Search them.”

The man who had removed their masks suddenly jerked, then with a surprised expression, he collapsed to the ground. There were several rapid hissing noises and the remaining guards all fell, dropping their weapons. The robed man glanced around him with alarm, and then he jerked and fell as well. Chavez. Seavers, and Federoff stepped out of the shadows, holding their stinger pistols.

“Nice work,” said Lucas.

“What do you want us to do with them?”‘ asked Seavers, “Pull them back into the trees. They’ll come around. But I want that one,” he said, pointing to the robed man.

Chavez bent down and removed his mask. It was Moffat

“Know him?” he asked.

Lucas shook his head. “No. But he seemed to be the one in charge. He’s working with Drakov.”

“So Hunter was right, he is here.” Seavers said.

“Yeah, he was inside,” said Finn. “You want us to take the place?” asked Federoff.

“Are you kidding? There’s seventy or eighty people in there and about half of them are women. There’s no way I want to risk that. Besides, Drakov could easily clock out in all the confusion, if he hasn’t already. No, have everyone pull back to the safehouse. We’re taking this man with us for interrogation. I want him alone in one of the bedrooms, restrained, with the windows and drapes closed, so he won’t know where he is. We don’t know who he is, so let’s not take any chances. He sees nobody who’s not in colonial dress, understood?”

“Got it.” Seavers said.

“Good. Move out.” Within moments, they were all back in the safehouse, where Hunter was waiting for them with Linda and Andre. They had not risked leaving him alone. Hunter raised his eyebrows when he saw Federoff and Seavers carrying the unconscious robed man into the back bedroom on the upper floor.

“What the hell did you do, kidnap a monk’?” he said.

“One of the leaders of the Hellfire Club,” said Lucas.

“You were right, Hunter. Drakov is here.”

“You saw him?”

“No, but we heard his voice. I’d know that voice anywhere. It seems we owe you an apology. You were right all along.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hunter said. “How well do you know Ebenezer Macintosh?” asked Lucas.

“Mac? We’re old drinkin’ buddies, him and I. Why, what’s up?”

“They’ve targeted him for assassination,” said Delaney. “They’re going to hang him. We’ve got to get to him first and warn him.”

“I’m on my way,” said Hunter.

“Neilson, you go with him;” Lucas said.

“Still don’t trust me, huh?” said Hunter.

“No I just don’t want to lose you.” Lucas said. “You’re the only one of us Macintosh knows, so you’ll have to be the one to warn him, but by now, the Network’s got to know something’s gone wrong. They won’t find any trace of

Carruthers or the other two and you’ve dropped out of sight, so they’ll be looking for you. I want you covered and Neilson’s lightning with a gun and a crack shot. Sean, take a stinger with you, but I’d rather you carried something with a bit more authority, as well. I see Hunter’s got silencers for some of those pieces and I’d rather not risk using a laser or a plasma weapon on the streets of Boston.” “Help yourself, kid.” Hunter said to Neilson.

Neilson walked over to the table and unhesitantly chose the. 45 Colt Combat Commander. He started to attach the silencer.

“Wouldn’t you like a bit more firepower?” Hunter said. “That only holds a seven-shot clip with room for one more in the chamber.”

“If I can’t get the job done with eight rounds. I probably won’t get it done at all,” said Neilson.

“But I’ll take some spare clips, just in case.”

“Go ahead and make your choice,” Lucas said to Hunter.

Hunter glanced at him.

“Be my guest.” said Lucas. He smiled. “Call it a gesture of good faith.”

Hunter chose the Beretta 9 mm. He screwed a silencer onto the weapon and pocketed several spare clips. He slapped in a magazine, racked the slide and jacked a round into the chamber, and stuck it in his waistband, cocked and locked, in the “Mexican carry” mode. He picked up several spare magazines and slipped them in his pockets.

‘“What do you think they’ll do with Steiger?” he asked. ‘“I’m hoping they’ll keep him alive so they’ve got something to deal with if they’re backed into a corner.” Lucas said tensely, ‘but I can’t afford to worry about him now. The mission comes first. He’d have done the same in my place. But if you run into any Network people, try to take at least one of them alive.” ‘“You mind if they’re wounded just a little?” Neilson asked. “Not in the least,” said Lucas.

‘“Good.” said Neilson. “What about if we run into these Hellfire characters?”

“Try not to.” Lucas said. “But if you do… He took a deep breath “If they get to Macintosh before you do, don’t interfere if it means shooting anybody.”

“You mean let them hang him.”

“Yeah. That’s what I mean.”

The room was silent for a moment.”

“Okay.” said Neilson, after a pause. ‘If that’s the way you want it.”

“It’s not the way I want it, but it’s the way it’s got to be.” said Lucas. “We’re here to stop a temporal disruption, not create one,” He hesitated. “Hunter. I know that as a C. 1. S. agent-”

“You don’t have to say it, pilgrim.” Hunter said. “We’ve got a deal.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

“What do you want us to do once we’ve warned Macintosh?” asked Neilson.

“Warn Macintosh and tell him what the Hellfire Club is planning,” Lucas said. “It looks like they’re going after individual leaders of the Suns of Liberty in which case Adams is the most logical target. We’ll have to keep an eye on him, but we can’t keep track of all of them. If we can get the Sons of Liberty to do part of our job for us, so much the better. Tell Macintosh to assign some of his South End boys to watch the leaders. Have several people on each of them if possible. Hancock, Otis, Edes, Revere, all of them. Then get right back here. We’re going to have to play this by ear and I don’t want to have to worry about where anybody is. Drakov knows we’re here and that may force his hand. If our friend in the other room can’t help us, we could be in a world of trouble.”

Not long after Neilson left with Hunter. Moffat started to come around. They had all changed into colonial clothing by then, but their attempt at deception didn’t last long, At first. Moffat was confused and disoriented. He awoke to find himself tied to a chair in a strange room with all the curtains drawn. As his eyes gradually focused and he realized that he’d been taken captive, his lips drew tight into a stubborn line and a defiant look came into his eyes:

“You have been captured by ‘the Sons of Liberty.” said Lucas. “We have some questions to put to you. If you cooperate, then you will not be harmed. But if you refuse to answer. it will not go well with you.”

Moffat’s gaze traveled around the room. taking in his surroundings, sizing up his captors.

“You don’t fool me, “he said, “I know who you are.” He gazed pointedly at Andre. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

Andre stared at him. “You’re the headless horseman.” she said.

“That’s right,” Moffat said proudly. “But killing me won’t do you a bit of good. You’re too late. You’re much too late to stop it. I don’t really matter anymore, so do your worst. I’m not afraid.”

“Our worst could be much worse than merely killing you.” said Lucas. “But there’s no reason it should come to that. I don’t think you know what you’re really involved in. If you help us, perhaps we could help you.”

Moffat gave a short bark of derisive laughter. “The way you helped my master, I suppose?”

“Your master?” Lucas said.

“Lucas…” Finn said. “He’s a hominoid.”

“Of course,” said Andre. “It would make perfect sense. Whom else could Drakov trust to carry out his plans?”

“I may have failed,” said Moffat, bitterly, “but my master will succeed. There is nothing you can do to stop him. You’ve lost and in that. I’ll take my satisfaction.”

“Why?” said Lucas. “Why should you take satisfaction in a temporal disaster, in all the untold damage it could cause; in all the loss of life? What possible satisfaction could you find in that?”

“Forget it. Lucas.” said Delaney. “Drakov has him thoroughly programmed and conditioned. You’ll never get through to him.”

“Maybe not,” Lucas said, “but it’s got to be worth a try. He can still think. He can still feel. He’s still as human as the rest of us.” Moffat stared at him. “What did you say?”

“I said that no matter what Drakov may have done to you, you’re still a human being, with a mind and will of your own. Think for yourself, man. At least listen to what we have to say.”

Moffat glanced around at them in bewilderment. “What sort of trick is this?” he said. “Why do you tell me that I’m human?”

Lucas looked at him with surprise. “Because you are, of course.” he said. “You mean to tell me that Drakov told you you’re not human? What did he say you were?”

Moffat’s defiance started to slip away in his bafflement. He had expected brutal interrogation, but not this. “You’re trying to confuse me,” he said. “I know what I am. I am one of my master’s hominoids, he created me.”

“That’s right.” said Lucas. “but that doesn’t make you a machine or some sort of subhuman creature. You’re serious, aren’t you? You really believe that’s what you are?”

Moffat had been programmed and trained to resist interrogation, but this was something he had not expected. He swallowed nervously, and deep within his subconscious, a flicker of impassible hope appeared. “You admit that my master has created me. and yet you still say that I’m human? How can that her

Lucas pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him, seeing a slim chance to get through to him, perhaps to circumvent his programming. No amount of psychological conditioning could be absolutely foolproof. The mind was a versatile, resilient thing. There was a chance. There had to be.

“What is your name?” he asked.

Moffat did not reply. “Surely you can tell us what you’re called.” said Lucas. That will give us no advantage over Drakov.”

“My name is Jared Moffat.”

“What do you know of your creation, Jared?” Lucas asked.

Moffat swallowed nervously again. but said nothing.

“All right. let me tell you what I know of your creation.” Lucas said, “and you decide for yourself if it rings true or not. You know about the parallel universe?”

Moffat hesitated, then nodded.

“All right, then.” Lucas said. “Hear me out. The story of your creation began in the parallel universe. It started with a man, a scientist, called Dr. Phillipe Moreau. He was a brilliant genetic engineer, a genius. He was the head of an experiment called Project Infiltrator, funded and established by the Special Operations Group, our counterparts in the parallel timeline. The scientists there believe that the way to overcome the confluence phenomenon is to try and create temporal disruptions in our universe, leading to a timestream split. They are convinced that this will result in our two timelines being forced, and quite honestly, they may even be right. Built might also make the situation worse. There simply is no way of telling.

“The point is,” Lucas continued, “in order to accomplish their aims, they have to send soldiers through into our universe by way of confluence points, where our two timelines intersect. If those soldiers succeed in disrupting our timeline and bringing about a timestream split, then they will never be able to get back home again and the Special Operations Group had a plan to insure that these troops would be unquestioningly obedient… and totally expendable. Moreau was part of that plan. He had originally intended to use genetic engineering to create humans who could be designed to perform specific tasks that ordinary humans couldn’t do, to be stronger, more adaptable, able to survive environmental conditions that would be hostile to normal humans. He honestly believed that he would be introducing a stronger, more versatile strain into the human race that would eventually result in an improvement in the breed. But as often happens, his obsession gave him tunnel vision. He didn’t foresee all the staggering implications of what he planned to do.

“The Special Operations Group established a top secret military lab for him to carry on his work.” said Lucas, “and Moreau believed he had their full support, that they shared his aims, but in fact, what the Special Operations Group had, in mind was something altogether different. What they wanted were genetically tailored, cannon-fodder soldiers, intellectually inhibited and emotionally stunted, with their pain centers blocked and their minds programmed so they could fight like automatons. Moreau wanted no part of it and his frustration and sense of betrayal made him vulnerable to Drakov, who was working with the Special Operations Group at the time. Working with them entirely for his own ends. I might add. Drakov abducted Moreau from Project Infiltrator, along with all his notes and experiments in progress, and he brought him to a hidden laboratory he had set up especially for him. He convinced Moreau that he had the same goals as he did and that he shared in Moreau’s sense of betrayal. What Moreau didn’t know was that Drakov, himself, was already an accomplished genetic engineer, as well as a lot of other things, and a genius in his own right. He watched Moreau and worked with him and learned from him and then he took Moreau’s work and carried on from there.

“A hominoid is nothing more or less than a human clone, developed from human genetic material. The only difference is that hominoids are mules, incapable of reproduction, and their genetic material can be altered or augmented to suit a specific purpose. Drakov took those purposes much further than Moreau ever intended. He created a wide variety of hominoids, some from ordinary human genetic material carefully selected for specific traits, some with human and animal genetic material combined, and he sent them back through time, so that they could mature and he could clock back and make checks on them at various points of their development.”

Lucas saw a reaction in Moffat and realized that he had struck a chord.

“The result was that years would pass for the hominoids while they matured, but only days or even minutes would pass for Drakov. With some of those hominoids, at various points in their development. Drakov would bring them back to his laboratory for conditioning or biological augmentation brought about by complex surgery. At the end, some of them looked perfectly normal, but some of them were monsters. He created genetically engineered giants, harpies, werewolves, vampires, even a centaur. Because, you see Drakov may be a genius, but he is hopelessly insane.”

“No.” said Moffat, shaking his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, it cannot be.”

“What do you know about Nikolai Drakov?” Lucas asked him. “What do you know about his past?”

Moffat moistened his lips and shook his head. “Nothing.” he said. “It was not my place to ask such things. It was-”

“I’ll tell you about his past.” said Lucas “I’ll tell you who he is. Have you ever heard him mention General Moses Forrester?”

“Yes,” said Moffat. “Often. I know that he is your commander. The director of the T.I.A. My creator’s greatest enemy.”

“And also his father,” Lucas said. Moffat stared at him with astonishment.

“Hle never told you that, did he’?” said Lucas. “Nevertheless, it’s true. If you could see’ Moses Forrester, if you could look at his face and eyes, you’d have no doubt that he is Drakov’s father. When Forester was a young temporal soldier. out on his first mission, he became stranded in time Trapped in 19th-century Russia. He was badly injured, crippled, and he believed he’d never get back home again. A young Russian gypsy girl nursed him back to health and they fell in love. She became pregnant with his child. Forester planned to spend the rest of his life with her, but our people finally found him and he had to go back to the future. He did not belong in that time. Only Vanna, Drakov’s mother, could not go with him. Forrester knew that if he told his superiors that Vanna was pregnant with his child, they would abort the fetus. He simply couldn’t do it, so he never told them she was pregnant. He said good-bye to her and tried to explain why he had to leave, and though their hearts were broken, they each understood it had to be.

“But in the brief time that he had with her.” Lucas went on, “he couldn’t fully explain all about time travel and the antiagathic drugs that extend our lifespans and make us immune to disease, and she would never have understood all that anyway. What she did understand, she told her son. but what she didn’t understand, she filled in with her own superstitious beliefs and imagination. The result was that a young, impressionable boy came to believe that he was somehow the result of a supernatural union between his mother and some sort of a demon from the future. That, and the hardship that they suffered, and her subsequent death, and his failure to understand why he never became sick and why he aged so much slower than everyone else around him resulted in a raging hatred for his ‘demonic’ father and a deep self-loathing. Over the years, it drove him utterly insane.

“What Drakov wants,” said Lucas, “is to strike out against Moses Forester, against time travel, against the very world that brought him into existence. And you are an unwitting part of that insane plan of vengeance. And there’s something else you may not know. The real Nikolai Drakov is dead.”

Moffat stared at him with incomprehension.

“At least, we think the original Nikolai Drakov is dead.” said Lucas, “but we really can’t be sure. Because, you see, one of the things that Drakov did with the process he stole from Phillipe Moreau was to use his own genetic material to replicate himself. We don’t know how many times. The man you know may be the original Nikolai Drakov, but for all we know, he might be a hominoid just like yourself.”

“No.” said Moffat, his lower lip trembling. “No, that isn’t possible.”

“It’s not only possible,” said Lucas, “it’s very probable. Chances are he doesn’t even know himself. But one thing is for sure. Nobody can make life out of nothing. You may not have been born in the conventional manner and you may not be able to have children, but you are the result of genetic engineering. You may have been cloned in a Petri dish and gestated in an artificial womb, you may have been programmed and conditioned with certain psychological imperatives, but you’re as human as the rest of us. You think. You bleed. You feel. No matter what you’ve been conditioned to believe. Your own independent thoughts may have been subverted in some ways, but what do your feelings tell you?”

“Oh. God.” said Moffat. very softly. “Sally…” A tear rolled down his cheek.

Lucas stood. “Leave him alone now.” he said softly, he shook his head sadly. “Poor bastard.”

They left the room and softly closed the door.