Hellfire Rebellion

2

The last time he had been to Boston was in 1867. but that time would not arrive for about another hundred years Nikolai Drakov had known nothing about time travel then, only that his father, whom he hated, had come from the far future. Moses Forrester had met his mother, loved her, and then returned to the future once again, leaving her to give birth to their child alone as Moscow burned during Napoleon’s retreat.

The infant Nikolai had survived the savage Russian winter while grown men around him died. His poverty-stricken mother married a kindly Russian army officer who took them in, but the man was a Decembrist and Nikolai was just thirteen when they were exiled to Siberia. He survived Siberia as well, only his family did not His adoptive father had died of influenza in his prison cell and his mother had been murdered by a rapist. Nikolai had been too young to save her, although he had tried. He still bore the mark the murderer had left him with, a knife scar running from beneath his left eye to just above the corner of his mouth. In years to come, it would be taken for a dueling scar and thought quite dashing. In still later years to come, cosmetic surgery could easily have removed it. but Drakov chose to let it stay., He wanted to remember.

An old trapper took him in anti Drakov learned to hunt and live off the frozen wilderness. Eventually, he made his way to the Russian settlements in Alaska. At the age of twenty, he was once more on his own and he took up the fur trade, He still looked very young. He could not have known back then that due to the advances of the future, he had inherited from his father an immunity to all known diseases and an extended lifespan that would be measured in centuries, not decades. He knew only that he had survived conditions that had killed ordinary men and he hardly seemed to age. He looked so young that many people tried to take advantage of him. He learned how to fight and how to kill. He had long ago learned how to hate.

He became a seaman and hunted seals in the Pribilofs. Before long, he had his own ship and the hardened sailors soon learned to respect their tough “young” captain. At thirty-eight, he still looked like a teenager. although his rough life had given him a powerful physique. After a while his constant youthfulness started to cause comment and people became too curious about him. It was time for him to move on. He sold his ship and arrived in Boston a very wealthy man. He purchased a handsome mansion on Beacon Hill and invested in the stock market. Within a few years. he had multiplied his fortune many times. He was thought to be some European nobleman and he became much sought after in society. But notoriety soon led to curiosity and as the years passed. people again began to wonder why he never seemed to age. It was time to move on once again.

He was seventy years old when he arrived in London, though he did not look a day over twenty-five. He had no need of looking for an occupation. He had millions. He had everything a man could want. Everything but answers. And he found the answers when he found Sophia Falco, alias the Falcon. one of the leaders of the Timekeepers, a terrorist organization from the 27th century. When they found out whose son he was, they eagerly accepted him into their ranks. The irony of Moses Forrester’s son becoming a member of the Timekeepers was too delicious to pass up and from that moment on, Drakov’s life had taken on a whole new meaning.

He had joined the Timekeepers and traveled to the future, where a biochip had been obtained for him and he was educated via cerebral implant programming. With the native intelligence he already possessed, after the programming, he emerged a genius. He finally understood who and what he was and he was able to comprehend the convoluted principles of temporal physics. And he had made up his mind that he would devote the remainder of his life to destroying Moses Forrester and the perverse world that he came from.

Now he was the last one left. Sophia. Benedetto. Taylor. Singh. Tremain… all of them were dead. The Timekeepers were no more. But Drakov wasn’t finished yet. With all time at his beck and call, he had infinite resources. He would stop the Future, even if he had to destroy the world to do it.

It had been a long. unpleasant voyage across the North Atlantic. The bunks were damp. the bread was weevil-ridden. and the beef was tainted. The merchant ships of this day were like crude, ungainly barges compared to the sleek schooner he had sailed in the Pribilof’s and there were far easier ways to make the passage. He could have simply used his warp disc to clock to 18th-century America. but that would not have fit in with his plans. It had first been necessary to establish an identity for himself in London. set up finances, and make the right connections with influential men such as John Wilkes. Sir Francis Dashwood, Lord William Howe, and Benjamin Franklin. one of the colonial agents in London. If anyone in New England was to inquire into his affairs, he wanted to make certain that he could easily account for how he had arrived in Boston. so the long sea voyage had been necessary

The Boston of the 18th century looked very different from the Boston he had known. He stood on deck when the ship passed Castle Island. where Castle William stood. the British garrison in Massachusetts Bay. The Union Jack flew high over the fort. Sea gulls rode the wind currents over the ship, hoping for some scraps of garbage to be thrown overboard. The city of Boston was almost an island, attached to the mainland by a narrow, mile-long neck of land. The docks were crowded with a mass of piers and wharves and shipyards. stages for drying fish, distilleries and warehouses. All manner of sailing vessels crowded the harbor. There were merchant ships and schooners. sloops. whalers, ferries, fishing ketches and ship’s lighters, and even a British man o’ war, the Romney. with its seventy-four guns. They had passed her on the starboard side and just beyond her. Drakov had seen another British naval vessel, the schooner Lawrence. He smiled as he saw the Royal Navy ships. He bad timed his arrival perfectly. Boston seemed a lovely, graceful. tranquil city as they sailed into the harbor, but it was a hotbed of rebellion, a powder keg just waiting for someone to ignite the fuse.

“Americans are the sons. not the bastards of England!” The words were William Pitt’s, spoken in the House of Commons, and widely quoted three thousand miles away in Boston. Readers of the Boston Gazette hung anxiously on every word spoken in Parliament by men like William Pitt and Col. Isaac Barre, who had fought gallantly in the French and Indian War and was a good friend to the colonists. Drakov had seen Col. Barre take the floor in Parliament and reply to Charles Townshend in the debate over Lord Grenville’s Stamp Act.

“Will these Americans,” Townshend had said indignantly. “children planted by our care, nourished up by our indulgence until they are grown to a degree of strength and opulence, and protected by our arms, will they grudge to contribute their mite to relieve us from the heavy burdens which we lie under?”

To which Col. Butt had replied, “They planted by your care? No, your oppressions planted them in America! They fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and inhospitable country, where they exposed themselves to almost all the hardships of which human nature is liable, and among others, to the cruelty of a savage foe, and yet actuated by the principles of true English liberty, they met all hardships with pleasure. compared with those they suffered in their own country from the hands of those who should have been their friends! They nourished by your indulgence? They grew by your neglect of them! As soon as you began to care about them, that care was exercised in sending persons to rule over them in one department and another, men whose behavior on many occasions has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within them!”

Sons of Liberty! It had a ring to it. A small group of patriots in Boston known as the Loyal Nine had read that speech in the Gazette and from that moment on. they became the Sons of Liberty, an organization that would grow with each new outrage visited upon the thirteen colonies.

A large percentage of the colonists were still loyal to the Crown. but more and more were having second thoughts. They recalled the words of William Pitt. who had said in Parliament, “When trade is at stake, you must defend it or perish!” Nor was Pitt the only one in England sympathetic to the colonists. King George. however, was determined to be firm. If America successfully asserted its right to reject British taxation, might Ireland not be next? But as stubborn as King George was, the Sons of Liberty were equally determined.

At the urging of the Boston patriots, the Stamp Act Congress had been convened in New York City. It was the first real united assembly of the colonies. The representatives met to discuss a course of action and there was much talk about the Virginia Resolves, authored in the House of Burgesses by the brilliant young lawyer, Patrick Henry. The Resolves asserted that Americans had the same rights as Englishmen to be taxed only by their representatives. But Henry went still further, maintaining that only a colony’s legislature, and not Parliament, could tax its citizens.

The next few years would mark an important turning point in history. The people of the thirteen colonies were not yet ready to accept the idea of independence, but the actions of Sam Adams and the Sons of Liberty would soon provoke a series of events that would work to change their minds. Only what would happen. Drakov thought, if someone were to stop them?

He stepped off the ship onto Boston’s Long Wharf, which jutted out two thousand feet into the harbor, so that even the largest vessels could come in to its south side at low tide On the north side of Long Wharf stood warehouses, shops. and counting houses. It was a small spit of the city running out into the bay. Drakov found a dock porter to see to the unloading of his trunks, then hired a carter to deliver them to the home of Jared Moffat on Newbury Street. No sooner had the caner loaded up and started off than the dock began to clear. A moment later. Drakov saw the reason why. A longboat with armed sailors from the Romney was pulling in. The word was quickly passed among the workers on the dock.

“ Press gang! Press gang!”

Men often died at sea and the captain of the Romney was apparently shorthanded. He had sent a ship’s officer and a party of armed men ashore with instructions to secure replacements. As the press gang came ashore, Drakov watched them form up on the wharf and march off toward the taverns on the waterfront. Curious, he followed them to a public house called The Bunch of Grapes.

The officer quickly scanned the tables in the tavern. The room had gone dead silent. Them was a suspicious dearth of able-bodied seamen.

“ You, there!” said the officer, pointing to a man slumped over in his chair, with his head down on his arms. The man did not respond. Two of the Navy men quickly made their way to him and dragged him to his feet. His head lolled and one of the men pulled it back up with a sharp yank on his hair

“I said, you!” the officer said curtly. frowning at the drunken man. “What is your name?”

“F-Furlong. sir.” the drunk stammered. and alarm showed in his face as he became aware of what was happening to him.

“You have the look of a seaman about you.” said the officer.

There was utter silence in the tavern. Drakov leaned against the bar and watched. He was quite safe. No British officer would ever dare impress a gentleman.

“I–I already have a ship,” said Furlong, looking around for help. None was forthcoming. “I–I serve aboard the Boston Packet.”

“The B oston Packet, is it?” said the officer, with a smile.

Drakov noticed a small group of older men seated at a table in the corner. One of them nodded to the others and his companions quietly got up and left the tavern.

“Y-yes. sir.” said the drunk, sobering rapidly as panic mounted. “Moored at Hancock’s Wharf, sir.”

“Hancock,” said the officer. “I know that name. A notorious smuggler.”

“I–I know nothing of smuggling, sir,” protested Furlong.

“I’ll warrant that you do.” the officer replied. “Well. Mr. Furlong, your smuggling days are over. You have been impressed into the service of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. We will conduct you to the Boston Packer and collect your gear.”

“You will do no such thing.” a soft voice said.

The officer spun around. “ Who said that?”

“I did.” said the man sitting at the table in the corner.

He was in his forties, of medium height and build, with bright blue eyes. a slight paunch, and receding brown hair. His dress. though somewhat sloppy, showed him to be a gentleman. but he had apparently gone out in public without his wig. A sign that he was either slovenly or absentminded. His red broadcloth suit was rumpled and his boots were unpolished. There were dark smudges of printer’s ink upon his cuffs.

The officer glared at him. “And who the devil might you be, sir, to speak in such an insolent manner to an officer of His Majesty, the King?”

“My name is Samuel Adams,” said the man. And looking past the officer, he added, “Take heart, Mr. Furlong. These men shall not take you anywhere against your will.”

“Are you aware. Mr. Adams,” said the officer, that it is treason to resist impressment or to counsel others to do so?”

And are you aware, sir.” Adams replied calmly. “that since the time of good Queen Anne, by act of Parliament. it has been illegal to impress sailors in American waters?”

“We are ashore sir,” said the officer.

Adams smiled. “I think the statute was intended to apply to those ashore, as well. You know that as well as I.”

“Well, in that case sir you may complain to Parliament,” the officer said, with a contemptuous sneer. He turned back to his men. “Take him.”

The panic-stricken Furlong turned to Adams.

“Never fear.” said Adams. “You have friends.”

With a snort, the officer beckoned to his men and they dragged Furlong outside. Adams made no move to get up from his chair. Curious, Drakov followed the press gang as they frog-marched their captive to the Boston Packet, moored at John Hancock’s wharf. An angry crowd was waiting for them there. The men of the press gang hesitated, looking to their leader.

“Go on.” the officer snapped at them. “They dare not interfere.”

He was dead wrong. A stone sailed out from the crowd. striking one of the sailors in the forehead. He cried out and brought his hands up to his face. Another followed and another and moments later. the press gang was rapidly retreating in a hail of rocks and bricks as the angry crowd pursued them to their longboat. Outnumbered as they were, the press gang knew better than to try to use their arms against the crowd. They piled into their longboat and quickly pulled away, their officer, blood streaming from his face, shaking his fist at them in fury. A cheer went up and the rescued Mr. Furlong was hoisted up onto their shoulders and carried to the tavern, where he happily celebrated his narrow escape. Drakov looked around, but there was no one at the table in the corner. Sam Adams had quietly disappeared.

The carriage let Drakov off in front of the Moffat residence on Newbury Street. A pretty young woman dressed in servant’s clothes answered the door. Her eyes grew wide as she saw Drakov and she curtsied deeply.

“Welcome, Master.” she said, looking down at the ground She stood aside to let him in and shut the door.

“Do not address me as ‘master.’ Sally.” Drakov said. In private, you may call me Nicholas. In the presence of others, you will call me ‘sir.’ Is that clear?”

“Yes, Nicholas.”

“Good. Go tell Moffat I am here.”

“No need.” said Moffat. from the stairway. He came up to Drakov and held out both hands. “Welcome. Father.”

Drakov winced. “How many times must I tell you’? You are not to call me that. Nor ‘master.’ either.”

Moffat dropped his arms and looked stricken. “Forgive me. In my delight at seeing you again, I had forgotten.”

“See that you do not forget again,” said Drakov. “Remember that we are both gentlemen here, of equal standing. When the time comes, you will introduce me to your friends as Nicholas Dark, a gentleman of independent means whom you knew well in London.”

“Yes, I remember,” said Moffat.”I will not slip up again. I swear. Sally, brew some tea.”

As Sally hurried to do Moffat’s bidding. Drakov glanced around at the elegant appointments of the home. “You have done well,” he said.

“I’ve followed all of your instructions to the letter,” Moffat said.

“Excellent. Then the meeting place has already been secured?”

“A small country chapel in Cambridge. not far from Harvard College.” Moffat said. “Well set back from the road and isolated.”

“Good. We shall look at it tomorrow. In the meantime, you can bring me up-to-date. I’d like to get started as soon as possible. What about the horseman’?”

Moffat smiled. “He has already made his 1st appearance. I’m pleased to report that it was quite effective.”

“You had no difficulty with the fugue clocking sequence?”

“I did it exactly as you’ve taught me,” Moffat said. “It worked perfectly.” He smiled, “Even better than I expected. One of the Sons of Liberty actually threw a knife at me. I activated the preprogrammed sequence, clocked out for an instant, and it appeared as if the knife passed through me. You should have seen their faces!”

“Perfect.” Drakov said. “Since they are so fond of terrorizing people. let’s see how they respond to some of their own medicine.” They sat down at the table as Sally brought in the tea and served them. “What is your assessment of their leaders?” Drakov asked.

“Well, their real leaders remain behind the scenes, for the most part.” Moffat said. “John Hancock quietly pursues his shipping interests and thanks to all the money his adoptive father made in smuggling. he lives in regal splendor in his mansion up on Beacon Hill. ‘King’ Hancock. they call him. But while he remains essentially above it all, he funds most of the radicals’ activities. James Otis is already beginning to show the symptoms of the insanity he will succumb to before long. He’s a highly eloquent speaker in the Assembly, but his manic depressive tendencies are already very much in evidence. He succumbs to frequent mood swings and often has a tendency to rant for hours on end. He’s alienated many of the others and though he recently won reelection, many of the citizens are starting to regard him as a fool. John Avery is less a leader than a follower. He’s Harvard-educated, a merchant who’s quite active in society. but not really a force to be reckoned with. Benjamin Edes and John Gill are chiefly propagandists. They publish the Boston Gazette and write whatever Adams wishes them to write, whether it has any bearing on the truth or not. Edes is rather temperamental, but like Gill and Avery. he. too. is more of an Indian than a chief. Joseph Warren’s a good man and Josiah Quincy is one of their best speakers. He can really fire up a crowd. But the real power behind the Sons of Liberty is Samuel Adams.”

“Yes, of course.” said Drakov. saw him earlier today.”

“Really?”

We did not exactly meet.” said Drakov, “but I saw him neatly foil the intentions of a Royal Navy press gang. Tell me more about him.”

“There’s quite a lot to tell,” said Moffat. “His father. Deacon Adams. was a prosperous merchant who owned his own wharf and a brewery on Purchase Street. As a young man. Sam went to Harvard and lived rather elegantly. His classmates called him ‘the last of the Puritans’ because he was never known to smoke or drink, take snuff or consort with women. He still likes to play up to that pious image, but the fact is that he can drink most men right under the table. Harvard ranks their students by their social standing and young Sam was ranked fifth in his class. He took his social standing very seriously. He didn’t even eat with the other students in the dining room, but instead dined privately, like an aloof young gentleman. All of this changed for him practically overnight.

“Deacon Adams was the director of the Land Bank. which he and some of his associates founded in an attempt to give some stability to colonial paper currency. Thomas Hutchinson was against it from the start, He fought the idea of the colonies printing up their own paper money and he petitioned Parliament to outlaw the Land Bank. which they readily agreed to. A lot of people were ruined as a result and Adams himself lost everything. Sam was reduced to waiting tables in the student commons, serving the very boys he’d been too good to eat with. He never got over it. His hate for the Hutchinsons is pathological.

“Even in his student days. he was already a fervent follower of John Locke. Recently he wrote in the Gazette. ‘It is the right of the people to withdraw their support from that government which fails to fulfill its trust. If this does not persuade government to live up to its obligation, it is the right of the people to overthrow it.’ That’s a direct quote from Locke. Sam was always more interested in politics than anything else. He has failed at absolutely everything he has ever tried.’ After he took his masters from Harvard. he accepted a position in a counting house under Thomas Cushing. He didn’t last long. He then tried his hand at business and wound up in debt within six months. The Deacon bailed him out, though he could hardly afford it. Sam then went into the family brewery business and proceeded to run that into the ground. as well. It’s still struggling along after a fashion. but I suspect it’s only because Hancock keeps him afloat. His political career seems to have started purely out of spite. The governor had apparently promised the Deacon a place on the Council, but when a vacancy occurred, he gave it to Andrew Oliver, instead. Sam remembers things like that. First chance he got, he ran for the Assembly, just so he could work against the governor.

“He then started up a small newspaper he called the Public Advertiser. Wrote most of it himself. That’s where he learned the fine art of propaganda. He would write inflammatory editorials and then, under different names. he would write ‘letters to the editor in support of the editorials he’d written. He still does that sort of thing, only now he’s doing it in the Gazette. After he started publishing the Advertiser, all of his old classmates started to avoid him. He is considered something of a lunatic. dangerous and disrespectable. Sam doesn’t care. He prefers the company of his lower-class friends down on the waterfront.

“He’s been married twice,” Moffat continued. “both wives named Elizabeth. The first one died of fever, leaving him with two children. He didn’t know the first thing about raising them alone. The Deacon died and Sam inherited his debts. The brewery was going to hell in a handbasket and Sam was constantly in court, losing one suit after another for slow payment to the Crown. As I said, he remembers things like that.

“A few years ago, they made him a tax collector. God only knows why. he was constantly in arrears. The sheriff. Stephen Greenleaf, was finally ordered to put Sam’s estate up for auction-the brewery, the house on Purchase Street, the wharf. everything. Incredibly. Adams intimidated Greenleaf by threatening him with a lawsuit. The auction was postponed twice and finally it never did take place. Greenleaf’s been a little frightened of him ever since. Then Hutchinson charged Adams with malfeasance in his duties as a tax collector. Quite honestly. I don’t think Sam ever actually embezzled anything. he was just incredibly inept. And softhearted. too. He couldn’t find it in himself to bring charges against people who couldn’t afford to pay, so he wound up paying the difference himself. But he never could catch up. They finally just gave up and kicked him out, appointed a new man to the job, and decided to forget the whole thing. He simply wore them out.

“He recently got married a second time, to a sweet girl named Elizabeth Wells, some twenty years his junior. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him. She’s bright, extremely lovely, takes good care of his children, and manages the money. what there is of it. So far as anybody knows, Sam is absolutely faithful to her, though he does enjoy the company of women. They must have a peculiar homelife. Beth has to be the most patient woman in the world. His cousin John came down to visit him from Braintree not long ago and he said that the moment the dinner conversation strayed from politics, Sam got disgusted and left the table to go down to The Bunch of Grapes and spent the night plotting with his friends. He’s got some sort of nervous disorder. Sometimes he can’t keep his hands from trembling, but it comes and goes. Aside from that. he has a healthy constitution.

“Still. he’s not the sort of man you’d think capable of being a leader. I’m really not sure what it is about him, but he does have a certain charisma. Hutchinson calls him ‘The Great Incendiary.’ He’d like nothing better than to arrest him, but he can’t get anything on him. His friends are absolutely loyal to him. Hancock in particular. You should see the two of them together. Sam looking his usual slovenly self, half the time forgetting to go out with his coat and wig on, that ridiculous red suit looking like he slept in it, and Hancock in his exquisitely tailored lavender suits and yellow carriage. They make quite a pair. I don’t personally know Hancock very well, though I’ve tried to get close to him, as you wanted me to do. ‘King’ Hancock is very particular in his choice of friends, though what he sees in Adams is beyond me. But I know Sam quite well. He dearly loves to argue with me. I’ve often had him in for dinner. He’ll come, so long as the food is good and the conversation sticks to politics. And he is very vulnerable, by the way. He never takes a carriage or a coach, except when he rides with Hancock. Walks everywhere, usually alone. often late at night. And he’s usually off in his own world somewhere. He’ll make a very easy target.”

“Excellent.” Drakov said. “You have done very well. indeed, Jared. You have lived up to all my expectations. I’m very proud of you. Very proud. indeed.”

Moffat’s eyes shone as he basked in the praise. “I can’t tell you what that means to me.” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “Ever since you sent me here. I’ve sought to prove my worth. And Sally-Sally has been a great help. too.” he added, glancing at her. She looked down at the floor demurely.

“You’ve both done extremely well.” said Drakov. “My confidence in you has been fully justified.”

“Does-does that mean.. Moffat swallowed hard. struggling to get the words out. “Does that mean you will… perhaps… give us a child?”

Sally stood absolutely motionless, watching Drakov as if he held her very life in his hands. Which, in fact, he did. It was almost touching. It was so often the same with them. Because they were mules, they could not reproduce and they desperately longed to be allowed to raise a child. They so wanted to be human.

“When we are finished here.” said Drakov, “if you continue to do so well. I will find a more suitable time and place for you where you can raise a child.”

Sally fell on her knees, took his hand, and kissed it. “Oh. thank you! Thank you!”

Moffat’s eyes were moist. “I–I had not dared to hope for such an honor.” he said softly.

You have earned it.” Drakov said. “But first, we still have work to do. And now I’m tired. If my room has been prepared. I would like to get some rest.”

He climbed the stairs to the bedroom they’d prepared for him, where his bags had already been unpacked for him. He went over to the window and opened it to let in the breeze. He looked out over the streets of Boston and smiled. He would be forever grateful to Dr. Moreau for teaching him the secrets of his special brand of genetic engineering. He had no need of the Timekeepers anymore. With the hominoids, he could create his own organization, seeded throughout time. And they were unquestioningly loyal. fanatically devoted to him, perfect parents for his replications of himself,

As he undressed, Drakov wondered, not for the first time, about the curious curse of his existence. He wondered if he. himself, was one of the replications he’d created. It was a fascinating idea. He knew himself to be the original Nikolai Drakov, but he had created the replications of himself as his crowning achievement, to be given to hominoid parents and carefully raised according to a detailed plan. Each of them, up to a certain point, would have their own individual memories of their existence. but past that point, their subliminal genetic programming would become activated and they would forget their past lives and remember only the life of the original Drakov. his memories and his experiences. his personality engrams down to the last detail. They would even scar themselves with a knife slash across the face. Each one of them would come to believe that he was the original, as he did. And each one would always puzzle over the same metaphysical riddle-did I create myself?

He got into bed and lay staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. He almost didn’t hear it when the door to his bedroom opened softly and Sally entered. He turned when he heard the rustle of her dress falling to the floor. She stood there, completely naked, exquisitely formed and trembling slightly.

“What are you doing’?” he asked.

She bit her lower lip. “I–I thought..”

“Get out,”

She flinched, as if he’d slapped her. “Please, forgive me,” she said, quickly stooping to pick up her dress and cover herself with it awkwardly. “I–I only hoped to please you… I–I only thought… I never meant to… “ Her lips began to tremble and she was on the verge of tears. She quickly turned and bolted from the room. Drakov leaned back and sighed.

They so wanted to be human…