The Nautilus Sanction

11

It was all they could do to get to sleep that night, knowing that in the morning they would be leaving Barataria for Drakov’s island base. There were still unanswered questions and the frustration they had been feeling at being unable to do anything, combined with the anticipation of it all coming to a head at last, made it impossible to relax.

Verne didn’t make things any easier when he returned from his night out on the town. They had been given rooms upstairs in Lafitte’s house. Verne and Land shared one, Finn and Lucas shared another and Andre had been given a room of her own. Land had still not put in an appearance, so Verne, lacking for company, ensconced himself in Finn and Lucas’s room and talked endlessly about his trip to New Orleans with Drakov and Lafitte. Paris nightlife, he had thought, would have prepared him for anything, but he was not ready for New Orleans. He had resolved early on to drink very sparingly, so he could remain sober and observe with his writer’s eye, but that went the way of so many resolutions and he came back roaring drunk. Unfortunately, while he was quite a pleasant drunk, he was one of those who cannot shut up and even feigning sleep was not enough to put him off. Finn, miraculously, finally managed to fall asleep, but Lucas remained wide awake, his eyes closed, breathing heavily, hoping Verne would notice that his audience had departed for the realm of Morpheus and take the trip himself.

Frustrated, Lucas finally was reduced to timing Verne’s sentences, which kept getting longer and longer, though they remained perfectly grammatical. To his astonishment, Verne, his accent growing thicker, launched into an extensive mono-logical sentence which went on for forty-five minutes without a break, ending finally, incongruously, in a question. Verne actually paused at that point, awaiting an answer. None was forthcoming. Please, thought Lucas, for God’s sake don’t start up again! The silence became lengthy and finally broken by a window-rattling snore from Finn, and Verne belatedly became aware of the soporific effect of his conversation.

“Oh, well, never mind,” he said, and fell asleep the very next instant, slumping forward in his chair, chin on his chest.

“That’s one for the books,” Lucas mumbled to himself. He was just starting to drift off when there came a faint knock at the door and it creaked open slightly.

“Lucas? Finn?”

It was Land.

“Oh, no,” said Lucas.

“Are you awake?” said Land.

“Ned, whatever it is, can’t it wait till morning?”

“No, no, I must tell you now,” said Land. “I will not be here in the morning.”

Lucas came fully awake. “What are you talking about?” The others slept on, both snoring loudly.

“I am leaving,” Land said. “Tonight. Within the hour.”

“What do you mean, you’re leaving? Where?”

“I’m going with Marie,” said Land. “We are running away together.”

Lucas sat up in bed. “I thought she didn’t want to leave Lafitte,” he said.

“That was before,” said Land. “All that is changed now. I love her. And she loves me.”

“Ned, she’s young enough to be your daughter.”

“She doesn’t think me old,” said Land. “And she’s no child, believe me. She knows her mind.”

“Perhaps, but it does seem changeable,” said Lucas. “You realize this is very foolish, don’t you?”

“I know what you’re going to say,” said Land. “There’s no point in running off. Lafitte was willing to make me a present of her before, why not just ask if he still stands by his offer? No. I will not have any man make a present of a woman as if she were a horse.”

“So you’ll steal her as if you were a horse thief,” Lucas said. “Ned, don’t be an ass. Where would you go?”

“She knows her way through the bayous,” Land said. “She’s getting some things together. She’ll meet me on the back side of the island in a pirogue and we’ll paddle to New Orleans. Then we’ll make our way to Boston. I can get work as a harpooner. I’ll buy a house and we will marry. She’s very light, no one would think she was a Negro. We can have a family.”

“Ned, has it occurred to you that you don’t belong in this time? It’s 1812. You haven’t even been born yet.”

“What does that matter? I don’t care. I’m leaving, I tell you and nothing you can say will change my mind. I only came to say good-bye. You will say good-bye to Finn and Andre for me, won’t you? And to Jules.”

“Well, if you’ve made up your mind…”

“You can’t talk me out of it. There’s no use trying.”

Lucas got out of bed. “All right, Ned, I won’t. I wish you the best of luck. I hope you won’t regret this.”

He offered Land his hand and the harpooner took it. “I will have nothing to regret, I promise you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Lucas and, still holding onto Land’s hand, he gave him a savage kick in the balls.

Land wheezed and doubled over and Lucas nailed him with an uppercut to the jaw. The harpooner dropped to the floor, unconscious. Verne and Delaney kept up their steady cadence of snoring.

“Marie’s going to have a long wait by the boat,” said Lucas. “And by the time morning comes around, I don’t think she’ll love you quite so much.”

He pulled down the curtain cord and proceeded to tie up the unconscious Ned.

Lucas woke up with someone shaking his shoulder gently. He opened his eyes to see Finn bending over him.

“Is it morning already?”

“Rise and shine, Major,” Finn said. “Time to get ready to hit the boats and weigh anchor.”

“It feels like I just closed my eyes,” said Lucas.

“What happened here last night?” said Finn.

“Huh?” Lucas sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Finn pointed.

Verne had fallen off the chair onto the floor, where he was curled up in a fetal position, dead to the world. Beside him, struggling against his bonds, glaring ferociously and growling into his gag, was Land. The door opened and Andre walked in.

“I must have missed a hell of a party,” she said.

“Verne passed out and Ned was going to run off with Marie and set up light housekeeping in Boston,” Lucas said, getting out of bed. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he wasn’t very reasonable.”

“He’s liable to be a lot less reasonable when you untie him,” Finn said.

“You’re probably right,” said Lucas. “Let’s not untie him.”

Land thrashed on the floor.

Andre stood over him, hands on her hips. “You cad,” she said. “The minute my back is turned, you’re playing around with another woman. You’re a heartless brute.”

Land rolled his eyes.

“Never trust a sailor,” Finn said.

“He was just going to go off and leave us in the lurch,” said Lucas. “Here we are, needing all the help we can get, and he’s sneaking off to hide under some woman’s skirts.”

“Ned Land, the great harpooner, running away from a fight,” said Andre. “I should have known he was all bluster.”

“The hell with him,” said Finn. “Let him go. Who needs a friend like him? We’ll just have to handle Drakov by ourselves.”

Land stopped struggling.

They looked at each other.

“You think maybe he’s ready to be untied now?” said Andre.

“I think so,” said Finn.

Moments later, Land was on his feet, looking sullen and rubbing his chafed wrists.

“Friends?” said Lucas, offering his hand.

Land grunted, then took his hand. And swung a haymaker at Lucas’s head. Lucas easily ducked underneath it and jabbed Land twice in the solar plexus, hard enough to sit him down on the floor, winded.

“You didn’t really think I was going to fall for that, did you?” Lucas said.

Land glared at him from the floor, then a smile spread over his face and he started to laugh. They all joined him.

“I should probably be thanking you,” he said. “I would’ve married the girl.”

“That’s okay,” said Lucas. “We all come down with temporary insanity every once in a while.”

Land sighed. “You’re right, for certain, it would have been a very foolish thing to do. Still, some things are worth being foolish over.” He shook his head. “She must have been waiting all night at the boat. What am I to tell her?”

“Tell her you were tied up,” said Lucas.

Land laughed and put his arm around Lucas, then quickly shifted his grip, caught him in a headlock and brought his fist down in a punishing hammerblow on top of his head. Lucas felt as if a gong had gone off inside his skull. He sat on the floor, palms pressed to his temples, rocking slightly.

“You fell for that one,” Land said. “Now I’m in the mood for breakfast.”

“Sacre bleu!” moaned Verne, from the floor. “I beg you, do not mention food!”

They took their leave of Jean Lafitte and rowed out to the Valkyrie, which sailed on the morning tide. In the early morning sun, with the wind blowing through their hair and the salty sea spray misting in over the decks, they all felt relaxed and invigorated. It was hard to imagine that in a short time, they would be involved in the most dangerous conflict of their careers.

Drakov was strangely silent as he stood by the helmsman, his gaze on the horizon. There was an air of tense anticipation among his crew.

“It’s almost as if they know there’s going to be a fight,” Lucas said softly to Finn as they stood on deck.

“You think they’re onto it?” said Finn.

“I don’t know,” said Lucas. “I sure as hell hope not. We need the advantage of surprise.”

“Maybe it’s just the thought of returning to the base,” said Andre. “If they know Drakov is ready to put whatever plan he’s made into action, that could account for it.”

“I’d feel a whole lot better if we had our warp discs,” Finn said.

“We’ll have to try to get some,” Lucas said. “Maybe Martingale can help. If not, we’ll have to take them from Drakov’s men.”

“We may not get that chance,” said Andre.

“I just wish we didn’t have to depend on Martingale to get the signal out,” said Finn. “Are you sure he’s straight on the fugue sequence program?”

“I showed him as best I could,” said Lucas. “He’ll be all right. He’s a pro.”

“If something goes wrong and he winds up in the dead zone, what happens then?” said Andre.

“Then nothing’s changed,” said Lucas. “It will still be up to us, just as it was in the beginning. One of us will have to try and get out to signal Forrester. The others will have to stay and destroy the sub. It will still leave a mess, but the sub has to be destroyed, no matter what. All Martingale and Dr. Darkness can do is improve our odds. We’ve still got to get the job done.”

“What about Verne and Land?” said Andre.

Lucas sighed. “We protect them, if we can. If not, well, they’ll just have to fend for themselves.”

When they were well out of sight of land, Drakov signaled the Nautilus. Within a short time, they saw its dark bulk rise up out of the waves, dwarfing the small ship they were on. Verne, who had shrugged off most of the effects of his hangover with the help of the tangy sea air, had joined them at the railing and he gasped as he saw the Nautilus rise.

“I have never seen her surface before!” he said. “What an incredible sight! She breaks the surface of the water like an island rising from beneath the waves. Small wonder sailors took her for a sea monster. She looks both terrifying and majestic.”

As the lines were tossed, bringing the schooner and the submarine closer together, men came up behind them, two for each of them, one on each side. They were grasped firmly while others, standing before them, covered them with pistols. This time, they were not black powder weapons or revolvers. These were lasers.

“Henceforth,” said Drakov, coining up to them, “you will be kept under constant guard. I shall not make the mistake Falcon made in underestimating the three of you. You shall be separated, from Verne and Land as well as from each other. Two men will remain with you at all times. Two more will serve to reinforce the first two. I know you had planned to search my cabin for the warp discs. Land told me. Perhaps he is sincere in wishing to join me. Perhaps it is a plot you hatched. In either case, I will not trust him quite yet. He will be watched, as well. If all goes according to plan, and I see no reason why it should not, you will all come away from this unharmed.”

“Just what is-” Lucas began, but Drakov interrupted him.

“No questions, Mr. Priest. T-Day is approaching. I have no more time for pleasantries nor for being a gracious, tolerant host. Take them below.”

They were escorted down into the submarine and immediately separated. The orders given to their guards were clear. They were not to be let out of sight even for a moment, not even while going to the head. The guards would say nothing to them and they kept well apart, both holding lasers at the ready, so that if one was jumped, the other could fire, killing his shipmate if need be. Drakov had not exaggerated. He was taking no chances whatsoever.

Each of them, in their separate areas of the ship, kept thinking the same thing. Whether Martingale could bring help or not, the missiles must not be fired. There was only one way to guarantee that. Kill Drakov and destroy the sub. There were three against more than a hundred and that number would grow sharply when they reached the secret base in the volcano off New Guinea. And they could not act, even if they were able to, before they reached that base. For the present, there was nothing to do but wait.

They did not have to wait for long. Soon after they had submerged, the transition signal sounded throughout the submarine. They each felt the effects of temporal teleportation as the mammoth sub translocated to another time. Lucas bit his lower lip and stared at his two guards, who returned his gaze unblinking, both their lasers pointed directly at his midsection.

Whatever happens, Lucas thought, it won’t be long now.

Moses Forrester sat in a straight-backed chair behind a small table on the raised stage of the briefing room on the sixty-third floor of the Temporal Army Corps Headquarters building at Pendleton Base. On the table before him was a steaming mug of coffee, which was periodically freshened by his orderly. Beside the coffee mug was an ashtray into which he tossed his wooden matches, an archaic affectation, and tapped out his pipe. He smoked continually and, to pass the time, watched the terminal before him, which he had switched to outdoor scan.

The cameras showed him different views of the Departure Station sixty-three stories below. There was no sound, for he wanted none, but he could imagine the sounds out there. It was part of the world he lived in every day. Down there in the Departure Station, men and women of the Temporal Army Corps congregated in groups in the center of the giant plaza as ground shuttles zipped through the crowds, carrying the supplies and personnel to their clockout points. Many soldiers sat in the bars which ringed the plaza, enjoying a last drink or two before being clocked out to their missions. Overhead, skimmers wound their way through the maze of pedestrian spans which connected the various buildings of the base. A computer-generated voice announced departure codes and grid designations for the soldiers to report to.

Code Yellow 38, Grid 600. To the Spanish-American War. Code Green 67, Grid 515. To an arbitration action in Korea. Code Indigo 14, Grid 227. Destination-the Asteroid Belt in the 24th century, scene of the last modern, non-temporal war.

Soon it would change. The departure grids would be replaced by warp discs, but meanwhile, the new technology had not reached the regular corps yet. Only the First Division had them. Only the temporal adjustment teams and a group of renegade time pirates led by Forrester’s own son.

The soldiers sitting before him in the briefing room were very different from the regular troops assigned to arbitration conflicts, though they had all come from those ranks. Unlike those outside in the plaza, who were dressed either in disposable green transit fatigues or in period costumes-Cossacks, Mongols, Waffen SS, Rainbow Division, Vikings, Celtic knights-the commandos in the briefing room were dressed for action in blue battle suits woven from nysteel, lightweight, flexible one-piece garments that would deflect most ammunition but not, they all knew only too well, laser beams or plasma from an auto-pulser. All the commandos had their equipment at their sides, weapons and floater-paks, ready to be donned in an instant. Each had programmed his or her warp discs with the partial coordinates for the attack. They lacked only the final coding for the sequence-the precise time.

As they sat there, some napping, some talking quietly, some smoking, some eating sandwiches, others just simply staring straight ahead, the time had already passed long since. But the event of that long past time they were awaiting had not happened yet. They waited for history to change. Each hoped the change would not be significant enough to overcome temporal inertia and affect the timestream. History did not report a battle taking place in the interior of an extinct volcano on an island off the coast of Papua, New Guinea, in the 19th century. With luck, history never would report it.

Sergeant Wendy Chan, a small raven-haired, delicate-looking woman whose outward appearance gave the lie to her thin, yet exceedingly fit body which had been wounded scores of times in temporal conflicts, sat talking quietly with Staff Sergeant Martin, who nibbled on a pastrami sandwich. Captain Sullivan kept running his hands through his close-cropped black hair and rubbing his temples, trying to calm his nerves. It had been a long time since he had seen any action and he fervently hoped his battle instincts were still sharp. Lieutenant Bryant, his face calm-looking and world-weary, sat staring off into infinity, creating an aura of dispassionate isolation about himself. They were all in the same unit, yet they had never gone into battle together en masse. Outside the briefing room, the hectic activity of the base proceeded as usual. Only a few were aware of what was about to take place.

Forrester would be leading his people into battle. No one could guess his thoughts as he sat there, waiting with the rest of them, smoking his pipe and sipping coffee. He appeared perfectly composed. No one knew he was being eaten up by guilt. None of the people in the briefing room knew Drakov was his son. The last time they had met, father and son had confronted each other in deadly combat. Forrester should have killed him then, but he had been unable to. Now the time had come to pay the price, and he stared at the screen before him to avoid seeing the faces of those under his command, many of whom would soon be dead because he had failed to kill his son when he had the chance. A part of him had not been able to do it, even while another part told him that he must. He had hesitated, and he had lost. As the minutes lengthened into hours, he steeled himself for what was to come. He did not wonder if he would survive the battle. He no longer cared.

They were brought out on deck, still under guard, for their first glimpse of Drakov’s base. Verne and Land, neither of them knowing what to expect, were both awed by the sight which greeted them.

The submarine was on the surface of a giant lake inside the volcanic crater. High above them, the walls of the hollow mountain tapered to the opening, across which birds flitted as they darted from one side of the volcano to the other, their cries echoing down to them. To their left, they saw the tiers of buildings that were the quarters of the base personnel, modular units built into the rock, with catwalks connecting them. Above them, spanning the lake, were the pedestrian cable bridges across which people walked several abreast, carrying equipment or pushing dollies. To their right, the larger area of the complex was the heart of Drakov’s base. In the water near the dock was a submarine tender, toward which they slowly moved. The crewmen of the tender stood ready to receive them. Beyond the tender, in a large slip, was berthed the Valkyrie, her sails neatly furled. Overlooking the entire complex, like an eagle’s aerie, was Drakov’s house, partly carved out of the stone wall and partly built of white brick. It looked like a cross between a cliffside Pueblo Indian dwelling and a lamasery.

“Unbelievable,” said Verne, his voice almost a whisper.

“You will experience much that defies belief here, Mr. Verne,” said Drakov. “Pay close attention. You shall record all this for posterity. Here, in this burnt-out caldron, an age will end and a new one will begin. You shall see history in the making and I shall be the one to make it. Literally to make it, to shape it out of nothing.”

Finn glanced at Drakov sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“You will soon see,” said Drakov. “The time has almost come.”

The submarine was made fast to the tender and they disembarked. With Drakov leading the way, they walked down the dock and across a short stretch of beach to the main building.

They entered a large hall, with several corridors branching off from it. Lucas fought the temptation to look over his shoulder at Martingale. Their guards conducted them through the building, past the mess hall and recreation rooms, past a library, a computer center and a generating plant, toward the rear of the building and an elevator which took them up to Drakov’s house. They came out directly underneath it and circled round to a wide stair cut into the rock face, ascending to the entrance of the house.

They climbed the stairs to a small portico and a large, carved wooden door, which one of the men opened for them. They entered into a foyer with a mosaic floor and large planters placed around it. A winding stairway led to the upper story of the house. Thick carpeting covered the stairs. Oil paintings hung on the wall, mostly Pre-Raphaelite art. There were several busts, one of Julius Caesar, another of Napoleon. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Drakov’s boots echoed on the tile floor as he turned to the left and walked out onto the veranda, a wide, tiled plaza with a brick wall running round it at about waist height. The view was spectacular. They were halfway up the side of the volcano, looking down onto the lake, the submarine and the schooner, the cable span-bridges not far below them. Drakov leaned on the wall and looked out over his domain.

“Today is T-Day,” Drakov said, still looking out over the base. “T for Transition. Transition from one age to another.” He turned around to face them. “This has been my base of operations, my sanctuary from temporal agents and soldiers like yourselves who have dogged my heels ceaselessly since the Zenda affair. I spent my entire fortune to construct this place. Here I gathered and trained my people, preparing them for the tasks which they will embark upon today. Until now, not even my officers knew the full extent of my plans. What one does not know, one cannot reveal, no matter what the temptation may be. Now, it is safe to reveal all, for no one can stop it. Within the hour, it shall be done.” He took a deep breath of relief. “It has all gone well. Everything is ready. Shiro, bring champagne.”

“What are we celebrating?” Finn said.

“The ultimate disaster,” Drakov said. “The end of time as you know it, Mr. Delaney. From today, the entire character of time will change. And you will have a ringside seat. All three of you. After we have our toast, Santos will prepare a disc for you, one which will send the three of you back to the 27th century, back to my father and the war machine he serves to tell him he has been defeated. You had assumed, no doubt, that I would emulate my old compatriots in the Timekeepers and attempt to blackmail the war machine into dismantling itself. Perhaps that might have worked, but it would not have provided an ultimate solution. Perhaps nothing ever will. But I think I can increase the odds in its favor.”

He looked down at the submarine below.

“I have twenty chances,” he said, “twenty opportunities to make a better world, a better universe. I have had some of my people clocking out to various periods of time, preparing other bases for us, not as ambitious as this one, but they will serve. It has taken time, it has taken money, and it has taken backbreaking labor, but all is done now.”

He looked at Martingale, von Kampf and Benedetto.

“I am sorry to have kept you in the dark,” he said. “I felt it was necessary. There was too much at stake to share my plans in full with anyone. Everyone has had a task. Some worked on our new bases, others disposed of riches that we found in order to provide the funds for all the work, still others worked to establish connections for us in the places we shall be visiting. There was much groundwork to be laid. Many nights, while you thought I was resting in my cabin, I would return here to keep track of our progress. Shortly before we left Barataria, I learned that all was in readiness at last.”

Shiro brought out the wine.

“In order to create something new and clean, there must be a purging,” Drakov said. “I shall purge the human race, not once, but twenty times. Each ballistic missile in the Nautilus has been equipped with a warp disc in its guidance system. Each will be launched from here into a different time period. Each will change the course of history. One will strike the Soviet Union during the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Another will strike the state of Israel during the Six Day War. Still another will be targeted on New York City during the time of a crippling embargo against the USSR. All will strike different locations in different time periods. Each will result in events radically different from those of history as we know it. Each will result in a timestream split. We shall have twenty different timelines to choose from, my friends. We shall have twenty alternate universes to explore. By clocking back through time, starting with the most recent split we shall initiate, we can travel to our base moments before the split occurs and then clock forward, thereby finding ourselves in an alternate timeline. We will see the future we will have helped create and, if it is not to our taste, we shall clock back to the next most recent point before the split and try again, when that next timestream split occurs. We shall all be able to pick and choose our futures and work to influence them. And with twenty different timelines in existence, the effect on temporal inertia will be such that none of these timelines will ever rejoin. Yes, we will destroy, and that will be the purging. But just think of what we shall create!”

They were all speechless at the enormity of what Drakov proposed. Even Benedetto, who had accepted the worst excesses of the Timekeepers with indifference, was so stunned he dropped his glass.

“The three of you,” said Drakov, to Lucas, Finn and Andre, “will stand right here on this spot and watch each missile being launched. As the final missile leaves its silo, Santos will activate the disc and send you back where you belong. The Time Wars will end, because no one will have any way of knowing from then on which universe they will be clocking back to. And when you tell Moses Forrester of what I have done, tell him that I could never have accomplished it without him.”