The Nautilus Sanction

EPILOGUE

Verne sat at a table in the First Division lounge, looking incongruous in his black base fatigues as he signed autographs for the commandos who clustered around him. Lucas sat across from him, drinking Irish whiskey and Andre sat on his right, sipping a Scotch.

“You have no idea what this means to me,” said Verne, who was completely overcome by the experience. “I must be the only writer in history to know for certain that his work shall live on after he has died! To think that after so much time has passed, people will still read and enjoy my books. I could not have received a finer, more wonderful gift! Thank you. Thank you.”

“All right, people, give it a rest. Let the man breathe for a minute,” said Forrester, coming up to their table. “He’ll be able to stay for a little while yet, so give us a few minutes, okay?”

The crowd reluctantly dispersed as they all went back to the bar and to their tables. Forrester pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Col. Forrester, I must tell you how grateful I am for this incredible experience,” said Verne. “To have seen the future! And what wonders it holds in store!”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Verne,” said Forrester. He signaled for a drink. “You can appreciate, I think, why it would be dangerous for someone from another time to have knowledge of what will occur in the future. Temporal inertia is a strange thing. It takes a great deal to overcome it, which is very fortunate for us. Our occasional interferences in history don’t always cause disruptions in the timestream and, when they do, unless they are tremendously disruptive, they can usually be fixed. That’s our main job in the First Division.”

“Yes, I think I understand,” said Verne. “That was how this entire episode began.”

“Well, the people Drakov took from their own time periods and recruited into his group have all gone through a conditioning process and been returned to their own times,” said Forrester. “Those of them who had not been killed, of course. Fortunately, none of those people were significant, historically speaking, so chances are their deaths won’t cause any major problems, though we’ll be on the watch for that. The point is, they have now been returned to where they belong and none of them will remember anything of what has occurred.”

Verne’s face took on an expression of profound chagrin. “I see,” he said. “I understand. Naturally, I cannot be permitted to recall any of this. Of course. I will have to submit to this conditioning process of yours and have all these priceless memories erased.”

Andre reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry, Jules,” she said. “I wish there were another way.”

“No, no, do not apologize,” said Verne. “It is perfectly understandable. I would not wish to cause any problems. if I must forget, then I must forget. C’est tout dire.”

“I admire your attitude, Mr. Verne,” said Forrester. “However, that isn’t quite the case here. We have a particular problem with you.”

“What do you mean, sir?” said Lucas, frowning.

“I mean I’ve just come from a conference with the Referees,” said Forrester. “Your case, Mr. Verne, has given them some mighty vicious headaches. You see, historically speaking, you are an important person. You are an important writer. And, at the time this entire thing began, you had still to write some of your greatest books. The Referees, who are very highly educated people and understand these things much better than I do, tell me the creative process is extremely delicate. Evidently, the least little thing can disturb it.”

“Ah, yes,” said Verne. “Cela va sans dire. How well I know!”

“And there we have our problem,” Forrester continued. “The Referees are afraid to risk doing anything that might affect your delicate creative faculties. Which means, Mr. Verne, that they have decided it would be too risky to have you conditioned.”

“Son of a bitch!” said Lucas.

“There seems to be only one thing we can do about you, Mr. Verne,” said Forrester. “A great deal will depend on your cooperation, of course. We don’t really need your cooperation, but it would make things very much easier, both for you and for everyone else concerned. I think you’re perfectly capable of understanding the situation and the necessity for it; that’s what I told the Referee Corps. So, they propose to do the following: to return you to your own time and allow you to continue with your life as you would have otherwise. You must never reveal, in any way whatsoever, anything you have seen here or any of the technology or information you have had access to in any manner that might affect the course of history. You understand? It will be necessary to keep you under observation, which will be done as discreetly and unobtrusively as humanly possible, although it will be imperative for one of our Observers to… read through your manuscripts before you submit them, just to make sure there is not any potentially damaging information in them. Now, I understand how an author might feel about something like this, but it need not be censorship, Mr. Verne, if you will exercise caution and restraint in what you write, strictly in terms of technical matters. That’s the way it’s going to have to be.”

“Then… then I am going to be allowed to remember all of this?” said Verne, brightening.

“That’s right,” said Forrester.

“But I cannot use any of my experiences in my writing,” Verne said, the brightness fading into gloom abruptly.

“Well, that depends,” said Forrester, choosing his words with great care. “For example, if you were to write a work of fiction, suitably identifiable as such, about… oh, a submarine, for example… so long as there was nothing in the book to actually enable anyone to build one and so long as certain scientific principles were not revealed-”

“You mean if I were to make it entirely imaginary,” said Verne, “obfuscate technical details, merely draw on my experience to write a sort of fantasy-”

“Precisely,” Forrester said. “It would depend entirely on how you handled it, of course, but I don’t think something like that would present any problems.”

“But this is wonderful!” said Verne. “I shall be completely circumspect, Colonel. The secrets of the future will be safe with me.”

“That’s all we ask,” said Forrester.

“Colonel, if I might ask one favor, if it would be possible…?”

“Certainly, Mr. Verne.”

“It is about Ned Land,” said Verne. “If I could be allowed to somehow pay tribute to a brave man by remembering him in my work-well, it would be a small thing, but it would mean a lot to me.”

“I think that would be appropriate,” said Forrester. “Now if you will excuse us, we’ll leave you to your admirers, who have been specifically instructed not to discuss your future work with you. It’s been an honor, sir.”

As they moved away from the table, Lucas cleared his throat.

“Did I just hear you give him the idea to write Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Forrester. “I didn’t put him aboard that sub. Besides, a writer has to write what he knows, doesn’t he?”

“I think I just heard a hair being split,” said Andre. “As you were, Sergeant,” Forrester said.

“Sergeant?”

“You’ve been promoted. Congratulations. Priest, you’ve made lieutenant colonel. You keep this up, you’ll wind up outranking me. Since we can’t have that, you’re going to have to settle for a decoration next time.”

“How about just giving me a raise, instead?” said Lucas.

“I’ll submit your request through channels,” said Forrester.

Lucas grimaced and looked at Andre. “A decoration,” he said.

Finn was sitting up in the bed next to Martingale’s when they walked in. His hands were swathed in bandages. Martingale’s entire body was encased in a sterile cocoon with openings for the eyes, the nostrils and the mouth. Forrester tossed a small box onto Delaney’s bed.

“What’s this?” said Finn. He couldn’t open it. “Lieutenant’s bars,” said Forrester.

“Oh, no!” said Finn.

“You might be interested to know there’s a pool going to see how long you’ll keep them,” Forrester said dryly. “Meanwhile, I’m sure you’ll be interested to hear the wrapup. Salvage operations have been completed and the missiles disassembled. What’s left of the sub will be repaired and placed on exhibit in San Diego. The base has been dismantled and most of the warp discs have been recovered. The Referees are extremely concerned about possible temporal disruptions as a result of this affair. We’ll just have to wait and hope for the best. The TIA has managed to trace several of the bases Drakov had established.”

Forrester paused uncomfortably.

“I’m afraid he’s given us the slip again, along with Benedetto. We haven’t heard the last of them. There were computer records kept at the base, but they were incomplete. Temporal Intelligence is still working on them and, as I’ve said, they’ve managed to find some of the other bases that were established, but there’s good reason to believe a significant number of those people have escaped, so we’re not finished with them yet. However, we did manage to avoid a multiple timestream split. But it cost us. We lost some of our best people. Still, we owe a considerable debt of gratitude to our friend here.”

He approached Martingale’s bed.

“The doctors tell me you should have died. They tell me you’ve got to be the stubbornest son of a bitch in the world.

Personally, I think the stubbornest s.o.b. in the world is in the bed next to yours, but l won’t argue the point. You’ll be good as new before too long and I was very glad to hear that. You did a good job, soldier.”

Martingale gave him a faint nod.

“You know,” said Forrester, “just to raise a point of idle conversation, the law concerning deserters is very strict. No exceptions, regardless of the circumstances. I just thought I’d bring that up. I don’t really know why it occurred to me. It doesn’t apply to you, of course. Does it, Lt. Hunter?”

Lucas and Andre both stared at Forrester. “What?” said Lucas.

“When Finn checked this patient in as Lt. Reese Hunter,” said Forrester, “they ran the standard records check. Imagine their surprise when they discovered that Lt. Hunter had been reported MIA on an Airborne recon mission in 12th-century England. We all thought he was dead, right? I’m not too clear on it, myself, seems to me I heard a different story. Something about a Lt. Hunter being killed by the Timekeepers in 17th-century Paris. Well, I guess I heard wrong. Anyway, since Delaney was the one who checked him in, they came to him to get the facts. According to Finn, here, Lt. Hunter was marooned in 12th-century England and, as chance had it, he was one of those people recruited into the time pirates. Since then, he’s been working undercover, independently, trying to help neutralize a threat to temporal continuity. The powers that be were properly impressed. Needless to say, since Lt. Hunter was listed MIA and since his actions have been heroically above and beyond the call of duty, no one would think of charging him with anything. In fact, it’s been decided to reward his initiative by promoting him to the rank of captain.”

Andre started to laugh.

“And since he has displayed such outstanding ability in a temporal adjustment situation,” Forrester continued, “it’s also been decided to transfer him from the Airborne Pathfinders into the First Division. So, welcome aboard, soldier. The First has the finest record in the corps. I’m glad to have you. I only take the best. I don’t take people who can’t cut it.

We’ve got spirit in the First. We’ve never had a deserter.”

He turned and walked towards the door, then paused and looked back.

“A man like you should do well in the First… Captain Hunter. We fight the good fight.” He winked, then closed the door.