The Nautilus Sanction

5

Land wouldn’t have any of it. If he was unwilling to accept Verne’s theory that a gigantic narwhal could exist, he wasn’t about to listen to any nonsense about time travel. He was not a scientist. He wasn’t even literate. Unlike Verne, he couldn’t look about him and realize the brilliant feat of engineering that was a nuclear submarine could not possibly have been accomplished in the 19th century. If an Englishman and an Austrian could devise a self-propelled torpedo, why then it made perfect sense to him that Drakov could construct a submarine. Lucas tried explaining to him gradually and patiently, with Land listening attentively at first, then scowling and squirming in his chair, then interrupting angrily to demand Lucas stop treating him like a fool and tell him the truth and finally threatening to bust his skull. Exasperated, Lucas was about to try another tack when Finn put a hand on his shoulder and took over.

“All right, Ned, we’ll tell you the truth. It’s clear you’re nobody’s fool. The fact is, Drakov was a brilliant scientist, a professor on the faculty of Miskatonic University, where Lucas and I were teaching courses in Creative Apathy and Rubber Physics. Andre, here, was a graduate student at Miskatonic at the time, taking her degree in Electronic Onanism. Drakov managed to convince the university officials he could prove a theory first advanced by the eminent acrocephalic, Dr. Nicholas Gambrinous, namely, that interlocutory foreplay, properly applied, could achieve a state of labial penetration of normally recalcitrant subjects. To this end, he was awarded financial backing in the form of a grant and he proceeded to set up his laboratory, staffed with young graduate assistant; eager to help in his experiments. Lucas, Andre and myself were working on a competitive project, and we were able to convince the university its funds would be better spent in supporting our research, instead. Drakov lost the funding for his project and left the university, vowing to revenge himself upon us. And there you have it.”

Verne sat staring at Finn, stunned into speechlessness. Land grunted, then looked at Lucas and said, “Now why couldn’t you say so in the first place? That makes a lot more sense than that other nonsense you were spouting.”

“It does?” said Lucas.

“Just because I never went to a fancy university, don’t think I’m a fool,” he said.

“Of course not,” Lucas said.

Verne made a whimpering sound.

“You all right, Jules?” Land said, concerned.

“Oh, yes, quite, quite,” Verne said, not daring to look him in the face. He cleared his throat several times. “I must have caught a bit of a chill, that’s all.”

They were escorted to the wardroom at the appointed time and entered to find most of the crew, save those on duty, already sitting down to dinner. Neither Verne nor Land had any reference for the scene they were confronted with, but for Lucas, Finn and Andre, it was not at all what they expected. On one level, there was an atmosphere of order to the mess. The men sat at their tables, dining in a reasonably quiet manner, enjoying the food provided by the huge stores of a nuclear submarine. Yet, on the surface, an element of the surreal had intruded. The bulkheads of the wardroom were obscured almost entirely by fabulous Chinese and Persian tapestries and the tables were set with fine china and real silver on ornate cloths. Wine was in evidence, as well as vodka, beer, rum and even mulled ale. Chamber music filled the wardroom.

As for the crew, the, spartan Soviet military veneer had slipped considerably. Beards and moustaches were in evidence, some quite elaborate. Hair was longer. A few of the men wore earrings. Many of the jumpsuits bore marks of individual ornamentation; gold brooches and jeweled clasps, silver pins and hammered bracelets, emerald and ruby necklaces of inestimable worth worn over the shoulders as aguillettes. Some of the men had their sleeves rolled up or cut off entirely, exposing intricate tattoos, blazing with color. It was a bizarre combination of a medieval feast and a pirates’ mess. The only element lacking was a cadre of buxom serving wenches.

They were conducted to the captain’s table and Drakov rose to greet them. Four men were seated at the table with him and they rose to their feet as well.

“Gentlemen, and lady, please be seated,” Drakov said, indicating the places set for them. He had changed his jacket for a 17th-century British naval admiral’s coat, festooned with gold braid, heavy gold epaulets upon the shoulders. Lace showed at his throat and cuffs. “Allow me to introduce you to my senior officers.”

They sat down and Drakov turned to the man on his immediate right, a thin, dark-eyed, evil-faced Sicilian with coarse black hair and the manner of a Medici poisoner. “This is Santos Benedetto, whose name will be known to you three `academicians.’ Santos, aside from myself, is the last surviving member of the Timekeepers. After our last meeting, in Zenda Castle, I encountered Santos in one of our old rendezvous places. He helped me to begin this venture.”

Benedetto gave them a dark stare and nodded. He wore 27th-century black base fatigues and a warp disc on his left wrist.

“Santos knows you three only too well,” said Drakov, smiling. Then he introduced Verne and Land to his second-in-command. “The gentleman beside Santos is Barry Martingale, late of the 20th-century American Special Forces. When I met Sgt. Martingale, he was pursuing a career as a mercenary soldier and being terribly underpaid. I offered to remedy that situation and he graciously accepted.”

The beefy, sandy-haired Martingale twitched his lips in what might have been a smile and said, “How do?” His mus cular frame was sheathed in khaki-sharply creased trousers and an African bush jacket. He had a pencil-thin moustache, a square chin and foggy gray eyes.

“The man on my left,” said Drakov, “is General Count Grigori von Kampf, late of the famed Imperial Black Hussars of Czar Alexander. Count Grigori comes of a colorful lineage. His father was a Russian aristocrat and his mother a Kirghiz Gypsy. We are old acquaintances and I could not embark upon my venture without him.”

Count Grigori was huge, with shoulders like a Goliath and a chest like a wine cask. A former cavalry officer, it was a wonder a horse could have been found anywhere large enough to support him. His hands were easily twice the size of Finn Delaney’s, and Delaney was not small. The lower half of Count Grigori’s face was hidden by a square, luxuriant beard and large handlebar moustaches curled out from beneath his nose. His hair, both on his head and on his face, was gray and curly and his eyes looked Oriental, dark as anthracite. He still wore the uniform of an officer in the Black Hussars, a jet black tunic with ornate buttons and a stiff, high collar.

“Otchen priyatno,” he said, his voice a basso profundo.

“He says he’s very pleased to meet you,” Drakov translated. “Count Grigori has received the benefit of implant education, but he refuses to speak English. He considers it a barbarian tongue. He is, however, perfectly willing to converse in French, as well as Russian.”

Drakov turned to the last man. “And this is Toshiro Kamakura, Shiro, as we call him.” The tiny Japanese gave a little bow. He looked like a boy in his early teens, but his eyes were infinitely old. It was impossible to guess his age. “Shiro’s father was assassinated along with his wife for a transgression against the Yakuza, of which he was a member. Shiro survived by running away with his sister. He could not save both her and his parents, you see. To atone for the shame of running away, Shiro cut off the little finger on his left hand. To prevent himself from ever revealing where he had hidden his sister, he cut out his tongue. He then systematically tracked down each of his parents’ killers and dispatched them, quite efficiently and brutally. He was only fourteen at the time. He is seventeen now. I know what it means to grow up an orphan.

When I found Shiro, I took him in and educated him, so he could write and tell me where his sister was. She is now being well taken care of. Shiro is my most loyal and trusted aide. Do not let his youth deceive you. He is quite ruthless. I advise you to be polite to him.”

Shiro studied each of them in turn, gazing at them long and hard with an unblinking stare. His slight frame, his long, straight black hair hanging to his shoulders and his delicate features gave him an androgynous aspect, but those eyes were chilling. When he looked at Lucas, Priest suppressed an urge to glance away from that ophidian gaze. This child prevailed over Yakuza assassins, Lucas thought. Quite a group Drakov had gathered.

Finn echoed his sentiments aloud. “Looks like you’ve found a hell of a crew, Drakov.” He glanced around at the others, then at the Soviet submariners. “However, discipline seems a little lax.”

“On the contrary,” Drakov said. “These men are more efficient now than they were under their previous commander. They are more efficient because they have more freedom, because their initiative is rewarded and they are happier.”

“Thanks to re-education conditioning,” said Andre.

“Not entirely,” said Drakov. “It is true most of them needed to be, shall we say, deprogrammed from a lifetime of a different sort of conditioning, but you might be surprised to learn that a great many of them, far more than I expected, went along with me quite willingly. After all, I offered them far greater opportunities. Do not be misled by their appearance. There is a great deal more to military efficiency than uniformity, precision drill and polish. Look at history. The mighty empire of Rome fell to wild barbarians. The greatest armies in the world crumbled before the onslaught of Genghis Khan. Ragtag armies of colonials prevailed over the dress parade regimentation of the British.” He smiled. “My men may look somewhat piratical, but they know what they’re about.”

They were served their food and Verne gasped at the sumptuous repast. Roast beef, baked potatoes, yams, corn, cranberry sauce, ragout of pork, fruit preserves, fresh baked bread and steaming coffee.

“Amazing!” Verne exclaimed. “ I cannot believe these miracles I am assaulted with! However can you keep such food supplies fresh, Captain?”

“Freezing and refrigeration, Mr. Verne,” said Drakov. “This submarine is well stocked with food supplies. On board at present, we have some four thousand pounds of beef, two thousand of chicken, fourteen hundred of pork loin and one thousand of ham. We carry roughly three thousand pounds of sugar, twelve thousand pounds of coffee, one hundred fifty pounds of tea, eight hundred pounds of butter, twenty-two hundred of flour and some six hundred dozen eggs. There is also a considerable quantity of wine, vodka, whiskey, beer and ale on board, though my crew does not overindulge. I allow them all they wish to drink, but the penalty for being drunk on duty or incapacitated by the aftereffects of drink is twenty lashes, which Shiro administers quite adroitly. In addition to our supplies, we look to the sea for sustenance. Those are dolphins’ livers in that ‘pork’ ragout you are devouring, and that which you assume to be fruit preserves is derived from sea anemones.”

Land stopped spreading the preserves on his bread and looked at it with horror.

“Your vessel is a marvel, Captain,” Verne said. “I have a thousand questions to ask of you.”

“I have a few questions myself,” said Lucas.

“Yours shall have to wait, Mr. Priest,” said Drakov. “Mr. Verne, kindly ask anything you wish.”

Verne was flustered. “I don’t know where to start! I want to know everything!”

“And so you shall,” said Drakov. “This submarine is constructed of titanium, with double hulls, and it displaces almost twenty thousand-tons. It is some five hundred sixty feet long and its hull diameter is forty-two feet. It is capable of attaining speeds over sixty knots.”

“Impossible!” said Land.

“I assure you, Mr. Land, it is not only possible, it is effortless,” said Drakov. “We submerge by means of employing water as ballast, held in tanks between the hulls. Wings or diving planes, such as those you saw on the sail, enable us to dive or to ascend. Two rudders, one above the propellers, one below, control direction. We are equipped with two periscopes which can be raised when near the surface to allow us to observe without being seen and we are capable of going more than four hundred thousand miles without refueling, which would be sixteen trips around the equator.”

“How can that be?” said Verne. “How can you maintain an air supply allowing a trip of such duration? What manner of propulsion could achieve such a feat?”

“The Nautilus manufactures its own oxygen from seawater,” Drakov said. “Unwanted gases such as carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide are disposed of overboard. As for our propulsion, Mr. Verne, our engines are steam turbines driven by the power of the universe, a power humanity will not discover in this century.”

“I’ve not heard such nonsense in my life,” said Land.

“Then how do you explain where you find yourself, Mr. Land?” said Drakov.

“What is this power of the universe?” said Verne. He had forgotten his meal.

“It is called nuclear fission, Mr. Verne,” said Drakov. “The sun is powered by a nuclear reaction process called fusion. Nuclear fusion powers stars. Nuclear fission is similar, in a manner of speaking. It is the process by which the atom is split.”

“But… that’s contrary to the laws of physics!” Verne said. “There is no power on earth which can split the atom!”

“Say rather that such power has not been discovered in your time,” said Drakov. “Even the men whose work led to the discovery believed as you do. Einstein, Planck, Bohr, Fermi, even they were not sure it was possible. Or, should I say, none of them will be sure it is possible? For that time has not yet come. Please, Mr. Verne, do eat. Your food is growing cold.”

Verne started to pick at his food. His hand was shaking. For Land, it was all incomprehensible. For Lucas, Finn and Andre, it was all familiar, yet frightening. They had become part of a temporal contamination which seemed to be beyond their ability to adjust. They could only sit and listen in mute fascination as a man born in the 19th century, but educated in the 27th, explained the concept of nuclear energy to an author who had foreseen-or would he foresee as a result of what was now happening? — the very vessel they now sailed in beneath the sea.

“Mr. Verne,” said Drakov, “you are a man of imagination to whom science is an avocation. Perhaps you will better understand when I explain to you how this discovery came about. Within a few short years, within your own lifetime, Mr. Verne, the first of two discoveries which will change the world will be made. On the eighth of November, in 1895, at the Julius-Maximilian University of Wurzburg, Professor Wilhelm Konrad Roentgen will discover X rays. He will be experimenting with a glass tube through which he will pass gas and an electric current. He will cover the tube with dark paper and turn on the voltage, sending glowing gas streaming through the tube. In the darkened room, light will not come through, being blocked off by the paper, but Professor Roentgen will observe a small glow coming from a table upon which a plate of barium platinocyanide crystals was kept. Upon turning off his voltage, he will observe this glow die out. Puzzled by this phenomenon, he will continue to experiment until he concludes that some unknown ray was being produced in his glass tube, one capable of passing through the dark paper and causing the fluorescence in the crystals. Not knowing the cause or nature of this phenomenon, he will call it an X ray.

“Further experimentation will lead him to discover these X rays produce an effect upon a photographic plate and that the rays are stopped by bones, but not by flesh. The result will be X ray photography, which will aid in diagnosis and revolutionize medical science. Physicians will be able to see inside the body prior to surgery. A man named Thomas Edison will build a device called an X ray fluoroscope, consisting of an X ray tube and a screen covered with crystals of barium platinocyanide. Upon striking the screen, the X rays will produce light visible to the naked eye. Any portion of the body placed between the X ray tube and the screen will produce an outline of the bones and organs within. Unfortunately, it will take time before the hazards of the X ray will be understood.

“Researchers who will repeatedly expose themselves to X rays will sustain severe burns and if this practice is continued, as it shall be, it will result in death. It will be discovered that exposure to X rays over a prolonged period can cause harm to the eyes, loss of hair, ulceration, inhibition of bone growth, sterility and damage to the blood cells. Men will learn that all living tissue can be destroyed if exposed to a sufficient amount of radiation, a term which will be strange to you, but I will endeavor to explain. You may have noticed that everyone aboard this ship wears a small glass cylinder containing a photographic film, something invented after the photographic plate. This device is called a dosimeter. Its purpose is to measure the amount of radiation one is exposed to.”

“You mean there is danger to us now?” said Verne.

“There is no cause for alarm. You will understand more presently. For now, let us return to the discovery of X rays, which will lead to the additional discovery that penetrating rays are also given off by certain crystals of an element known as uranium. In studying this phenomenon, Pierre and Marie Curie will give it a name-radioactivity.

“The Curies will embark upon research in an attempt to isolate the substance in uranium responsible for this phenomenon. In processing uranium ore, they will discover an element called radium. Pierre Curie will die upon being struck by a carriage in the street, but both his wife, Marie, and their daughter, Irene, who will carry on the work, will perish from exposure to radiation.

“Extensive scientific inquiry into the nature of this thing called radiation will establish the nature of a radioactive substance-its atoms are unstable. They disintegrate and become another element. Uranium becomes thorium. Thorium turns to radium. Radium becomes a gas called radon and so forth. This is known as nuclear disintegration and it results in the release of rays, or particles. The amount of time it takes for such a substance to decay in this manner to one half of its initial amount is called one half-life. Radon has a half-life of approximately four days. Certain types of uranium, on the other hand, can have a half-life of four and one half billion years. The shorter the half-life, the more atoms disintegrate per second.

“I mentioned two significant discoveries. The first will be that an element can be made radioactive. The second will come with the splitting of the atom. In 1932, an Englishman named Sir James Chadwick will discover a particle called a neutron. In 1934, Irene Curie and her husband, Frederic Joliot, will experiment with polonium and aluminum in their study of neutrons. They will discover that when alpha particles-a type of radiation-released from the polonium strike the aluminum, neutrons will be released, as well as electrons. Further, they will discover that the aluminum will continue to emit electrons for a short while after the polonium has been removed. In other words, they will find that an element which is not ordinarily radioactive can be made so artificially. When they bombard the aluminum with alpha particles, they will transform its atoms into the radioactive element radiophosphorous and this will be the first creation of artificially produced radioactive isotopes. You will find much of this unfamiliar and confusing, Mr. Verne, but there are books in the library we have aboard that explain all this in far greater detail. For our purposes now, I am simplifying as much as possible.

“These neutrons easily penetrate solid substances,” Drakov went on. “In the year 1938, two Germans named Otto Hahn and Fritz Strassmann will bombard uranium with neutrons. They will be astonished to find this experiment produce three light elements named barium, lanthanum and cerium. It will make no sense to them. They will realize these elements could only have come from the uranium, but this transmutation would be against everything known in science. They, will see the evidence before their eyes, but be reluctant to challenge the authority of eminent physicists such as Albert Einstein, Max Planck, Niels Bohr and-Enrico Fermi. They will report their discovery, but refrain from making any conclusions about it, stressing they might have made errors in their observations.

“News of this discovery will cause Bohr and Fermi to realize these men had succeeded in splitting the uranium atom. Nuclear fission. Bohr and Fermi will also realize that nuclear fission might involve a chain reaction, in other words, one split atom of uranium would release two neutrons, which would split two more atoms, releasing four neutrons, splitting four more atoms and releasing eight neutrons and so on, in geometric progression, releasing fabulous amounts of energy in an infinitesimal space of time.

“Albert Einstein will have enabled us to understand all this with a formula which will revolutionize science. In the year 1905, Einstein will make history when he writes the simple equation, E = MC ^2. Translated, it means energy equals mass multiplied by the square of the speed of light. The neutron, the sub-atomic particle with no electrical charge, strikes a large uranium nucleus, causing it to split. The ‘debris’ of this split is neutrons and lighter nuclei. What is left after the nucleus splits weighs less than the original. The mass which is lost is converted into energy via Einstein’s formula. This debris shatters other nuclei in a self-sustaining process called a chain reaction and all that is required to produce this is a sufficient quantity of uranium, below which this process will not be self-sustaining. This quantity is known as a critical mass.

“On the basis of Einstein’s formula, it can be calculated that one-thirtieth of a gram of water converted into pure energy would yield enough heat to turn a thousand tons of water into steam. A device which facilitates this process is called a nuclear reactor and it is that which drives the Nautilus.

“A uranium core-fuel rods-can be thought of as the firebox of your coal-fired steam engines. Nuclear fission produces heat. The steam from the heart of the Nautilus is taken to the engine room in two large, insulated pipes leading to four turbines, two turbo-generators and the auxiliary steam line. Again, I use terms you are unfamiliar with, but it suffices to say that this steam produces the power we require, then enters the condensers, having done its work, and in the form of water is pumped back into the steam generators, where it is heated once again by the pressurized water in what is called the primary loop of the reactor. The water in the primary loop is kept under very great pressure, so it cannot turn to steam. In this manner, we have a propulsion system in which no combustion is required. Coolant pumps circulate the water, drive motors raise and lower the fuel rods, controlling the reactor. The fuel rods will last for several years and when they are depleted, I have ways of getting more. Extreme precautions must be observed to ensure there is no leakage anywhere within the system, for such leakage would not only result in loss of pressure, but in radioactive contamination. That is the reason for the dosimeters, Mr. Verne, to monitor radioactive exposure.

“Yet, lest you should think this new fire of Prometheus is an inestimable boon to mankind-which it is-atomic energy has its darker side, and you will find that aboard the Nautilus, as well. The energy obtained by the fission of any given amount of uranium, released at an uncontrolled rate as an explosive, is millions of times more powerful than dynamite.

“You may have noticed large, round hatches in the deck of the Nautilus when you came aboard. Beneath each is a missile kept in a compartment called a silo. Think of these missiles as being rockets, if you will, of a very advanced nature. Each of these missiles carries fourteen atomic warheads, only one of which would be more than sufficient to level a city the size of Paris. From aboard this submarine, even while submerged, I can fire my missiles at any spot upon the globe. So, as you can see, I have at my command both the benevolent nature of atomic power and its destructive capability, which is the greatest the world has ever seen.”

“You neglected to mention how you came by it,” said Finn.

“Yes,” said Drakov. “In that sense, Mr. Priest was quite correct in his earlier assessment of me. I am a pirate. I stole this vessel.”

“But… for what purpose?” Verne said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I told you, Mr. Verne, I am Fate’s cats-paw. I am but following my destiny. Your three friends here are soldiers from a future time. At some later point, perhaps, you might wish to ask them the nature of their duties and why those duties have become necessary. Oh, I beg your pardon. Will become necessary. That which I explained to you just now heralded the dawn of a new age for mankind in the 20th century. The age of atomic power. It enabled mankind to reach farther than ever before, widening the horizons of science. Yet, as ever, mankind’s grasp exceeds its reach. I told you I am a living paradox. Allow me to explain.

“Mr. Land earlier called me a bastard in his anger and he was quite correct. I am. My father, as it happens, is a man well known to Mr. Priest, Mr. Delaney and Miss Cross. His name is Forrester and he is their commander. As they have traveled to this time, so Colonel Forrester traveled to the time of my mother, where he seduced her and begat me. I am a man who should never have been born, Mr. Verne. At the time my father impregnated my mother, he himself would not have been born for hundreds of years. An impossibility, you say. Yet, here I am. A man who should not exist, brought into being by Fate to bring about an end to that which cannot exist, but does. There is an order to the universe and in the time from which these three soldiers came, mankind has disturbed that order. It has taken me a great many years, Mr. Verne, for I am far older than you think I am, to understand the purpose behind my existence. I was born to set things right, to restore order to the universe. And you, Mr. Verne, shall see it done. You shall be my Boswell. I could not have asked for a better man. But there is still much remaining to be done, many preparations needing to be made, before I can undertake the task Fate has set before me. You will learn things you have not dreamed of, see wonders beyond even your not inconsiderable imagination. My fate will forever alter yours. You have, indeed, a voyage extraordinaire ahead of you. And now, if you good people will excuse me, I will take leave of your company. I have matters to attend to.”

Drakov rose, followed by Shiro, and left the wardroom.

Verne gulped down some wine. “My head is swimming,” he said. “A power that could level Paris! Rays, particles, unheard of elements, I must see this library he spoke of!”

“I would be pleased to show it to you, Mr. Verne,” Count Grigori said in French. “Come.”

They left together, the author dwarfed by the gargantuan von Kampf.

“How does he fit through the hatchways?” Andre said.

“With a certain amount of difficulty,” Benedetto said, smiling a vulpine grin.

“We know why the others are in this with him,” Finn said to Martingale. “What’s in it for you?”

“I thought he made that clear,” drawled Martingale. “Money.”

“Just money?” Lucas said, wryly.

“There are easier ways of making money than being a soldier,” Martingale said. “I’m sure you know that. But it’s all I know. It’s what I do best. Besides, how many mercenaries can claim to have served in action across the boundaries of time? I wouldn’t trade this for the world, Priest. It’s one hell of a kick. See you round.”

He got up and sauntered out of the wardroom, carrying a whiskey bottle with him.

“A kick,” said Lucas. He glanced at Benedetto, who sat sipping wine and smoking a cigarette. “You know Drakov’s insane, don’t you?”

Benedetto shrugged. “I am not a judgmental individual. Who is to say what is sanity and what is not? I prefer to deal in the hard sciences and leave metaphysics to besotted Irish philosophers such as Finn Delaney.” He glanced at Finn and raised his wineglass in a toast.

“You haven’t changed at all, Santos,” said Delaney. “You’re still a pretentious asshole.”

“My, my, such invective,” Benedetto said. “And here I am trying so hard to be civil.”

“Where did all this come from?” Lucas said, indicating the tapestries around them. “The jewelry some of these men are wearing looks almost priceless. You and Drakov indulging in some temporal piracy?”

“Only in a manner of speaking,” Benedetto said. “Any military or even quasi-military unit requires funding. We have been amassing a treasury. A little from this time period, a little from that, it gradually multiplies. The sea is quite munificent. We have the richest shipwrecks of history at our disposal.”

“You’re equipped for salvage?” Finn said.

“Not in the manner you suggest,” said Benedetto. “We have individual diving apparatus on board, suits equipped with hemosponges which act as gills, deriving oxygen from seawater. A bit of future technology that quite impresses our crew. I never go out, myself. It unsettles me. But the Russians rather enjoy it. They compete fiercely for the privilege. They are allowed to keep a portion of what is discovered for themselves and they often bring back a few delicacies to dress up the table. We have lobsters aboard the size of German Shepherds. Crabs that could easily crush a femur in their pincers. They find it great sport to collect such things.”

“Where do we fit in?” said Andre.

“Your status, it would appear, is that of uninvited guests,” said Benedetto. “You are not entirely unwelcome, however. Martingale does not like anyone, but I am happy for your presence. It gives me stimulating company. I find these Russians tiresome. Very boring fellows. No brio whatsoever. Especially our Count Grigori. A very moody fellow. I much prefer your companionship.”

“You can joke, Santos, but we’re going to stop you somehow,” Finn said.

“What?” said Benedetto, with a feigned look of outrage. “After you gave your word to the good captain?”

“Don’t be a fool.”

Benedetto chuckled. “Finn, I bear you no hard feelings. No ill will whatsoever. We have always been upon opposing sides. I respect you for your accomplishments and for who you are. It was no easy feat to overcome the Timekeepers. I suspect, also, that you bear me a certain grudging respect, as well. Because of this, I would advise you strongly not to attempt anything against Nikolai Drakov. Your chances for success this time are quite small. I would hate to see you fall into the clutches of that little Oriental savage, Shiro. He frightens even me. Martingale and von Kampf are no less deadly, in their way, but Shiro is fanatically devoted to Nikolai and he is utterly ruthless. Look closely into that young boy’s eyes and you will see snakes writhing.”

“What’s Drakov up to, Santos?” Lucas said.

“I do not know.”

“Come on.”

“Honestly,” said Benedetto. “Look, I make no bones about what I am. I may have once been an idealist, such as Nikolai, but there is little that separates me from someone such as Martingale nowadays. I am, by profession, a terrorist. When I started with the Timekeepers, I was just an underpaid researcher, a re-education specialist. A somewhat glorified psychotherapist. I was embittered, vulnerable to seduction. Falcon convinced me to join in the grand cause against the war machine and I enlisted, burning with the fires of enlightenment. But Falcon is no more and I have seen far too much, done far too much to allow myself to remain deluded. What ever ethics I may once have had, I lost along the way. The trouble with my former profession, you see, is one knows far too much, especially about oneself. Self-analysis becomes a disease. I know at heart, I am sociopathic. I know I have precious little in the way of scruples. I am an unprincipled blackguard, a killer, a morally bankrupt human being. Does that concern me? Not overmuch. I have managed to achieve a level of comfort in my acceptance of what I have become. It makes life easier that way, prevents one from getting ulcers.

“When you and your compatriots in Temporal Intelligence broke the organization of the Timekeepers, I fled for my life. I became separated from the others, to which I doubtless owe my survival, and I spent my days constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting to be caught. It was not much fun. Being with the Timekeepers had been stimulating. It was like a game. You against us. We kept telling ourselves that right was on our side and so we would prevail. Utter nonsense, of course. For a time, we did not know each other. Then, gradually, you learned a little about us, we learned more about you, we each compiled our dossiers and it was almost like a friendly rivalry.”

“I don’t think I would go that far,” said Andre.

“Yes, well, it is all a matter of perception, isn’t it? By then, I had long since stopped taking the whole thing very seriously. But when it ended, I was left, for a time, alone. I was surprised to discover I did not function well alone. The comforting mechanisms of the Timekeepers were denied me. There were no longer any plots to hatch, no longer any confused, idealistic, radical young women to divert one’s attention in delightful ways. There was no money. I was, in short, out of a job. I was immeasurably relieved when Drakov found me and told me he was going to begin again, with a new, more vital organization. It was something familiar. And I had nothing else to do.”

“You expect us to believe Drakov doesn’t even tell his own second-in-command what his plans are?” Andre said.

“I do not expect you to believe anything,” said Benedetto. “I have given you answers to your questions to the best of my ability. Believe them or not, as you choose. For myself, I am content to go along for the adventure. I live comfortably, eat well, enjoy my liberties in ports of call through all of time-though we do not actually make port, of course-and upon occasion my particular talents are found useful. I ask for nothing more.”

“I misjudged you, Santos,” Lucas said. “I thought you were a fanatic, but you’re just a decadent fool. Martingale may not be any better, but at least he’s a professional. You’re not even that. You’re just going through the motions.”

“I will tell you a secret, Priest,” said Benedetto. “That is all life is, going through the motions. I prefer to go through the motions with at least a modicum of style. Nikolai is certain to cause some sort of cataclysm and when he does, life will be more interesting. I have no doubt you will do your utmost to prevent whatever he has planned and watching you try will be interesting, as well. In the last analysis, the greatest sin is boredom and I refuse to be bored.” He smiled. “So by all means, interest me. Only wait until tomorrow, at least. Right now, this wine has made me sleepy.”

“Is everyone aboard this blasted ship insane?” said Land.

“I’m beginning to think so, Ned,” said Lucas. “I’m beginning to think so.”