The Six Gun Solution

2

Neilson looked a little green around the gills as he stood in the private quarters of General Moses Forrester in the TAC-HQ building at Pendleton Base, California. Part of his ill feeling was due to what was known as “warp lag,” the effects of traveling through time. Some people got used to it, others never did. Even veteran time travelers occasionally puked their guts out after temporal transition. Most everyone at least felt dizzy and queasy in the stomach. Complicating the situation was the fact that Neilson was in the presence of the Old Man himself

Forrester was a large man, built like a bull, with a massive chest and arms that were as big as Neilson’s thighs. Even at his advanced age-and no One knew precisely what his age was-he could still run a marathon, do fifty pull-ups without pausing and curl an eighty-pound dumbbell with one hand. His face looked positively ancient. It was lined and wrinkled and he was completely bald. His bright green eyes. However, looked youthful and alert.

Also present in Forrester’s quarters were Colonel Lucas Priest, Captain Andre Cross and Major Finn Delaney. Priest, as usual, looked smartly turned out in his sharply creased black base fatigues and highly polished boots. Dark-haired, slim and very fit; he was a handsome, thoroughly professional looking officer. By contrast, the burly Delaney looked like an unkempt longshoreman. He looked about as military as an old sweat sock. His base fatigues were rumpled, his boots were unshined, his dark red hair was uncombed and his full beard gave him the aspect of a drunken Irish poet. His facial expression, even when neutral, conveyed a wry insolence that had often provoked senior officers throughout his military career. That, together with his insubordinate nature, was one of the reasons why he held the record for the most reductions in grade in the entire Temporal Corps. He also held the record for the most promotions, due to exemplary service in the field. Lucas Priest had often chided him about it, saying that if it wasn’t for his temper, he would have surely been a general by now, to which Delaney always responded with an irate scowl. At heart, he was a noncom and had always detested officers. And now he was a major. The rank did not sit well with him. He still felt funny being saluted.

Andre Cross sat between the two men on the couch, looking less like a soldier than a model hired to pose for a recruiting poster. Her straw-blonde hair was long and straight, falling to her shoulders, and her sharp, angular features were more striking than pretty. She had the physique of a bodybuilder, with long legs, a narrow waist, small hips and broad shoulders. Neilson had always thought that there was something catlike about her, in the way she moved and in the way she held herself.

Their presence made him feel somewhat more at ease, as he had served with them once before on a mission in the past, that assignment to Victorian London where half the mission team had died. People who had gone through something like that together achieved a special camaraderie that only other soldiers could fully understand. But the Old Man still had Neilson feeling a bit shaky in the knees. It felt a little strange standing before them, dressed the way he’d been in Tombstone. Almost as if he were a boy playing dress-up in a roomful of adults.

As soon as he’d clocked in and made his report. Forrester’s adjutant had decided that “the Old Man should hear about this.” And Forrester had summoned the others, the agency’s number-one temporal adjustment team. Neilson had just finished briefing them on what he had discovered when he had clocked out to check on Observer Outpost G-6898. And now he stood at parade rest, awaiting their response.

“At ease, Sergeant, — said Forrester. “Have a seat, please.”

Neilson took one of the living room chairs.

“What do you think?” asked Forrester, addressing the others.

“If Neilson thinks those Observers were killed by laser fire. I’m not inclined to question it.” said Delaney. “He doesn’t leap to hasty conclusions. Of course, we won’t know that for a fact unless we send an S amp;R Team back to exhume the bodies, but under the circumstances, I’m not sure if we should risk that.”

“I agree.” said Lucas, nodding. “If we’ve got an infiltration in that time sector, they could be on the watch for that. The Observers blew their cover and the opposition, whoever they are, probably know where they’re buried. They could be keeping their graves under surveillance, waiting for a Search amp; Retrieve team to clock back for them.”

“It wouldn’t be very hard to keep Tombstone’s Boot Hill under surveillance, sir.” Neilson added. “A small remote unit concealed nearby would do it.”

“I’m a little disturbed about the fact that Scott has become involved in the scenario to the extent that he has,” said Andre. “I don’t mean that as a criticism. It looks as if the situation just turned out that way. But as a result, he’s become highly visible.”

“Maybe,” said Lucas, “but we could turn that to our advantage. If he’s going to attract attention, we can stay in the background and see just what kind of attention he attracts.”

“Which is another way of saying we can use him as a Judas goat.” said Andre. “I don’t like it. It leaves him very vulnerable.”

“None of us are paid to play it safe. Andre.” said Delaney. “Besides, Scott can take care of himself. And we’ll be there to provide backup.”

“That’s always assuming that we’ll have the chance to do that,” Andre replied. “We don’t know what we’re going up against. That particular scenario doesn’t seem to have a great deal of temporal significance offhand, but if there’s a confluence point somewhere in that sector and agents of the S. 0. G. have crossed over from the parallel timeline, it would be an important staging area for them. We’d be at a disadvantage. They’d know where the confluence point was and have control of it. We’d be going in cold with no idea where it might be located.”

“On the other hand, maybe it’s not the S.O.G.,” said Delaney. “Maybe those Observers stumbled onto a Network operation. That would seem more likely, considering that Tombstone was a mining boomtown in that period. Scott said there had been some stage robberies with shipments of bullion stolen. That’s just the sort of thing the Network would be into. Hijack silver bullion from Arizona in the 1880s, sell it in some future period when it hits its peak market value or trade it for some other commodities and pyramid the profits. Security back then would have been a joke, at least to people with resources like the Network has. It would be a prime scenario for temporal speculation. If it is the Network, then it’s all the more reason for Neilson to stay highly visible. They’ll be expecting someone to clock back to check on what happened to those Observers. Neilson can help draw their attention away from us.

“And maybe get himself killed while he’s at it.” Andre said. “I think it’s too dangerous. Not only for Scott, but for the temporal continuity in that sector. Look, by his own admission, he’s already become involved with people like the Earp brothers and Doc Holliday. And he’s managed to get himself caught right between the Clanton faction and the Earps. He could unintentionally wind up causing a disruption in the events leading up to the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral.”

“Actually, the shoot-out didn’t take place at the O.K. Corral.” said Neilson. “It took place in the vacant lot between Fly’s Boarding House and the Harwood place. The O.K. Corral was about ninety feet farther down the street, with only its back entrance leading out to Fremont Street, where the gunfight actually ended.”

“What difference does it make?” asked Andre, impatiently.

“I think it makes a great deal of difference.” said Forrester. “Neilson is the perfect man for this assignment He’s got all the right qualifications. He’s well versed in the history of the period and he’s an expert with the weapons of the period, as well. His cover as a gunfighter couldn’t be more perfect. He’s tailor-made for the role I’m against pulling him out. I’m with Finn and Lucas on this one. Andre There’s a risk, but I think it’s justified. I’m leaving Neilson in.”

“Thank you. sir.” said Scott.

“You sure you’re up to this, son?” asked Forrester. “You look a bit worn out.”

“I, uh, didn’t get much sleep, sir. I’ll be fine. I can handle. it.”

Forrester nodded, “All right. What about this situation with you and Wyatt Earp? Is that going to be a problem?”

“I hope not, sir I think he’s just concerned about keeping order in town and I look like a disruptive influence to him. But Doc Holliday said he’d try to intercede for me and the two of them are very close. Bat Masterson also seems to like me. Of course, he won’t be in Tombstone much longer after I get back. He’ll be called back to Dodge City to help out his brother. And the Earps are going to have their hands full with other problems before long. I don’t think they’ll have a lot of time to worry about me. Especially if I keep my nose clean.”

“That’s just the question.” Andre said. “Keeping out of trouble might be hard to do with the rustlers out gunning for you

“Maybe,” Neilson said. “But I’ll do what I can to stay out of their way. And I’ll try to ingratiate myself with the Earps in any way I can. The way things are developing in Tombstone back in that scenario, they’re going to need all the help they can get.”

“The only trouble is you may wind up giving them more help than they’re supposed to get.” said Andre. “And you’re also faster with a gun and a much better shot than just about anyone who lived back then. How do we keep you from becoming famous as the Montana Kid, fastest gun in the West?”

“That’s the very least of our problems,” Forrester said, before Neilson could reply. “It’s nothing Archives Section couldn’t handle. It would be time consuming, but we could easily assign a team to make sure that the Montana Kid remains unknown to history. Our first priority is to determine the nature of what’s happening back there. Is it the Network, engaged in one of their clandestine operations, or is it an infiltration through an undiscovered confluence point by agents of the S.O.G.? If that’s the case, we could be faced with a situation similar to what happened in the Khyber Pass in 1897. It could be a prelude to a full-scale invasion from the parallel timeline. Compared to that, any minor disruption Neilson’s presence could bring about would be insignificant. “

“Let’s not forget Drakov.” Lucas said, softly, feeling that he had to bring that up, but hating to. Forrester was plagued with guilt and self-recrimination over what his son had become. “He’s always the Wild card. And we still haven’t tracked down all his clones, or the genetically engineered hominoids he’s scattered throughout history.”

Forrester nodded, grimly. “Yes, we can’t afford to overlook him, either.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. “The trouble is, we need to capture him alive, so we can track down all his clones. That won’t be easy, but it’s the only way we can be certain that we’ve got the original Nikolai Drakov. Only the original would know where all the copies are.”

Forrester never referred to Drakov as his son. Privately, it had to be an agony for him. Years ago, when Forrester had been a rookie serving his first hitch in Minus Time, he’d been injured and separated from his unit. Unable to clock back, he had believed that he was trapped forever in the past. He had been found and nursed back to health by a Russian gypsy girl with whom he fell in love. He was later found and rescued, but by that time. Vanna Drakova was already pregnant with their child.

Forester had broken all the rules and he had made the situation worse by keeping Vanna’s pregnancy a secret, he knew if he reported it, it would have been necessary for the child to be aborted and he had not been able to bring himself to do that to the girl he loved. Or to the child. The result was that he went back to the future, after trying to explain to Vanna as best he could exactly who and what he was and why he had to leave her, and the necessity for her never to reveal that knowledge to anybody else.

But the simple gypsy girl had not been able to grasp the meaning of everything he told her. The concept of temporal physics was beyond her and when young Nikolai became curious about who his father was, the story she had told him was a bizarre mixture of truth and fantasy, richly embroidered with her colorful imagination. The poor boy hadn’t understood and was left believing that he was the result of a supernatural union between his mother and some kind of demon. Unknowingly, his mother had traumatized him deeply and the harsh lives that they led as Nikolai grew up had only served to make things worse.

They were taken in by a young Russian officer and they had lived through Napoleon’s invasion and his disastrous retreat. Then Nikolai’s adoptive father had been arrested as a Decembrist and exiled to Siberia. They had followed him there and it was in that harsh, forbidding country that Vanna met her death at the hands of a savage rapist, who had given young Nikolai the knife scar on his face when he tried to go to her defense. With her death, Nikolai Drakov had been left all alone in the world, frightened and tormented by the question of his own existence.

He never became sick. He didn’t seem to age. He did age, of course, but at a rate that was far slower than normal. He had inherited a strong constitution, with an immunity to all known diseases and a lifespan that was far greater than normal for people in his time. And he did not know why or how. It had unhinged him. Then, when he encountered the notorious Sophia Falco, alias The Falcon, one of the leaders of the crosstime terrorists known as the Timekeepers. she had recognized him for what he was, seduced him and recruited him into the organization. She took him to the future with her, where she had further poisoned his mind against his father and obtained a biochip for him. Drakov was then given the benefits of an implant education through computer downloads directly to his brain. Already born with an amazing intellectual capacity, the implant programming had turned him into a genius. An insane genius. And when he found out the true story of who his father was and how he came to be, the hate he felt for Moses Forester completely overwhelmed him. He embarked upon a course that not even the Timekeepers would have dared to contemplate.

What Drakov sought was nothing less than the complete destruction of the future, a savage revenge against his father and the world and time he came from. His goal was to bring about a massive temporal disruption that would result in a timestream split, the ultimate temporal disaster.

He had at first allied himself with the Timekeepers and eventually became one of their leaders, but after the Timekeepers were defeated. Drakov managed to escape into the past and continue with his mad plan of revenge. With his own expertise and the assistance of the infamous Dr. Moreau, Drakov had created the hominoids, genetically engineered and biologically modified humans, some appearing normal in every respect, others mutated into frightful creatures, all with an unswerving loyalty toward him, obedient to his every command. His crowning touch had been to replicate himself, to create a series of clones that he had planted throughout time, in the care of devoted hominoid parents, children that at a certain stage of their development would be programmed with his own mental engrams, so that they would all be the same in every last respect. They would all share his memories and his feelings. his experiences and his warped personality. They were surrogates of himself that he could send out against his father’s agents.

“Priest is right.” said Forrester. “We can’t overlook the possibility that Drakov might have been responsible for those Observers deaths. In which case, your covers will be blown the moment you arrive, because he knows you.”

“I can anticipate you. sir.” said Lucas. “I’d be against our going in for any cosmetic surgery on this mission. Either way, if it’s Drakov or the Network, our being recognized would help draw them into the open. And Scott shouldn’t be the only one to bear the risk.”

“All right.” said Forrester. “It’s your call. I want the three of you to report for mission programming immediately. And then take the rest of tonight to come up with a mission plan. I want you to present it to me by 0900 tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll have Operations select a backup team and I’ll alert Colonel Cooper to stand by with a Ranger strike team, just in case you encounter the S.O.G. in force.”

“He turned to Neilson.” And you get a good night’s sleep,” he said, “then clock back to Tombstone first thing in the morning. Make sure you arrive soon enough after your departure so that you won’t arouse any suspicion.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That will be all, people. Dismissed.”

As Neilson checked into some transient quarters to wash up and get some rest, the others proceeded down to Archives Section and the Mission Programming labs, where they reclined on contoured couches while the technicians pulled the necessary data files, accessed their cerebral implants and programmed them with all the information they would require on their mission, everything that was known about the time sector they would be departing to, as well as the pivotal events and characters in the scenario. They then repaired to the First Division Lounge to discuss their strategy and come up with a mission plan.

It was late, but the First Division Lounge was one place that never closed. It was about the size of a briefing room, with a long bar and round tables with comfortable chairs placed around the room. The entire far wall was one huge floor to ceiling window, looking out over the base from sixty stories up. The lounge did not have the ambience of a bar. There were no hanging ferns or potted plants, no pretentious decor, little in the way of decor at all, in fact. One wall was hung with a large plaque of the division insignia, a number one bisected by the symbol for infinity, which resembled a slightly stretched out, horizontal figure eight. Next to it was another large plaque, solid gold mounted on mahogany, a small replica of the Wall of honor downstairs in the lobby of the building. It listed the names of all those members of the First Division who had died in action. Another plaque had recently been added. It was the insignia of the Temporal Intelligence Agency, the symbol on it represented an infinitely repeating number and, as such, it had been an appropriate selection.

The resources of the T.I.A. indeed seemed infinite, as did the number of its personnel. Its budget had been staggering from the days of its inception and the highly classified nature of the work the agency performed was such that section chiefs had never needed to justify their budgetary requisitions or fully document their subsidiary personnel. Section chiefs often recruited from among the locals in their time sectors, none of whom, of course, knew whom they really worked for. And just as journalists zealously protected their sources and police officers carefully guarded their informers, so did the section chiefs of Temporal Intelligence protect their field agents and collaborators.

Until recently, there had been no way to obtain a complete and accurate listing of all the personnel the agency employed. It was impossible. The section chiefs would not cooperate. Even now, there was no way of knowing if they submitted complete lists or only partial ones, or even if the lists that they submitted were genuine or fabricated. Abuses had been flagrant and frequent. Upon assuming the directorship of the agency, Forrester had discovered that it was like an octopus that had lost count of its tentacles and had no real ability to control them.

Past directors had simply allowed the agency to operate in its own way, to run on its own inertia. And they had not overly concerned themselves with regulations. Though he was hardly a stickler for going by the book himself, Forrester did not work that way. He took firm charge of the agency and the section chiefs who ran their sectors like feudal kingdoms. He was determined to streamline the agency and mold it into a tight, well-disciplined, efficient unit, just as he had done when he had organized the First Division. To weed out the corruption, he had organized the agency’s own internal police force, the Internal Security Division, which had been headed by senior field agent Colonel Creed Steiger.

Forrester had known there were abuses. He had been aware of the corruption. But he had not been prepared for the incredible conspiracy he had uncovered when he found out about the Network. It was a secret agency within a secret agency. The Network made its own rules and was accountable to no one. Its only imperative was profit. The Network went beyond organized crime. It was like a multinational corporation whose influence transcended time. Forrester had been astonished to discover the extent of the Network’s operations. They were involved with organized crime in a large number of temporal sectors and they had extended their influence into politics, as well. The I.S.D. had uncovered Network involvement in large multinational conglomerates of the 20th century, in the 18th-century Moroccan slave trade, in piracy on the Spanish Main during the 1600s, and in diverse smuggling operations throughout the timeline. The potential for profit using time travel was simply staggering, and the resources the Network had amassed were impossible to calculate.

As Forrester had reported to his superiors, it was difficult enough trying to unravel the complicated financial structure of modern, 27th-century corporations. But even using all the considerable investigative resources at his command, it was impossible to trace complex and clandestine financial operations that cross the boundaries of time.

Profits skimmed from the revenues of the Roman Empire could be used to finance bootlegging and gambling operations during America’s Prohibition and the capital that was generated there could be invested on Wall Street in the bear markets of the 20th century, using the knowledge gained from time travel to pull off the ultimate in inside trading. Money skimmed from gambling casinos in Las Vegas, Atlantic City and Monte Carlo could be funneled into arms trade in Brussels and profits realized there could finance drug smuggling and prostitution rings operated under the cover of the Mafia. It was impossible to follow the trail of the money unless one or another of those operations were discovered and shut down, the participants taken into custody and interrogated. Even so, the closed cell system that the Network utilized insured that only small portions of its vast, illegal empire could be exposed. And then the trail simply ran out once again.

Unintimidated. Forester had set out to bust the Network and, in so doing, had incurred a price upon his head. Steiger, too, had a contract put out on him by the Network and, on his last mission, he had been assassinated, though he had managed to take his killer with him. Forester’s relentless pursuit of the Network had driven them more deeply underground and his only real hope of stopping them was to find their leaders, the people who would possess the records of all the Network branches and their operations. However, so far, only a few of the Network’s operations had been uncovered. Its leaders remained hidden and unknown.

As a result, the merging of the T.I.A. and the First Division had gone somewhat less than smoothly. There had been considerable resentment for the time commandos among the agents of Temporal Intelligence and the members of the First Division had reciprocated with distrust. For years, the agency had been a lot like a corrupt police division. Not everyone was on the pad, meaning that not everyone was actively involved with the Network, but many of those who weren’t involved had known about it and kept quiet. Indeed, there had been little else that they could do, considering the fact that the former agency director had been a Network man, himself.

Forester had instituted scanning procedures for all agency personnel in an effort to unmask those with Network connections and all the agents, even those who weren’t involved, resented it. Many resigned or transferred out. Others, significantly, simply disappeared. New personnel had been brought in to replace them and, eventually, things began to settle down. But it was significant that none of the old agents from the days before the two units had been merged were present in the First Division Lounge. The newer personnel had no background of camaraderie with the soldiers of the First Division. They, like the older agents, tended to socialize together. Consequently, when Delaney. Cross and Priest entered the lounge, they saw only a few other members of the First Division at the bar and lingering over their drinks at several tables. They nodded greetings to them and took a table of their own, near the back wall.

It was late and the sprawling base below them was all lit up. The glass wall gave a panoramic view of the base and the surrounding countryside. Off in the distance, they could see the lights of traffic on the interstate and, farther off, the distant glow of the city of Los Angeles, a vast metropolis that had seen phenomenal growth over the last few centuries, growth that showed no signs of abating. It had already swallowed up many of the towns and cities to its north and south and, at the rate the growth progressed in San Diego, L.A. and San Francisco. the entire coast of California would soon be one gigantic city. Always assuming that the long-predicted “Big One didn’t strike and cause most of it to collapse into the ocean, which would open up fascinating real estate opportunities in the Mojave Desert.

Over glasses of single malt Scotch whiskey, the three of them discussed their plans.

“All right, the first question is our cover,” Lucas said. “I think we should all go in separately. Or at least in such a way that we’ll appear not to be connected in any way.”

“I second that.” said Delaney.

“I’m going to have a problem with that.” Andre said. ‘I’m not about to take a job in Tombstone as a saloon girl and have smelly cowboys breathing cheap whiskey in my face and trying to drag me off to some back room. I’ll have to go in as someone’s wife. So, who’s going to be the lucky guy?”

“Oh, gee. I don’t know,” said Delany. with mock reluctance. “What do you think, Lucas?”

Lucas sighed. “Hell, why does it always have to be me?”

“Tell you what, I’ll flip you for it. Loser gets to be her husband. Call it. Heads or tails?”

He flipped a coin Andre snatched it out of the air. “Very funny.” she said, wryly.

“I don’t know, Andre,” Finn said. “if you go in as a hooker, you’ll be able to pick up a lot of information.”

“That’s true,” said Lucas. “And you’re inoculated against all known diseases, so-”

You want to drink that Scotch, or wear it?” she asked

“Okay, okay.” said Lucas, with a grin. “Lt. Cross, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“You heard him, Finn.” said Andre. “He just proposed.”

“That’s true, he did.” Delaney replied, nodding. “I’m a witness.”

“I accept, darling.” Andre said, smiling sweetly.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Lucas said, with a grin. “That wasn’t fair. You tricked me.”

“Did you hear me use any coercion?” Andre asked Finn.

“Nope,” Delaney said. “Far as I could tell, he proposed of his own free will. And he’s still sober. Hasn’t even finished his first drink.”

“Okay, okay, stop kidding around.” said Lucas, smiling.

“What makes you think I’m kidding?” Andre said, raising her eyebrows.

“Very cute,” said Lucas. “All right, really, let’s get serious here.”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?”

“Come on, Andre, that’s enough. We’ve got work to do.”

“Hey, you proposed. Finn heard you. He’s a witness.”

“Okay, you guys have had your joke…”

“I wasn’t joking,” Andre said, with a look of wide-eyed innocence. “Were you joking, Finn?”

Delaney shook his head. “Not me. Hell. I even offered to flip him for it, but he sat right there and asked you to marry him. I heard it.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “I meant only for the mission. Come on. guys…”

“Did you hear him say anything about it being only for the mission?” Andre asked Delaney.

“Nope He said, and I quote. ‘Lt. Cross, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?’ Granted, he didn’t go down on one knee, but I don’t think that’s required. Not very romantic of you, Lucas. And you didn’t even give her an engagement ring. Jesus, how cheap can you get?”

“Are you through?” asked Lucas, with exasperation.

“Now if he doesn’t go through with it, I’ve got grounds for a breach of promise suit, isn’t that right?” asked Andre.

Delaney nodded. “I’d say so. I’m a witness. And if I’m called to testify, I’ll be under oath to tell the truth. I’m sorry, Lucas, but as an officer and a gentleman, what else can I do?”

“As an officer, you leave rather a great deal to be desired,” said a deep. Continental-sounding voice behind them, “and if you’re a gentleman, then I’m Queen of the bloody May.”

They turned around to see what appeared to be a ghost sitting at the table just behind them. The speaker was a tall, slim man with gaunt, aquiline features: dark, wavy hair: brown eyes and a neatly trimmed moustache, he was dressed in brown wool flannel slacks and custom-made, conservative tan shoes with toe caps a white button-down Oxford shirt that was open at the neck to display a brown and gold paisley silk ascot, and a brown tweed Norfolk jacket. He wore a brown felt fedora tilted at a rakish angle and carried a blackthorn walking stick with a sharp brass tip. He was sitting in the chair, sideways to the table, turned toward them, with his legs casually crossed and his walking stick held across his lap.

They could see right through him. His form seemed to flicker, appearing almost completely solid one instant, then transparent and insubstantial the next. It was an effect of the process that had permanently tachyonized his body, rendering him trapped forever by the immutable laws of physics which he had sought to tamper with. His name was Dr. Robert Darkness.

He was, in every respect, as flamboyant and eccentric as his name. Little was known about him. For years, he had been a mystery man, first coming to prominence as a research scientist who had stumbled upon the principles that led to the invention of the warp disc and the most devastating weapon ever known to man-the warp grenade.

It was the latter that had led to the current crisis. A portable nuclear device and time machine, the warp grenade was so named because of its resemblance to old 20th-century hand grenades, about the same size and shape as a large egg, easily capable of being held in one hand. Its built-in chronocircuitry enabled pinpoint adjustment of its nuclear explosion. It could be set to destroy an entire city, or just a block within that city, or a building on that block, or a room within that building, or even a small area within that room. It could be adjusted so that whatever surplus energy released by the explosion was not required for the task would be clocked through time and space, to explode harmlessly in the far reaches of the cosmos. At least, the ordnance experts who had constructed it, based on the work that Darkness did, had believed that it would work that way.

In practice, such massive amounts of energy clocked through Einstein-Rosen Bridges, “wormholes” in space and time, had brought about a shift in the chronophysical balance of the universe. At least, that was the theory. It was also possible that the actions of the Time Wars had brought about increased instability in the timestream and contributed to the imbalance. Whatever the cause, a parallel timeline, an alternate universe, had been brought into congruency with our own and the proximity of the two timelines had brought about the Confluence Phenomenon, wherein the timestreams rippled and, at various points in space and time. intersected. At those confluence points, it was possible to cross over from one universe into the other.

For the people in the parallel timeline, the disaster had been magnified because each time a warp grenade had been exploded in our universe; its surplus energy had been clocked into theirs. Most of those explosions had occurred in outer space, yet some of them had caused untold destruction. Several space colonies in the parallel universe had been utterly destroyed, with cataclysmic loss of life. It had brought about a war

The war was, of necessity, a limited one. Strategic weapons were not used, because the moment the Confluence Phenomenon had been discovered, it quickly became apparent to the people in both timelines that attempts to clock strategic weapons into the other universe could backfire. With the instability in both timelines, there was no telling exactly where or when a detonation could occur. As a result, the conflict had become the ultimate Time War, one timeline against the other, with each seeking to cause temporal disruptions in the opposing timestream.

In the parallel universe, commandos and agents of the strike force known as the Special Operations Group were dispatched through confluence points with missions to interfere with history. Their scientists believed a timestream split would serve to overcome the Confluence Phenomenon and separate the two timelines once and for all. The scientists of the Temporal Corps believed the opposite. They were convinced that a timestream split in either universe could set off a temporal chain reaction that would have disastrous consequences. It could bring about ultimate entropy, an end to all of time. It was therefore necessary to locate as many confluence points as possible and to patrol them for their duration. At the same time, it was imperative to preserve temporal continuity and prevent disruptions caused by infiltrations of the S.O.G. while attempting to bring about minor disruptions in their timeline, thereby tying up their manpower and their resources while they attempted to adjust them.

It was a situation with unlimited potential for disaster, with a Sword of Damocles hanging over everyone. What Dr. Darkness thought of all this had not been known. Shortly after the warp grenade had been developed, he had disappeared. He had gone off planet, to some secret research base he had established somewhere in the far reaches of the galaxy. It was there that he began his experiments with tachyon translocation, temporarily converting the human body into tachyons in order to achieve the ultimate in transportation. Only, in his calculations, he had overlooked a little known principle of physics known as the Law of Baryon conservation. by which his tachyon translocation process was ultimately restrained.

The result was a permanent alteration in his subatomic structure, rendering it unstable. He became the man who was faster than light. He could move through time and space in less time than it took to blink. Yet, upon arrival at his destination, he could not walk so much as one step. The only way he could achieve anything resembling normal mobility was to “tach,” to translocate from one spot to another. It could be highly disconcerting. What was even more disconcerting was what Moses Forrester, Lucas Priest. Finn Delaney and Andre Cross had recently learned about him. And they were the only ones who had that knowledge.

Dr. Darkness was from the future. A future in which, it seemed, some cataclysmic temporal disaster had occurred. He would not reveal what it was, nor would he reveal if he’d been sent out on a mission by people from the future or was simply working on his own, he revealed very little, but it was obvious that he was trying to effect a complex temporal adjustment in an effort to avert whatever disaster had occurred in the time from which he came. And the three of them were somehow a part of the mission he was on.

Delaney groaned and shut his eyes. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me. He isn’t really here. I’m just having a bad dream.”

I’m equally pleased to see you, too. Delaney.” Darkness replied, wryly. “I’d sooner have a case of indigestion. Regrettably, one has to make do with the tools one has at hand. And you, Delaney, are unquestionably a tool.”

“Doc. I’m almost afraid to ask,” said Lucas, “but the last time we saw you, you said something about one more key mission we’d have to perform.”

Darkness nodded “That’s right, Priest. This is it.”

“Shit,” Delaney said. “I knew it. We’re all going to die.”