by Kage Baker
They wandered farther up the canyon, along an aisle between spindly little palm trees, and noted the presence of a riding stable to their left. Farther still and the recent extension of the golf course opened out, irregularly green yet but determined. Alec, staring up at the looming mountains, recognized them.
This was where the time shuttle crashed. This used to be her cornfield.
Doth she remember it? Nicholas peered at Mendoza worriedly.
But Mendoza seemed quite unperturbed by memory, pleasant or otherwise, as they rounded a foothill and regarded a wide canyon opening out to the left.
Her little house is gone, mourned Alec.
Oh, really! said Edward. Did you honestly think it would still be here, after a hundred and fifty thousand years? And in fact there wasn’t a trace, not of Mendoza’s house, not of her garden. Even the verdant forests that had covered the hills were gone like phantoms, having given way to chaparral and sagebrush.
You got the girl, laddie. She belongs to the sea now, like us. Don’t grieve yer heart for no house nor a few trees, the Captain transmitted.
But if I’d stayed here with her, said Alec, if I hadn’t gone on to Mars like an idiot . . . all those people would still be alive.
Aw, son, just now they ain’t even been born yet.
So you’re watching us, are you, Captain? Edward paused and looked about. Well then, where’s the next target?
The spot was quite deserted, and so there was no need to obscure their movements as they concealed the third bottle.
“A fine morning’s work,” said Edward. He reached out to Mendoza, who was gazing up at the mountains. “And now, I think, we’ve earned a pleasant luncheon at the Hotel Saint Catherine. Wouldn’t you say so?” He turned her face to his. She started a little, but smiled for him.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “By all means.”
They walked away together down the canyon. Behind them, there was a queer disturbance in the dust; its surface roiled like seafoam, alive with green and springing blades of corn.
A tunnel through the cliffs at Sugar Loaf Point brought them out upon Descanso Bay. The sea was clear as glass, full of waving purple and amber weed, where fire-colored fish swam slowly. Above the water’s edge, a hard-packed road ran along to a broad green lawn.
“Well!” Mendoza stopped, staring across landscaped grounds at the queenly white hotel. “How elegant.”
“Indeed it is,” said Edward, his gaze coming to rest on a beachside pavilion where a white-jacketed waiter was polishing the counter. “And that, unless I’m much mistaken, is a bar.”
They made their way to it through flowering hibiscus and bougainvillea; but when Edward politely inquired if Johnny was to be found, the waiter glanced over his shoulder before leaning forward to suggest that Johnny might be on duty in the main restaurant. So they walked up across the lawn, in through the lobby, and were promptly shown to a table by the terrace doors.
“Has Johnny reported for duty today?” said Edward. Their waiter, without batting an eyelash, replied:
“He certainly has. He just waited on those people—” He nodded meaningfully at a table farther in, where a party in tennis togs was chatting happily over what were obviously glasses of white wine. “He’s busy at the bar just now, serving ginger ale to all those golfers, but I can get his attention for you.”
“That would be splendid,” Edward said, placing a perfectly counterfeited bill of large denomination on the table. “Of course, I understand that American laws quite prohibit the sale of, for example, two glasses of a good La Tour Blanche, but if Johnny might be persuaded to bring us the same lemon squash he just served that party—?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the waiter said, bowing and vanishing. Mendoza sank back in her chair.
“This is insane,” she said. “Why would mortals make it so difficult to get two little glasses of white wine?”
“Human nature, my love.” Edward grinned and set his knee against hers under the tablecloth. “The desire of a few to dictate morality to the whole. And why do the masses submit willingly? Apathy. Or, perhaps, the opportunity to experience the thrill of the forbidden! To be obliged to resort to code words and secrecy. Appropriate for our business, wouldn’t you say?”
“Our deadly and desperate business,” she intoned theatrically.
“Sinister and subtle,” he agreed, taking her left hand in both his own. “And, best of all, our business alone. Never again to be posted on some fool’s errand.”
Mendoza shook her head. “I remember being sent to the ends of the Earth . . . I wanted so badly to get back to you, and I couldn’t.”
Careful, man, said Alec.
“Don’t think of those times, my dear,” Edward said. He kissed her hand.
“They tried to separate us, didn’t they?” she said.
“And very foolish of them it was, too,” said Edward. “Considering how well we work together. They’ll have all of time to rue their mistake. Either that or a very short space of time indeed.” He looked up. “Ah. I believe Johnny is about to make his appearance.”
“Your lemon squash, sir,” said the waiter, putting down two napkins followed by two nicely chilled goblets of wine.
“Thank you,” Edward said, watching narrowly as the waiter slipped the bill into his apron pocket and vanished again. “I daresay we’ve seen the last of that banknote. Oh, well.” He lifted his wine. “A toast, my love? To our continued—nay, rather our eternal—partnership!”
They clinked glasses and drank.
“Pleasant,” admitted Edward. “Though hardly a La Tour Blanche.”
It’s a California white, Alec informed him. I smuggled enough of the stuff to know.
“Lovely,” sighed Mendoza, leaning back in her chair and gazing out through the terrace windows at the sea. “What happens next?”
“A brief journey back to the Captain Morgan to change into suitable riding attire, and then we assail the mountain,” Edward said. “I believe we may acquire a souvenir or two. Luncheon first, however.” He glanced in annoyance at the crowd around the bar. “I do hope one needn’t rely on Johnny for a carte du jour as well.” He had found of late that he was finding the taste of virtual food insipid.
“I don’t mind,” Mendoza said, lifting her glass for another sip of wine. “I could sit here, just like this, for years and years.”
Little parrots chattered in the garden. The crowd at the bar parted for a moment, and a man could be heard saying:
“. . . trust me on this, pal. Private bungalow on the back lot with your own valet, chauffeured private car, room service—and I don’t mean a box lunch sent over from the commissary, either, I’m talking about—”
Nicholas, who had been gazing at Mendoza, looked around sharply. He seized control from Edward.
“God’s wounds! Doctor Ruy.”
Alec and Edward turned to stare at the bar, where the speaker had faltered into silence and was, to their horror, staring back at them. His personal appearance was nondescript, save for the loud Argyle pattern of his golfing sweater. He was stockily built, of somewhat less than average height, olive-skinned, with bright black eyes that were presently wide with disbelief.
“Who?” Mendoza had gone paper-white, wouldn’t look.
Who is it, man, for Christ’s sake? said Alec.
Her damned father, Nicholas snarled, and to their consternation he began to rise, apparently with every intention of assaulting the man at the bar.
Are you crazy? Alec grabbed at his arm, without effect.
Bloody Hell! Edward wrested control back from Nicholas and turned to Mendoza. “Go, my love. Through the terrace door. Now,” he said, very quietly. He glanced over and saw that the black-eyed man was trying to push his way through the crowd to them. Edward got up swiftly, taking Mendoza’s trembling hand. She came suddenly to life and they fled together, out onto the terrace and across the lawn.
Her hand began to twist in Edward’s, and he realized that she was a
bout to shift into hyperfunction. Just as suddenly she was solidly there again, staring at him, for she’d remembered his limitations. Neither of them said anything, though, as they ran on.
As they sprinted along the road back into Avalon, Edward raged: Where are you, you damned machine? Why didn’t you warn us?
He ain’t one of the operatives assigned to the island, the Captain transmitted. I been keeping watch on them. I didn’t know that one was here!
Well, you know now, panted Alec. Is he following us?
No. He’s still in the bar. He ain’t sent any broadcasts to alert anybody about you, neither. Don’t worry! If he tries to come after you I’ll lob a missile his way. If the cliff above the road collapses, I reckon it’ll take him a while to dig himself out.
Oh, that will be inconspicuous, Edward shouted in exasperation.
Well? You got any better ideas, Commander Bell-Fairfax, yer worship?
STOP FIGHTING! said Alec. That was the guy who recruited her, wasn’t it? That was Joseph!
That same devil, aye, raved Nicholas. That same smiling liar and son of a mongrel bitch, that same thieving rogue I swore I’d kill with these two hands!
He’s an immortal, you bloody fool, Edward said, as they emerged from the tunnel and plunged on toward Crescent Avenue, past staring vacationers.
Is he so? Can he suffer, as my love suffered? Let him lie an eternity in darkness, too, and I’d grant him his eternal life, Nicholas retorted. He made her a slave! Wilt thou let him chain her again? That subtle dart that poisoned her keeper, Spirit, canst thou not make one to sicken the likes of Doctor Ruy?
Now, there’s an idea, said Edward, after a heart-pounding moment. I wonder if—
Let’s just keep our heads about this, all right? Alec said. We don’t want to get close enough to him to find out, do we?
Mendoza had reached the whaleboat and was frantically pushing it down the beach into the lapping water, looking back over her shoulder. They vaulted the seawall, landing with a scatter of shingle, and Alec took the prow.
“In,” he said. She needed no second urging but tumbled over the gunwale, and crouched shivering in the stern as Alec launched the boat and leaped in. A second later they had put about and he was rowing at his best speed. Red-eyed dolphins followed in his wake, scanning as they went, ready to turn and ram any pursuit.
“Who was it?” Mendoza asked, giving in to tears at last as they hurried aboard the Captain Morgan.
“You didn’t see?” Alec took her hands, staring at her.
“Only your face!” she said. “I was afraid to look at what you were seeing. I can’t ever remember you looking so angry, except—except when—”
Alec put his arms around her and held tight. “Don’t remember. Don’t think about it. It was somebody we don’t want to run into again, that’s all. And I’m not going to do anything stupid, baby, I promise you.” He glared at Nicholas.
“But what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to time jump right now.” Alec looked down at her. “And nobody’s going to get hurt.”
Coordinates set, lad, the Captain announced, as Coxinga crawled up to them with a tray and a glass. Stirrup cup for good luck, eh?
Alec gulped it down, gagging. Mendoza tugged at Alec’s hand, pulling him toward the storm harness.
“Please, let’s get out of here,” she said, wiping away her tears. “Let’s go somewhere safe.”
If only there was somewhere safe, thought Alec, as he held her tightly. Yellow gas came roiling into the cabin.
EARLY ONE AFTERNOON IN 1435 AD
But the waters off Lord Howe Island proved quiet and relatively deserted. The Captain Morgan extended masts, spars, and rigging and dropped anchor. Though the dolphins deployed and patrolled for any Company shuttles that might have followed them, none put in an appearance. The ship’s laser cannons remained silent and invisible behind their gun ports.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING
Wakey-wakey, me dears. Breakfast! All yer favorites, the Captain crooned. Coxinga edged close to the bed, offering a laden tray cautiously. It was set with the best service and bore all the delicacies Coxinga’s galley had to offer.
Alec and Mendoza both sat bolt upright, staring.
“I had the worst nightmare,” Mendoza said.
“Me too,” Alec said. Shakily he reached out to pull her close, assuring himself that she was really there. “Let’s forget ’em, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
Now I’d call that a right clever plan, especially as things is looking a little more cheerful than you might expect, said the Captain ingratiatingly.
“Oh, really?” snapped Edward, taking control to reach for the tray. “Given yesterday’s debacle, I should estimate our chances of looting that storage site are nil. They’ll undoubtedly be watching for us.”
Well now, lad, I’d have thought so, too; but it seems we had a stroke of luck. The, er, operative in question never reported seeing ye.
“I beg your pardon?” Edward halted in the act of pouring coffee for Mendoza.
Hey, what? Alec looked astonished.
Wherefore? Nicholas demanded.
I been scrolling through Company records hell-bent-for-leather whilst ye was sleeping, particularly that one immortal lubber’s personnel file. Interesting reading! And I found out a power of useful things about that there Facilitator, but the long and the short of it, Mr. and Mrs. Checkerfield, is: the Company don’t know! Not even his visual transcript tipped ’em off, since it were just a glimpse of ye for a second or two. The clerk monitoring his datafeed didn’t notice.
Wherefore? said Nicholas more loudly. Mendoza lifted her head and looked around, frowning.
And as to why he didn’t tell nobody—why, that’s another stroke of luck, the Captain said. It seems that particular operative’ll get hisself in trouble with his superiors. The last few centuries of his file is annotated all to hell and gone with speculations about his loyalty. Finally they’ll transfer him to a numbered site, and he’ll disappear from the records. File closed, matter dropped.
“You mean they’ll send him to—” Alec blurted, appalled, before Edward silenced him and the Captain said quickly:
Coventry, aye, that’s what it seems like. So no further trouble from him.
“My compliments, Captain, you’re quite correct,” said Edward with iron composure, adding cream to Mendoza’s coffee and presenting her with the cup. “That is a stroke of luck. Have you any suggestions on how to proceed next?”
There ain’t nothing to stop us going ahead with the plan, is there? We’ll just rest up, let the generators recharge, and skip ahead a little. Say ten years, this time. Then for that storage locker!
“I rather think you’re right,” Edward said. He shook out Mendoza’s napkin and offered it to her. “What do you think, my dear? Are you game?”
She accepted the napkin, but did not smile. “I don’t know that I am. I don’t want you taking risks. I dreamed—awful things. I wish I could convince myself they were only dreams.” She looked somberly into his eyes. “I think you must have been reckless, in your time. I think I must have killed mortals, once. I’d do it again, if anyone hurt you. Please, don’t let it come to that, señor.”
Edward, meeting her gaze, controlled his emotions.
“Never again,” he said. “We will never be parted again.”
They regarded each other a long moment, before Mendoza sighed and looked down.
“Perhaps we can try a raid,” she conceded. “As long as Sir Henry says it’s safe.”
Wherefore art thou whey-faced, boy? demanded Nicholas of Alec, who was sitting with his hands pressed over his mouth in horror. He stared at Nicholas.
Didn’t you hear what they did to Joseph? You’ve seen Options Research. Would you want your worst enemy sent there?
And so he hath been, said Nicholas. The devil’s in Hell, where he doth rightly belong.
But he could have reported us, and he didn’t!
He didn’t betray Mendoza. And, even if she hated him for it—if he hadn’t taken her out of that prison when she was a kid, she’d have died there, Alec said.
He took her to suit his own purposes, Nicholas muttered. Belike he kept silent for his own reasons, too. But he hath worked evil in this world and if he suffereth therefor, it is no more than justice.
Justice doesn’t exist! We did worse things. Nobody deserves to go to that place, Alec said. Anyway, weren’t you Christian types supposed to forgive everybody?
I will shed no tears for that bastard’s damnation, said Nicholas stonily.
No wonder nobody’s left that believes in your stupid religion, said Alec.
Gentlemen, please. Edward sipped his coffee and looked at them askance. I would prefer to dine in a tranquil atmosphere.
AVALON, 1933 AD
The pier pilings and the seawall looked a little more weathered than they had the week before (or ten years before, depending on whose relativity one applied). The quaint old church with its statue of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, hand raised in blessing over her ship’s wheel, still perched on its steep hill. Sugar Loaf Rock was gone, and so was the tunnel; both of them had been blasted away to make a foundation for the grand Casino, which towered in the sunlight like a sea-king’s palace. But the water was just as clear, and the same red fishes still moved slowly to and fro.
They tied up their boat and splashed ashore, the young couple in smartly cut riding clothes. The tall man was carrying a saddlebag. They walked directly up Sumner Avenue in a businesslike way, without sightseeing, and up Avalon Canyon, along an aisle of palm trees somewhat taller and more respectable-looking than when they had gone that way last. At the stable they rented a fine pair of trail horses. The man fastened his saddlebag into place. They rode away into the mountains.
What a lucky chance! The Company’s shifted their manned bases. They’re all over on the windward side of the island now.
That’s good, is it? Edward peered uneasily through the bright morning. They had been making their way along the spine of the island, well below the rimrock on the leeward side. He had control again. Alec and Nicholas paced alongside at either stirrup.