He thought about that, realizing it was Orlov that sent him west on the rail to Ilanskiy, and Orlov who found that strange object in Siberia, the Devil’s Teardrop. Somehow his fate has had a great deal to do with all of this.
Now he felt restless, anxious, like a man watching a candle burn away, and when that light went out, there would be nothing left but darkness. Darkness, a Grand Finality, calamity… Call it by any other name, that black rose was seeded now, and growing here in the Devil’s Garden of this war. Its thorny stalk was lengthening, the dark buds opening to a bloom of death.
That was how Director Kamenski had described it, and that thought made Fedorov remember his first discussion with the Director over the question that still plagued him—what was going to happen to them if they remained here on July 28th of this year? That was the day Kirov first arrived in the past, and clearly there could not be two ships occupying the same moment in time. Kamenski had suggested something quite different might be going on…
“What you say is very interesting, Mister Fedorov, assuming this is the same meridian of time we were on before… much has happened to the world, and most of it our doing… If something happened in 1908 to change the history, then the 1940s we find ourselves in now may not be the same as those you visited earlier.”
Fedorov had heard such theories before. Some call this notion the “Many Worlds” theory, saying that a world existed for each and every possible outcome of events, which would mean there might be an infinite number of worlds, an infinite number of Anton Fedorov’s out there somewhere, each one living out the infinite number of possible choices he might make in life. He remembered his objection to that, the fact that he was standing right there on the deck of the battlecruiser Kirov.
“I do not see how that is possible at the moment,” he had said. “Wouldn’t the history have to remain cohesive enough to give rise to the building of this ship? That would have to occur for us to even be here at this moment. It’s maddening, sir.”
“Yes it is,” Kamenski said in return. “Other men have gone mad over it—the Siren’s Song of time—yet we dare to sit here and listen, and it seems we have been bold enough to hum along as well! Remember that we remain loose variables at large in history until all these events reach some definite conclusion. We undertook the dangerous mission to try and reach the ship in 1908 and remove it from that time, and that we have done. But the job is not yet complete. We are still a needle in Mother Time’s finger as she darns her dress, and as long as we are here, the possibility of changing everything that follows this moment still exists. That said, we must not be surprised to find that all the days between 1908 and this moment may have already changed, and that the world we sail in now is not the same one we left. I do not know if we can untangle that knot just yet, but at least we have a year before we would ever have to face that paradox you raise, which is plenty of time to shift elsewhere.”
That time was now running thin, thought Fedorov. The year has burned away, like that candle, and it is already May. That was one fear, but another arose from what Kamenski had asserted—the possibility of changing everything that follows this moment still exists.
There was hope in that, or why would they remain here in this struggle, but there was also fear. He had already seen the terrible consequences of his blundering. What if these changes give rise to a future where his objection could not stand? What if the history never leads to the design and building of a ship like Kirov? After all, it was the enmity of the long cold war that saw this ship built in the first place. Suppose this Grand Alliance here does succeed, and we avoid that cold war. Would the Soviet Union have built Kirov anyway? Would we have built Kazan? Would the ship have ever left Severomorsk like that, packed with missiles and bombs to conduct those live fire exercises?
He realized now that his very existence here rested on a tall stack of plates and cups that was teetering on a very shaky table. And everything they did here was like trying to remove a chipped plate from that stack, and replace it. One slip and the whole thing could come tumbling down and break into a thousand pieces. The life of this ship, its very existence, and his own life and fate was all there in that stack of plates, and behind that thought was that persistent thrum of anxiety again.
We are outlaws, he thought. Geronimo was a very good name for this ship. We’ve caused nothing but trouble on this long sojourn in time. Yes, we’ve been a needle in time’s thumb, and she must be very upset about our meddling here. So this time we shifted to a place where we must finally account for our actions, an hour where our very existence rides in the tightening knot of paradox, an hour when we face the prospect of our own Grand Finality, our own personal calamity—annihilation.
Now he remembered how he had tried to explain his fear to Kamenski: “Paradox is not simply some thorny problem—I think it is the force that rearranges things when time is confronted with an insoluble contradiction. It is a real and dangerous force.”
Fedorov had hit on a great truth. Paradox was time’s black hooded executioner, the slayer of impossibility, a sharp sword that cut through the Gordian knots they had twisted with their meddling.
Kamenski had given him a solemn nod. “This is the first time our own necks have been on the chopping block,” he had said. “Yes, the edge of paradox is a very dangerous precipice to hike along. We must be very careful here. I cannot say how that problem might resolve itself, Mister Fedorov, but something tells me that time would find a way. Yes. Mother Time does not wish to have her skirts ruffled any more than necessary. She would find a way.”
Fedorov wondered if that were true. They were putting Time in a very difficult position here. Suppose Kamenski was wrong, and the Many Worlds theory was only that, a theory, but not a reality. Suppose there was only one world, one ship, one Anton Fedorov. I am more than matter and material, he thought.
I also persist through time. Now I find that because of this impossible journey in time, my own future self may be coming to judge me here. But I am that self! How could this happen? That future Fedorov cannot exist until I go there in time, either by living out my life, day by day, or in one great leap through time as we have done with Kirov. And what if our actions here change that future, and this ship is never built? What if we change things and some of the crew are never even born? What if I am never born? One question tumbled after another…
His dilemma was the very essence of the word paradox, and that was the heart of his fear—Paradox Hour.
If there was only one world, then these changes we have made in the history might be permanent. We’ve been chipping away at the decades, like a sculptor chiseling fine marble. One false tap; one slip of the hand, and we could chip away a piece that can never be recovered. This is what we have been doing here, what I’ve been doing. I presume to have the skill and knowhow to chisel time. It’s like a man trifling with one of Da Vinci’s greatest works, and thinking he can fix the weathering of time by altering the sculpture or painting! Time took the careful progression of countless moments to create this history, and now along comes Anton Fedorov…. Isn’t that what those voices from the future were trying to warn the Watch about? Beware a ship, Geronimo, Kirov…
This was what he realized when he called off Troyak’s mission to try and use the stairway at Ilanskiy to go back in time and fetch Ivan Volkov. He realized that Troyak could not bring the man back to this era from 1908, because he already existed here. A person cannot go to a time or place where he already exists, and if he tries to do so he puts Time in a most uncomfortable position.
It was that same basic paradox that had led him to the more desperate decision to simply demolish the stairway, to close the breach in time, if only for a while. But now he had learned another startling truth. There were other breaches in time, other rifts, hidden passages under lock and key.
And one of those keys had gone missing…
Chapter 8
Yes, one of those keys had gone missing, but they knew where it was—or at least w
here it once was. And they also knew the approximate time and circumstance of its disappearance. The key was embedded in the base of the Selene Horse, a precious artifact that was about to be shipped to Boston for safekeeping. When he learned that, he urged Admiral Tovey to simply send a message to Scapa Flow and prevent that shipment from being loaded, which he did as soon as the meeting concluded. As fate would have it, they soon learned that they were too late. Due to the secrecy involved, Rodney had been loaded three days earlier than the Admiralty originally planned. The battleship was now well out to sea.
“Most unfortunate,” said Fedorov. “We know that key must be there, and yet it turned up missing when the ship finally reached Boston. It must have happened during the battle Rodney fought with Bismarck, but I can’t see how that could happen now.”
Even as he said that, Fedorov had a sinking feeling. Bismarck was out there this very minute, part of Lütjens’ task force attempting to break out into the Atlantic. They were rushing west for the Straits of Gibraltar in hot pursuit, but they were not the only ships maneuvering in this chase. Home Fleet, now being handled by Admiral Holland, was already counting battleships and nervously watching other movements of the German High Seas Fleet. Fedorov learned this when he suggested that Admiral Tovey order Rodney back to a safe harbor.
“The moment I heard this news,” said Tovey, “that was the first thing that entered my mind. Yet as simple as it may sound, getting it done may not be so easy. Yes, I may be commander of Home Fleet, and that charge will immediately revert to me from Holland the instant this ship enters the Atlantic, but Rodney is about the King’s business at the moment, and suggesting we turn it around will have the Admiralty asking a lot of questions, not to mention the King himself.”
“I can see how that may be uncomfortable,” said Fedorov through Nikolin as always, “but surely the stakes here are too high to risk the ship at sea until we have that artifact in our possession.”
“True, but I may not be able to offer an acceptable reason why the ship should be taken off active duty. In fact, if I suggest this, the Admiralty will say that is exactly what Rodney is about. Her decks are loaded with equipment and new boiler tubes for her refit in Boston, and I don’t think the government wants this other business delayed. Rodney is the goose with the golden gullet now. She’s carrying a good amount of gold bullion in addition to the Elgin Marbles.”
“What about Mister Churchill?” said Fedorov. “Now that we’ve let him in on the secret, he should be a powerful advocate on our behalf in this matter.”
“Yes, I suppose Winston can throw his weight in gold around when he sets his mind to it. But such a request will need some explanation before he can grasp the urgency as we have here. Churchill is in London. Would you advise that I attempt to relate all this to him over Admiralty signals channels? That could be very risky.”
“I understand,” said Fedorov. “Yet there must be something we can do.”
Tovey nodded. “I am thinking we might be able to solve this problem another way,” he said. “quietly, at sea. When things heat up in the Atlantic, I take command, and I can come up with any good reason to pull Rodney off by the collar. Then we can arrange a rendezvous at sea. We can go aboard and see about this business—why, you could do so personally if you wish, Mister Fedorov.”
Fedorov still seemed troubled, but relented. Yes, it would be too risky to try and explain all this through coded signals to Churchill. And that would likely take a good deal of time in any case. What Tovey was suggesting seemed workable, though he still had reservations.
“What if the ship gets involved with the Germans. I have listened in on German Enigma traffic, and there is a lot of movement in the north now.”
“Unfortunately so,” said Tovey. “Admiralty believes they will make another run at us with a second powerful task force. They still have Tirpitz up there, along with the Twins, and that aircraft carrier that bedeviled us before, the Graf Zeppelin. Put those ships together and it spells a lot of trouble for Home Fleet and Admiral Holland. We can match them. Home Fleet has four good battleships standing to arms right now, and the battlecruiser squadron is coming south to reinforce Force H.”
“Any word on that battle?”
“Not yet, but we should hear soon. That young man I put at the helm on Glorious has a head on his shoulders, but if he’s tangling with Lütjens, things could get out of hand. This business in the Mediterranean forced me to weaken Somerville considerably. Thank god the French moved all their heavy units from Casablanca to Toulon, otherwise things could get very ugly in the Atlantic.”
“We won’t get through the straits until the night of May 4th,” said Fedorov. “I plan to run the straits after midnight on the 5th. We’re a full day behind the action.”
“Yes, we can’t offer Somerville any assistance just yet,” said Tovey, “and remember we still have to win through at Gibraltar.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Fedorov. “We’ll get through. Kazan will clear the channel of enemy U-boat activity. They’ll know we are coming, but we’ll run the straits in the dark, making enemy air strikes very difficult, particularly with our potent missile air defenses. As for the shore batteries, I’ll handle them. We’ll get through.”
“I like your confidence, Captain.” Tovey smiled. “Then once we do get through, the pickle will be this—how to arrange this meeting at sea with Rodney, while still staying in the hunt for Hindenburg. There are hundreds of ships at sea just now in the convoys. This is a maneuver the Admiralty did not expect. They’ll be burning the lamp oil late tonight trying to see how they can re-route convoys to avoid the worst. My job is to protect those convoys.”
“Do you think Force H can delay the German battlegroup?” asked Fedorov.
“Possibly. We’ll know the answer to that shortly. I’m headed straight for the W/T room to get at the latest signals traffic. My Mister Wells hasn’t got much to work with, a few cruisers and destroyers along with Glorious, but he’s a determined young man. Reminds me of you in many ways.”
“Can we count on any help from Admiral Holland?”
“He’s already dispatched the two battlecruisers, Renown and Repulse. I suggested Hood might go along as well. That ship has the speed we need in a chase like this, but Holland has his flag there, and wants this dance. I suppose it’s a wise decision. With Hood up north he can sail with Duke of York and cover the Faeroes passage, and then send King George V and Prince of Wales to the Iceland channel. It’s that same old game again. The Germans always have the edge at the outset, as they can pool all their major fleet assets together, and then pick one channel or another, while we have to cover everything, and we never seem to have enough ships for the job. So you can see how my suggestion that we retire Rodney in the middle of all of this would raise eyebrows in the Admiralty.”
“I understand,” said Fedorov. “Well, let us hope we can arrange this meeting at sea somewhere safely away from the action. What is your plan, Admiral?”
“That remains to be seen. Circumstances will dictate, as they always do at sea. We have to be ready for every contingency.”
“Well,” said Fedorov, “we have four ships here, counting Kazan. Any ship could make this rendezvous, though I would think we might want to keep our strongest assets in the hunt for the Hindenburg. Both my ship, and Argos Fire, have radar sets and our helicopter assets. We should have no trouble finding Lütjens at sea. And we have the speed to get after him, if he’s not too far ahead of us. Remember, our missiles have considerable range.”
“Indeed,” said Tovey. “Perhaps we could send the Argos Fire. After all, Miss Fairchild claims to be the keeper of these keys. I would think she would want to get to Rodney herself, and from her warnings in that meeting, she’ll want to find that key as soon as possible.”
“Agreed,” said Fedorov.
Tovey perceived some slight reservation in the Russian Captain now. “Ah,” he said, “I’m thinking you are very curious about this key, and what it
might open, Mister Fedorov.”
“That I am, sir. But I can see that it’s not mine to meddle here. Our task is to get to Rodney, and keep the ship from harm until we do recover that key.”
“And after that?”
“I think you said it best earlier, sir. Circumstances will dictate, in all of this. I have faith that we’ll determine what needs to be done.”
“As do I,” said Tovey. “After all, I’m supposed to be the one who arranged this whole party, yes?”
He smiled, but Fedorov could see that Tovey was wrestling with demons of his own over all of this. He has to be wondering about that, he thought. How could he have written that note? What circumstance is waiting for us out there that sees that possibility made a reality? It would certainly keep me up at night, and Tovey must be at his wits end. Yet the man is a well of calm and reserve. I must give that some thought myself, if I can manage any time. Perhaps I had better enlist some help in all of this. Admiral Volsky suggested I go talk with Director Kamenski about it. Perhaps that would be wise when I get back to the ship.
“Very good, Admiral,” said Fedorov. “Please let me know the moment you hear news of Force H. If they are in difficulty, we might be able to offer support with our helicopters.”
“I’m off to the wireless room,” said Tovey. “But something tells me we may have some bad news waiting. I’ve a sixth sense at sea, and there’s something on the wind, Mister Fedorov. It doesn’t smell good.”
Fedorov nodded, saluted, and was on his way.
* * *
After making his report to Admiral Volsky, he excused himself, saying he would like to speak with Director Kamenski concerning the revelations made by Miss Fairchild at their meeting.
“Yes, do go and see Kamenski about all of this,” said Volsky. “And while you are there, ask him how his garden is doing. It seems he’s been having problems with gophers. We all have.”
Paradox Hour Page 7