by Steve White
“Indeed. After her retrieval, the implant’s record was naturally downloaded, but since you had evidently put an end to the problem there was no sense of urgency about studying it more closely. But a few weeks ago, while you were on leave, we got around to it. And we turned up a disturbing fact.” Rutherford paused as though gathering strength. “After your Special Operations team came and went, Da Cunha evidently felt no need to monitor her implant’s detectors any further during the remainder of her stay in the nineteenth century. So she was unaware that, in fact, during that period additional nanobots were detected—”
“—That hadn’t been there before,” Jason finished for him. “‘Disturbing’ indeed.”
“Naturally we performed as detailed an analysis as the somewhat ‘fuzzy’ quality of the readings permitted. And the indications are that the time sequencing of these nanobots had commenced at a slightly earlier point in time than the ones you had destroyed, suggesting that the Transhumanists have sent—or will send at some point in our own near future—a second expedition back to make a second attempt. But we cannot be precise. The possible time frame involved is too long for us to keep the displacer stage continuously open. Impossible, in fact, inasmuch as we have several expeditions scheduled for retrieval during that period.”
“Cut to the chase, Kyle. Just how long a stay are we looking at?”
“The plan is for you to arrive on December 15, 1864, and remain until April 5, 1865. This covers the entire period in which we believe the nanobots could have been emplaced.”
Jason leaned forward and held Rutherford’s eyes. “You realize what this means, don’t you, Kyle? This will make me—and Alexandre, since you’re also sending him—contemporaneous with ourselves from April 1 to April 3, which were the dates we were in Richmond on our previous mission.”
“I am all too well aware of that. And councilor Kung is very well aware of it. Only the gravity of the situation induced the council to approve it. That, and one other thing.” Rutherford looked pleased with himself. “I pointed out that on your previous return from nineteenth-century Richmond you reported no untoward occurrences.”
“That’s true: I never encountered myself while I was there.”
“Same here,” Mondrago chimed in.
“Just so. This suggests that the concern is illusory.”
“Of course, there is another concern,” Jason began … and then halted, for he couldn’t discuss in Dabney’s presence the fact that he might encounter Pauline Da Cunha, and have to look her in the eyes knowing her fate and unable to reveal it to her even if—for God knew what reason—he wanted to. Instead, he changed the subject. “What about personnel?”
Rutherford lost a bit of his characteristic self-satisfaction. “Well, er, given the somewhat irregular aspects of this mission, I had to agree that Mr. Nesbit would accompany your party in the same capacity as last time. Aside from him, Dr. Dabney and Superintendent Mondrago, we can allow you two Special Operations officers—not chosen from among those who were with you in the same milieu before.”
Yes, that would be pushing things, wouldn’t it? I’m lucky they’re letting me have Alexandre. “All right. Let me think about it and I’ll give you the names.”
Dabney had been looking as though he felt left out of the conversation. Now he perked up, as if desiring be helpful. “You know, Commander, it occurs to me that Inspector Da Cunha would be an ideal choice. After all, she already has experience in… .” His voice trailed to a miserable halt as he saw the look in Jason’s eyes.
“I regret to have to tell you, Doctor,” said Jason in an absolutely expressionless voice, “that Inspector Da Cunha is dead. She was lost on our next extratemporal expedition.”
“Oh.” Dabney swallowed hard. “I’m very sorry to hear that, Commander.” He paused as though waiting for an elaboration.
None was forthcoming. There was only dead silence.
“Well,” said Rutherford, a little too briskly, “I think that concludes our business for today. We’ll meet again tomorrow to discuss details.”
CHAPTER THREE
The two Temporal Service men Jason had picked were already on hand in Australia when the suborbital transport carrying Rutherford, Jason and Mondrago landed.
It would have simplified things to be able to use people who had accompanied Jason to the collapsing Confederacy before and thus already had the basic orientation for the period. But it was out of the question, of course, with himself and Mondrago going and the council smarting from repeated outrages to its cautious instincts. Fortunately, there were a couple of suitable men currently available.
One was Inspector Adam Logan, a charter member of the Special Operations Section. In fact, he had been with Jason on his brief return to 490 B.C. Athens to scotch the Transhumanists’ Pan cult, before the Section had even officially existed. He was of average size and medium Caucasian coloring, nondescript enough to pass unnoticed in many historical milieus. Terms like “the strong silent type” and “a man of few words” might well have been coined with him in mind. But on those occasions when he spoke, what he said invariably made sense.
The other man was a striking contrast to Logan. Constable Angus Aiken was soon due for promotion to sergeant, but his relative lack of experience had still caused Jason some misgivings, as did his tendency to youthful cockiness. However, as usual, beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to finding people who could blend. Aiken was a small man, which was helpful in most past eras. His coloring was not, for his blue eyes and fiery red hair limited the settings into which he could fit without attracting attention. It shouldn’t be a problem on this expedition, though, given the large Celtic element in the seceding American states’ populations. And he had acquitted himself well on his one Special Ops mission, to his native Scotland around the turn of the thirteenth century to counter Transhumanist machinations involving Templar refugees from Philip the Fair’s suppression of the Order in France. But a fixed-duration expedition like this one would be a new experience for him.
Jason lost no time in confronting that issue, at the Service team’s preliminary meeting, with Rutherford sitting in. “Angus, I assume that you, along with everyone else, have already been told that on this mission we are not going to be permitted to use the Special Operations Section’s unique equipment and methodology.”
“I have, Commander.” Aiken’s manner was scrupulously correct. Like so many other Special Ops personnel, he had been recruited from one of the military “free companies” that had proliferated to fill the gap between the armed forces’ chronic underfunding and the demands placed on them by an expanding interstellar frontier. So despite his youth he was not without exposure to a military culture. Besides which, he was addressing a man who was something of a legend in the Service as well as head of Special Ops.
“Good. But I want to make sure you understand the implications of that. We won’t have the new controllable TRD’s, enabling the mission leader to bring the team back to the present on the basis of his own reading of the situation. No, we’re going to be committed to the target milieu for exactly three months and twenty days, come hell or high water, after which our old-style TRDs will activate automatically. If you’re like most people who have never experienced that kind of retrieval, you may be a little apprehensive at the thought of being suddenly snatched back to the displacer stage without warning. In fact, I’ll be able to tell you exactly when to expect it, thanks to the ‘clock’ that’s one of the functions of my computer implant. Incidentally, mine will be the only such implant. Superintendent Mondrago here has recently received one. But it has now been deactivated—”
(“The story of my life,” Mondrago muttered.)
“—due to the Service regulation that such normally illegal cybernetics are only permissible for the mission leader, for whom their necessity is self-evident on a number of levels.” For the same reason, Pauline Da Cunha’s implant had been deactivated on their Caribbean expedition. It was, Jason thought, just anothe
r example of the Authority’s inflexible, overcautious rules-worship. It was a standing sore point in his relationship with Rutherford, and he permitted himself a quick glare at the older man. But for all his irritation, he grudgingly admitted to himself that the Service could be worse off. They could have had an operations director who never said no to the old ladies of both genders who dominated the council.
“Another consequence of this mission’s special circumstances of is that we will be accompanied by Dr. Carlos Dabney, an historian of the period, and Mr. Irving Nesbit, an administrative assistant to the council.” Jason smiled thinly at Logan’s and Aiken’s expressions, which spoke eloquently of what they thought of having two civilians to nursemaid. “Let me assure you that these gentlemen are not without experience. Dr. Dabney has already spent time in the target milieu, as part of a research expedition led by the late Inspector Da Cunha.” Like everyone else in the Service, Logan and Aiken knew Pauline Da Cunha was dead; but that was all they knew, for the details of her death had been strictly suppressed. Jason and Mondrago had sat, tightly bound, in a jungle clearing and watched those details in the firelight; now they exchanged a quick eye-contact before Jason hurried on. “And at any rate, his detailed knowledge of the period is indispensable to achieving our objective. He understands that this is not an academic jaunt.” I hope, Jason mentally hedged before continuing.
“As for Mr. Nesbit, he was with me and Superintendent Mondrago on our recent expedition to the seventeenth-century Caribbean, of which you may have heard a few things, so you know he came through some harrowing experiences. I’m confident he will be able to withstand the relatively civilized milieu of nineteenth-century North America.” Jason did not elaborate on the reason for Nesbit’s presence, and he was glumly certain he didn’t need to. From his own experiences in the twentieth century, the term political commissar came to mind. “Are there any questions regarding what I’ve said so far?”
“Just one, sir,” said Logan in his slow, deliberate way. “We’ve been told the dates of this mission. Don’t they overlap the time you and Superintendent Mondrago were in the target milieu?”
“That is correct. For that period he and I will be contemporaneous with our own slightly younger selves. As you know, this is contrary to normal operational doctrines.” Rutherford frowned as though he felt Jason was indulging in understatement verging on flippancy. “But, as you also know, it isn’t completely without precedent. I’ve been in this situation twice. In fact, you were with me the first time, in fifth century B.C. Athens.”
“I remember it vividly, sir.”
“Still, I don’t plan to make a habit of it,” Jason continued, with a smile that caused Rutherford’s frown to intensify. “And we don’t expect it to be a problem, for two reasons. In the first place, Alexandre and I were only there for three days, all of which we spent in the city of Richmond. With any luck, our party will be elsewhere at the time. Secondly, and more to the point, during those three days I never saw myself. So we seem to be covered by the Observer Effect.”
“But sir, what about Dr. Dabney?” Aiken wondered. “If I recall the dates correctly, Inspector Da Cunha’s expedition had a significantly greater overlap with ours.” A new thought seemed to occur to him. “And then there’s Inspector Da Cunha herself… .”
“That could be difficult,” nodded Logan, who had known Da Cunha well. “Seeing her, and knowing she’s going to die.”
You have no idea, thought Jason sickly. “Difficult” is not the word for seeing her alive and whole when the last time I saw her she was tied down to the top of a coffin and I had to helplessly watch the things being done to her.
Will I be able to handle it, if I have to? I think so. But what about Alexandre? He watched it all too, until a Transhumanist goon knocked him out to stop his screams and curses.
Jason glanced at Mondrago. The Corsican’s expression was very, very controlled. Then he glanced at Rutherford, and his eyes asked a question.
Logan and Aiken looked puzzled, as though dimly understanding that they were watching a byplay in which they had no part.
Rutherford ended the moment with a harrumph. “Here again, the Observer Effect gives us cause for confidence. Dr. Dabney assures me that he never interacted with a second version of himself. And as for Inspector Da Cunha, she mentioned no peculiar incidents when she was debriefed following her retrieval.”
“A debriefing for which I wasn’t present,” Jason interjected. “I was off-world at the time, in transit to and from Hesperia.” Where I’d barely disembarked before learning that my leave had been cancelled, he silently added, with a glare in Rutherford’s direction.
“That debriefing,” continued Rutherford, ignoring him, “also provided us with the basis for planning this mission. Inspector Da Cunha had, while in Richmond, encountered certain slaves and ex-slaves who apparently belonged to some kind of secret organization, and evidently wanted to be helpful—although she wasn’t certain exactly why.”
Mondrago snapped his fingers. “That’s right. I remember Pauline saying something about that in the short time we were with her there. She also mentioned that she wasn’t able to learn much about them. They were very cautious and secretive, as you’d expect.”
“Nevertheless, as she explained in the course of her debriefing, she was able to learn the identity of one member—or, more accurately, associate—of the group, who she could use as a contact: a certain Mary Elizabeth Bowser, who under the pseudonym Ellen Bond was a servant in the household of Confederate President Jefferson Davis … where she acted as an undercover agent for the Union side.”
Aiken let out a low whistle. “She must have been one very nervy lady!”
“Actually, there were a surprising number of female spies for both sides in that war. Or, on reflection, perhaps not so surprising. Given the social attitudes of the nineteenth century, it must have been easy for women to avoid being taken seriously—a useful attribute for an espionage agent.”
“And that must have been doubly true for a woman of African descent, especially in the South,” Jason speculated.
“Indubitably. But, to resume, as things turned out Inspector Da Cunha never had an opportunity to make contact with her.” Rutherford chuckled. “This was intensely frustrating for Dr. Dabney, who as an expert on the period knew of Ms. Bowser and would have given a great deal to meet her. He should get his chance this time, because our plan is for you to use the information Inspector Da Cunha obtained in order to establish contact with her.”
“For what purpose?” Jason asked.
“To persuade her to put you in touch with the shadowy organization of blacks of which Inspector Da Cunha had tenuous knowledge. You see, one other thing emerged in the course of her debriefing.” Rutherford paused, as though neither understanding nor liking the implications of what he was about to say. “You must understand, she had no hard evidence of this. But she could not avoid the impression that that organization was somehow aware of—and opposed to—the Transhumanists.”
“But how … ?” Aiken began, and then trailed off.
“How, indeed.” Rutherford let his listeners chew on that for a few seconds, then turned brisk. “Tomorrow, at the first full meeting of the expedition, Dr. Dabney will provide us with more detailed information on Ms. Bowser.”
It was a very subdued and puzzled group that filed out. Jason was the last to leave. Just before he followed the others out the door, Rutherford caught his eye and smiled. “At least, Jason, since we know Pauline Da Cunha did not contact Mary Bowser, the plan should minimize the chances of you encountering her.”
“Maybe,” said Jason without much conviction.
“And, to reiterate, she said nothing in her debriefing about any inexplicable sightings of you, aside from the, ah … version of you that was—how to put it?—legitimately in that milieu in the course of your previous Special Operations incursion.”
“I know. But while she may not have seen me in the new ‘version’, that does
n’t necessarily mean I won’t see her, knowing her fate and also knowing there’s not a damned thing I can do to change it.”
Rutherford had no reply to make. Jason departed in silence.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Director Rutherford is quite correct about female spies in the American Civil War,” declared Dabney. He was addressing a full meeting of the expedition, including Nesbit as well as himself, and he was settling happily into what Jason recognized from long experience of similar types as lecturing mode. “Not only was Mary Elizabeth Bowser a woman, but so was her ‘control,’ a certain Elizabeth Van Lew. The whole story is full of obscure and contradictory elements. This was, to a great extent, intentional; Bowser deliberately concealed and even falsified certain elements of her story—possibly even her real name, which may have been Mary Richards. Besides which, after the war the United States government destroyed the records of many of its Southern spies, to protect their lives from retaliation.”
“Typical of the kind of paper trails left by clandestine espionage agents,” Mondrago commented.
“Yes. I’m hoping to be able to clear up some of the mysteries. Although,” Dabney added hastily, catching sight of Jason’s expression, “I do realize that’s not our primary objective.”
“Doctor,” said Logan slowly, “we’ve all gotten the basic orientation, through sleep-teaching and the other standard means, concerning the facts and figures and issues of the American Civil War era. But can you tell us the specifics concerning Mary Bowser?”