by Simon Hawke
Chapter 1
Colonel Moses Forrester, commander of the First Division of the United States Army Temporal Corps, was unaccustomed to wearing his full dress uniform in his own quarters, but the status of his visitor demanded it. It was the first time Forrester had ever met face to face with the director general of the Referee Corps. If the fact of the meeting was unusual in itself, the circumstances of it were even more so. The meeting was top secret and there were armed guards stationed outside in the corridor and by the lift tubes. The entire floor of the Command Staff BOQ where Forrester was quartered had been sealed off, and the other officers billeted there had been given orders to be elsewhere between 1900 and 2100 hours. The director general had been supplied with the coordinates to clock directly into Forrester’s living room. He arrived with his personal bodyguards, who took up stations just inside the entrance to the living room and in the foyer, by the front door.
The man who merited such treatment was thin frail, his aged face deeply lined, his head bald, like Forrester’s. He wore a simple, two-piece white suit with the small gold and platinum medallion of his office worn as an amulet around his neck. Compared to Forrester’s bull-like physique, the director general’s frame looked emaciated, but his light gray eyes were bright with vitality and intelligence.
“Colonel Forrester, I’m pleased to meet you. I am Director General Vargas.” His voice was soft and low, with a flowing, soothing quality.
“Sir!’ said Forrester, snapping to attention. “This is an honour.”
Vargas nodded once, accepting the compliment. “Please, Colonel, stand at ease. We shall dispense with protocol henceforth. We have important matters to discuss. Do sit down.”
Forrester waited until Vargas sat down on the couch before he took the chair opposite, across the low glass coffee table. “May I offer you anything, sir?”
“No, thank you,” Vargas said. “I will come right to the point. The conversation we are about to have is, of course, classified.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Which personnel make up your best historical adjustment team?” said Vargas.
Forrester replied without hesitation. “That would be my executive officer, Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Priest; Lieutenant Finn Delaney, and Sergeant Andre Cross.”
Vargas pursed his lips and nodded. “If we may speak candidly, strictly off the record, I would like to ask you some questions about these personnel.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Their record speaks for itself, yet I am struck by the incongruity of Lieutenant Colonel Priest’s being a model officer and Lieutenant Delaney’s disciplinary record.”
Forrester said nothing.
“You have no response?” said Vargas.
“I’m waiting for a question, sir.”
Vargas smiled. “How very diplomatic of you, Colonel. Very well, then. How is it that the finest officer under your command is teamed with a man who has one of the worst records of offences in the entire Temporal Corps, a man who in civilian life might well have been a convicted felon?”
“With all due respect, sir,” said Forrester, “there is absolutely no evidence to support such a conclusion. Granted, Lieutenant Delaney has a disastrous disciplinary record. Calling him a maverick would be a gross understatement. However, I would like to point out that every one of his disciplinary offences occurred in Plus Time, not in the field on the Minus side. And, frankly, I am far more concerned with his performance in the field. I would also like to underscore the nature of those offences.”
“Drunk and disorderly,” said Vargas. “Numerous incidences of direct disobedience to specific orders. Even more numerous incidences of striking superior officers. Insubordination. Etcetera, etcetera.”
“Exactly my point, sir,” said Forrester, wondering where the discussion was leading. The director general was clearly familiar with the records. The question was, why should he have taken the trouble? What could possibly be so important that the director general of the Referee Corps would personally review the dossiers of an adjustment team?
“I don’t dispute that Lieutenant Delaney holds the record for the most reductions in grade of any soldier in the Temporal Corps,” he continued. “But that’s only looking at it one way. He also holds the record for the most promotions for outstanding service in the field. There are soldiers, such as Lieutenant Colonel Priest, who possess qualities and temperaments that make them excellent officers in the field as well as on the parade ground, if you follow my meaning.”
Vargas nodded.
“Others, such as Lieutenant Delaney, possess qualities and temperaments that clash violently with the exigencies of the military infrastructure.” Forrester paused. “This does not necessarily make them bad soldiers. In some cases, these are people whose abilities are under-utilised, who possess personality traits that result in their being suffocated by military bureaucracy. Their personalities render it difficult, if not impossible, for them to follow the orders of officers who are superior to them only in rank. Yet at the same time, these are people who would be even less comfortable in civilian life. They are soldiers first and foremost. In the proper role, and with the right commander, they can excel.”
“Meaning no offence, Colonel,” Vargas said, “but are you quite certain such a description fits Lieutenant Delaney?”
“Like a glove, sir. You can’t take a man like Delaney and put him behind a desk. He’s a veteran of numerous temporal campaigns. If you demand parade ground spit and polish of him, and expect him to jump like a monkey on a stick every time some light colonel half his age says “Boo,” you have a ripe candidate for a court-martial. On the other hand, if you put him in the field where he belongs and give him an opportunity to show initiative, you have a T. E. Lawrence or an Otto Skorzeny. If Delaney wasn’t worth his weight in gold as a commando, I’d have had his ass a long time ago—begging your pardon, sir. The fact that he coldcocks an occasional first lieutenant fresh out of OCS, or gets into a drunken barroom brawl, is of less interest to me than the fact that he’s a first-rate soldier when the chips are down. You can’t take a fighting cock and put him in a henhouse and expect him to lay eggs. If I want a man in the field calling the shots, I’ll pick Priest. If I want someone at my back, I’ll take Delaney. If I can have them both, I’ll bring you results, as their record shows.”
Vargas smiled. “A most impressive argument, Colonel. According to the records, you have interceded for Lieutenant Delaney in almost every case. I was curious to hear your reasons.”
“And having heard them?” said Forrester.
“Having heard them, I am satisfied,” said Vargas. “Which brings us to the third member of this team, Sergeant Cross. Her dossier makes for truly remarkable reading. A 12th century woman relocated to the present and programmed with a modern education. Fascinating. Official records aside, however, what is your personal opinion of her?”
Forrester smiled. “Frankly, sir, if I were seventy years younger, I’d be tempted to take a highly personal interest in Sergeant Cross. She’s sharp, quick thinking, possesses a high degree of initiative, and is utterly fear-less. She grew up an orphan in the 12th century, totally disadvantaged, yet she managed to become literate, at least by the standards of her time, and to survive in a hostile society. She fights as well as any man and better than most. She’s highly adaptable, so much so that she can, and has, easily passed as a man in male-dominated societies. She is the only case of Plus Time temporal relocation on record, and the fact that she is where she is speaks for itself in regard to her abilities. The three of them together function as a well-integrated whole. Whatever it is they are being considered for, sir, I can give them my unqualified endorsement, but I can tell you right now that I’d fight like hell against having them removed from under my command. I’d stake my life on those three. In fact, I have.”
“Excellent,” said Vargas. “I am satisfied that we have selected the right people for the job. I merely wanted to reassure myself by speaking
with you, because this time a great deal more than just your life may depend on their performance, Colonel. If they fail, we may all die.
The mission briefing was held in Forrester’s quarters, not in one of the briefing rooms, as was usually the case. Forrester’s orderly was not present. There were only the four of them. The three commandos were dressed in black Temporal Army base fatigues, bare except for their insignia of rank on narrow black armbands and their division insignia, a stylised number I bisected by the symbol of infinity, pinned to their collars. Forrester was still wearing his full dress uniform, having sent for them immediately following the director general’s departure. Since their commander always dressed in black base fatigues and never wore his many decorations, the sight of him in what Delaney referred to as “full goose turnout” had their curiosity aroused.
They sat around the table, drinking coffee, while Forrester stood. It was not unusual for them to sit in the presence of their commanding officer. Forrester preferred to stand while conducting briefings, so that he could pace back and forth, a practice he claimed helped him think more clearly.
Lucas Priest somehow managed to look as if he were sitting erect, even while he leaned back against the sofa cushions. His fatigues were crisply pressed and his dark brown hair neatly combed. He was slender and fit, the perfect incarnation of an officer and a gentleman. His left eye was natural, his right bionic, though not even the closest physical inspection would have revealed the difference.
Andre Cross was a tall young woman with straw-blonde hair. Her outward symmetry belied the fact that she possessed unusually broad shoulders for a female, her uniform masking her extremely well developed muscularity. She was more striking than attractive, with the graceful poise of a natural athlete and a calm self-assurance in her bearing.
By contrast, Finn Delaney had the outward appearance of a lout. The burly, redheaded Irishman had the physique and posture of a bear and a face that seemed constantly on the verge of an insolent grin, even when he was serious. His uniform looked as if he had slept in it—he often did—and the top of his blouse was unfastened, as usual, revealing a massive and thickly corded neck. In any other unit he would have been a walking invitation to be placed on report. He had spent his entire adult life in the service, a testimony more to obstinacy than to aptitude, but after years of serving on the front lines in the regular corps in battles throughout time, he had finally found a commander who understood how to put his unique capabilities to use.
“What I am about to tell you is classified information,” said Forrester. “You will report to mission programming directly following this briefing and clock out to your assignment from there. There is to be no discussion of this mission with anyone, repeat, anyone outside this room. Clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they said.
“I have just concluded a meeting with the director general of the Referee Corps,” Forrester said. Even Delaney sat up. “He has personally reviewed your dossiers, which should give you some indication of the gravity of this situation. I’ll make it brief. Recently an arbitration action was conducted in Afghanistan in the year 1897, during the Pathan revolt. Background of the conflict between the British Raj and the frontier mountain tribesmen is as follows:
“The British annexed the Punjab territory to their Indian Empire in the year 1849. The move was predicated upon what Britain referred to as her ‘Forward Policy,’ which entailed a gradual extension and consolidation of British influence into the frontier, chiefly to create a so-called “buffer state” between the British Raj in India and what was considered to be likely Russian expansionism. British military campaigns in the Hindu Kush range of Afghanistan resulted partly from concern that Russian control of the area would give them a direct invasion route into India and partly from a desire to pacify the region and curtail invasions into the Punjab of plundering mountain tribesmen. The Pathan tribes recognised no law other than their own and that of the Koran, as imparted to them by tribal holy men who frequently used it to serve their own purposes.
“In the years following the annexation, the Royal Indian Army conducted over fifty punitive campaigns against the Pathans, a situation complicated by there being some half a dozen major independent Pathan tribes on the frontier and dozens of smaller Pathan groups who either gave their allegiance to one of the larger tribes, or to the British, or fought amongst themselves, depending on what side of the bed they got out of that morning. With so many armed conflicts going on, it was decided that the period made a good scenario for conducting temporal arbitration actions.
“During one such campaign, Search and Retrieve units clocked in following a battle between soldiers of the Royal Indian Army and Afridi tribesmen. In recovering the bodies of temporal soldiers who had been infiltrated into the British ranks, S & R found the body of one Sergeant Thomas Court. Court had apparently dragged himself up into the rocks to hide from Ghazi tribesmen who were butchering the wounded. Found next to him was the body of an Afridi tribesman. They evidently killed each other. Now here’s where it gets interesting.”
“With the exception of clothing and colouring, the two bodies were alike in virtually every respect. As he was dying, Court had assumed a curious posture with the index finger of his right hand pressed up against his temple and his other hand pointing at the head of the dead tribesmen. The S & R team leader realised Court had tried to leave a message. He thought Court might have been attempting to indicate an implant in the body of his twin, but their scan did not reveal one. Despite that, the team leader took a gamble and risked clocking back with both bodies so that an investigation could be conducted. An autopsy revealed the presence of an implant, but it was calibrated to a different frequency than standard Temporal Corps implants, which is why S & R’s scanning equipment didn’t register it. More significantly, both bodies had the same fingerprints and the same retinal patterns. A thorough biochemical analysis revealed that the two bodies were identical right down to the DNA. They were both the same man.”
“That isn’t possible,” said Delaney. “That would involve a temporal paradox.”
“Which is precisely why the findings were checked several times and then reported directly to the Referee Corps,” said Forrester. “There was no question. Moreover, the dark pigmentation of the dead Afridi’s skin and the slightly larger nose were both discovered to be the result of minor cosmetic surgery procedures. Both bodies were Thomas Court.”
“That’s crazy,” Lucas Priest said. “There has to be some mistake.”
“The results were checked and rechecked,” said Forrester. “There’s no doubt. The Referee Corps has determined that two possibilities exist that might explain this situation. You’re not going to like either one of them.
The first possible explanation is that someone has figured out a way to alter implant signals and is experimenting with a procedure meant to sabotage temporal conflicts by somehow programming individuals to carry out certain tasks. In the case of Court, the theory is that someone might have gotten their hands on him in Plus Time and brainwashed him into going back into the past, programmed to kill ‘himself’ while he was involved in a temporal campaign. A sort of test case. Since both Courts died at the same time, or at roughly the same time, temporal paradox was avoided. Or perhaps the brainwashed Court, assuming that was the case, would have died upon clocking back to Plus Time, in which event the end result would have been the same.”
“It could be possible,” Delaney said. “We experimented with similar problem modules in RCS and determined that it could happen, theoretically. Only this isn’t theory. I can think of only one other possible explanation. A timestream split.”
“Precisely,” said Forrester. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it. If a timestream split has occurred, there are no indications to show at what point it occurred. In that case, the fact of a non-standard implant indicates something even more frightening. If a timestream split has gone down, assuming the people in the parallel timeline are aware of it, then their e
ntire existence depends upon that split.”
“Which means they have to prevent us from adjusting it,” said Andre.
“Exactly,” Forrester said. “The second Thomas Court could have been from that second timeline, a parallel universe created by an historical disruption. There is a possibility that in spite of our defeating Drakov during our battle with the Time Pirates, a split might still have occurred, but the Referee Corps has determined that clocking back to that ‘battle would be too hazardous. We barely got through that one by the skin of our teeth, and trying to go back to it again would increase the odds of creating even more temporal splits. And there’s no way of determining if that particular scenario was the cause. It could have occurred in any of a dozen temporal campaigns, or hundreds, or even thousands. Without knowing for certain, no standard adjustment operation can be attempted.”
“With all due respect, sir,” said Delaney, “if that’s the case, what the hell are we supposed to do?”
“You will have the unenviable mission of trying to determine whether or not we’re dealing with a massive timestream split, Mr. Delaney,” Forrester said. “If that’s the case, then there’s a good possibility that people from that second timeline are conducting some sort of subversive action on the northwest frontier of the British Raj. If, in fact, that’s what we’re faced with, then the Time Wars are about to be escalated into an entirely new dimension. The people from the parallel timeline will be trying to interfere with our history in order to preserve their own. Your job is to find out who they are and stop them.”
“And if we can’t?” Delaney said.
“Then we may wind up with a fullscale time war between two parallel timelines,” Forrester said. “Apparently the first shot of that war has already been fired in the Khyber Pass.”