by MK Alexander
“It seems Mr Drummond is most anxious to speak with you.”
“Which Drummond?”
“It hardly matters, does it? Though his first name is Dennis in this case.” Mortimer gave us a gaunt smile. “I trust you’ll follow my lead?”
“In what respect?” Fynn asked.
“Let’s just say I have not been entirely candid with Mr Drummond. He still has a limited view of traveling. Quite simply, if he learns too much, I’ll have to dispose of him. And that will be on your conscience.”
The Reverend Drummond strode into the room and looked us over. He seemed to be playing the part of a southern preacher, dressed in white but with a religious collar nonetheless, and a uroboros belt buckle.
“I’d like to talk with these two hombres…”
“I was just about to send them downstairs,” Mortimer said.
“Were you now?” Drummond sat himself on the desk and stared at us. “I know all about these caballeros. I read about them in the journals.”
“Journals from the future?” I asked.
“That’s right. They’ve been written and brought back to us, so we may know what lies ahead… and plan for it.”
“You mean change the present.”
“If necessary.”
“So… you’re not from around here, I take it?”
He laughed. “I’m not the original Drummond you might have met, but a reasonable facsimile. I pretty much know everything he does.”
“How?”
“Like I said, the scriptures… I do know you two cowpokes have made a mess of things…”
“These men have traveled from the future to thwart our plans. The question is, what’s to be done with them.”
“That’s not the question at all, Doc,” Drummond said to Mortimer almost in anger. “The thing is, you promised to fix it all for us. What are they doing here?”
“Everything else I’ve left untouched.”
“What about Roosevelt?” he asked.
“Politics doesn’t interest me at all, Mr Drummond.”
“You made me a promise.”
“Indeed. We will tailor history to your liking once we’ve dealt with these two. I’ve already assured you.”
“These two rancheros are the problem.”
“Mr Drummond, I’ve told you a thousand times… once my plans are complete, I can change everything to your liking with the snap of my finger.”
“Like how?”
“It’s a simple matter of derailing a particular train,” Mortimer said and referred to a large ledger. “The Havana Special, departs ten-o-five, Pennsylvania Station.”
“You understand Jansky is on that train as well?” Fynn warned in vain.
“It makes little difference to me.” Mortimer laughed. “And there’s always the Hindenburg, eh?” He looked down again. “It’s quite handy keeping a ledger like this.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” Drummond asked.
“Failing that, I travel to Bayfront Park on the evening of February fifteenth.” Mortimer looked up from his ledger. “Hmm, I see that task was left to your boys, and they did not accomplish their mission. You can hardly blame me.”
“You made me a promise.”
“Oh, how I hate politics,” Mortimer complained and then snapped his fingers. “There, I’ve fixed your presidential problem.”
“How do I know?”
“I suggest you go out and buy a newspaper.”
Drummond was not at all satisfied with that remark.
“Patience, Mr Drummond. It will be as easy as that once I’ve completed my work.”
“And when did you say, exactly?”
“This afternoon, shortly after lunch. I’ll see you then, yes?”
“Cactus Jack makes a lousy president,” I said loudly.
“What?” Drummond turned to me with an indescribable expression.
“Oh, he hasn’t told you?”
“Who?”
“Mortimer here.”
“Tell me what?”
“Don’t pay him much attention, Mr Drummond. He means to confuse you with his flummery.”
“Well, he seems to know a few things…”
“Not at all. He just has a vivid imagination.”
Drummond turned back to Mortimer. “You realize I won’t rest until we see the five states of Texas.”
“Of course.”
“And we will put a stop to big government before it starts…” Drummond added.
“As I’ve promised,” Mortimer said and twisted his face into a smile. “See you after lunch, then?”
“You should have killed Hoover instead.” My sarcasm leaked out despite best intentions.
“We did try, down in Argentina… didn’t work out so well,” Drummond replied then left abruptly.
“Patrick, I’m surprised at you. You came perilously close to endangering Mr Drummond’s life,” Mortimer admonished.
“Why is that?”
“There is much I choose not to tell him. I’m sure you understand.”
“So you’ve told him nothing?” Fynn asked.
“I wouldn’t say nothing, but I’ve told him very little. For Mr Drummond, everything focuses on the present and the past. There is no future for him. He cannot see it. And, it does not concern him in the least.”
“Why not?”
“For him, it is already written.” Mortimer chuckled. “Though, quite a useful fellow. He can send his minions to anywhere I need them to be, and have a look around… It’s been helpful to peer into the past to see what’s happened to the timeline.”
“To what end?” Fynn asked.
“To find myself in the past, of course. My nexus, if you will.”
“Tell me about the Reverend,” Fynn said.
“Purely by chance, you would say, I met a man by the name of Douglas Drummond. He claimed to be from the far future and thought he could only travel backwards…”
“You didn’t inform him otherwise?”
“I was not the one to tell him he could jump in either direction…” Mortimer seemed shocked. “Though, when he did travel back, he duplicated himself by jumping to a time before he was born. We’ve all heard of doublers, but I had never met a man so ingenious… so methodical, organized. He’s certainly taught me a thing or two about doppelgängers.”
“He’s also a baby-snatcher,” I commented.
“So you know something of his history then,” Mortimer said. “His ridiculous notion that god has something to do with it all… Reverend Drummond, indeed… the absurd religious trappings… this Jacob’s Ladder in the Texas plains, his celestial time, and the voice of god.”
“How has this helped to find yourself?”
“It hasn’t very much. But he keeps a good eye on things while I’m away.” Mortimer paused. “Still, the man never shows any desire to travel very far, so his usefulness is limited. He’s loath to leave the continent; and more specifically he will not jump back before there was an America, as he so often reminds me.”
“These are considerable drawbacks,” Fynn observed.
“Yes, and he’s rather shortsighted in many ways. He forgets too often how changing the past affects his own present… he takes too many risks with his own existence.”
“What about his daughter?” I asked, recalling what Cindy had said so long ago.
“He claims to have a daughter, yes, though I’ve never met her, and indeed she might not be a daughter at all, but a sister.”
“He seems a bit slippery to me,” Fynn commented.
Mortimer laughed. “I have to be cautious when I confer with Drummond to be sure. There is dissension in the ranks so to speak, much like in any family. Some of his so-called sons and brothers refuse to abide by his wishes… And, I cannot be completely sure which faction of the dynasty is present.” Mortimer hauled himself from his seat and stood wavering a bit. He left his cane leaning against the desk. “Well no matter, I’ve dealt with his minions quite effectively.”
“Maybe not as effectively as you think.”
“Whatever do you mean, Tractus?” he asked.
“We saw his vanguard army smash against the cliffs.”
“Meaning?”
“They were jumping to the future.”
“Hmm, I wonder where they got that notion?”
“One of them escaped.”
“Where’s he gone?”
“Who can say?”
“Well, Drummond poses no great threat to me.”
“Why is that?”
“I know from where he originates.” Mortimer smiled. “Though I’m not prepared to share that information with you.” He slowly paced across the room.
“You have considered it though,” Fynn said.
“I suppose… if things truly get out of hand.”
“A causal cascade?”
“I doubt there’s much danger of that.”
“He knows about the temple now.”
“Yes, I suppose he does.”
“That doesn’t worry you?”
“Not at all.” Mortimer smiled again. “Nor would I be so foolish as to use it myself. I prefer not to leave a corpse behind when I travel.”
“Still, he might be a danger to us all.”
“Anyone might travel in time, but to jump accurately to where and when you want… well, now, that’s real mastery.”
“Just like the temple,” I said.
Mortimer laughed at this. “The temple has proved somewhat useful, particularly for sending Mears here and there. But it’s far too risky. And ironic or not, I don’t wish to be like Mr Drummond, dependent on geography to travel.”
“The cane, you mean.”
“Yes, to travel anywhere at anytime with absolute accuracy. This is domination. No more blundering into the future or second guessing the past. I go where I want, and to when I want.”
“That is a fearsome amount of power for any one man.”
“Indeed, and you should fear me, Fynn.” Mortimer laughed. “I can pop in at anytime and smite you down, or cause any amount of suffering to your loved ones.”
“Clearly, something you do well and seem to enjoy too much.”
“Of course it is. Think of it as a kind of reverse empathy. I like that other people feel what I have: suffering.”
“Sounds more like enforced empathy,” I muttered. “Might as well be stabbing cats with a fork.”
“What’s that, Mr Jardel?”
“I think you need a new hobby.”
“You will take us to the dark time,” Fynn warned.
“Not at all, I’ve grown accustom to gracious living… fresh food, good wine, all the small luxuries. These are things I cannot easily give up. I mean to preserve civilization, or the status quo, at least.”
“The very thing you aim to protect is the very thing that leads us there.”
“The status quo?” Mortimer turned to Fynn. “So you’ve told me. I rather doubt it though.”
“What then?”
“Hmm… I will suppose it’s some sort of cataclysm… a meteor perhaps?”
“None have traveled beyond the darkness and returned.”
“Then I shall be the first. I will report back to you.” Mortimer laughed. “Maybe it’s so pleasant a place that no one wishes to come back?”
“That doesn’t seem likely.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“A time some few hundred years distant when a dark veil falls over history. A difficult era for humanity and civilization, it is supposed,” Fynn explained.
“Supposed?”
“Few have returned from there.”
Mortimer ambled to the door, opened it, and shouted, “Where is Greta?”
I heard someone scrambling up the corridor. And in that moment, Fynn lunged for Mortimer’s cane which was still leaning against the desk. He grabbed it quickly and I watched him pry it open with his hand. I saw him remove a small metal sphere and replace it with another. Something went into his pocket. Mortimer was outside whispering to Roy or Ray, and I’m pretty sure I heard the word lunch mentioned. He returned to the office and slowly walked back to his desk.
“I’m loath to state the obvious, Javelin,” Fynn said in an almost friendly tone, “But all your grand plans seem to lead nowhere.”
“Why is that, Tractus?”
“You are old and quite feeble.”
Mortimer laughed. “Of course, you are correct in this… I sought to find my nexus self and in vain. I have failed utterly in that regard.” Mortimer paused. “At least until last month… now that’s all changed.”
“How so?”
“Once my cane is perfectly calibrated, I can happily pass it on to my successor.”
“Your successor?” I asked.
“I found him sulking in Eastern Europe. Not exactly my original nexus self, but a very close approximation.”
“Who is he?”
“He is me of course, only a slightly different version. Most importantly, he’s a good fifty years younger than you see me now.”
“You’ll forgive my skepticism, but I have not witnessed such a person here.”
“No. I have been very careful,” Mortimer replied and gave Fynn one evil eye. “Suffice to say we are of like mind and have some common interests.” Mortimer hesitated. “I’ve yet to convince him to shave off his rather silly mustache, but no doubt I will persuade him eventually. Oh, and this version of me also seems to have both eyes intact.”
“He is here?”
“Here? Not in the strict sense of the word. I doubt you two will be meeting anyway. I will only say we returned by a circuitous route— the long sea voyage was a great opportunity for us both. We’ve grown rather close. In fact, he gave me the idea of keeping a ledger, and I must say, it’s a very good way to keep track of things.”
***
Inspector Fynn was led away to the basement cells. Sometime later, I was taken to the formal garden outside. It was a pleasant September afternoon, though I barely noticed. Mortimer sat comfortably in a canvas lawn chair and seemed to be just finishing lunch. He hardly seemed a threat as he was old and decrepit, and didn’t seem able to move too quickly. Nor would his hard sell work on me. Of that I was sure.
“I have need of your useful skill,” he said at once and offered the chair beside him.
“Remembering what doesn’t happen?”
“Yes.”
“What’s in it for me?”
Mortimer let his thin smile slip. “What would you like?”
“Lunch would be nice.”
“Maybe a history that suits you better?”
“Didn’t you make that same promise to Drummond?”
“I may have… but he was unable to articulate his vision of how the world should end up.”
“Seems pretty clear to me.”
“What sort of world would you want, Mr Jardel?”
“I’d have to think about it.”
“That is the wisest answer I’ve heard. Few people can really say what the world should be like.”
“Well… I guess, I’d like to see justice, fairness, opportunity… freedom, of course… peaceful streets…”
“All quite noble, though that’s nothing more than a laundry list, Patrick… And you forgot equality, by the way,” Mortimer said and stared at me. “You haven’t thought this through, have you?”
“No,” I admitted.
“At least you’re more honest then some… In any case it all sounds rather dull. And I expect it’s exactly the world you live in already.”
“What? We’ve got terrorism, war, disease, famine… We deal with it every single day.”
“Do you? These are but headlines. From my perspective, I see many billions of people cohabiting together on a small planet with little trouble at all. The problems you mention are caused by a tiny minority.”
“They can do a lot of damage.”
“I can give you your safe little world if you wish, even remove these
troublemakers for you… but the cost is sustainability. And it’s quite a high price to pay.”
“What?”
“This world of yours runs on fire.”
“Fire?”
“The fire of burning petroleum. It’s quite inevitable… like all civilizations, this one too will fall thanks to the weather.”
“The weather?”
“Are you not a student of history, Mr Jardel? Surely you’ve noticed that every civilization which rises and falls… falls to nature.”
“I’ve never really thought about it. Is there an alternative?” I asked.
“No,” he replied softly. “Though I suppose whatever new timeline I help to create will not be so very different than yours: the illusion of choice, free will, as things inexorably march towards whatever end awaits.”
“What end is that?”
“It’s really not my choice to make. It’s been determined already.” Mortimer glanced at his watch. “Ah, but it is time to go…” He rose and started to make his way towards the main building. “Hydra’s tail tracks across the sky.”
“What?”
“And look, your friend, Nurse Everest joins us.”
I stared across the formal garden. Elsie was there, standing between Roy and Ray. She looked scared and I felt helpless.
***
Mortimer brought me alone to the hydrotherapy room. It had that muffled sound, that particular echo found in all indoor pools. The water cast dancing reflections against the wall and even the upper dome. He pulled down a lever on the electrical apparatus and there was a telltale clanking sound, like some subterranean gears grinding into place. A terrible noise emanated from behind the circular walls. The effect was hard to discern at first. I thought the floor might be slowly tilting at an angle, leaving only the surface of the water perfectly plumb. But this was not exactly the case. I felt the entire room go off kilter, gradually. One wall seemed to rise while the other lowered. The concentric rim of tiles around the pool started to slope, creating a fairly steep grade. From the far side of the entrance, it rose to nearly twenty feet.
“What just happened?” I asked.
Mortimer grinned. “I simply made the room flat.”
“Flat? It seems like you just did the very opposite.”
“Not at all. What you experience is exactly equal to the tilt of the earth, however, twenty-three degrees in the opposite direction. We are now level with the galactic plane.”