A Lady Out of Time (Helen Foster)

by Caroline Hanson

  A Lady Out of Time

  By

  Caroline Hanson

  A Lady Out of Time

  Copyright 2013 Caroline Hanson

  Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 1

  Helen’s dog tags clinked against the china teacup, the sound like mocking laughter. She squashed a desperate urge to swear. Helen was a soldier, not by choice but because being in the military was mandatory. Once upon a time, women hadn’t been drafted. But the world had been at war for so long now, everyone was drafted.

  Maybe that was why it pissed her off to be scolded over improperly pouring a cup of tea, because she’d never been taught how to do something so useless. Something so…girly. It almost seemed cruel—come pretend to be a lady and then go back to cleaning your gun and running five miles in full gear.

  Jerks.

  When the class was over, Helen rushed out to find her best friend Mary, who would be grabbing a quick smoke before the next class. After all, if you’ve got an 80% chance of being dead by thirty, why not smoke?

  The smoking area was at the edge of the military base, the view consisting of loading bays and black asphalt tucked neatly behind a barbed-wire fence. Beyond the base were rolling, yellow hills. There was so little rain in California’s Central Valley that everything was dried up and had a burnt quality to it that Helen found more than a little depressing.

  She liked green grass and trees, the vibrancy of life surrounding her. The Central Valley looked like nature had lost and was dying a slow, dehydrating death. Her gaze was pulled back to a line of camouflaged military trucks that were idling at the loading bay.

  Eight black body bags were brought out, pulled up to the trucks on gurneys and hefted inside like unwieldy bags of trash. Fear flashed through Helen, and she thought about asking Mary for a cigarette. Seeing the body bags made her think cancer was the least of her problems.

  Mary’s voice sounded urgent. “That’s thirty. Thirty body bags that have come out of there in the last week. What the fuck? And I haven’t heard a thing. You?”

  A plume of smoke shaped vaguely like a dragon drifted in front of Helen, singeing her nostrils. “No.” Not that either of them were important enough to hear anything significant, but sometimes there were rumors. Helen hadn’t heard any, maybe that was even more ominous.

  Mary continued to guess. “Tests of some kind. That’s obvious. With so many dead people, how come we haven’t heard anything?”

  Helen pulled out her ponytail holder, gathering her shoulder-length dark-brown hair in her hands and putting it back up, just to have something to do. “I’ve spent the last three hours staring at maps of Victorian London. Do you know what I learned? It was crowded, and they could have used a city planner. Drinking the water was a bad idea. Why am I taking a damned history class? England belongs to the Nazis and has since 1948. And even if we were going to invade England, why would I have to know how to pour tea to do it?”

  Mary shrugged and crushed her cigarette under her boot. “Where do you go next?” she asked.

  “Umm. General Fox wants to see me.”

  “What?!” She yelped so loud that Helen flinched in response. “Do you think you’ll get promoted? That would be amazing! Then I’d finally know somebody on the inside.” She rubbed her hands together gleefully, as if she were already coming up with plans for world domination. Or maybe free beer nights. That was more Mary’s angle.

  “I just told you that I’ve been learning how to pour tea. There is no way that’s a promotion. If anything, it could be a demotion. Maybe I’m being moved to the mess-hall or something.”

  “Potato peelers have good life expectancies. You’ll be bored to death, but alive.” The bell rang, and Helen was both glad and a little nauseous to get the meeting with the General out of the way. “I’ll tell you all about it later. And if it’s a promotion, you’re buying.”

  “No, if it’s a promotion, you’re buying,” Mary said, her smile a little forced.

  “Like it matters, I always buy.”

  “And I love you for it,” Mary said, and she gave Helen a big hug. “You’ll be fine.”

  Probably. But for some reason, Mary’s final words felt like a jinx.

  Chapter 2

  Helen was shown into a large office where a nervous secretary held some papers and seemed to vibrate with agitation. General Fox, one of the big head-honchos and someone Helen had only seen from afar, was in front of her. She knew some of the missions he’d been on: taking out the Dachau Engineering Lab and the Nazi Headquarters in France. He was a big fish, and Helen wasn’t even sure she was a fish.

  “Specialist Foster. You must be wondering why you’re here?” He spoke like a bulldog. And Helen had the suspicion that it wasn’t so much a question as it was the prelude to a speech. At least he was going to get right to it.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Close the door first.”

  Helen closed the door and went back to standing at attention before the General.

  “Do you remember the tests we did last week?” he asked.

  Helen felt her insides turn to water and wondered if there was a bathroom nearby. What was the protocol when one was worried about crapping themselves in front of a senior officer?

  “That was a very important test. A test that you, and you alone, passed. Out of the 400 candidates who have been tested, your genetic code reacted the best. I’m sure this will sound odd to you, Specialist, but those tests were designed to see who might be able to survive time travel.”

  “Time travel?” Helen said, trying not to give any indication that, yes, it did make him sound like a whack-job.

  “Obviously, this is top secret. It’s our newest weapon in the fight against the Nazis. In fact, it may change everything forever.”

  Sooo, no pressure then.

  General Fox smiled insincerely, the bright overhead light shining off his bald head. “How different would our wor
ld be if the war had ended in the 1940s?”

  Helen tried very hard to keep her expression blank. That was almost 100 years ago.

  “All the people who would still exist, and the lives that might have been lived.” He shook his head. “For a while, it looked as if we were going to win the war. Hitler was bogged down in Russia; he didn’t have the manpower nor the money to keep the war going. Really, his defeat looked inevitable. And then, just when we were making headway, the Nazis came out with a new weapon.”

  The Warmaker. Everyone knew about the weapon that allowed Hitler to conquer Russia.

  “The Warmaker.” He said it as if it were the name of a man who was fucking his wife. “The plans for this weapon were created in 1853 by Roland Black. Black couldn’t get the gun made in the United States, so he went to London. Black sold the plans at auction, and then they disappeared for almost a hundred years until Hitler somehow got hold of them and built the Warmaker. We believe that if Black’s gun design never got sold, but was destroyed, Hitler would have been defeated, perhaps as early as 1945.”

  “So…” Helen stood there for a minute with her mouth open. There were words in her head, and they almost made a sentence, but reconciling what General Fox was telling her with what she knew of the world was apparently quite a brainteaser. She cleared her throat. “Permission to speak candidly, sir?”

  He nodded.

  “You’re telling me that Black invented the Warmaker and sold it to someone...in London at auction, and…you want me to go back in time, get the plans and destroy them?” She emphasized the words, wanting to make sure she was getting the key point right.

  The back-in-time part.

  “Yes.”

  Helen scowled. She was pretty convinced that his response should have been longer than one word.

  He motioned the secretary over, and she set some papers down next to General Fox before backing away quietly. “These are your release forms. They say you understand the mission we are assigning you, and that you are aware that it’s a one-way trip.”

  “Sir?” she croaked.

  His expression was stern. “Your mission is to go back in time and find the Warmaker plans. Destroy them.”

  “Why me, sir?” Because there must be someone more qualified to be here listening to this speech and signing papers than me.

  He looked down, hiding his expression. “Time travel has been theory for centuries. And while we now have the technology, it’s still experimental. Initially, we’d envisioned sending back a few agents with combat training. But something about the male DNA means they can’t travel. We tried and that…that was a loss.”

  Helen wanted to ask how many times they had tried it. Wanted to know just how many men had been killed. How many more body bags had been carried out when she wasn’t standing there because Mary was smoking a cigarette?

  He leaned back in his chair, and it squeaked like he’d just rolled over a mouse. “Women have always been able to withstand genetic modification better than men. Their cells and chromosomes are more adaptable and easier to tinker with because of their reproductive capabilities. It’s the same for this. Combine that with the genetic modifications you already have, specifically the way you conduct heat, means that if anyone is going to pull this off, it’s going to be you.”

  You mean if anyone is going to survive, it might be me, she thought dazedly.

  “You won’t have any resources. Nor will you have any money. We can’t send anything through except the person. Not even clothes. You will pretend to be a rich American socialite who has come to England looking for a husband.”

  Her mind tripped up on the idea that she was going back in time…and naked! Wait. Was this a joke? A vision of herself materializing in a crowded market á la Lady Godiva made her clench her fists. The military didn’t joke. No whoopee cushions or hidden cameras. But…

  She didn’t know shit about Victorian England! She had so many questions she wasn’t sure where to start. “Sir, how will I survive? How can I pretend to be rich if I don’t have any money?”

  He grimaced. “The answer to that, while distasteful, is acceptable due to the gravity of the situation.”

  She wondered if he were about to tell her to be a prostitute.

  “Blackmail. This will all be in the file that you may read after the briefing, but the short version is that Edward, Duke of Somervale, was illegitimate. If you threaten to expose him, he’ll give you the money to complete your mission.”

  Helen really wanted to sit down. “Sir?”

  “In 1925, renovations were done at the Somervale’s family estate. A diary was found detailing that the Somervale heir had been stillborn. Edward, the sixth duke, was a bastard; swapped at birth because it looked as if his father were going to die. If there had been no heir, the family would have been penniless. You know his family’s dirty laundry, and he’ll give you the money to keep quiet.”

  “Am I supposed to get the diary?”

  “No, it has to stay where it is so it can be found in 1925. But you can tell him you have it. Get the money and give him nothing. The record of events is included in the file.” General Fox went on to explain the weight of her task, the volume of information threatening her sturdy expression and steady legs. He finally stopped speaking, and she knew she was dismissed.

  But she had one last question. One that seemed pretty important to her, but that he had managed to gloss over. “Sir, you said it was a one-way trip?”

  He put down his pencil and gave her a small, maybe even sympathetic, smile. That scared the shit out of her. It meant she was as good as dead, and he was trying to break the news gently. “We don’t know how to get you back. You go, and you stay. Ensure you get enough money from the Duke to live comfortably for the rest of your life. And remember, what you’re doing will make you a hero.” He stood up, came around the desk and stuck out his hand. “Your government thanks you for your service.”

  She shook his hand, unsurprised when he squeezed hard. That was one of her pet peeves, men trying to break her hand when they shook it, so they could prove what a big dick they had. She squeezed back, and his eyes widened.

  “Dismissed,” he said.

  Helen left, her ears ringing. That faint, high-pitched ring that meant she was one shallow breath away from passing out on the floor. So this is how I’m going out. Not in combat with her friends, as she’d always believed, but on her own. In a corset. She was going back in time. To a period when a butcher was a doctor, where the dentist was a man with a set of pliers, and where women had no rights; in order to stop the Nazis from conquering Europe. Hopefully.

  Again, no pressure.

  She tried to look at the bright side…where was that again? Past the pot of gold, and beyond the unicorns somewhere. Changing the course of history was a big deal. History books would know her name. She opened her new schedule and noticed she was assigned to have her photo taken before she left.

  A photo for the history books. Which was slightly surreal. This was an honor, a great opportunity to serve her country. There, wasn’t that a bright side? To possibly save millions of lives, maybe even prevent the Aryan Cleanse of 1955? Perhaps even the Holocaust. She slumped to the ground, her back sliding down the wall until her ass bumped the concrete. If I can prevent that much death, and all I have to do is spend my life in a time before TV and suffrage, isn’t it worth it?

  Fucking-a it is.

  Chapter 3

  Her next stop was to see Daniel, one of the scientists for their Quadrant. Or as he would now be known to her: Time Machine Guy. He didn’t look like a scientist per se. He was tall and boyish, with a perpetual smile and lots of enthusiasm. Mary had 'dated’ him a year or two back. And by 'dating’ Helen meant 'boned.’ Mary was a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of gal. Daniel had hung around longer than most though, and Helen considered him a friend.

  Daniel was already smiling as she came in, extending one arm wide as he showed her a monstrously large white machine that was kind of egg-
like. “Here it is! This is the baby that’s going to send you back in time. How cool is this? You’re impressed, aren’t you?”

  “Impressed and terrified,” she said. “But it’s an incredible accomplishment. Congratulations.” She might have to rethink the friend label if he were this excited about sending her to her doom. She reached out and touched his arm, getting his attention. His head cocked to the side, the smile dimming.

  “What’s up, Helen.”

  “Why me?”

  “You mean, why are you chosen? Why did you survive?”

  She couldn’t say ‘Yes.’ For some strange reason the word was stuck in her throat. He turned to face her more fully, hunching a little so he was eye level with her. “I tried to keep you out of it. I pulled your file and sent you to the back twice, hoping we wouldn’t get to you. But…anyone we thought had a chance at surviving just kept dying. We’d open up that box and…”

  He didn’t detail what he saw, but she knew. She’d experienced it. The smell of death and scorched flesh, burned hair and cooking blood. The silver walls splashed with red as if a child had taken a bucket of paint and gone nuts. Even though it was 100° outside, Helen shivered. She saw it all again: going into a large metal box with ten other women, the loud mechanical whine that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, all of it culminating in a blinding white light.

  And when it was over, and she’d opened her eyes…they were all dead. Blood streamed from their noses and eyes. Their bodies limp and slouched over or sprawled on the ground as though they’d stood up, ready to open the door and escape; as if they knew they were seconds away from death and that if they could just get out that fucking metal door, they might survive.

  She knew it, because she’d felt it too, the sizzling heat and destroying rays. Helen had walked out of there, the scientists and doctors watching her with wide eyes, as if they were surprised she’d survived. The only one to walk out of there. They’d sent her to a radiation detox chamber and changed her schedule. Now she was learning history, pouring tea and studying maps, and it all made sense. If going back in time made sense.