by Simon Hawke
“Excellent.” Drakov said. “You have done very well. indeed, Jared. You have lived up to all my expectations. I’m very proud of you. Very proud. indeed.”
Moffat’s eyes shone as he basked in the praise. “I can’t tell you what that means to me.” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “Ever since you sent me here. I’ve sought to prove my worth. And Sally-Sally has been a great help. too.” he added, glancing at her. She looked down at the floor demurely.
“You’ve both done extremely well.” said Drakov. “My confidence in you has been fully justified.”
“Does-does that mean.. Moffat swallowed hard. struggling to get the words out. “Does that mean you will… perhaps… give us a child?”
Sally stood absolutely motionless, watching Drakov as if he held her very life in his hands. Which, in fact, he did. It was almost touching. It was so often the same with them. Because they were mules, they could not reproduce and they desperately longed to be allowed to raise a child. They so wanted to be human.
“When we are finished here.” said Drakov, “if you continue to do so well. I will find a more suitable time and place for you where you can raise a child.”
Sally fell on her knees, took his hand, and kissed it. “Oh. thank you! Thank you!”
Moffat’s eyes were moist. “I–I had not dared to hope for such an honor.” he said softly.
You have earned it.” Drakov said. “But first, we still have work to do. And now I’m tired. If my room has been prepared. I would like to get some rest.”
He climbed the stairs to the bedroom they’d prepared for him, where his bags had already been unpacked for him. He went over to the window and opened it to let in the breeze. He looked out over the streets of Boston and smiled. He would be forever grateful to Dr. Moreau for teaching him the secrets of his special brand of genetic engineering. He had no need of the Timekeepers anymore. With the hominoids, he could create his own organization, seeded throughout time. And they were unquestioningly loyal. fanatically devoted to him, perfect parents for his replications of himself,
As he undressed, Drakov wondered, not for the first time, about the curious curse of his existence. He wondered if he. himself, was one of the replications he’d created. It was a fascinating idea. He knew himself to be the original Nikolai Drakov, but he had created the replications of himself as his crowning achievement, to be given to hominoid parents and carefully raised according to a detailed plan. Each of them, up to a certain point, would have their own individual memories of their existence. but past that point, their subliminal genetic programming would become activated and they would forget their past lives and remember only the life of the original Drakov. his memories and his experiences. his personality engrams down to the last detail. They would even scar themselves with a knife slash across the face. Each one of them would come to believe that he was the original, as he did. And each one would always puzzle over the same metaphysical riddle-did I create myself?
He got into bed and lay staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. He almost didn’t hear it when the door to his bedroom opened softly and Sally entered. He turned when he heard the rustle of her dress falling to the floor. She stood there, completely naked, exquisitely formed and trembling slightly.
“What are you doing’?” he asked.
She bit her lower lip. “I–I thought..”
“Get out,”
She flinched, as if he’d slapped her. “Please, forgive me,” she said, quickly stooping to pick up her dress and cover herself with it awkwardly. “I–I only hoped to please you… I–I only thought… I never meant to… “ Her lips began to tremble and she was on the verge of tears. She quickly turned and bolted from the room. Drakov leaned back and sighed.
They so wanted to be human…
3
They clocked in at Reese Hunter’s Boston residence in Long Lane, a small rented two-story home just off Milk Street. Prior to leaving the 27th century. they had gone in for a refresher implant briefing and then drawn weapons and period clothing from Ordnance Section. Lucas. Finn, and Andre immediately started to search the house. Steiger had remained behind to coordinate the mission.
“What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?” Hunter said.
“No, not really.” said Delaney. holding up a laser pistol he’d just taken from a drawer in Hunter’s desk.
“There’s a. 45 semiauto under the pillow on my bed and a commando knife taped to the back of the headboard.” Hunter said. “You’ll find spare ammo and clips hidden in the breadbox in the kitchen and a brace of flintlock dueling pistols tucked under the cushion of the reading chair in the study.”
They quickly appropriated the weapons.
“Sure you don’t have a spare warp disc tucked away somewhere?” asked Andre.
“Even if I had, it still wouldn’t get me home, would it?” Hunter said. “You people are the only game in town. You know about all the confluence points we’ve used before and your people are patrolling them. If any new ones have been discovered, it’s happened since I got separated from my unit. Besides, if I knew of any others, do you really think I’d still be here?”
“You don’t mind if we look just the same?” said Lucas.
Hunter shrugged. “Help yourselves. Just try not to make a mess. The maid doesn’t come in until Tuesday.”
Delaney glanced at him.
“Just kidding, pilgrim,” Hunter said. “Nobody comes to these digs but me. While you’re tearing apart the house, I’ll go and make some tea. We still drink tea in Boston. For a while, anyway.”
He left the room and went into the kitchen.
“What do you think?” said Andre.
“I don’t know,” Delaney said. “He played straight with us before, when we went up against the Network in New York. Besides, like the man said, he’s been here for a while and he’s got connections. If he wanted to, he could’ve hidden ordnance all over Boston.”
“He probably has.” said Lucas. “Wouldn’t you? Remember our Reese Hunter?” he said, referring to Hunter’s twin from their own universe, who had deserted from the Temporal Corps to join the Underground and who’d been murdered by the Timekeepers in 17th-century France. “First time I met him in 12th-century England, he had an entire arsenal at his disposal, plus all the comforts of home, Sound system, classical recordings, books, microwave oven, generator… had himself a modem bachelor pad all set up in a cabin in the middle of Sherwood Forest. Genetically, this Reese Hunter is identical. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“The question is, how far can we trust him?” said Delaney.
“About as far as his own self-interest is concerned,” said Lucas as they continued their search. “But he did turn himself in voluntarily. He didn’t have to. He could have chosen any time period he wished, set himself up comfortably, and retired. Or he could have gone underground and worked on his own to disrupt our history. Maybe he’s playing straight with us.”
“If he’s not bluffing about those subliminal triggers,” said Andre, “then he took an awful chance by coming in.”
“It could be a bluff.” admitted Lucas. “But on the other hand, put yourself in his place. If you were trapped in his universe, what would you do? Especially if you saw a chance to get back home and, at the same time, get even with an old enemy?”
“I might do the same.” said Andre. “But it’s an interesting coincidence that he happened to wind up in colonial Boston at the same time as Drakov did, assuming that Drakov’s really here.”
“Maybe it’s not a coincidence.” Delaney said. “You start getting into some serious temporal metaphysics when you try to figure out the Fate Factor. When Mensinger first formulated that theory, he was convinced that it was a sort of nebulous temporal principle, a Zen physics version of for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. But toward the end of his life, he started getting almost spiritual about it.”
“You mean he thought it was God?” said Andre.
“He
never actually came out and said that,” Delaney replied. “He always skirted the issue, as if he was afraid of it. He probably was. But when I was studying his work in R.C. S.. I became convinced that toward the end. Mensinger developed a strong belief in predestination, although he never came out and actually called it that. He kept speaking of ‘an order to the universe,’ that sort of thing. The closest he ever came to admitting the possibility of a guiding intelligence was when he once quoted Einstein as saying that God didn’t play dice with the universe, that there was order to all things. Everyone always assumed that he was speaking metaphorically, but what if he was being literal?”
“It would make the Fundamentalists ecstatic,” Andre said.
“Maybe that’s why he never came out and said it.” Delaney replied. “He didn’t want what he was saying to be reduced to some simplistic dogma for the reassurance of the ignorant. When Einstein made that statement, newspaper headlines all over the world blared ‘Einstein believes in God!’ Nobody ever really understood Einstein, either. It’s a funny thing. Every now and then, someone comes along who gets a brilliant insight into what might be the Ultimate Truth and people either misinterpret them or try to shut them up. Giordano Bruno was burned at the stake. Galileo was made to recant. By the time Einstein came around, they’d grown more clever. They simply made him into some sort of amiable genius, too complicated for anyone to understand, an stuck him in a university where he could do no harm. Mensinger made it simple for them. He committed suicide.”
“Tea’s on.” said Hunter, coming in from the kitchen. “You guys find the warp grenade I hid inside the chamberpot?”
“Very funny,” said Lucas.
“You know, the Lucas Priest I remember had a sense of humor,” Hunter said. “Maybe that was in my first life.” Lucas said.
“Better,” Hunter said. “But still not up to your old standard. Look, you guys have all my weapons, you’ve got my warp disc. I’m stuck here if I don’t play ball with you. And don’t forget, trust is a two-way street. I’ve also got to trust you to live up to your end of the deal when this is over.”
“And do you?” Andre said.
Hunter shrugged. “What have I got to lose?”
“Quite a lot, if we decide to call your bluff and put you through interrogation.” Lucas said. “You could wind up a vegetable.”
“Maybe,” Hunter said, nodding. And if it was up to your friend Steiger, perhaps that’s exactly what would happen. But it’s not his call, it’s Forester’s. And I think I can trust that man.”
“Why?” said Delaney, curious. “Because he looks a man right in the eyes and doesn’t make him want to look away. Because he tolerates a slob like you under his command. Because he’s out to break up the Network when he could just as easily go along with it and take his cut or simply sit back and do nothing, because the Network isn’t really endangering the timeline. They’re only out to make some dirty bucks. But mostly because I saw his face when you mentioned Drakov.”
Hunter paused a moment and they were all silent.
“There was a lot of pain there,” Hunter continued. ‘And a man who knows that kind of pain doesn’t go around inflicting it
Delaney gave him a long look. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Just part of being a survivor, pilgrim.” Hunter said. ‘How do you take your tea?”
Just as The Bunch of Grapes was the favorite gathering place of the Sons of Liberty, so the Peacock Tavern was a Tory bar. Boston was becoming polarized. Its citizens preferred the company of like-minded thinkers and although no one was very happy with the actions of the ministry and Parliament, there were still many who considered themselves loyal Englishmen and sought a rapprochement with Britain. Among them were men who held offices as tax commissioners and customs officials, merchants who were alarmed over the increasing talk of a boycott of British goods, and citizens who were outraged by the actions of the mobs of rioters who roamed the streets and gathered in the Common and in the taverns on the waterfront.
“They speak of liberty and property.” said Thomas Brown. sarcastically. “The mob always shouts those words when they’re about to tear down a house. And they are allowed to do so with impunity. You know, the governor heard that Macintosh was the leader of the mob that wrecked Hutchinson’s home, so he sent Greenleaf out to bring him in. The sheriff arrested the blackguard, but the Sons of Liberty gave him an ultimatum. They sent a group of men to tell him that unless Macintosh was immediately released, not one man would volunteer to join the patrols the Town Meeting had voted to send out in order to prevent the rioting. I was at the council meeting when Greenleaf made his report to Hutchinson. The result? The man was released. And now he crows about it to anyone who’ll listen! I ask you, of what use are the patrols if the rioters can so easily intimidate them?”
“I heard that Governor Bernard has offered a reward of three hundred pounds to any man who will identify the leader of the rioters,” said Hewitt. “Needless to say, it isn’t Macintosh they’re after. They realize the cobbler is nothing but a tool. Bernard and Hutchinson both know that Adams is behind it all, yet not one man can be found to come forward and give evidence against him, not even for three hundred pounds!”
“Having seen what they did to Hutchinson, not to mention Oliver. Hallowell, and Story, would you come forward to give evidence?” said Moffat. “To be sure, three hundred pounds is quite a large sum to the average man, but what good are three hundred pounds when they come to tear your house down in the middle of the night?”
“There is no law in Boston anymore,” said Brown, bitterly. “The mobs grow bolder by the day.”
“I must admit that appears true,” said Drakov. “Why, the very day that I arrived, I saw them put a party of Royal Navy men to flight with rocks and bricks.”
“A press gang,” said Hewitt, sourly. “I can feel little sympathy for such its they. Nor can any here, I’ll warrant.”
“I will not dispute the point,” said Drakov. “I was merely commenting upon the boldness of the mob, to go up against armed men of the King’s Navy. And it took but a nod from Samuel Adams.”
“You mean you actually heard Adams give the order?” Hewitt said.
“Well, not in so many words.” said Drakov. “I was present in the tavern when that man, Furlong, was impressed. Adams was them, too, with a group of his companions. I saw him give a nod to them and they quietly left the tavern. Moments later, a mob had been assembled upon Hancock’s Wharf to rescue the man who’d been impressed. I was impressed myself, so to speak that it could have all been done so quickly.”
Brown smiled. “No surprise there, Mr. Dark.” he said. “Sam Adams has many friends among those who work the docks. He plays to their sympathies and plys them with drink, no great matter for one who owns a brewery, and if a man be hard-pressed, why, a job can always be found for him on one of King Hancock’s vessels or in one of Avery’s warehouses. Grant them that, they take cam of their own.”
“What do they say in London about events here?” Hewitt asked Drakov.
“They call the colonists ‘rebellious children.’” Drakov said. “All good citizens of England must pay taxes. They don’t see why the colonists should be exempt.”
“Yes, quite.” said Brown. “But try to tell that to the Sons of Liberty!”
“Sons of Liberty, indeed!” snorted Moffat. “They respect only the liberties of those who feel the way they do! Let any man speak out against them and he will soon find out what liberties he has! He’ll enjoy the liberty of having a paving stone heaved through his window. Try to tell them that you have the right to disagree with them and they will demonstrate their right to break your head for you! You cannot hope to reason with such men.”
“That’s true enough,” said Brown. “You’ll not convince the Sons of Liberty with logic.”
“Perhaps they can be convinced in other ways,” said Drakov.
“What do you mean?” asked Hewitt.
“I was thinking
of the headless horseman,” Drakov said.
“What?” said Brown. “A headless horseman, did you say?”
“Yes, haven’t you heard?” said Drakov. “Moffat here was telling me about it just this morning.”
“What’s this about a headless horseman, Moffat?”
“Then you haven’t heard’?” said Moffat. “It’s been the talk of all the taverns on the waterfront. A tale of a ghost rider, gentleman, a specter with no head who rides the streets of Boston after dark.”
“What manner of nonsense is this?” said Brown.
“I report only what I hear, gentlemen.” said Moffat. “It seems that the other night. Ebenezer Macintosh and some of his fellow so-called Sons of Liberty received what one might call a visitation Macintosh, so the word goes, was raving drunkenly when a jack-o-lantern came crashing through the tavern window and knocked him from his chair.”
“No, really?” Hewitt said, grinning.
“The broken window was real enough,” said Moffat. “I saw them fixing it myself.”
“Go on,” said Brown. “What happened then?”
“Well,” said Moffat, “it seems that Macintosh and his friends ran out into the street to see who’d done it. They were ready to break heads, I gather, but instead, so the story goes, they all got the fright of their lives. The street appeared deserted, with no sign of whoever had thrown the pumpkin through the window. They looked all around, but there was simply no one there.”
“The fellow ran off,” said Hewitt.
“Be quiet. John.” said Brown. “Let Moffat tell it.”
“As I said, the street appeared deserted.” Moffat continued, “when suddenly. they all heard the sound of hoofbeats and a rider came galloping at them from out of nowhere. A rider dressed all in black, on a black horse. A rider, gentlemen, who had no head. ”