by Isaac Asimov
“So you don’t feel that the events in Jamaica in 1668 are going to mean much to the overall direction of history?” Jane asked thoughtfully.
“No, I don’t. I believe that history is driven by major developments in technology and economics, which in turn trigger social and political change.”
“I am still worried about the application of chaos theory to our missions into the past,” said Hunter. “You are familiar with the theory?”
“Yes,” said Rita. “It’s an application of a theory from physics, applied to time and, therefore, to history. Basically, it says that any change in the past, no matter how small, will send out continuing ripple effects that will eventually change history greatly.”
“That is right.”
“As a historian, I’ve never been convinced that chaos theory truly applies to history.”
“I’m no scientist, “said Steve, grinning. “But if I understand this theory at all, then our previous trip to the dinosaur age disproved it a little.”
“What do you mean?” Rita asked.
“We made some changes. I mean, we captured a dinosaur to ride, trampled on a lot of plants, and caused a stampede. But when we got back, everything was pretty much the same.”
“The question is where the threshold of change lies,” said Hunter. “That is, how many changes must take place, or how important must they be, to set a course of permanent change?”
“I’m afraid we’ll be the ones to find out,” said Jane. “As the first time travelers, we may just find out the hard way, by making changes we don’t want to make.”
“Maybe not,” said Rita. “Look, at your trip to the Late Cretaceous Period — one expectation might have been that minor changes from that long ago could have caused a divergent time line that would be very different by the time events reached the present — that the changes would become more extreme every second for millions of years. But that didn’t happen. So another theory is that so much time was involved that the sheer weight of random events neutralized the changes you caused.”
“That would not really be a form of chaos theory at all,” said Hunter.
“Exactly,” said Rita.
“You mean we didn’t have to be so careful after all?” Steve grinned at Jane. “All that extra effort.”
“I disagree,” said Hunter firmly. “By the argument Rita just presented, the time line marked from 1668 is much more fragile. Instead of many millions of years for events to neutralize any changes we might cause, only a few centuries will pass. That may not be enough time to absorb the effects of what we do. We still have to be as careful as before not to make unnecessary changes.”
“All right,” said Steve, with an exaggerated sigh. “Can we go now?”
“Yes. I shall set the controls while you three enter the sphere,” said Hunter. “Just do not take the danger of MC 2’5 changing history lightly either. Please remember that when MC 2 reaches full size, his interpretation of the First Law may not be centered on preserving the future at all. Yet saving a human from harm in the 16005, when that person actually died according to history, could mean harming all the humans whose history and future are changed. That is theoretical, however, and the immediate danger is tangible. So we have to assume that the fugitive MC 2 is a real danger to the course of history, no matter what theory you believe in.”
“Yes, I agree with that,” said Rita.
While Hunter moved to the control panel, Steve caught Jane’s eye with a grin and shook his head. Sometimes Hunter’s boring repetition of this theoretical stuff reminded him of being a kid in school. Still, he realized that Rita’s disbelief in chaos theory was probably worrying Hunter more than the robot was admitting.
Ishihara still remained by the door, where he would wait to apprehend Dr. Nystrom if he appeared. Hunter had told him that stopping Dr. Nystrom was a First Law imperative.
Hunter opened the sphere so that the humans could climb into it. The bottom was hard and curved. Designed as a laboratory instrument, it had never been intended to accommodate humans or robots. Steve huddled in the base of the curve with Jane and Rita, waiting for Hunter to set the timer on the controls. Then Hunter joined them; easing inside so as not to land on anyone, he closed the door.
Steve suddenly saw the darkness in the sphere vanish. It was replaced by the sudden brilliance of tropical sunlight. He fell onto a soft bed of green grass. The others tumbled around him.
For a longtime resident of the Mojave Desert such as Steve, the lush green island life of Jamaica was an abrupt change. Tall, full trees and bushes rose up all around them. The trees and brush were full of birds, twittering and chirping at them in startled concern. Colorful flowers bloomed nearby, red and white and orange. He gasped for breath, startled by the humidity of the air.
“It’s beautiful,” said Jane, looking around.
“It looks pretty much the same in our time,” said Rita, sitting up. “More developed, of course, but not really spoiled. Not yet, anyway.”
“It’s late afternoon,” said Steve, observing the position of the sun.
“That is right,” said Hunter. “MC 2 will return to full size again sometime tonight, according to my calculations.”
“Where are we?” Jane asked. “Out on some country road, I see.”
“Yes,” said Hunter. “But not too far from Port Royal. We are less than a quarter mile out of town. I wanted to make sure we landed away from the town, to lessen the chance that someone would happen to see us arrive.”
“No one did, I guess,” said Rita. “This late in the day, the townsfolk will be hurrying to get inside the walls. Anyone who did business from the plantations along this road has probably gone home already.”
“We should join them,” said Steve, getting to his feet. “Or else we’ll be stuck out here in the dark.”
The team began to walk along the rough wagon and horse track. Through the trees to their right, Steve could just see the blue water of the Caribbean. Then he realized that sometimes through the trees to the left, he could see more water of the same color. “Where are we, exactly?”
“Okay,” said Rita. “I guess I should give you a quick geography lesson. We’re on the southeastern coast of the island. That water on our right, to the north, will someday be called Kingston Bay. The city of Kingston itself will be built across the bay, on the far shore.” She pointed to the water on their other side. “That’s the open sea, to the south. We’re walking along a very narrow, long peninsula that the British called the Cagway, a corruption of the Spanish word Caguaya. It stretches westward, defining much of the southern enclosure of the bay. And that’s Port Royal up ahead at the end of it, just coming into sight.”
Steve looked where she was pointing. A few people on carts and horses were just entering the town. Steve found that in the humidity, he was already sweating freely.
“MC 2 can masquerade the same way we are if he gets some clothes,” said Hunter. “Assuming he does, we will have to keep a sharp lookout for someone the right size in order to find him. He is unusually short and slender, virtually identical in build to the other component robots. You saw MC 1 in MC Governor’s office.”
Rita nodded.
“Rita,” said Jane. “What are we going to find in Port Royal when we get there? Is it really going to be full of pirates, or will there be ordinary townspeople there too?”
“Both,” said Rita. “Jamaica is a true British colony. Here’s what happened. About 1630, the island of Tortuga became a pirate stronghold and hideaway. Tortuga isn’t far from here. Just three years ago, in 1665, the various buccaneers and their hangers-on in Tortuga spilled over to Jamaica, which was already ruled by the English.”
“Simple enough,” said Steve.
“Yes, it is. English ships are still raiding Spanish ships for gold being sent from the New World, but the English are now keeping it here, not returning it to England. France nominally rules Tortuga, and lots of French buccaneers will also be present in Port Royal.”
“Is there a difference between pirates and buccaneers?” Jane asked. “Or are they the same thing?”
“A perceptive question.” Rita smiled indulgently. “Here, they’re the same. The word ‘pirate’ means any pirate throughout history. ‘Buccaneer’ means specifically the pirates of the Caribbean during this time. It originally came from the native Arawak tribe’s word buccan, which was a grid of green sticks used to grill strips of meat slowly over a fire. The first French pirates in the Caribbean cooked their food that way on Tortuga when they moved there from Haiti around 1630.”
“You sure know your stuff,” said Steve.
“We are getting close to Port Royal,” said Hunter. “Before we arrive, what can you tell us about the political climate? What should we watch out for?”
“Port Royal is a wide open town full of impulsive, violent buccaneers,” Rita said firmly. “The real danger is from them, not from the government.”
“How much government is there?” Steve asked, looking at the town ahead. It seemed small, with its buildings crowded together against the blue sea.
“There is definitely some, but relatively little. Jamaica doesn’t have much in the way of British ships or troops. Sir Thomas Modyford is the governor. In the past, he granted commissions as privateers to certain pirates, who could then raid the Spanish as representatives of the British crown. For instance, a year ago, word arrived here in Jamaica that the Spanish in nearby Cuba were assembling a fleet for a strike against Jamaica. Modyford prevented that by sending Sir Henry Morgan and a fleet of buccaneers on a preemptive strike against Cuba.”
“What’s a privateer?” Steve asked, puzzled. “Some kind of buccaneer?”
“Sort of.” Rita laughed. “The line was always blurry. Basically, a government that was at war would commission pirates to fight for them against the enemy. In peace, pirates might attack any ship they wanted. The trouble is, the term turns on a legal technicality. They were basically the same people, doing the same things.”
“Pirates were the ones who ran up the skull and crossbones flag,” said Jane.
“Well, not in this time,” said Rita. “The Jolly Roger didn’t appear on the scene for another couple of decades.”
“Too bad we can’t invent it for them,” said Steve. Then he turned to Hunter quickly. “Just a joke, Hunter. Not serious, okay?”
“Okay,” said Hunter soberly. “I have data about jokes stored. Was that one funny?”
“No,” said Jane.
The sun had dropped behind the trees to the west by the time they reached the gate in the town wall. A couple of bored uniformed sentries straightened slightly, obviously spotting the team as strangers. Hunter stepped forward, towering over both of them.
“What’s your business?” One sentry spoke in a strong British accent. The other looked over Hunter’s tall, solid build and did not seem pleased with the prospect of a confrontation.
“We seek shelter for the night,” said Hunter. “We are looking for a friend.”
“Oh, yeah? I says you jumped ship offshore and swam here, you and your loose ladies.”
Steve stiffened, but Jane stifled a giggle.
“We only seek shelter for the night,” Hunter repeated, less certainly.
Rita leaned close to Hunter, whispering something Steve couldn’t hear. Hunter slipped a hand into the leather pouch hanging from his belt and drew out a couple of coins. He tossed one into the air to each of the sentries. As they looked up to catch them, Hunter pushed past them, then turned to make sure the rest of the team followed. They did; the sentries were busy examining the coins for their value.
Steve’s appraisal of Port Royal from a distance still held up once they were inside. The streets were narrow and crooked, the buildings low and crowded together. They were in a part of town that was relatively quiet.
“Where should we go?” Hunter asked.
“To the waterfront,” said Rita. “That’s where the nightlife will be in a port town.”
“And places to stay,” Steve added.
“That’s right,” said Rita. “Taverns and inns. And real buccaneers.”
“Jane,” said Hunter. “MC 2 could be returning to full size about now, given the range of my calculations. Where do you think he might go in a town like this? As a roboticist, do you think he would go to the waterfront?”
“It’s a reasonable guess,” said Jane slowly. “But robotics isn’t the issue, except to the extent that he was programmed to fit in with humans. When he returns to full size, he’ll need clothes from this period in order to blend into the crowd. Without them, he’ll have to sneak around in the dark for a while, so he’ll be out at night. And without any money, he’ll have to steal whatever clothes he can find.”
“That might be easier in a part of town where everyone’s asleep,” said Steve.
“People in the better parts of town probably protect themselves and their belongings better,” said Rita. “They’ll take in their wash before sundown and have guard dogs and servants.”
“I think he would be drawn to an area that has some activity after dark,” said Jane. “He will need to learn what he can about the language and culture as fast as possible, so even overhearing conversations
from hiding will be important to him.”
“That’s also where we can buy some knives to carry with us,” said Rita.
“We will try the waterfront, “Hunter decided.
4
AS HUNTER LED the team down the winding streets toward the waterfront, he turned up the sensitivity in both his hearing and his vision. Every warning Rita had given about the violence of buccaneer culture had sharpened his concerns under the First Law. He would have to evaluate each sight and sound for potential threats.
The strong scent of the sea came to him on the wind well before they reached the waterfront. All along the docks, torches were burning over the doors of taverns and over open-air booths, where wares of all kinds were for sale, including earthenware, knitting, and fabrics. The smell of oily smoke was thick. He looked through the crowd of people for someone the size of MC 2.
“There,” said Rita, pointing.
“MC 2?” Hunter looked around.
“No, Hunter.” Rita laughed. “Just a booth where we can all arm ourselves.”
“Hey, look at that stuff,” said Steve enthusiastically, hurrying over to the booth. “All kinds of knives, pistols, swords … wow.”
“Try them out,” said the proprietor, in a French accent. He was a bony, gray-haired man wearing only knee breeches and a large, gold earring. His bare feet were calloused and black with the rich island dirt. “Heft them, feel their weight. I am Henri the Ironmonger.”
Steve picked up a flintlock pistol and turned it to one side, so that it pointed away from everyone. He looked at it carefully, then cocked it and pulled the trigger with a satisfying click. Then he set it down on the rough wooden table and picked up something else.
“This is good,” said Rita, picking up a long, curved dagger. “I can wear it in a sash, where people can see it. And it’s not too heavy for me to use.”
“I see,” said Jane. More reluctantly, she picked up a straight dagger of about the same length. “I don’t know if I could use this on anyone.”
“You probably won’t have to,” said Rita.
“What? Then what’s the point?”
“The idea is to make some of these guys think twice about bothering us in the first place. With Hunter to protect us and these knives out where everyone can see them, we just might be left alone.”
“I see.”
Rita stepped back and made a couple of stabbing motions in the air, then swung the dagger around experimentally.
“But why are you so particular, if you don’t think you’ll have to use it —” Jane started.
“Maybe we won’t have to use them,” Rita reminded her, with a grin. “We want something we can handle, just in case.”
“These are all so cruel,” said Hunt
er, examining the weapons on the table. He felt a sense of alarm, reminded of how quickly the First Law could come into effect with so many weapons around. “They are intended only for committing grave harm to other humans.”
“Where have you been, my gigantic friend?” Henri the Ironmonger laughed. “Taking vows in a monastery?”
“No,” said Hunter, cautiously.
“Try a cutlass,” said Rita quickly. She raised up the handle of one of the long, curved swords. “You can handle a heavy weapon.” Then she lowered her voice. “Remember, you’re a buccaneer. Think of it as playacting.”
“And you have permission to lie as part of the playacting,” said Jane softly. “Under the Second Law, I instruct you to maintain your role as a buccaneer.”
“Acknowledged,” said Hunter, accepting the cutlass. Imitating Rita’s earlier moves, he stepped away from the others and swung it around in the air a couple of times. At the same time, he accessed some of his data on buccaneers, including some children’s books he had recorded. “Avast, matey.”
The three humans on his team laughed.
“Aye, a big fellow like yourself can use a big sword like that one,” said Henri. “No sense in a strong, strapping man wasting his time with some little frog sticker. Lost your old sword, I suppose?”
“Yes,” Rita said quickly. “Overboard. It was, uh, a difficult moment.”
“I’ve had my share of those,” said Henri, nodding sympathetically. “I may not look it now, but I have.” He grinned, showing only a couple of teeth.
“Steve,” said Hunter. He was uncomfortable with this playacting. “Have you picked something?”
“I’m not sure,” said Steve. “A pistol would be good, but clumsy to load. And these flintlocks only shoot once before you reload.”
“Of course,” said Henri, puzzled. “Have you ever heard of any devil gun that could shoot more than once at a time? But it reaches out to your enemy before you enter the range of his blade.”