Time spike
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"Okay, Marie. Now tell me everything that happened. Don't leave anything out." Marie started talking. By the time she was done, Jenny was crying softly onto Andy's shoulder. But Blacklock's expression never changed at all. That was a little disconcerting, in a way. But Marie didn't mind. She knew that the person who'd eventually get really disconcerted was a certain Adrian Luff. After Marie finished, Andy rubbed his temples. The headache he'd had in the first period after the Quiver had blessedly gone away. But he sensed it waiting, ready to return. "How sure are you the prisoners didn't follow you and the others to the cave?" "I'm not. They weren't there when I left.
That's all I can guarantee." Geoffrey Watkins came into the cabin. "I just got the news from your lieutenant Hulbert. "These prisoners, they are a danger?" Andy nodded. "Yes, they are. Potentially, a much worse danger than de Soto and his men. For one thing, there are a lot more of them-almost two and half thousand. For another, they're armed with modern rifles and they have access to the prison's machine shop." "So, my people are still at risk." "I'm afraid so, Chief." "Hulbert tells me you're prepared to fight them. Two hundred against two thousand."
"We don't have any choice. If they get out of the prison, they'll rampage over everybody. Us, you, every Indian village out there. The Spaniards too, most likely, not that I care about that. Most of those men were put in prison for a very good reason. And those in charge will be the worst of the bunch." "It seems our alliance remains, then.
We will go with you." Jenny hissed in a breath. "Geoffrey, youcan't.
The Spaniards are still out there. You told me yourself that at least two hundred of them survived the battle. If you leave the town unprotected, there'll be nothing to stop them from taking it. And kill or capture everybody here." The Cherokee chief chuckled. "Susan Fisher told me of an expression you explained to her. 'Don't teach your grandmother how to suck eggs.' It's a nice saying. I will add, 'don't teach your grandfather how to run a town.' I have no intention of leaving anyone behind. We'll all go with you to this cave you talked about, and set up a new town there." Jenny looked out the door.
"But…" "It's just work, girl," Watkins said gently. "That's all a town is. There was nothing here when we started. If the Spaniards come and burn it, so what? We'll build it again. It will hardly be the first time a Cherokee town was destroyed. I'm much more concerned about the corn. But I don't think the Spaniards will destroy the corn, because they'll want it themselves. And Susan says she can uproot some of it and maybe replant it near the cave. Who knows? It might even work. She has a way with plants." "We could certainly use the help,"
Andy said softly. "My thanks, Chief." Jenny Radford was gone within an hour. She wanted to get to the cave as soon as possible, to look after Joe Schuler, and it was obvious that if the Cherokees planned to move as a group, there'd be no way to leave until the following morning. Rod Hulbert went with her, along with Brian Carmichael and Jerry Bailey. The only other men he took were Sergeant Kershner and his squad of U.S. soldiers. Marie was dubious. "For Pete's sake, Rod, all they've got are those antique muskets." "Antique or not, they're. 69 caliber, Marie." He held up his own semiautomatic rifle. "These things are great for taking down men. But you want to try taking down a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a. 223 round? I sure as hell don't." He gave her a big smile. "Besides, I know 'em and you don't. I like those boys, especially Kershner. The guy's solid as a rock. If a dinosaur shows up, he'll just form a line and give it a volley. Cool as that.
I'm not kidding." "Well…" "I'm telling you. They'regood. Enough so's I'm even thinking about trying that salt pork sauced with hog lard they keep raving about, whenever they can put together the makings." Marie puffed out her cheeks, mimicking someone trying not to barf. Rod laughed. "It does sound horrible, doesn't it? But I swear I'm gonna try it, when the time comes." Mostly, though, Marie was just sorry that Rod was leaving. She'd been looking forward to sharing a bed with him that night. To hell with fooling around any more. Life was too short-something which the Cretaceous never let you forget.
After Jenny and Rod left, Marie went back to sleep. She was still feeling exhausted, and since the rest of them wouldn't be leaving until dawn, she figured she'd take advantage of the time to get some more rest. She was awakened at dawn. The sun hadn't even come fully over the horizon yet. A tiny Cherokee woman was busily removing the door to the cabin. When Jenny sat up and stared at her bleary-eyed, the woman just nodded and kept about her work. "Cabins are easy to build," she said. "Even the longhouse isn't too bad. But good doors are a lot of work and they're not too hard to carry. Go back to sleep, woman." Marie tried, but a stray thought just wouldn't go away. "How in the world do you make a basket that'll hold water?" The little woman stopped her work at the door and peered down at her. "Do you want me to adopt you?" "Huh?" "Adopt you. Only way you'll find out.
Basket-making is a woman's secret, and every family has its own methods. Passed down from mother to daughter." Marie thought about it.
"Sure. Why not? And what's your name, while we're at it? I should probably know, if I'm going to become your daughter." "Susan Fisher.
We'll do the ceremony later, when there's time. Now listen to your mother and go back to sleep." Marie was asleep in seconds. She might have thought it was all a dream, when she woke up, except that Fisher came into the cabin and started ordering her around. Marie didn't mind. It was kind of nice, actually. Reminded her of her own mother.
Whom she missed a lot. "You didwhat?" asked Blacklock, an hour later. That was worth it, all by itself. The only time Marie had ever seen Andy look completely surprised. "You heard me. Is there some law against it? If so, it's null and void. That stuff's regulated by the states, and Illinois is sayonara. In case you hadn't noticed." She pointed a finger at the guards, who were all lined up by now and ready to go. "And aren't you supposed to be doing something besides worrying about my family affairs? You know. Take off your hat and wave it around and holler 'head 'em up! move 'em out!' "
Chapter 46 Alexander Cohen finished presenting his offer. "So, Major Brisebois. Does that seem acceptable to you?" Nick smiled. The financier wasn't usually given to formalities, he'd learned. The sudden introduction of titles was probably his way of adding a little edge to his negotiations. He didn't need it, though. Nick had spent his whole life working either for the military or the Defense Department, leaving aside odd jobs he'd had as a teenager. So his yardstick for measuring pay and benefits was a world removed from the pay and perks that seemed to be taken for granted in Cohen's very different circles. Leaving aside the fact that he'd come to feel strongly about the matter involved himself, he'd have to be crazy to turn down the offer. The pay was three times what he'd been making, the benefits were gold-plated-hell, even the pension Cohen was offering was way better than what he'd get from the DoD. And he'd still be able to collect his military retirement pay. That left one possible sticking point. "The terms are fine, Mr. Cohen. But I can't start right away. The job I have is not something a responsible man can just walk away from. I'd need to give them notice, and it might take a few weeks. I'm coordinating a lot of things that-" Cohen waved his hand. "Yes, yes, of course. I wouldn't want you to do otherwise, in any event." He smiled thinly. "Despite my reputation in certain quarters, Nick, Iam a patriotic citizen. I simply have an American conception of the term 'patriotism,' instead of the Tsarist one that seems to inhabit official circles in Washington these days." He gathered up the papers he'd spread out on the desk and stuffed them back into the manila folder. "I'll have one of my assistants prepare a proper contract. How about we officially start your employment with the Foundation on the first day of the coming month? That'll give you three weeks to get your affairs in order"-again, he waved his hand-"and if it winds up taking you more time than that, that's not a problem. If nothing else, you'll need more time to sell your house and relocate. But your salary will still date from the beginning of the next month." He gave Nick a keen-eyed look. "One question, though. Do you foresee a problem with your security clear
ance?" Nick shrugged.
"I'll lose my current clearance as soon as I quit, of course. I'll still be obligated by the usual keep-your-mouth-shut provisions, but I can't see where that's an issue. Of course, down the road a ways, somebody in officialdom might try tomake it an issue." He gave Cohen a smile that was even thinner than the one Cohen had given him. "But I'm quite sure there's never been a word said, in any oath I ever took, that forbade me from investigating something that happened over a hundred million years ago." "Indeed." Cohen put the folder back in his briefcase. "And now, if I can ask, how do you plan to proceed?" Nick had given that matter quite a bit of thought over the past few days, naturally. "Well, I figure the physicists and mathematicians here can pretty much run their own show. I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to direct them, anyway. And the same's pretty much true with the paleontologists. Especially given that you've decided to leave Esther Hu here in place." Cohen chuckled. "The decision wasn't exactly mine.
I'm quite sure Esther would have simply quit if I'd told her otherwise. At least, that's the not-so-veiled threat she gave her university if they didn't allow her to take an immediate sabbatical."
"What I really plan to focus on is organizing what you might call the popular input into the project." "Meaning?" "You saw it yourself, Alex. Tim Harshbarger and Bruce Boyle left here steaming mad. You think they're the only ones who feel that way, down in those southern Illinois counties? Not on your life. I've already talked it over with them. Give us a few months-a few weeks, even-and we'll have a network organized down there that'll start running circles around the siblings. Theycan't keep everything hidden. Not if there's a well-organized effort to dig up the truth, right there on the spot by local people." He leaned back in his chair. "Then, I plan to do the same in and around Marion County, West Virginia. That'll take more time and be a lot harder, since the Grantville disaster happened years ago. But we'll turn up some people, you watch and see if we don't.
Somebody down there will know something." The financier frowned. "You think so? I'd have imagined they'd have spoken up by now, if they did." Nick studied him for a moment. Alexander Cohen was a wizard in the stock market, by all accounts. But he'd started off wealthy to begin with. He'd been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. Nick's father, on the other hand, had been a steel worker in a mill in southern Ohio. Nick's life in the Air Force had broadened his horizons a lot, of course, but he still knew and understood how working class people looked at the world, especially those born and raised in the nation's smaller towns. "No, they wouldn't. Alex, meaning no offense, but you've take for granted your entire life the fact that you had influence. As you grew older, a lot of influence. I don't think you really understand how differently things look, when you grow up assuming you have no influence at all. The 'guv'mint' is just something way over there, powerful and immense and unyielding to any personal leverage you might have. Sure, once every two or four years you get to vote, but that's just so you can pick which big shot sits on top of the pile. You still don't have any leverage yourself."
He leaned forward and planted his hands on the table. Stubby-fingered, thick-palmed hands, the sort you'd expect to come attached to the son of a steel-worker. "No, trust me on this. Anybody who knew anything, once the lid came down and it was made clear that lid was lead-plated and wasn't budging, would have just kept their mouths shut. If the press had kept digging, things might have been different. But they didn't. We'll turn something up. See if we don't." Cohen nodded and stood up. "I leave it all to you, then. I'll appreciate periodic reports from you. And, at least on occasion, reports you give to me personally in New York. But I'll keep my nose out of the daily affairs of the project. I am not in the least bit inclined to be a micromanager." After Cohen left the iron mine, Nick took stock of his immediate situation. He'd have to leave himself in two or three days. Silly to waste them. Two or three days could last a long time, if fortune smiled. He found Margo Glenn-Lewis in her usual laboratory. At least, "laboratory" was the word Nick used, even though he suspected it was probably technically inaccurate. "Is there a good place to eat anywhere around here?" he asked. "If so, can I buy you dinner?" She looked up and gave him the smile that-he'd be a damn liar to deny it-had partly influenced his decision. "Three, actually. At least, if a radius of forty kilometers falls within your definition of 'around here.' " "I'm a former pilot, Ms. Glenn-Lewis. I sneer at paltry klicks." "Ha! You forget that I'm driving. We'll see how long that sneer lasts, once we get there. I learned to drive on Manhattan, dealing with cabbies. I sneer at the paltry laws of motion and inertia. Are you in the mood for steaks?" "Sounds good." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Fine. We'll leave at five o'clock." When they arrived at Freddy's Steak House, at her insistence, he showed her the sneer. It was pretty pitiful, actually. But the steaks were good, and the rest of the evening kept getting better.
Chapter 47 Andy didn't let any of it show on his face, but he was furious. His guards had been driven halfway across the country barefoot. Without food or water. They had been attacked by animals.
And now he had a good friend dying inside a cave. Jenny, Lylah and Barbara were in the cave with Joe. They were working on him, but Jenny hadn't held out much hope. Her biggest concern was making him comfortable. Without narcotics that was almost impossible. Kevin Griffin had handed over a flask of whiskey when he heard about the need. It wasn't a lot, but the whiskey would help. Joe had even managed to make a joke about it. The label on the bottle was no brand of whiskey any of them knew, but it was dated 1836. "This ought to be aged well," he'd said. Afterward, when Andy asked about Joe's chances of surviving, all three of the nurses had looked away. Finally it was Barbara who answered him. "Sometimes," she said, "all you can do is hope for a miracle and pray." "Hulbert and Edelman have a plan they believe will work?" asked Watkins. Andy nodded. It wasn't really a plan. Just part one, with part two to be decided on at a later date. A half dozen guards and the K-9 unit would get as close to the prison as they could under cover of darkness. Their goal was espionage. They would find out how the prison was being guarded. Once they returned, they'd figure out what to do next. In the meantime, the rest of the Cherokees and the guards should have arrived. Andy and Watkins and a handful of others had come ahead. "Who are you sending?" the chief asked. "Hulbert, Marie, and the entire K-9 unit." Watkins sat watching the flames, chewing on the end of a thin twig. "You're letting your anger guide you. That's stupid when so many are depending on you."
"Explain." "First, you should take at least one Cherokee. Kevin Griffin would be the best. Hulbert thinks he's very good in the woods, and… well, he's not bad." Watkins smiled around the twig. "But he's no Cherokee." The chief took the twig out of his mouth and used it to point to a group of men-and one woman, and three children-camped a small distance to the side. "Then, you need to settle with them. If you can do that, you should send a couple of them also. They know the situation better than you do." Andy's jaws tightened. He still hadn't figured out how to handlethat problem. All he needed, on top of everything else! But… He thought about it, for a while. On the minus side, about half of the convicts in Boomer's gang were hardened and habitual criminals. Geoffrey Kidd was an out-and-out contract killer. Dino Morelli had committed his first armed robbery at the age of fifteen. Their leader, on the other hand-both of them, actually, since you had to include Boyne in this category-weren't really criminals. Just men who'd let their temper slip once, and let it slip too badly. That was assuming that Cook was even guilty in the first place, about which Andy had his doubts. After he and Joe Schuler had taken Jenny's advice and started reading the convicts' files, James Cook's had been one of the first Andy had read. His curiosity had been aroused by Cook's deft handling of the Luff problem he'd developed.
Cook might have committed the murder he was convicted of. But what Andy knew for sure-anybody with half a brain could figure this out-was that Cook's trial had been a travesty. If he'd had a competent lawyer he'd have been acquitted. The case against him
was the shoddiest kind of connect-the-dots sloppy logic. There'd been no eyewitnesses, no fingerprints, no physical or material evidence, nothing. Just so-called "it stands to reason" that he must have done it. And a gullible or lazy jury. Andy had always known-all the guards did, except a few thickheaded ones-that at least some of the men they guarded were perfectly innocent of the crimes they'd been convicted of. Not most of them, of course. But there were some. Andy had seen over a dozen men exonerated and released in the time he'd worked at the prison-two of whom had been on Death Row. Cook might be another one. Then again, maybe not. And, in any event, there was no question about Kidd's guilt, or Morelli's-or Boyne's, for that matter. All three of them had pleaded guilty to get a reduced sentence. Which, in Kidd's case, saved him from the death penalty. On the plus side…
Well, for starters, there was Elaine Brown. The one time an officious guard had taken it upon himself to lecture Brown on her duty to associate with the other guards instead of the convicts, her response had been short, blunt-and, when they heard about it, had reduced the nurses and Casey Fisher to tears. "Let me see if I've got this straight, Edwards. You think I should leave the men who rescued me from that prison in order to hang out with the people who left me there? Fuck you." Leaving aside the mix of powerful emotions involved, and trying to be as cold-blooded as possible about it, Andy had to admit-even that hardass Rod Hulbert had to admit-that the Boomers' rescue of Brown gave them genuine bona fides. For that matter, so did their rescue of the three Indian kids. And if the principal agent of that rescue had been a contract killer, well… Andy rose to his feet. "You're right, Geoffrey. I'll see if we can work out a deal." He headed toward the Boomers. Seeing him come, Cook made a little gesture and several of the other convicts move aside a bit, giving Blacklock room to sit down by their campfire. Andy didn't see any reason to beat around the bush. "All right, Cook. You tell me what you want and I'll tell you what I want, and we'll see if we can meet somewhere in the middle." "Full and complete parole for everybody in my group. No exceptions. And you might as well call it a 'pardon' instead of a 'parole,' because there's not going to be any bullshit about reporting to parole officers. We're free and clear of all past crimes committed.