by Simon Hawke
He turned to Delaney. "You’ll be good enough to clear the way for us, I’m sure, sir. We’ll do what we can on our part. After all, we’ll have the Father with us. You watch, he’ll get there and convert them all to Christianity and they’ll throw down all their weapons and join us in a chorus of ‘Bringin’ in the Sheaves.’ "
"An’ I couldn’t ‘ave told it better meself," Mulvaney said, " ‘ceptin’ I wouldn’t ‘ave taken so bloody long a time about it." He pushed back his chair and got up from the table. "Gentlemen, and lady, you’ll excuse me, I am sure, but I’ve to go an’ see about me kit." He tossed Delaney a half drunken salute and shambled off.
"Take my advice, Father," said Learoyd. "Go home. "
"I’m afraid I cannot, Private Learoyd," said Lucas.
Learoyd rose. "Well, then, much as it may go against your Christian conscience, you may find it more useful to lay aside your Bible for a time and do your convertin’ with a rifle. Good night to you."
Lucas looked across the table at Finn and Andre, his mouth set in a grim expression. "Who was the idiot who decided this would be a good scenario for temporal confrontations" "
Andre shook her head. "I didn’t hear anything in what he said that contradicted history. If there are any anomalies present, if there’s any interference, it hasn’t affected the scenario yet."
"That we know of," said Finn. "I’d keep an eye on Learoyd if I were you, Lucas. Despite the occasional lapse into slang, it strikes me that his conversation is way too educated for a mere army private. And scuttlebutt or no, he’s a lot more well informed than the average soldier."
"That had occurred to me," said Lucas. "I think I’ll stick close to all three of them."
Outside, a bugle sounded, and Finn stood up. "That’s first call for assembly," he said. "My unit’s getting ready to move out."
Andre reached out and took his arm. "Be careful, Finn. "
‘, I will."
"Don’t take any chances out there," Lucas said. "If it starts to look bad, use your warp disc and get the hell out. If we don’t rendezvous at Chakdarra, we’ll meet here, at that same shop in the bazaar."
"Right," said Finn.
"Good luck."
"You too. Stay close to Blood, if you can. He seems to be the most important figure in this scenario."
"Got it."
Assembly blew.
"Got to go," said Finn. "I’ll meet you in Chakdarra. "
Outside, there were the sounds of horses and pack animals massing as the 11th Bengal Lancers prepared to ride out to the relief of Chakdarra.
"I wish we were going with him," Andre said.
"So do l," said Lucas, "but this improves our chances. If anything gets out of whack up ahead, Finn can scout the situation and clock back to let us know. Besides, he’s right. We’ve got to protect the important figures in this scenario. And Blood’s the most important one on hand right now."
The door burst open with a slam. Standing in the entrance was a dashing young blond officer in the uniform of a subaltern in the 4th Hussars. He saw Lucas and Andre and politely removed his shako.
"Excuse me, Father, madam. I wonder if you could tell me where I might find General Sir Bindon Blood" I’ve just arrived to join the march. My name is Winston Churchill. "
Chapter 4
Sharif Khan was a self-made man. He began his khanate by the simple expedient of stealing a rifle from one of the British pickets at Landi Kotal. In the dead of night, while the picket slept, he had crept up to him and stolen his breech-loading Martini-Henry, as well as several belts of ammunition. This made him a man to be reckoned with in the small Afridi village where he had settled. With the rifle to back up his new important status, he prevailed upon several of the young men in the village to build a gun tower as an addition to his small brick house, and he instructed them in the proper way of loopholing the walls to provide embrasures, as well as in constructing a high, surrounding wall around the entire dwelling. Thus ensconced in this miniature fort with its gun tower overlooking all the village, he proclaimed himself a khan.
Within a short time of arriving in the village, he had led its people in an attack upon a neighbouring settlement. In this manner he quickly increased his domain, making feudal vassals of those he subjugated. Within a short time he had gained a reputation in the region as a chief to be feared and respected. He lived in a bigger house now, a small fort that was opulently furnished, as befitted the status of a khan. He had well-trained bodyguards and he obtained more money through his raids, which he used to purchase more rifles, ammunition, and supplies. He had acquired a harem, small, but of extremely high quality. And now he waited to be noticed.
Sharif Khan was not his real name. He was last known as Reese Hunter, a captain in the First Division of the Temporal Corps. Yet that was not his real name either. The real Reese Hunter had died in 17th century France, his throat slit by an assassin. Sharif Khan had been known by many names. One of them was Barry Martingale, once a sergeant in the Temporal Corps. Barry Martingale had been a cover identity, carefully constructed to allow an agent of Temporal Intelligence to infiltrate a terrorist organisation headed by a man named Drakov. The man who had been Barry Martingale, then Reese Hunter, and who was now the Afridi chieftain, Sharif Khan, was a TIA agent known by the codename Phoenix.
The TIA’s senior field agent before Phoenix had been murdered by an assassin who had insinuated herself into his private life. It was a mistake Phoenix would never make. He trusted no one except one man-the enigmatic Dr. Darkness, the man who was faster than light.
Manifesting from the tachyon state that allowed him to cross the boundaries of space and time in a near-zero interval, Darkness appeared in Sharif Khan’s bedroom like a ghost materialising from the ether. Dressed in a long black Inverness and a wide-brimmed black slouch hat, he looked incongruous in his surroundings. His appearance was a marked contrast to that of Phoenix, who wore baggy white linen trousers buttoned at the ankles, curl-toed boots, a wide blue sash, and an embroidered vest over a loose white shirt. Cosmetic surgery had darkened the pigmentation of the agent’s skin, and his normally blond hair was now jet black and worn down to his shoulders. His blue turban was fastened by a golden clasp. He smiled and gave Darkness the traditional Islamic greeting of a slight bow and genuflection with the open hand.
The gaunt, lugubrious features of the scientist seemed to blur for an instant before they resolved themselves into a grimace of distaste. He gestured with his blackthorn walking stick, indicating their surroundings.
"This place looks like a Persian whorehouse. And what is that hideous smell""
"It’s dinner, I’m afraid," said Phoenix. "It smells like goat meat boiled in Cosmoline, but it doesn’t taste too bad once you get used to it." He smiled. "I’d have them set another place, but my wives might become up-set if you suddenly appeared out of thin air at the dinner table. "
"Yes, I believe I saw two of your wives leaving this room before I manifested," Darkness said. "They looked all of fourteen."
Phoenix shrugged. "In their prime and eminently marriageable by Afridi standards. I could hardly have allowed the most desirable young women in this village to marry someone else. Sharif Khan has to maintain a certain image."
"I’ll refrain from commenting on the nature of that image," Darkness said wryly. "Did you have much trouble disposing of your identity as Barry Martingale" "
"Some," said Phoenix. "The commandos complicated matters by giving me a new identity. I would have died of plasma burns if they hadn’t clocked me to that army hospital. They bought my cover and believed I was a deserter. They didn’t want me to be arrested, so they altered official records, believe it or not, and gave me the identity of an MIA. They thought they were helping me when they switched the data in Martingale’s jacket with Reese Hunter’s. Instead they created an official file through which I could be traced if I ever slipped up. I had to make sure Hunter was accounted for somehow."
"So what became of your identi
ty as Hunter"" Darkness said.
"He checked out of the hospital and requested a brief reorientation leave." Phoenix grinned. "After all, he’d been out of action for a while. I managed to stage a convenient accident. Captain Hunter died in a skimmer crash in San Diego. No trace of the body after the explosion. That way, no one asks any questions, and both Martingale and Hunter are disposed of. After that it was a simple matter to wrangle this assignment. The Referees have given over jurisdiction in this matter to the army, which made it the First Division’s mission. You can imagine how Temporal Intelligence took that. They can’t infringe upon an adjustment mission assigned by Vargas himself, but they could send a covert team back to gather information. I was the logical person to head up that team."
"How many agents have you brought with you"" Darkness said.
"Five. Two in my bodyguard and three posing as my senior lieutenants. I picked the men myself. I think that’s enough to handle the situation if it becomes really serious. "
"It’s more serious than you know," said Darkness. "My instruments have detected massive fluctuations in the timestream. I’ve been attempting to pinpoint the source, but it’s impossible. The effect is not a static one. The entire timestream is rippling. It’s Mensinger’s worst nightmare come true."
"Jesus," Phoenix said. "Are you sure""
"Of course I’m sure," said Darkness. "I’m not in the habit of making theoretical pronouncements. Not even Vargas suspects how serious it is, and he has a doctorate in Zen physics. He believes it can be resolved by a temporal adjustment. He doesn’t understand that it’s gone beyond that. I think he’s afraid to admit it to himself. He’s been a bureaucrat too long. The truth is staring him right in the face, but he doesn’t want to see it."
"Just what is the truth, exactly"" said Phoenix.
"Exactly" I don’t know," said Darkness. "An alternate universe exists in a timeline parallel to ours. Perhaps it came about as a result of a massive disruption which overcame the inertia of the timeflow. Perhaps it always existed. Any number of alternate universes can exist, completely independent of each other. Something has happened that has caused two separate timelines to be brought into very close proximity. That would account for the rippling effect, the inertia of one timeline acting upon the inertia of the other, like opposing magnetic fields. Under such circumstances it would be possible for people in one timeline to travel to the other, if they could pinpoint the focus of the disruption that brought the phenomenon about. Even if they couldn’t, it could still be possible, although whether or not they could do so with any degree of control, I cannot say. I, for one, am not about to attempt the experiment until I have more information. You see before you the result of what happened the last time I tried something like that. You have no idea how maddening it can be, being able to travel anywhere I please, teleporting to any point in time and space, yet not being able to walk so much as one step once I get there. I failed to anticipate the influence of the Law of Baryon Conservation, and the result was a permanent alteration of my subatomic structure. Before I make any reconnaissance of a parallel universe, I wish to be certain of the variables. And that’s where you come in."
"I’m not sure I like the sound of that," said Phoenix.
"Relax, I won’t be asking you to do anything so esoteric as teleporting to another timeline. I need you to pinpoint a confluence for me. "
"A confluence" What’s that""
"A point at which two timelines intersect," said Darkness. "There are two possibilities inherent in this situation. One is that agents from the parallel timeline have been able to identify the focus of the original disruption and can travel to this timeline by clocking directly to that point. However, given the rippling effect, I believe the second possibility is more likely that there exist a number of points of confluence where the two timelines intersect as a result of an imbalance in the flow of temporal inertia. One of those points is undoubtedly located in this time period, somewhere nearby. I want you to find it"
"How"" said Phoenix. "I mean, how the hell would I recognise a point of confluence, or whatever the hell it is" ‘,
"Good question," said Darkness. "Since such a phenomenon has never previously existed, I obviously haven’t seen one. In fact, I doubt it would something one could see. "
"How the hell am I supposed to find it then"" said Phoenix.
"You expect me to tell you everything"" said Darkness. "You’re an intelligence agent. Go out and gather some intelligence. And try displaying some on occasion. Use your initiative. The next time I see you, I’ll expect some results. Good day. "
Darkness tached, translating into tachyons that departed at six hundred times the speed of light. Phoenix took a deep breath and expelled it slowly.
"How the hell do you find something you can’t see"" he said to himself. "And how do you find it without stumbling into it"" He looked around nervously. "I’m liable to turn a corner and wind up in another universe. That ought to be good for a few laughs."
"Your Holiness," cried the tribesman, out of breath from having run all the way from his observation post, "lancers approach!"
The man named Sadullah, known to the British as the Mad Mullah, slowly raised his head to stare at the Ghazi sentry. His deeply sunken eyes were dark and their gaze was indeed mad. They never seemed to blink. His dark skin was etched with lines of age and his hair was long, almost to his waist, and utterly white. His head was bare, as were his feet. He wore a long white robe and many amulets and charms around his neck. He sat cross-legged on a rug inside his tent, which was filled with the fumes of bhang. His eyes glittered.
"How many"" he said, his voice soft and low.
"Three, perhaps four squadrons, Your Holiness," said the sentry. "You have but to give the word and we shall sweep down upon the infidel firinghi and destroy them before they can arrive at the Malakand fort!"
"No," said Sadullah.
The sentry was taken aback. "But Your Holiness, if we do not attack now, they shall surely reach the Malakand fort! Then they can join forces with the firinghi soldiers there and march to relieve Chakdarra! "
"I want them to reach the Malakand fort," Sadullah said.
"But … why, Your Holiness""
"Do you question me"" Sadullah said, his voice deadly.
The sentry dropped down on all fours. "No, Your Holiness! You speak with the voice of the Prophet! It is not for one so humble as I to question your methods. I only seek understanding."
"It is well," Sadullah said. "All men should seek to understand, though few succeed. Understand this, then. When the time is ripe, I shall destroy the British. I will not require the help of followers such as yourself. You may all do as you please. Your faith shall be judged in Paradise. Come the Night of the Long Knives, I shall call forth and the heavens shall open. A great host shall descend and slaughter the infidel to the last man, woman, and child. They shall be driven from our land and their blood shall nourish the soil. Those who join with me in that great, final battle shall win their way to Paradise. They shall be invulnerable. With one wave of my hand the bullets of the British will turn to water. With another their shells shall disperse upon the wind. Only those who lack true faith will be struck down. The pure of heart shall be immune to death. Thus it is written, thus it shall be.
"In the meantime, let the lancers pass. Let them ride on to the fort at Malakand, and with them, the foot soldiers who will surely follow." Sadullah slowly raised his hands and cupped them. "The Malakand is a great cup. At its bottom, there lie the infidel firinghi. At its rim, all around upon the cliffs, are we. Let the soldiers go into the cup, together with those who are already trapped there. When they are all together in one place," he slowly raised his hands to his mouth, "we shall take this cup … and drink."
"I do not understand," said Winston Churchill. ‘We have made almost our entire journey unimpeded. Where are the mujahidin of the jehad" Why have they not tried to stop us""
"They’ll be up there in them bloomin’ r
ocks, sir," said Mulvaney, "starin’ down at us an’ smirkin’ up their sleeves."
"Smirking"" Churchill said. "I fail to see what there would be to smirk about, Private. Sixty-eight hundred bayonets, seven hundred sabres, and twenty-four guns would hardly seem a smirking matter."
"Begin’ your pardon, sir," Mulvaney said, "an’ if you don’t mind me speakin’ frankly, not meanin’ to sound insubordinate-which ain’t ‘ardly on me mind — but I’d say your green was showin’. "
Churchill frowned. "My green" Explain yourself, man. "
"Well, you’e a mite young, me son-sir, I mean," Mulvaney said. "It’s all very fine to get yourself a transfer from the 4th ‘Ussars so you can write up this here campaign for the London Daily Telegraph-nice way to get a bit o’ action an’ pick up an extra quid or two, if I say so myself-but there’s a world o’ difference between writin’ dispatches and anticipatin’ Pathans, sir. For the one you need a bit o’ learnin’, which you seem to ‘ave done plenty of, sir. For the other you need experience, which you ain’t ‘ardly old enough to ‘ave received very much of. Now me mates and I ‘ave been out ‘ere for so long our skin’s startin’ to turn brown, an’ we’ve learned a thing or two about your Pathan fightin’ man. ‘E ain’t no fool, that’s what, sir."
"Meaning exactly what, Private Mulvaney"" Churchill said,
"Meanin’, sir, that "e" s got a bloody good reason for not ‘avin attacked us by now," Mulvaney said.
"There’s been plenty o’ opportunity for ‘im, but ‘e ain’t done it, so why’s that, I ask meself" Because Vs got ‘imself a better opportunity ahead, and like as not we’re walkin’ right into it."