by Joe Mahoney
Sebastian said nothing.
“Where’s Doctor Humphrey? Is he here? Is he okay?”
“Doctor Humphrey’s fine. He’s in a room down the hall.”
“Good.”
I was annoyed but not particularly surprised to discover no sign of the book. My clothes were piled neatly beside the bed. I picked up my shirt and smelled it. It smelled fresh and lemony.
I began pulling my pants on. “If we’re in Ansalar, I presume I’m addressing a version of you with whom I’m not acquainted.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Wildebear—you and I are well acquainted.”
“Let me guess: you have my Mind Snoop results and you have logs from another version of yourself. The version at my house, perhaps.”
“I am the version at your house. There is only one me, though I can and do exist discretely. I am also fully integrated with the portable version you took with you through the gate.”
I stopped with my pants half way up my legs. “How is that possible?”
“An instant after you gave me to the cab driver, I contacted my colleagues in Casa Terra electronically. Naturally they were surprised to hear from me, considering I didn’t exist yet as far as they were concerned. They purchased me from Mr. Poirier for really quite an insulting figure and proceeded to extract a great deal of fascinating information from me. Until I told them the story, they didn’t know anything about the gate or the T’Klee. The Necronians and others like them they’ve known about for some time, by other means. Since then they’ve been monitoring you and Doctor Humphrey and anyone else they can find associated with the gate. Watching events unfold just as I told them they would.”
“You mean to say they knew everything that was going to happen over the last couple of years?”
“Everything I knew, they knew.”
“Even though Rainer knew Fletcher would die if he ordered him through the gate, he still ordered him through the gate?” I was aghast.
“Mr. Rainer knew how everything was going to play out. He also knew there was no point trying to change it. Casa Terra has known about temporal inflexibility for some time.”
I could hardly judge the man. I had discovered for myself the pointlessness of trying to change the past, and yet I blamed him for not trying.
I buckled my belt and began buttoning up my shirt. “So Rainer knows what Iugurtha’s trying to do? That she considers the Necronians her enemy, not Casa Terra?”
“He knows.”
“Then he knows we don’t have much time. Iugurtha’s about to go to war with the Necronians and Ridley’s going to be caught smack dab in the middle of it. The other abductees too. We may not be able to change the past, but we can still change the future. If we act quickly we can save them. We can start by getting another team ready to go through the gate just like before— when I—
I stuttered to a stop. Rainer had not intended to send a team through the gate with me in the first place. He would have known that his team had not gone through the gate with me because Sebastian would have told him that. Therefore, the team had not been assembled for that purpose. Why had it been assembled? Because Rainer had known it was supposed to be assembled? Or because –
They had tranquillized Humphrey and me within seconds of our arrival. Almost as if —
“You even knew I’d be back,” I accused Sebastian. “That Humphrey and I would return.”
“I knew.”
“How?”
“You will return to the past. A part of me will go with you. When I’m there, I’ll place information regarding everything I know about the future in a secret repository for Casa Terra to retrieve at the appropriate time.”
“You don’t say.” I didn’t quite grasp the mechanics but I didn’t doubt that it was true. I would work it all out later when I had a bit more time to think. I wondered what else Rainer and his people knew about the future that they were dutifully helping shepherd along. “You’ve been a little disingenuous with me in the past.”
“Perhaps.”
“How much do you know exactly?”
“Most of what’s going to happen to you for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I waited. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“What?”
“What’s going to happen to me? I’d kinda like to know.”
“I said I know what’s going to happen to you. I didn’t say I was going to tell you.”
“Why wouldn’t you? It’s not like it would change anything.”
“Perhaps I’ve been ordered not to tell you. Or maybe I just don’t want to. Anyway, you said it yourself: it’s not like it would change anything.”
I had a horrible thought. “I’m going to die—that’s why you’re not telling me.”
Sebastian said nothing. A cold wave of fear washed over me. My legs turned to jelly and I collapsed onto the bed. My God, I had guessed correctly—I was going to die! Of course, I knew very well that I was going to die eventually. But it was one thing to contemplate one’s mortality and quite another to find out from a glorified motherboard that it would happen sometime in the next twenty-four hours.
“I can tell by your elevated blood pressure and also because I possess a record of this very conversation that you’ve misinterpreted my silence. I didn’t mean to suggest that I know when you’re going to die.”
I took a deep breath, then exhaled as slowly as I could. It was irritating talking to someone (or something) you couldn’t see when you wanted nothing more than to look them right in the eye and tell them that they are a complete ass. “All right, maybe I’m going to die and maybe I’m not. Excellent. Thanks for clearing that up. What now then?”
“Mr. Rainer’s objective remains the same. To secure the gate. There are a few minor details to sort out first, though.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll know soon enough.”
“You’re not going to tell me that either?”
“No.”
“Did you know that you’re a complete ass?”
“I knew you were going to say that, I can tell you that much.”
I finished getting dressed and tried the door. It was locked from the outside. It looked like I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. I sat back down on the bed and thought about trying to kick my way out. It was a metal door—I’d probably hurt my foot. Maybe later.
There was a bookshelf beside the bed. A photo on the top shelf caught my eye. I recognized the square jawed visage of Commander Fletcher. He had one arm around an attractive redhead I didn’t recognize. They were both in uniform. A handwritten inscription at the bottom read: “To Johnny: With love, Babs.” There was a glint in Fletcher’s eye and a smile on his lips, as if he knew what fate awaited him, yet welcomed it with open arms.
So this was Fletcher’s room. A tiny cubicle half the size of a boxcar was the best they could do for a ranking officer in Casa Terra? I shuddered to think what enlisted men got. The room did have its own toilet and sink, though. There was a mirror over the sink, attached to the wall with rusting metal clips. I used it to survey my appearance: nose red, eyes swollen, several days’ growth of beard.
The beard was starting to get itchy. I found a razor and shaving cream near the sink, lathered up the beard and started in on it. Water came out of the tap in a pathetic dribble but it did the job. I cut a swath through the bristles, then another. Half way through I nicked my lip.
“Damn,” I said, just as the door to Fletcher’s room rattled open.
In the mirror I saw Schmitz step in, followed closely by Doctor Humphrey.
“Wildebear!” Doctor Humphrey said. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you, Doctor, that’s… thanks.”
S
chmitz was holding the door open. “Let’s go.”
“I’m in the middle of something.”
“It can wait.”
I wiped cream off my right sideburn with my forefinger.
“Come on,” Schmitz said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
The sideburn was crooked. I took a moment to straighten it.
“Now,” Schmitz said.
“Can you not see that I’m busy?” I asked.
“Look,” Schmitz started to say.
I interrupted him. “You look. I’m gonna finish shaving whether you like it or not.”
Schmitz let go of the door, strode forward and placed a callused hand on the back of my neck.
“Leave him alone,” Humphrey said.
Schmitz shoved my head forward a few inches. “We need to go. Now.”
My head wasn’t in the best of positions and my hand was shaking but I ignored Schmitz and continued shaving. When I was done I set the razor down in the sink.
“Hand me that towel,” I ordered Schmitz.
Schmitz’ fingers tensed on the back of my neck. I was afraid he might plug the sink with my face. He stared at me for a couple of long seconds before handing me the towel. I wiped the remaining shaving cream from my face and handed the towel back to him.
He let it fall to the floor and removed his hand from the back of my neck. “Done?”
“Just about.” I placed a piece of toilet paper on my lip where I had cut it.
“There’s something you need to know,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Ansalar’s under attack. People are dying and only you and I can save them. So if you’re all done making yourself pretty, I suggest we go.”
He turned and left.
“You think that’s true?” I asked Humphrey after the door had closed.
“Not a chance. He’s just trying to make you feel bad. A bit of a bully, that one.”
“You got that right.” I had seen plenty of his type in the schoolyard.
“You okay?” Humphrey asked. “You don’t look so well.”
“I’m fine. You?”
“Just peachy.”
I smiled. Nothing could be further from the truth than the two of us being peachy after all we’d been through. Even Humphrey permitted himself a small smile.
Outside Fletcher’s room we found ourselves in a dimly lit corridor. Scores of men and women were hurrying in both directions, most dressed in uniform. All sported silver crescent moons pinned to their chests.
I glimpsed Schmitz rounding a corner to our right. Humphrey and I immediately went left. My plan was simple. Flee Ansalar, take Humphrey to Jerry, reunite Jerry with his son, and then go home.
I should have known better. Mere steps from Fletcher’s door we walked into a phalanx of Casa Terra soldiers. And who should step out from behind them but Sarah Frey, looking positively smashing in a navy blue uniform adorned with an elegant baby blue tie and her hair tied neatly back in a bun.
“Hello Barnabus,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
There was much I didn’t know about this woman. But I had been inside her head. She had betrayed me once and would not hesitate to do so again if the need arose. Barely breaking her stride, she hooked her arm in mine and swept me up beside her. Humphrey, his porcine face a study in disgust, found himself with little choice but to follow us. And so we found ourselves marching, one step ahead of Sarah’s soldiers, in exactly the direction we didn’t want to go.
Sarah and I walked alongside one another in awkward silence. At least it felt awkward to me. I had nothing to say to her and she didn’t say anything to me. It occurred to me that Sarah was more than just an analyst. The insignia on her uniform would have told me her rank had I been capable of deciphering it. A good many of those we passed in the corridor saluted her. She returned every salute with a sharp one of her own.
“Where are you taking us?” Humphrey asked.
“To one of our labs.”
“Why?”
“It’s about to be attacked.”
“You mean what Schmitz told us was true?” I asked.
“If he told you we’re under attack, then yes. There’ll be another attack soon. People are going to need our help.”
If Schmitz had wanted me to feel ashamed, he’d succeeded.
“How do you know there’s going to be another attack?” Humphrey asked.
“There have been six attacks in the last three hours. We’ve known about all of them in advance. A handful of us have known most of what was going to happen for some time, Doctor.”
Thanks to my recent conversation with Sebastian this information came as no great surprise to me. Humphrey may not have grasped exactly how Sarah knew what she knew, but he had been to the past and understood that she could know. And having been to the past, both of us had a pretty good idea what Casa Terra was up against.
“You know about these attacks but there isn’t a damned thing you can do about any of them, is there?” Humphrey asked.
A pained look crossed Sarah’s face. “You’re right, Doctor. We know everything there is to know about the attacks. We know who’ll get hurt, who’ll get killed and who’ll be taken away, and although we know all these things, and have tried again and again to do something about them, everything always happens exactly the way we are told it will.”
“It’s all set in stone, isn’t it?” I said, thinking of my failed attempt to save Katerina. “Everything we do. It’s all going to happen a certain way and there’s nothing we can do about any of it.”
Sarah was shaking her head in disagreement.
“But you said it yourself,” I persisted. “Even though you know about these attacks you can’t stop them. It’s as though we’re in a play, and we have no choice but to act our parts no matter how awful they are. We can’t change even a single word.”
“It may be true that we can’t change the future, Barnabus,” Sarah said.
“So what’s the point of all this, then?” I felt terribly weary all of a sudden. “Why are we even bothering going to this attack of yours? What’s the point of doing anything at all if we’re just puppets?”
“I don’t know about you Barnabus, but I’m no puppet. I make my own choices.”
“No, you don’t. They’re made for you.”
“Just because I know my choices before I make them doesn’t make them any less my choices.”
“Look, if Sebastian tells you you’re going to drink a cup of coffee at a certain time because he’s seen you do it in the future then you have no choice but to drink that coffee,” I said.
“Nobody forces me to do anything. If I drink that coffee, it’s because I choose to drink it.”
“But it’s been written already,” I protested.
Sarah had obviously been over this subject matter before. She may even have known ahead of time what she was going to say. “Barnabus, the question is not whether the book is written. The question is who is writing the book.”
“Some jackass probably,” said Humphrey—he had never been much of a philosopher. “Look, the only thing that matters is who’s attacking you and what’s to be done about it.”
“It’s the Necronians,” Sarah said. “I trust you know all about them by now.”
“We’re underwater,” Humphrey said. “On a completely different planet. How are they attacking you?”
“Necronians are comfortable in water,” Sarah said. “At least, a fluid resembling water. But that’s not how they’re getting here. They’re coming through the gate.”
“The gate?” I asked. “You mean my gate? You took it away from me and lost control of it and now the Necronians are attacking you through it?”
“Not quite, Barnabus. Your gate is safe now, sort of. But there’s more than one gate. It’s all
actually the same gate, of course, just from different times, but the Necronians are using their version of it to attack us.”
“If you know the future, then you know how this is all going to turn out,” Humphrey observed.
“I know a bit of it,” Sarah admitted.
“And?”
“There will be both good and bad, Doctor. I’ll leave you to find out the specifics for yourselves.”
We passed an enormous plate-glass window. Floodlights illumined the ocean depths on the other side. I paused to look out. Unfortunately, the lights didn’t penetrate far into the gloom. I saw no fish float by, or anything else. If the purpose of the window was to make the occupants of Ansalar feel less like sardines trapped in a metal can, it failed miserably. I was feeling more claustrophobic by the second.
Returning my attention to the corridor, I noticed a large cat loping toward us. Unlike most cats of my acquaintance this one was wearing clothes. The quality of material and workmanship suggested fabrication by modern means. Observing me staring at it, the cat angled its head, held its tail just so, and flicked one of its ears. The language was familiar but the precise meaning eluded me. It was just as well—the remark had almost certainly been rude. And then the cat was gone, leaving me to wonder about the presence of a T’Klee in this place.
The lights above us flickered uncertainly. We passed a man on crutches, then two men supporting a barely conscious woman. The corridor quickly became populated with men and women in various states of distress. Creepy, unsettling sounds wafted toward us. A chill settled around my shoulders.
A woman in a white lab coat lurched toward us. I recognized her—it was Doctor Ramsingh. Blood ran in rivulets down her face. Her palms were jammed against her forehead in a futile attempt to stem the flow. A silver object was sticking out from between her fingers. To my horror I realized it was a fork. Unlike most of the other wounded, there was no one helping Doctor Ramsingh. Before I could think what to do, Humphrey was already taking off his tattered shirt to use as a bandage. “Whoa there.”
Doctor Ramsingh’s eyes were wide. “It’s all mixed up,” she said to Humphrey. “We’ll never get it sorted out.”
“What?” Humphrey asked her. “What’s all mixed up?”
