Doppelganger

by John Schettler

  “Most likely part of the battlegroup Kirov was operating with in 2021,” said Paul.

  “My God,” said Maeve, clearly bothered. “Three ships now? What did they do?”

  “Oh nothing much, they sunk an American aircraft carrier, and a battleship, and with a nuke. It pissed off Halsey and the Americans so bad that they bombed Vladivostok.”

  Maeve looked at the ceiling, agonizing over the damage to the history. “That’s in the data stream?”

  “I’m afraid so,” said Nordhausen.

  “Then why don’t I know about it? That would be one of the most significant events in modern history.”

  “Because they weren’t finished,” said Paul grimly. “Maybe you did know about it at one time, but then they continued to operate, and things changed again. Unless we were safe in a Nexus Point, we would have changed right along with that history.”

  “You’re saying that as long as they remain a free radical in time, that the history cannot solidify?”

  “Correct. Their actions in 1945 may have generated a Heisenberg Wave to migrate changes forward to our time, but it could have been swamped by a larger wave generated later. That nuke they used in 1945 moved them in time again.”

  “All three ships?”

  “No,” said Robert. “Two were reported sunk. Only Kirov moved.”

  “Where?”

  “To 1908.”

  Maeve’s initial silence underscored the gravity of that development. “They went further back in time?”

  “Apparently so,” said Robert. “And this is where we really get red lines all through the history module. The whole course of events begins to spin off in wild directions. There’s a big battle in the Tushima Strait near Oki Island that was reported as an engagement with a rogue Russian armored cruiser, but it re-starts the Russo-Japanese war, and this time the Japanese don’t settle so easily. They occupy all of the Kuriles, Sakhalin Island, and even invade and occupy Vladivostok. It’s a major variation in the history of the Pacific.”

  “Of which I know nothing whatsoever,” said Maeve again.

  “Because the Heisenberg Wave hasn’t reached us and finalized those events,” said Paul.

  It was something right out of his Time Theory, but a principle they had seen in very real terms after their missions. Changes made in a past meridian would begin to migrate forward in time, but they could not finalize until the Nexus Point occupied by the initiator of those changes was terminated, eliminating any further possibility of revision. “This whole thing is still in play,” he explained. “The ship is still in the past, and has not returned to our time, as far as we know. So things are still riding the whirlwind they’ve created.”

  “Then there’s a chance that none of this crap will ever happen?” said Nordhausen. “The Golem stream is picking this stuff up as if it were history.”

  “Because that is what the meridian will look like if the Heisenberg Wave does complete its work,” said Paul. “Remember, what happened during the Bismarck operation? We got all sorts of conflicting possible outcomes in the data stream. One version showed the British sinking Bismarck, another showed the ship making a safe return to Saint Nazaire in France. One showed Bismarck docked at Brest, and a fourth showed it turning out into the Atlantic to link up with a German oiler and raising hell for two months. The Golems were just indicating the most probable outcomes as a weight of opinion, yet they could reach no conclusion, because our operation was still underway, and we were in a safe Nexus Point here, still capable of changing things. That Russian ship is still out there somewhere, operating in time, and so these events cannot yet solidify to a certain outcome. ”

  “Then the Heisenberg wave isn’t moving?”

  “It is, but slowly. It moved forward to the 1940s, because the ship did as well. Now it’s stuck there, just like that ship, and only moving with the arrow of time, day by day. It could even dissipate when it strikes Paradox Time on July 28, 1941. This whole series of events could be re-written by the backwash.”

  “Thank god for that,” said Nordhausen, because the outcomes being reported are frightening deviations. Russia’s civil war never ends. The nation fragments into several warring states. Sergei Kirov finally consolidates power in Moscow and leads the Soviet State, and his chief rival jumped from the Reds to the White movement, assassinated Denikin, and founded a state being called the Orenburg Federation.”

  “Who?” asked Maeve. “Was it Stalin?”

  “Nope. That was one thing that bothered me. I could find no mention of the man of steel. Come to find out, he was killed in 1909—assassinated while in prison.”

  “That’s a huge variation,” said Maeve.

  “No argument there. Then the Orenburg Federation goes on to side with Nazi Germany in 1940, and Russia faces a war on two fronts.”

  “Who led that federation?” Maeve looked almost pallid with shock.

  “A man named Ivan Volkov—a real mystery figure in the history. He was active as early as 1909, and battled Kirov for control of the Bolshevik party until he was finally ousted. But the data on this man is very nebulous. I could find nothing on his parents or ancestors. And another name keeps popping up—from the Free Siberian State. I have data indicating he joins Sergei Kirov and leads the Siberians in the fight against Volkov.”

  “Who?” Maeve sounded like she had caught someone in her library messing up the careful order of her books.

  “A man named Karpov—Vladimir Karpov, but the Golem readings on him are somewhat obscure too. I’m focusing my research on the Siberian, but I can’t find any roots on this man either.”

  “Show me,” said Maeve, the light of battle in her eyes.

  Part VI

  The Mirror

  “I saw, not with the eyes of the body, but with those of the mind, my own figure coming toward me … As soon as I shook myself out of this dream, the figure had entirely disappeared.”

  ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  Chapter 16

  Karpov could sense that something was wrong, even as Tasarov and Dobrynin had heard the impending edge of Paradox in that deep, unaccountable sound, though he knew nothing about that. It was not a sound for him, but something deeper. It was not even a vibration, but more a sense that he was being watched, his every move noted and marked, and the eyes were jealous and vengeful.

  He could not shake this uncomfortable feeling. Something was taking account of him, measuring, considering, musing on his fate. Was it Kymchek? He was saved from the meaty fists of Grilikov, and now adorned in his new General’s uniform, but Karpov knew he was still a dangerous and scheming man. Is that what tickled his mind with this odd sensation of alarm? No. Kymchek could be managed, controlled, leashed and ridden. And no single man like that could account for this strange mood that had fallen over him, a feeling that his every move was being watched—not just now, but every step he had ever taken in the past, and every choice he might make in the future as well. It was most disconcerting, and it did nothing to calm his volatile temperament.

  Was it his own face in the mirror, the face that seemed to be haunting him every time he looked into that glass? Was it that old, guilt ridden mouse of a man he had once been, his weaker self, returning to plague him in this trying time? It was most unnerving, so much so that he had abandoned his personal headquarters there at Ilanskiy, and moved back aboard the fleet flagship. It was a very fateful decision.

  The massive shape of Tunguska hovered in the sky, high above the tiny hamlet of Ilanskiy, tethered to a temporary mooring pole augmented by ground anchors. Beyond this, both Irkutsk and Novosibirsk, a pair of sturdy battleships, rode at elevation, and Abakan circled on a wide perimeter patrol, along with Talmenka. Karpov was taking no chances that he would be surprised by Volkov’s fleet, though he did not think the man would be so foolish as to sortie here again.

  Yet our losses were heavy in that last engagement, he thought, damn near half our fleet. Angara will be repaired within the week, and that gives me six
airships to work with. Kolchak is already making inquiries, and he’ll soon want his two battleships back. The need to cluster the fleet here means I have nothing on the Ob River line watching Volkov’s troops. It will be another month before my second T-Class airship can join Tunguska, but when that ship is ready, we will be in a better position. What to call it?

  Kolchak has suggested Baikal, but that would lead him easily to claim the ship for the eastern task force. There is some merit to that. The Japanese are breathing right down his neck, and soon it will be December. In fact, they could enter the war at any time, and we must be prepared. Yes… the Japanese. They carved themselves out a nice little empire in Manchuria and by invading all of Primorsky Province, and then some. They hold all of Sakhalin Island, a good chunk of Khabarovsk, and even have troops in Amur, Chita and Mongolia. The threat they pose is significant. They have an estimated 25 divisions in their Kwantung army, and we have yet to determine what their war plans may be now.

  They have the far east. The bastards took it from us! I could have prevented all that, rolled them out of Sakhalin Island, and occupied all of Korea… if not for the betrayal of my own comrades. Volsky and Fedorov have no idea what damage they have done to the nation. Look at Russia now! Yet Volkov is the greater threat for the next several months. Tyrenkov has detected no buildup on the part of the Japanese. No. I think they will make the same foolish mistake they did in our history, and strike south into the Pacific. To do that, they know they must take and hold the Philippines, and that means war with the United States.

  All things in time, he thought. I will decide what to do about the Japanese later. For now, I have more urgent matters to consider, the least of which is my own personal fate.

  Yes, he could feel it again, rising like a thrum of anxiety in his chest, a pulse of adrenaline that was most uncomfortable. Yet that was good, or so he believed. I cannot afford to be comfortable and sedate, nor can I simply wait on Volkov and the Japanese. I must act, but before I can realize any plans, there is the matter of late July to consider. What will happen?

  He had given the matter some thought earlier, and even discussed it with Tyrenkov. July 28th was just around the corner now, a few days away. The ship had first arrived here on that day, but would it come again? How would that be possible if it was already in this world? How could I be sitting there on the bridge of Kirov and yet be here?

  It was only a very brief interlude, he thought. Kirov was only here for twelve days, and then we vanished after I pounded the American fleet to teach them who they were dealing with. How was I to know it would blow us into the future again? We knew nothing of Rod-25 at that point, and nothing of Tunguska.

  His eyes strayed out the viewport, seeing the imposing shadow of his fleet flagship on the small hamlet below. Yes, he thought, Tunguska. Here rides the ship with magic in its bones. I was able to ride those storms through time itself, and perhaps I can do so again. It should be easy enough. I’ll just go up and find another good thunderstorm, and go… elsewhere. But where? Would I appear in the past again? The future?

  He thought deeply now. Somehow I knew that I would return here when I left 1908 in Tunguska. I could feel it, sense it. In fact I demanded it! Destiny needed me here, to re-write that stupid little book Tyrenkov found. But where does destiny need me now? Yes, I am fated. I know this. I can feel it. Yet my fate seems to be haunted by a shadow now, something I can sense and dimly perceive, but not really see. Does it have something to do with the coming of the ship, our first arrival here?

  On the one hand, how could Kirov manifest here given the deeply fractured history of this world? The building of that ship rests on the whole convoluted structure and future development of the Soviet Union. First the cold war must settle in, and then we must design and build the four ships in the early Kirov Class. Our ship was built from their bones, rising from the decrepit ruin of the Russian Navy to sail again for the Rodina. Will all of that happen? Will Volsky and Fedorov and all the others join the navy and find themselves on that ship again? Will I do that, fighting my way up through the ranks to win that seat in the Captain’s chair? So many dominoes must fall for that to happen, but suppose it does pan out that way. It would still take that stupid accident aboard the Orel to trigger the incident that sent the ship back through time. How could all that repeat itself with the Russian civil war still raging even as Germany now invades the Soviet Union?

  His logic was much the same as Fedorov’s in this, though he could not know that. Yet behind it, he had the same feeling he might have upon discovering a young ambitious man in the ranks below him, a rival aiming to climb higher, just as he had. Only this time that man was his own self! If Kirov did return, it would be that other Karpov that would now threaten his hard won position here.

  I am here, am I not? I am sitting right here in this chair, staring at myself in the mirror. Look at me now… Look at that scar on my cheek… look at my eyes… Power has a way of draining a man at times, even as it feeds him. I have been feeling very odd of late, thin and attenuated, as though I was not really all here.

  That thought gave him pause, because he knew he did not belong in this world. Yet his very presence here, the image he was staring at in that mirror, all depended on that first coming of Kirov in 1941. It argued that event simply must occur, or how could he even be sitting there considering all of this?

  The world we first entered was not like this one, he thought. Russia was not fractured, and Fedorov’s history was so intact that he could count the hairs on Admiral Tovey’s head with his library of books. But this world… My god, it is a nightmare of variation, ripped apart by our own blind intervention, and I am much to blame for that. Yet now the ship is already here. It slipped in through the back door this time. Tyrenkov tells me he believes it first appeared here in June of 1940! They were probably just trying to get home but, for some odd reason, any time the ship moved forward it got stuck here in this damn war again.

  Why is that? Are the powers of Rod-25 limited? They obviously had that damn control rod aboard Kazan, otherwise how did that sub get back to 1908 when they came after me? And Fedorov was there earlier, unless that radio call I received from him was another lie. Yet when they shifted forward from 1908, they got stuck here again, and they have been here ever since. Perhaps the shadow this war casts on time is simply too deep to be easily penetrated. Yet I was able to go forward from this time by using that stairway at the inn. I arrived there too late. The war in 2021 had already started, and there was nothing I could do at that point but retrace my footfalls back down those steps.

  So perhaps we were all sent here again for some reason, just as I appeared here at a most opportune time when I rode that storm aboard Tunguska. It is as if destiny calls us here, keeps us here…

  Now he had that feeling again that this time was becoming a prison cell for him, and that he was sitting there, staring at himself in the mirror, while waiting for his own execution.

  What will happen to me if I take no action, and simply remain here? Does that ship really arrive again from the future, and is another version of myself sitting there in the Captain’s chair on the bridge? Is that even possible? How could there be two versions of the same person?

  Now, as he stared into the mirror, he had the strange sensation that the face there looking back at him was that other self, a dark ghostly self, waiting to manifest here and claim his life when it did so. He was sitting there, looking at his own doppelganger, and it gave him a chill just to see his own face.

  Perhaps I could find out what happens, if we could get that damn stairway finished in another few days. We’ll have to test it, of course. Someone will have to go up those stairs—definitely up, because it will be too dangerous to do the inverse. Going down to the past could change everything in this reality again, and that could be even more dangerous than these things I now contemplate about the ship’s imminent arrival. So someone must go up those stairs.

  Tyrenkov? He’s an able man. He had the pres
ence of mind to fetch that book the last time, and that was most useful intelligence. Perhaps he could determine what happens by simply going to the future and reading the history. Then he could come back and tell me whether the ship vanishes again, and if it does he could find out where it goes. Tyrenkov is very reliable.

  Yet it is not his fate at stake here, but mine. I am the one with my ass in the chair aboard Kirov, even as I sit here now. Something tells me that arrangement will be very uncomfortable for Mother Time. She’ll have to do something… yes, but what?

  For safety’s sake, I must plan to take some operation before the 28th of July. I must either complete that stairway, and hope it still works, and that failing, I must pray for bad weather and take to the skies again in Tunguska. If take the latter course, nothing can be left to chance. July can be very warm, yet perhaps I can use my computer jacket to fetch up historical weather data. Yes, I must do this.

  He looked out the window again, having the strangest thought that as he did so, the image in the mirror continued to stare at him. He could not stop himself from glancing at the mirror again, and of course, he would meet his own gaze there and find his suspicion had been correct.

  He was being foolish, he knew, but that was the essence of how he felt just now. He was being watched… Something was considering him, just as he ruminated on all these strategies and options, all these unseen dangers and fears. The ticking of the clock on his desk suddenly seem a loud and annoying thing, so much so that he stood up and batted it aside, sending it clattering to the floor, the glass face of the timepiece shattered, just like the history he was living out now. He looked at the calendar, edgy, harried. Then he reached for the telephone on his desk and rang up his chief of staff.

  “Solokov—find me the weather master. I want to know his outlook for the coming weeks. And get me the chief of engineers. I want a full report on that construction project and expected completion time, within the hour. Then have dinner sent here to my offices, and invite Kymchek. I want to speak with him tonight.”