Eranas obviously wanted some acknowledgment from me.
"I understand the problem."
"We explored a number of alternatives, including making you the nominal head of Maintenance with supervision by the Tribunes personally. But the unwise precedent that could be set by making a junior Guard a department head and the fact that such supervision could be somewhat time-consuming ... "
In short, young fellow, I translated, you've already given us too many headaches.
" ... leads us to another temporary expedient, which we will review on a periodic basis. Assignments and Maintenance will be consolidated under Heimdall, but you will in fact take charge of the daily operations of Maintenance."
All three waited for me to react.
I couldn't say I was surprised. No other Senior Guard would have touched the job for anything if what Loragerd had told me about the gossip was half-true.
"Not much I can say, honored Tribunes. While Heimdall and I certainly have not seen eye-to-eye in the past, I am confident we will develop a working relationship of mutual understanding."
Translate that any way you want, I thought.
"So long as that remains a working relationship," commented Kranos in his deep bass voice, "all of us will be pleased, I'm sure."
I bowed slightly once more.
"I appreciate the trust you have put in me."
With as little ceremony as when they arrived, the three left.
One of two things would happen, I decided. Either I would be swamped with trainees to avoid a recurrence of the present situation or they'd leave me alone as long as I kept out of trouble.
After the entourage of higher-ups departed for their sanctified quarters elsewhere in the Tower, I studied the print-out of Baldur's past assignments.
On the average, he had taken a diving assignment once a year, and that worked out to over twenty thousand. The physical print-out was notational, with all the assignments and the duration, objective and subjective, on a line or less. Twenty thousand assignments meant twenty thousand lines, or a few hundred thin pages.
I was searching for a specific kind of listing, however, and decided to assume for my first tries that no foul play was involved, that Baldur had left voluntarily.
How was I going to find him when the locator tag system couldn't?
The locator got a fix on every fore- and back-time point where a diver is or has been. The "now" position was determined by eliminating past assignments with a cross-index, which was why the records of all dives were so rigorously maintained by Personnel.
Further, the rules of Time are inflexible. No diver could occupy the same time slot in more than one place in the same solar system. I never understood why a diver could occupy the same time point in different systems, but that was the way it worked. Baldur couldn't have time-dived back to a time/place where he'd been once—unless he broke-out at the end of that earlier dive. I hadn't asked for differentials, and Ferrin hadn't suggested it, which struck me as suspicious, after the fact.
Baldur was hung up on doing constructive work, which meant a mid-tech culture and some place he wanted to stay for a while. My first step in trying to track down Baldur, after polishing off the routine maintenance waiting in my bin, would be to program my idea of Baldur's ideal home into the Archives Data Banks and request a list, hard copy.
Great insights aside, I still had a day-to-day job to get done. The Maintenance "in" bin was strangely full. A lot of it was real junk, dusty, unused for decades. Coincidences like that weren't.
I rated a midday break, despite the workload, and took the time to trot up to the Guard section of the Archives instead of sliding out to an Inn or the Aerie for a bite to eat.
I'd already decided to ask the Data Banks for the narrowest search possible, figuring I could widen it step by step if the parameters didn't touch on one of Baldur's earlier assignments.
Sitting there in the golden glow of the black-walled cube, waiting for the screen display and ready to punch the print stud, I wondered why I was so determined to track down the gentle engineer.
Another thought struck me, and I asked the Archives data system if anyone else were indexing the same data.
"Affirmative," scripted the screen.
"What command?" I pursued.
"Duplicate all requests, LKI-30, Red."
I struck the side of the cubicle, hammered my fist against the unyielding plastic, but the sharp lance of pain up my arm dissuaded me from further banging. That plastic was hard.
If they wanted to know what I was up to, I'd give them more than enough information. Scramble their schemes that way.
In the meantime, the information began writing out on the console screen. All in all, about two hundred time locales matched.
I ordered a print-out, then went ahead with my decision to muddle the waters by widening the search. I lowered the tech level by one magnitude, which boosted the numbers considerably.
The second list was lengthier, as well it should have been, with over two thousand time locales.
I cancelled the hold on the first grouping, ordered a print-out on the second, and left the second list on recall hold for my personal code. I hoped that would give the impression that I'd found what I wanted in the second grouping, rather than the first.
I ambled back down the ramp to Maintenance. The repairs piled in the bin were still waiting; they seemed to have grown in the short time I had been absent. Some variation of the theme that idle hands make easy work for careless time, I guessed.
Another thought occurred to me as I pitched in on a portable atmosphere generator which had definitely seen better days—uptime Terran manufacture, lots of plastic, excess back-up circuits to cover the sloppy construction—Baldur had been a Counselor, even though he had avoided most of the meetings.
Maybe, just maybe, he'd gotten tired of the plottings, the maneuverings, and what have you. But I couldn't be certain.
I plowed through the work on the regenerator, finished it off, improving the workmanship in the process, and started in on a set of camp barriers, followed by a child's deep space suit that hadn't been used in centuries.
I gritted my teeth and did the best I could, making a pretty good dent in the pile. Some of the easier garbage I farmed out to Narcissus and Brendan. Sooner or later I was going to get ahead of it because even Frey couldn't break it as fast as we three could fix it.
When I left the Tower at twilight, I smiled at everyone I passed, even Heimdall. I time-slid to the Aerie, the two sets of print-outs stuffed into my thigh pockets.
At the Aerie, it was still afternoon, but I'd grown used to the sun-position differences over the years.
I set the print-outs on the table next to the permaglass window and grabbed some fruit and nuts from the keeper, along with a beaker of firejuice.
I pulled up the stool and started in on a quick comparison of the Archives' short list against Baldur's assignments. At least ten matched—requiring dives and explorations and searches of ten planets. By the time I made ten time-dives, someone in Locator, and by then I felt everyone was monitoring my every move, would figure out what I was doing.
Dive smart, not often, Sammis had said. I might have to do some thinking about this, I figured as I munched my way through the print-outs.
I laid out a couple of assumptions. Number one: If Baldur really liked one area culture, he would have made several dives there on some pretext or another.
I went through the ten assignments that matched the data-bank short list and came up with two systems that Baldur had visited often.
The Atlantean Empire on Terra, twelve centuries back real objective time, was the first. The second was the third early mech period of Midgard, five centuries back. Both were well within Baldur's limited time-diving range.
My guess was Midgard. The Atlantean Empire of close back-time Terra, as I recalled, had been a casualty of a unique natural catastrophe which wiped out all chance of such a pass-on.
So I curbed my impatience and leaned back to watch the flashing threads of the silver rivers below, resisting the urge to chew through my fingernails. Didn't have much practice at analytical thinking, but maybe it was time to start.
Item: Baldur liked to think and to work with his hands.
Item: Baldur disliked the continual time-tampering of the Guard.
Item: Baldur could make an impact in any early mech culture.
Item: No winds of time-change had accompanied his departure.
Possible conclusion: Baldur was playing a longer-range game, and the closer to real objective "now" his destination was, the less likely his objective would be discovered.
Thinking done, I stood up and unloaded an insulated warm-suit from its sealed pack. I had it half on before I stopped.
I kept forgetting. I had all the time in the world. No one else was searching for Baldur, and I didn't have to find him that night.
Was I deluding myself? Would it be easy to pace myself, take some time? Or was it that I already knew the answer? Or did I want time to come up with my own answers? I stared into the morning hours, asking questions I could not answer, walking, watching the flickering silver of the far-below rivers as they glittered against the darkness of the canyon's night, pacing in front of the permaglass—wondering.
The dawn snaked its way over Seneschal all too soon after I had crawled into my furs, and later than I should have risen, but I managed to grumble myself together and onto my feet. From there it was only a few units until I slid to the Tower and walked into Maintenance.
During the day, the backlog shrank a bit more, perhaps because Heimdall and company were running out of things to have repaired. Never had so many odd pieces of equipment been in such good condition.
During the midday break, I wheedled a language refresher out of Loragerd, but had to promise to be careful on Midgard. I hoped she wouldn't say anything, but I couldn't do much searching for Baldur if I couldn't speak the lingo, something I'd forgotten the night before, for all my serious deliberations.
Right after a quick evening meal, I pulled on the insulated suit and dived from the Aerie, straight back to Midgard and the time of Baldur's last objective time assignment, in the city of Fenris. The wolf-city was more like a town, with narrow streets and open sewers. A half-day local, five taverns, and six smithies later I knew nothing more than when I started.
I time-dived back to the Aerie and fell into the waiting furs for a few hours sleep.
I made it to the Tower and into Maintenance at my regular time, a feat in itself after my night explorations on Midgard. As I studied the new additions to the repair bin and congratulated myself on making all the ends meet, Loragerd cornered me.
"I've been thinking."
"Dangerous occupation, thinking."
She avoided the hint. "I know Baldur's disappearance has upset you, but are you going to chase his ghost all over the galaxy?"
I turned on her, grabbing her shoulders before I realized I'd even moved.
"Ghost! So he is dead! How do you know?"
"Loki! Loki! Stop shaking me. I'm here. I'm not your enemy. I don't know what happened to Baldur."
"You said ghost, and people who are alive don't have ghosts."
I let go of her shoulders and found she was inside my arms, holding me. Holding me, for Guards' sake.
"Loki, for such a strong man, you're such an idiot."
I stood there for long units before I remembered to put my arms around her. At that, she stepped back out of my arms and brushed something out of her eyes. She cleared her throat, and the sound was swallowed in the morning emptiness of the Maintenance Hall. "Why is it so important for you to find Baldur?"
"Because it's not like him to disappear."
"From what you've told me, it is just like him. No fuss, no outcry. You're the one who likes the theatrics."
That hurt, even from Loragerd, and she must have realized it. She looked at the glowstone floor.
We avoided looking each other in the eyes. I gestured toward the two stools in front of my bench. "There's something more on your mind," I observed.
"You'll never love anyone, and you know it. You may be fond of me, or want Verdis, even Freyda. But you won't let yourself love."
"What does that have to do with Baldur?"
"Everything. Baldur loved. He loved everyone. And he couldn't stand it anymore. He left. He didn't tell Freyda, or Eranas, or Heimdall, or Odinthor, or you."
"How do you know?"
"Because they've been following you, tracking you, wondering if you can find Baldur, half-hoping you can, half-hoping you can't."
"They don't have any ideas?" I snapped.
Loragerd brushed whatever it was out of her eyes again, cleared her throat, and went on. She seemed hoarse. "Freyda said ... she said you ought to let the poor bastard alone."
"What?" Manipulating Freyda wanted someone left alone?
"I'd better go, Loki."
"You just got here."
"You have work to do, and so do I."
She slipped off the stool into the quiet side lights and was lost in the shadows within instants.
Why had she come down to see me? Had she been trying to tell me something? Sometimes, none of it made sense.
I dropped off the stool, walked over to the bin, and studied the backlog piled there. With the exception of the shield unit, Brendan and Narcissus could handle it all.
Despite my intentions to farm all of the repairs out to Brendan and Narcissus, I ended up working straight through. Not much left to do by the late afternoon.
After picking up a quick meal at Hera's Inn, I tried to puzzle it all out as I watched the sunset from the Aerie.
Baldur gone, and no one able to track him, no one wanting to. Loragerd's puzzling appearance in the Maintenance Hall and that business about my not being able to love anyone. That had hurt.
Sammis had said to dive smart and not often, but as the sun dropped lower and cast a red light on the snow-fields of Seneschal I found myself suited and ready to time-dive back to Midgard. Another night, another city—this time, Isolde.
My luck, skill, whatever, wasn't any better in Isolde.
Somehow the days and nights passed. Fifteen cities, towns, villages, and no sign of Baldur. Fifteen days consisting of two days and a couple hours sleep—a day at the Tower, a day on Midgard, and what sleep I could get, the pattern repeating day after day. Fall was coming, but I didn't notice much of the mild change in season.
The morning after my last dive to Midgard, and I knew it was my last because there wasn't anywhere else to look, I was staring blankly at a warm-suit powerpack connection block.
"Loki."
I knew the voice, and swiveled on the stool to greet Freyda.
"My lady."
She seldom beat around the bush. She didn't then.
"Haven't you tried enough?"
"Enough on what?"
"Baldur. What else?"
"What did you do to him?" I tried a glare, but was too tired for it to make much of a dent in Freyda's composure.
She shook her head slowly. "In such a hurry, trying to solve the universe as if you had no tomorrow. I'd hoped ... "
"Hoped what?"
She smiled faintly. "That is neither here nor now. I thought I might be able to help you. Why do you want to find Baldur so badly?"
"Because he shouldn't have disappeared."
"Did you know Ferrin has tried every possible Locator cross-check? That includes comparing the time-length of past assignments, trying variations on Baldur's Locator tag signal, and sending Sammis back- and fore-time with portable Locator packs."
I swallowed that without commenting. No wonder the Tribunes had been content to let me poke around
Midgard. They knew he wasn't there. "And you let me waste time ... "
"Would you have believed me without trying it out yourself?"
I wasn't sure I believed Freyda then. "So what do you want now?"
"For you to stop wasting your energy chasing a ghost."
"What did you do to him, or with him?"
She looked at me for a long time, eye to eye, and her gaze never wavered. "I was the second choice to replace Martel—a very distant second. Baldur was selected on the first ballot. He refused, without explaining. If you want, I'll even open that section of the Tribunes' private records to you."
Put in that light, I had no reason to disbelieve. I didn't understand, but Freyda was telling me the truth, at least, the truth as she knew it.
"Why?" I caught myself about ready to pound on my workbench. "Why would he just walk out on everything?"
"I have an answer, but I think you'll have to find your own, Loki. Guards are human, all too human, for all our experience, all our age, and all our abilities. You can't be a god and be a human, not both, and stay sane. Somewhere you make a choice. Baldur chose one way, and I may have to choose another. You will, too, if you haven't already."
The words whirled around in my head, just words, disconnected from any reality.
Looking into the darkness of the shadowed and shielded machinery, asking why, and not having any answer, I let the time ebb and flow past me before I understood that Freyda had left.
I wondered if she had even been there.
Was her appearance a creation of my own mind?
Baldur had dropped from the sight of the Guard, had turned his back on us, and I had to accept that. But the question that kept digging at me was why he'd gone. If I really understood why, I might have been able to figure out where. The only places he'd shown any great interest in were like Terra, and personally I thought the Terrans were just like us, too damned ruthless for someone like Baldur.
I shrugged as I considered it. The change winds didn't blow far backwards, and there was no way to track Baldur, or anyone, through all the fore-time possibilities.
The Fires of Paratime Page 13
