The Fires of Paratime

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Baldur was gone. I had to accept that. The old names were fading from Query. Martel had stepped down. Odin-thor was a shadow of himself. My grandfather Ragnorak had been missing for centuries.

  How did an immortal die? Did immortals die, really die, or live out meaningless lives on dustballs in the void?

  The ranks of the immortals were thinning, it seemed, replaced with the techs like Ferrin, Verdis, Loragerd.

  XIII

  I was perched above my workbench, pondering over the possibility of changing the layout in Maintenance when Nicodemus tiptoed in.

  Never did understand why all the trainees walked into Maintenance as if they were treading on eggshells. I was always civil.

  "What is it?"

  "Counselor Heimdall would like to talk to you, sir."

  "I'm not 'sir,' Nicodemus. I'm Loki, first, last, and always."

  "Yes, sir."

  As Nicodemus stood there waiting, stiff, as if I were going to snap his head off, I climbed down from my high stool, brushed my hair off my forehead, and straightened my black jumpsuit. I followed Nicodemus up the ramp to Assignments.

  Heimdall was waiting, calm, assured, with his long black hair in perfect place. He was frowning though, and kept pulling at his chin.

  "Problems?"

  "Think so, but not certain. That makes it worse."

  He flicked his long fingers over the console in front of him while I stepped up on the platform and settled myself in the lower stool across from him.

  "You know Patrice?" he asked without looking away from the screen.

  "Went through training together."

  "Good diver, I gather."

  "I don't know about her evaluations, but my impression was that she would be good."

  "Sammis agrees. Makes this disturbing." I wanted to ask what it was all about, but I bit my lip. Heimdall was usually so direct I wondered if he was play­ing on my impatience.

  I waited.

  "Locator has a fix on her. Twelve centuries back. Toltek. Supposed to have returned two days ago. Sent Derron after her, fully equipped. He hasn't returned either."

  "Toltek? Derron?"

  "Best diver from the Domestic Strike Force."

  The assignment Heimdall was setting me up for was shaping itself as nasty, plain and simple. If Frey's most accomplished goon couldn't rescue one of the better divers in Scouting ...

  He hadn't answered my question about Toltek so I asked again. "Never heard of Toltek. Should it be famil­iar?"

  "Toltek?" Heimdall seemed amused. "No. Out beyond Faffnir. Small cluster. Patrice did the preliminaries from deep space, then orbit, brought back some holo shots. Went in for a closer scan."

  "And never came back, and you sent Derron. And he never came back. Now you want a double rescue?"

  Heimdall's fingers flashed over the console again before he answered. He didn't look straight at me.

  "May not be that simple. Archives evaluated the holos Patrice brought in. Signs of mid-tech culture, maybe even high-tech."

  High-tech civilizations are rare, a handful in the time and area spans surveyed by the Guard. I shivered. I knew what was coming. "High-tech?" I asked.

  He nodded.

  "With two lost, if I don't succeed, you'll recommend cutting the Guard's losses?"

  He nodded again.

  Clear enough. If I didn't drag them out, at some back-time point a planet-buster would be funneled through the undertime to Toltek.

  The process would automatically destroy the planet and the Toltekians, but not necessarily an alert Guard. We'd have a chance, but how much of a chance depended on circumstances. I didn't like that prospect.

  Sounds cruel, but it wasn't. With really good divers scarce, the Guard couldn't afford to have them whittled down on rescue attempt after attempt. And we weren't organized for massive assaults. All in all, a second attempt was worth it, but not a third.

  If necessary, the Tribunes would regretfully order a planet-busting. They had done so before. Be less messy if I recovered Patrice and Derron.

  "Briefing?" I asked, mentally trying to catalogue what I might need to take along.

  Heimdall tapped several studs on the console, got up, and pointed to the display.

  "Restricted," he explained. I didn't question that, al­though I probably should have.

  I sat down in his stool, on edge about his standing be­hind me, and watched the script and holo shots unfold in front of me. Patrice had blown it. Obvious even to a dunderhead like me. You take it easy with planetary cul­tures that build lots of structures which can be seen from space.

  Toltek was too regular. The forests, rivers, coastlines fit into a definite pattern. Any culture which shaped a planet for aesthetic purposes had one Hell of a lot of power to spare.

  "Stinks," I commented to Heimdall, more to get his reaction than to state the obvious.

  "Forego your rescue and recommend immediate destruc­tion?" he asked in a level tone.

  Common sense said yes, but I wasn't about to be the one who decided to destroy an entire planet. "No. I'll see what I can do."

  According to the data Patrice had recorded, the air was breathable, if high in water vapor and oxygen. The tem­perature was a touch high, and gravity heavy, but not enough to bother me. I needed a small Locator pack to trace Derron's and Patrice's shoulder tags, plus demoli­tion cubes to cover our tracks if I succeeded.

  "When are you leaving?" Heimdall interrupted my planning with his question.

  "As soon as I gather what I need," I replied, slipping off his stool and heading out the archway toward the ramps.

  I stopped by Maintenance to pick up a small laser cut­ter and some spare power cells in case Derron and Patrice needed them. I sent Brendan over to Locator to pick up the portable locator packs and told him to meet me at the Travel Hall with them.

  I reached the Travel Hall before Brendan and began to assemble what I needed. Compromise was the order of the day. I started with the black bodymesh armor I'd worn to Sinopol and put it on under a standard jumpsuit. I added the laser to the equipment belt, plus a stunner, some addi­tional ration-packs, and a knife.

  By the time I finished, Brendan arrived with the loca­tor packs.

  "Ferrin says good luck."

  I had to grin. "If you see him—don't make a special trip—tell him that luck is a luxury too chancy for me."

  Brendan just nodded. Seldom could anything I said surprise him.

  I ambled out into the Travel Hall from the equipment room, taking my time. Finally, I dived, smashing through the time-chill and arrowing out and back-time toward Toltek.

  I took a flash-look at the planet from altitude. Patrice's holo hadn't conveyed the greenness of the place, from the green atmosphere, to the long green grassy stuff that covered the regular fields, to the persistent green cliff walls that outlined the symmetrical green sand beaches.

  After three, four, five flash-throughs around the edges of the daylight cities, I had not gotten a glimpse of a native, although the evidence of continuing planetary maintenance was everywhere evident.

  Nocturnal—that was my next thought. I flashed through the undertime, nightside, and was rewarded when I passed over a beach on the nightside, I came back for another look.

  Several figures were standing on the glowing green sand under the stars. I stood on the sand, silently, for several units trying to make out the shapes—definitely not humanoid.

  Abruptly, I was seized and shaken. That's what it felt like, but there was nothing around. Just as suddenly I was tossed head over heels onto the sand.

  My whole body vibrated. The shaking and the high-pitched whine that accompanied it made concentrating hard as Hell, but I knew if I didn't slide quickly, I wasn't going to be sliding or diving anywhere. I managed to blot out the distractions and stagger undertime. As soon as I did, the shaking and the whine disappeared.

  Too close—way too close.

  As usual, dumb old Loki had slid right in and an­nounced, "Here I am
." I hung in the undertime for a subjective unit or two to try and get an impression of the Toltekians.

  Not humanoid, that seemed certain. Through the time-tension barrier, I could make out a solid "trunk" with pseudopods, I thought, propelling it, and with a fringe of tentacles at the top. The "trunk" glistened like the cliff walls around the beach, which made me think it was solid.

  I plunked myself over to an isolated spot on Faffnir, settling on a knoll above the lifeless black sea. I sat down on a raised and smoothed chunk of ironglass which prob­ably dated back to the fall of High Sinopol.

  In the atmosphere of quiet antiquity, in the afternoon light of Faffnir, I began to put together what little I'd picked up.

  Item: Toltekians were nocturnal non-humanoid.

  Item: I was assuming the beings I'd run into were Toltekians.

  Item: They had picked up my appearance within unit-fractions and shaken Hell out of me.

  Item: I had barely managed to think my way undertime with the scrambling my thoughts had taken.

  Item: Most divers wouldn't have gotten clear.

  My first guess was energy projection, but I hadn't felt the power, and with my sensitivity to high-energy concen­trations, I should have.

  Second guess was directed sonics. If the Toltekians were a sonic-based culture, that would explain a number of things. They could have picked up my arrival, my breath­ing, and reacted. I postponed further thought while I pulled a ration stick out of my belt and munched it to settle my shaking legs.

  If my assumptions were correct, and I saw no reason why they shouldn't be, the Toltekians could maintain such a sound attack for only a limited time. Patrice and Der­ron should have escaped and reported. They hadn't.

  I knew of only two ways to imprison a good diver—either scramble his thoughts or tie him to a chunk of something too big to carry into a dive. The second method was likely, particularly if Patrice and Derron had been rendered unconscious with the initial sonic blast.

  I reached down and checked my own equipment-belt for the laser cutter. It was there.

  Knowing the kind of Guard employed on the Strike Force, I'd have bet that Derron had homed in on Patrice's signal—tried a frontal assault of some sort. The Toltekians had apparently been ready for Derron and potted him as well.'

  Sitting there in the early afternoon light of Faffnir, I decided that waiting wouldn't solve my problems. I didn't know of any equipment back on Query that would provide a defense against sonics. So it seemed like speed was the best answer—speed and a willingness to zap a few Tol­tekians along the way.

  I checked the Locator packs and activated them, diving undertime toward Toltek. The signals led me under one of the larger structures on the northern continent. Both sig­nals were from the same point, from what seemed to be a solid rock or stone chamber well underneath the city above.

  The objective "now" for Patrice and Derron was close to local midnight. I could have waited until "day," but that far underground I doubted it would make a difference.

  With both the darkness and the undertime barrier, I couldn't see more than shadows, but the picture I received was of two figures chained to opposite sides of a long wall with Toltekian sentries posted or planted at each end. A long pointed weapon was aimed at one of the captives—Derron probably.

  Hit and run was my idea, to slide up from the under­time behind one sentry and stun her, him, or it, then to do the same to the other, disable the weapon gadget with a thunderbolt, cut the two Guards free, leave a set of demolition blocs, and depart. The charges would make a thorough mess of the chamber and cover our tracks as well.

  I slid from the undertime behind the Toltekian sentry closest to the gadget gun and thumbed the stunner. It hummed. Nothing happened. The sentry stood. At that instant, both sentries "screamed" and the whole dungeon began shaking. I dropped the stunner and threw a thun­derbolt at the far sentry.

  All that energy bounced off him, skittered around the tentacles—purple tentacles. But the sentry shrank back, wincing. In the intervening instants, the sentry I'd failed to stun had turned toward me, "screaming," and grabbed at me with his tentacles.

  For a fraction of an instant, the vibrations distracted me, but I mentally pushed them away and slid around the grabby Toltekian. I threw another thunderbolt, this time at the weapon. The pointed nozzle wilted, and the sentries froze at the flash. A deep gong chimed in the background, and kept chiming.

  So far, I'd alerted the entire city and accomplished nothing. I was beginning to see red. Damned if a bunch of tree-snails were going to stand in front of Loki!

  Light! That was the answer. They didn't like light. I began firing off thunderbolts in every direction, pulling the laser cutter off my belt as I dashed/slid toward Patrice. She was out cold, slumped against the chains which linked her to the wall. Her arms were tight against the stone, and the links of the chains were shaped stone which seemed to be the same material as the walls. That ex­plained plenty. I cut through two sets of links and let her slump to the floor. Then I fired off another round of thunderbolts in the general direction of the two sentries and slid to the other side of the chamber.

  Like Patrice, Derron was unconscious. It was harder to cut the chains from his arms because he was bigger than me, bigger even than Baldur, and had his whole weight resting against them.

  I used the cutter to blaze through one while I threw a bunch of lightnings behind me. I had the feeling that more Toltekians were closing, ready to enter the chamber, but I finished the second set of links and let Derron col­lapse on the rock floor. I could hold him, but not carry him.

  I glanced up in time to see a procession of Toltekians coming through the oval door with a high-speed glide.

  I froze them in place with all the power I could throw and as the chamber flared with that light, I saw that they were unlimbering some ugly hardware.

  I flash slid to the other side of the dungeon and tossed Patrice over my shoulder, glad she was small, and slid back across to Derron. Using my free arm, I blasted the Toltekians again, concentrating on light. The thunderbolts may not have caused them physical pain, but all the power I was tossing blinded them and made a mess of their equipment.

  Before I picked up Derron, I had enough presence of mind to yank out a handful of demolition cubes, one at a time, ripping the set tab of the corner of each one as I scattered them across the chamber. With the last cube gone, I grabbed Derron around the waist and forced my way undertime.

  Forced, because it's difficult to carry a cooperating and consenting adult undertime, let alone two unconscious ones. The unconscious mind resists any change; it has a tendency to lock itself into the here and now, wherever it is. But I managed, clearing the undertime of Toltek as fast as I could. I struggled fiercely to get as far as Faffnir, and Faffnir was only a fraction of the time and distance home. I broke-out on the knoll I'd found earlier, not that I'd been looking for it, but somehow we ended up there. Local time was late afternoon, with a breeze sweeping in from the sea, carrying an ancient tang of metal.

  Legs quivering, I eased both Derron and Patrice down and laid them out so they'd be as comfortable as possible on the hard ground. Both were breathing and had no obvious physical injuries. I sat down on a low hump next to them. Didn't have any choice. My legs refused to support me any longer.

  I dug out my ration sticks and gobbled two bone-dry before I even thought about being thirsty. After a few units, my body stopped trembling, and I began to take stock. Patrice and Derron, unmoving, slept like small children. I surveyed my own gear. Both my wrist-gauntlets were fused and inert plates.

  One arm, my left, had a red line. I peeled back my sleeve slightly to trace it, but the scratch only ran up to a point below the elbow, like the fine scrape of a briar-thorn. I dismissed it and checked through the rest. Every­thing was accounted for except the stunner I'd dropped. "Unnhh," someone groaned. I glanced at the two Guards. Derron was breathing, but not moving. Patrice was shaking her head and trying to get up.
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  She was wearing a canteen; she was more thoughtful than me. I unstoppered it and helped her take a small swallow. For several units, she sipped and pulled herself together.

  I waited.

  "Hell! Had to be you, blood and thunder. Break-out and assault the sentries and cart everyone off. I suppose you blew up the planet after you left."

  "Patrice!"

  "Did you?"

  "No, just part of the city, or whatever it was. That's a guess. Took everything I had to drag you two here."

  "Where's here?"

  "Faffnir."

  She cocked her head. "How come they didn't get you with their shaker-upper?"

  "Almost did." I told her about my experience on the green sand beach at night.

  "No reinforcements? And after that, you decided you could handle it?"

  In retrospect and put that way, it did sound stupid. "Why not?" I replied, not wanting to admit it.

  Patrice was about to tell me, but Derron started groan­ing, and I was spared another lecture about my impetuousness. After a few units, Derron started asking questions. From the tenor of his comments, I gathered he'd been in a lot of tight spots. "Never seen anything like it—those trees, snails, didn't react to stunners, warblers, thunder­bolts, nothing," Derron lamented. "How did you manage it, Loki?"

  I didn't have any answers. "Just lucky, I guess."

  "You blinded them, is that it?" pursued Patrice.

  "I tried."

  Patrice climbed to her feet, studied the area around us for a long unit or so, then jumped, pointed at a near-by rock.

  "Loki! Quick! Throw a thunderbolt! That rock! Don't think! Fire!"

  I fired and blasted the rock into powder.

  Patrice turned absolutely white, sat down in a heap like a pile of stone fragmenting into gravel.

  Derron looked around as if he'd missed something. "I don't get it," he said.

  I was afraid I did. But I didn't have to think about it right then.

  "Must be seeing things—better get back, before Heim­dall thinks we're trapped here," said Patrice. Her color was returning.