He was losing his twin. The link was fading.
Exhilaration blossomed inside him, only to be crushed by fear. He scrambled away from the cold ashes of the fire and found his twin huddled on the ground, shivering and tossing, his skin burning hot.
“Noel,” he whispered, and put his hand on Noel’s shoulder.
Noel flinched, and Leon felt the pain caused by his own touch. He took his hand away.
“Tell me how to help you. Noel? Listen to me. Can’t you use emergency recall? Pull us out of this place, and that will heal you.”
Another spasm went through Noel. He gripped Leon’s leg, and only then did Leon realize he was conscious. Fear rippled through Leon. He hadn’t sensed it. He hadn’t known.
“I’m fading,” Leon whispered urgently, gripping Noel’s hand. “I am losing you. Don’t leave me here. Damn you, Noel—”
“LOC,” said Noel, gasping out the word as though it was to be his last. “LOC!”
“It doesn’t work for me. You know that.”
Noel made no answer. Leon ran his fingers over Noel’s hot face. He had slipped from consciousness again. Leon felt a coldness inside that was colder than the limbo of the time stream.
Desperately he clawed the silver cuff from Noel’s wrist. He pressed the hidden controls. He spoke urgently to the computer again and again, but it refused to activate for him.
It shouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Weren’t they duplicates? Its isomorphics weren’t that sophisticated.
But it hadn’t worked for him when he stole it from Noel in Greece, and it wouldn’t work for him now.
The coldness inside him was increasing to the point of painfulness. Leon dropped the LOC, and when he tried to pick it up his fingers almost passed through it.
“Concentrate,” he told himself.
Holding himself together took all the willpower he possessed. Panic nibbled at the edges of his mind until he wanted to scream. Before, when he’d ordered an assassination attempt on Noel, he had shared Noel’s pain but he hadn’t faded like this.
But there were other people before, he reminded himself. There was a whole medieval town to draw life essence and support from. Until now, he hadn’t realized he received his own energy from others, drawing strength from the radiant glow of the life forces around him. He could not exist alone.
“Noel,” he whispered urgently. “Tell me what to do. Wake up and activate the LOC.”
Noel did not stir. By concentrating so hard he shook, Leon was able to hold himself together enough to pick up the LOC and place it back on Noel’s wrist. Then he took Noel’s other hand and pressed it over the LOC. He took Noel’s forefinger and used it to push the control button.
The LOC hummed momentarily, then stopped.
Leon could have shouted with frustration. He shook Noel. “Wake up! You must wake up.”
Noel remained slack in his hands, unconscious, unhelpful.
Snarling to himself, Leon smacked his palm against Noel’s chest, feeling the stickiness of blood where the shirt cloth was glued to Noel’s skin. Noel arched his back in agony and gave a shuddering moan.
Leon gripped him by the shoulder and half pulled him up. “Activate the LOC. Noel, activate the LOC!”
From the corner of his eye he was aware of Lisa-Marie waking up and coming to them. “What are you doing to him?” she demanded. “Leave him alone!”
Leon ignored her. “Noel! You can hear me. You know what is happening. Don’t let it. Activate the LOC! Now!”
Noel’s gray eyes opened, but would not focus. He mumbled something unintelligible. Leon cupped the back of Noel’s head in his palm. He bent Noel’s head toward him.
“Listen to me! You must—”
His hands ceased to be tangible. Noel slipped right through his grasp and thudded to the ground. Leon reached for him, but he could no longer grip anything solid. He screamed, but there was no sound.
Desperate, panic-stricken, he sent his mind hurtling at Noel’s. He knew Noel’s mind was impervious to his own, but it was all he had left.
Noel, he screamed silently. Noel, help me! I need you!
The coldness permeated his bones like ice. He looked down at himself and could see himself spreading so thin he was dissolving into the air. Other objects were visible through his body. It was as though the time vortex had opened and was drawing him into it.
Perhaps, he thought in hope, the emergency recall was working at last. If the dolts in the twenty-sixth century had finally fixed their malfunctioning equipment, perhaps he and Noel were going home at last to their proper time.
He looked at Noel, but his twin wasn’t moving, wasn’t dissolving.
Fear clutched Leon deep. He couldn’t pass through the time stream without Noel. They had to be together for him to survive.
“Noel!” he screamed. Then, there was nothing.
Chapter 10
Sweat-drenched and frightened, Noel battled himself awake. He sat upright as though catapulted, then gasped as rivers of fire inflamed his ribs.
Cool hands touched his face, his brow. A gentle voice said, “Suavemente, suavemente, por favor.”
The mists clouding his vision cleared away. He squinted into the broad, homely face of an unknown woman. Her brown face was shiny with sweat. Her graying hair was plaited in two neat braids that hung down to her plump shoulders. Her eyes, a dark compassionate brown, met his with concern.
“Please, senor. Lie still. You will open the cuts and bleed again.”
He did not know where he was. His bed was a massive thing carved of dark wood. A tester overhead was draped with heavy, dust-coated velvet. The tall sides and footboard made him feel as though he’d been enclosed in an airless box. The room was all shadows and gloom, with tiny slivers of sunlight leaking through closed shutters on the windows. Stuffy heat sat on him like a weight.
She pressed him down, and although her strong hands were gentle he could not help but wince as his back touched the sheets.
“Is bad,” she said softly in English, rolling him onto his side and propping him with pillows. “Is bad, but you must sleep again. Is the only way to heal.”
He shivered, suddenly cold, and she put a cup of cool water to his lips. He drank some of it, then grew tired. She took the cup away and sat humming beside the bed, the way a nanny might croon to children. Noel closed his eyes but he was afraid to sleep, afraid the nightmare would come back.
It did.
His own screams woke him up. He opened his eyes, panting and trembling, to find his flailing arms caught in a strong grip. Don Emilio held his wrists.
Noel shuddered and drew a deep breath, realizing he was still in the bed like a box. “No Indians,” he murmured weakly and slumped against his pillows.
Don Emilio released his wrists. “No, my friend,” he said. “There are no Indians here. Have some water.”
He held the cup and supported Noel’s head while he drank. Soothed, Noel rested a moment, watching as Don Emilio put the empty silver cup upon the bedside table and pulled a chair close. The shadows in the room had changed. They were darker in the corners. Only night stood behind the closed wooden shutters now. A silver candelabrum held three burning candles. Their light flickered a soft gold over Don Emilio’s clasped hands, which rested on the edge of the bed. His face and shoulders remained in shadow.
“You have given us much worry,” said Don Emilio. “But I think you are beginning to be a little better now.”
Noel frowned. He was still confused, and the effort to make sense of things seemed too great. Still, he tried. “I’m not home.”
“No, you are at my hacienda. In fact, you are in my bed. It is the best in the house, and you are welcome to it for being such a brave fool.”
There were several emotions running beneath Don Emilio’s light tone. Noel felt too tired to sort through them.
“Cody and I brought you here three days ago. Do you remember? No? Bueno. I think it is better you do not. The journey, slung across my
horse, was a harsh one. We did not think you would live.”
“Lisa-Marie?”
Don Emilio shifted, and the candlelight revealed his smile. “Ah, she is almost recovered from her ordeal. We let her walk today for a little while. Her feet are much better. Tomorrow, she will come and visit you.”
He reached out and gripped Noel’s hand. His fingers were strong and dry. His aristocratic face still smiled a little, but there was no amusement in his hazel eyes. “Thank you, amigo,” he whispered hoarsely. “You saved her life, when I did not think any of us would succeed in rescuing her from the Apaches. She has told us what you did. In private, I will say that I am in your debt for this act of courage. She is not of my family, but in this land all ranching people must stick together.”
He was speaking with two meanings again. Noel knew he needed his wits about him in dealing with this complex man, but right now it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.
“Are you going to marry her?” he asked.
Don Emilio blinked. For a moment his urbane mask slipped, and astonishment showed through. “I—what a question you ask me! Sangre de Cristo, I do not think we need discuss such a thing right now.”
“But you’ve thought about it,” persisted Noel.
“How do you know this?” asked Don Emilio with narrowed eyes. He cocked his head to one side. “This is a thought that has barely crossed my mind this afternoon while having tea with the senorita, and already you know it. Do you read minds perhaps?”
“No, my brother does that,” said Noel before he could stop himself. He was aghast at the slip, but Don Emilio only laughed.
“Yes, you are improved, if you can make jokes. I only wish we could find your brother.”
Noel frowned. “Where is he? You mean you let him get away?”
Don Emilio spread his hands. “He was gone when we found you and Lisa-Marie. She was almost fainting of thirst and hunger. The poor child was delirious. She kept babbling about ghosts and, oh, such things as make no sense. You were…well, as you know. Leon left no tracks for us to follow. That diablo will pay for the trouble he has caused.”
“He’s gone?” repeated Noel, unable to understand. “But I saw him with us. He was afraid. I made him afraid to go off by himself. He…” A wave of coldness washed through Noel. He put his fingers to his face. “I feel strange.”
“Ah,” said Don Emilio, rising to his feet. “I have kept you talking too long. Now you are tired. You must sleep.”
“No—”
“Yes, yes, it is important for you to regain your health quickly.” Don Emilio glanced over his shoulder and snapped his fingers.
At once a slim, gray-haired man in black came forward from where he had been hidden in the shadows. He bowed to Don Emilio and began stirring a potion in a glass. Don Emilio walked to the door.
“Good night, my friend. We will talk more tomorrow.”
Alarmed by some instinct he could not place, Noel sat up. At once the pain came roaring through him, and half-closed cuts opened to let air sting through his wounds. The welts on his bare skin were purplish and crimson, and throbbed mercilessly. Around him, the room seemed to tilt and lean in. He felt a coldness inside him that had nothing to do with anything else.
It was as though a piece of him was missing. He frowned, unable to put his finger on what was wrong.
Then he looked at his wrist and realized the LOC was missing.
“My LOC!” he said sharply, then corrected himself. “My bracelet, the one of Indian silver, where is it?” As he spoke, he felt anger growing. If Leon had stolen his LOC again, he would regret it.
The doctor had clammy hands and dirty fingernails. “Easy, senor,” he said. “You must drink this. It will ease the pain and your fever.”
Noel shoved his hand away hard enough to make the black liquid slosh over the rim of the glass. “Get that away from me. Where is my—”
“Noel, amigo, be still,” said Don Emilio. He picked up the bracelet from the top of a chest standing near the door. “Here are all your possessions. Nothing is lost. Now drink your laudanum and rest.”
Relief went through Noel, but he refused to give way to it. He held out his hand. “Give it to me. I want it on my wrist.”
Don Emilio glanced at the doctor and shrugged. “Of course,” he said, coming to Noel and slipping the heavy silver cuff onto Noel’s wrist. “If it will make you feel better. Now it is with you. Bueno. Take the medicine.”
“No,” said Noel. He felt sweat break out across him. The effort to keep sitting up became too great. Pain throbbed and roared across his senses. “No drugs. I’ll sleep without them.”
“Senor,” said the doctor in concern. “The laudanum is very mild. You will not become addicted. This I swear. But without it you will have no rest.”
Noel’s gaze sought Don Emilio’s. “Get him out of here. I don’t want it.”
Don Emilio hesitated, then he nodded and ushered the protesting doctor from the room. Noel sank back gingerly, trying to find a comfortable position in vain. By gradual degrees the tension drained from him. Small wonder he was having horrible nightmares, when they had him toked to the eyebrows on an opium derivative.
Travelers were injected with implants and symbiotics to protect them from untreated water, primitive sanitation conditions, tainted food, and the like. They were supposed to avoid ingesting anything—such as local medicines—that might upset the precise balance of protection created within their own system.
Noel flexed his left wrist, glad to have his LOC back. Now that it was on his arm again, the implant-triggered alarm eased off.
Don Emilio closed the door on the still-protesting doctor and returned to Noel’s bedside. “You are stubborn. There is no need to be brave now. Why not make your suffering comfortable?”
“No,” said Noel grimly.
Don Emilio shrugged. “As you wish. Would you like some more water?”
“Please.”
The Mexican filled the silver cup from an ewer. Noel watched him carefully to make sure there were no tricks.
Before he drank he even sniffed suspiciously.
Don Emilio laughed. “Dios! How you mistrust us all. Drops are for old women, eh? Now drink and go to sleep. Someone will stay near in case you decide to be less brave in the night.”
Noel drank the well water and let his head sink deep into the soft feather pillow. Don Emilio blew out the candles, and darkness folded over the room like a blanket.
When the heavy door closed behind him, Noel waited a few moments, then roused himself from the edges of unconsciousness.
“LOC,” he said softly, “activate.”
The bracelet shimmered into its true shape, and the light emanating from its circuitry cast an eerie glow about the room.
“Scan,” said Noel. “Locate Leon.”
“Duplicate not found.”
“What?” Noel blinked, not certain he’d heard correctly. “Explain not found.”
“Duplicate does not register in scan.”
“Is he out of range?”
“Negative.”
“Where is he then?”
The LOC did not answer.
“LOC,” said Noel more sharply, “run hypothesis. Where is the duplicate?”
The LOC hummed for a long while. Noel struggled to keep his eyes open. There was something wrong. He felt strange, unsettled in a way he could not describe more precisely. He didn’t think this feeling came from the laudanum he’d been given earlier.
“If he’s gone to join El Raton, we’ll—”
“Negative,” said the LOC.
“Specify reply. Do you mean he isn’t with El Raton or—”
“Negative existence.”
Noel was stunned. “You mean he’s gone? Really gone? He doesn’t exist anymore? Not anywhere?”
“Negative existence.”
It seemed too good to be true. Noel grinned to himself. “At last!” he said. “He’s finally out of my hair. Good riddance.”
>
“Negative placement in fourth dimension. Inverted time stream. Time loop widening. Danger.”
“Wait a minute,” said Noel. “Danger? What danger? What do you mean, the time loop is widening? It can’t do that, unless there’s something going wrong on the other side.” In excitement, he propped himself up on one elbow.
“LOC,” he commanded, “run diagnostic scan into time stream. Verify malfunctions. Specifically: Is a malfunction happening at origin point? Can the malfunction be terminated from this side? Can the malfunction be kept from reaching you? How far is the time stream inverting? Will it affect events taking place here? Run.”
“Running,” said the LOC.
It hummed a long while, so long it grew warm on his wrist. Noel wiped the perspiration from his forehead and allowed himself to lie down again. He was growing so tired he could barely concentrate.
“Danger,” said the LOC. “Possibility seventy-nine percent that you will be pulled into the time stream.”
“How?” said Noel. “By wearing you?”
“Negative. Through link to duplicate.”
Noel frowned and decided he wanted to chew on that a while. “Answer my other questions. I might as well know the worst all at once.”
“Malfunction affirmative. Origin point confirmed. Origin point scanning down time stream in search-mode logistical pattern.”
Noel chuckled and slapped the bed. “Looking for me, by God!”
“Affirmative. Inversion increasing by exponential factor seven—”
“Stop,” said Noel. So finally someone back at the Time Institute had decided he was lost, and they were looking for him. Maybe they could fish him back. But the inversion shouldn’t be happening. That was an effect of the linear time stream curling back on itself, thus widening. If the time stream widened too far, it could dissipate, thus causing…
Noel frowned. He didn’t want to think about all the theories of what might happen in such a situation. Tampering with the fourth dimension was a tricky business at best, requiring precision and a delicate respect for the parallels of history and events. Too much interference with time, and the paradox occurred. The whole future could be wiped out, changed irrevocably. Dimensions could be altered. The chaos from this would be incalculable.
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