Turncoat

by Deborah Chester

  “No!”

  And Leon wrenched open the door and ran up the steps into the daylight.

  Cursing, Noel went out after him, but Leon was too quick. By the time Noel emerged from the stairwell into the afternoon sunlight, Leon was out of sight. Hearing voices, Noel ducked down into the cellar again. He waited, tensed by the door, but there came no sounds of commotion or of discovery.

  Slowly he let out his breath, relieved that Leon hadn’t gone to the soldiers.

  During their time of contact, Noel hadn’t been able to read Leon’s thoughts, but he sensed that Leon was up to something with that devious brain of his. Leon already knew about the trap laid for the patriots who would be meeting in secret tonight. Chances were that he intended to work that to his own advantage.

  As for Qwip, Noel shook his head. Leon’s memory was very short-term, but Noel’s wasn’t. He knew Qwip had lied and manipulated, and would do so again. He wanted to consult his LOC for more theories on how to close the door on Qwip forever, but even with Leon’s help, activating the LOC had been exhausting. He’d focused on finding out how long it would take the LOC to repair itself, and then he’d cut it off.

  Now, however, he stared at his bandaged hand, wondering if he had found his courage again. No, if he activated the LOC, it would have to divert power and attention away from its self-repairs. The more he left it alone, the sooner it would be ready to send him home.

  “Thinking about me?” said an unearthly voice in his mind. “I am honored.”

  For a crazy moment he thought the LOC was speaking to him. Then Qwip’s ghostly form descended from the ceiling and hovered between Noel and the door.

  He tensed, more frightened of the thing than he wanted to admit. His heartbeat speeded up, and he was conscious of his lungs struggling against the fluid that was accumulating inside them. He tried not to cough and wished he hadn’t been so worried about Qwip going after Leon again. It looked like he was the target this time.

  “You do not protect yourself now,” said Qwip. “Interesting. You are conserving the energy of your device.”

  “Maybe,” said Noel, keeping his eyes on the creature that formed and re-formed before him. Watching Qwip was almost hypnotic. He took care not to stare too closely.

  “We are learning about the variety of your kind,” said Qwip. “This fascinates us.”

  “I think you should go back to where you belong.”

  “The original unit is stronger and more intelligent than the copy. This is logical to us.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “Leon was unsatisfactory. His pattern is that he lets fear consume him, then he takes no action.”

  Noel frowned. That wasn’t exactly true, but he saw no need to correct Qwip’s assessment.

  “You utilize your emotions. We find this variation…interesting. The other units at these coordinates are primitive. They have no understanding of technology or of time.”

  “Yeah, well, your zoological studies should end right there,” said Noel. “I can promise you that no one in this time is going to be advanced.” He wasn’t about to mention Thomas Jefferson or Benjamin Franklin, and hoped Qwip wasn’t scanning his mind right now.

  “We wish to visit your time.”

  Alarmed, Noel backed up a step. “You can’t! You tried that already. You can’t enter our time stream.”

  “You are incorrect. It was the copy who could not return. We believe the original will have no difficulties.”

  Noel took another step back. His heart was hammering now. He held up his bandaged hand. “You’re not going to take possession of me. The LOC won’t let you.”

  As he spoke he waited for Qwip to split into multiples, but this time none appeared. There was only Qwip swirling before him. And Qwip began to alter, right before his eyes, until the face and form of Sally Crewe stood before him. She was ghostly white, translucent in places, but otherwise a very good replica.

  She smiled, and it was Sally’s smile—rare and alluring. “This appeals to you,” whispered Sally’s voice in his mind. “This appeals to you most strongly.”

  Qwip was wrong; it was Leon who had fallen for Sally. Noel was aware of her attraction, but he didn’t like her personality. He said nothing and wondered why Qwip didn’t read his mind.

  “You’ve looked at me,” she whispered. “You are jealous of your commander. Each time he kisses my hand you burn with the desire to be in his place. Now is your chance. Let me come to you. Let me be a part of you. This is an intimacy suited for you. How many women have you kissed, only to wonder what the feelings really are? How many have you reached for with your mind, only to have them crumble? I am for you. Let me come into your thoughts. Let me be a part of you.”

  That seductive whisper in his mind was enticing. But it was speaking to the wrong man. Noel was surprised at first, then amazed at Qwip’s mistake. How had Qwip confused him with Leon? He relaxed, aware that this tactic wasn’t going to work.

  Qwip struck with a speed faster than thought. The ghostly vision of Sally enveloped Noel, and he was drowning in it, blinded by a pale mist, the clammy sensation of something alien on his skin, sinking in.

  “LOC!” he shouted. “Activate protection—”

  His LOC responded with one flash of blue light, then was suddenly extinguished. With it went Noel’s hope. He had been tricked, and the amusement pouring into him confirmed it.

  He struggled, but Qwip had him, was being absorbed into him. If he screamed, there was no sound.

  “Do not fight me,” said the alien thoughts in his mind. “Do not fight. It makes assimilation more unpleasant for you. Think of Sally.”

  Noel staggered back until he crashed into the table. The lantern rolled off and crashed to the floor. Little flames spurted up, racing toward the storage baskets.

  “I don’t want Sally, damn you!” shouted Noel. “Get out!”

  “If you struggle, you make it harder. Enjoy yourself. I am a part of you now.”

  “Never!”

  Choked by the smoke rapidly filling the cellar, Noel pushed himself away from the table and staggered to the wall. He bumped into the shelves, and crocks went crashing to the floor. Some of them shattered, and he tripped over the pieces. He was blind, unable to see anything but Qwip’s whiteness. His whole body convulsed, trying to reject this thing that had entered him. His hands flailed out, and dragged the shelves down. A crock hit his shoulder, another his head. The blow stunned him. He dropped to his knees. There was heat and the crackling of flames. He reached out blindly and felt the fire catch his sleeve. Pain seared up his arm. He cried out, rolling to escape it and still Qwip did not release him.

  “LOC!” he cried. “LOC, activate!”

  “LOC has malfunctioned,” said Qwip in his mind. It slithered through him, coiled around his thoughts, drove him mad. “LOC is busy. LOC will take us to your future…later.”

  “No!” shouted Noel.

  Better to die than to be possessed. He flung himself toward the fire, but his body was jerking to other commands. Brought to his feet, he found himself turned around.

  He could see now, although dimly, through the smoke. It choked him, making him cough. His eyes watered from the stuff.

  Must start the fire, he thought hazily, then realized his thoughts were wandering. He wasn’t in England; he was in Pennsylvania. This was a different fire. This was a different time and a different danger.

  The fire blazed across the rear of the cellar. Baskets charred and popped. A keg of cider exploded in the heat.

  Die, he thought If I die, Qwip dies.

  “No,” said Qwip and jerked him in the other direction toward the door. “You will live, and you will serve me!”

  “Never!” shouted Noel. He slammed his injured hand against the rough oak panels of the door, and the resulting agony broke some of Qwip’s control. With all the strength he possessed, Noel flung himself back into the fire.

  Chapter 11

  Reality shift:


  COMMUNICATION…Qwip activation ill advised. Recommendation to terminate activity.

  COMMUNICATION…Disagreement. Qwip successfully tracking intruders. Termination of intruders highly advisable.

  COMMUNICATION…Examination of intruder mind unsatisfactory. Multiple mind levels create imprecise analysis. Qwip insufficiently sophisticated for this task.

  COMMUNICATION…Disagreement. Qwip successfully tracking intruders.

  COMMUNICATION…Disagreement. Qwip not tracking intruders for termination. Qwip tracking intruders for alternate purpose. Qwip reaching range limits. Danger is foreseen.

  COMMUNICATION…Qwip will not deviate from designed course activity.

  COMMUNICATION…Correction. Qwip has deviated.

  COMMUNICATION…Qwip adaptable to circumstances. Intruders must be terminated. At source, if necessary.

  COMMUNICATION…Postulation. If Qwip remains within control range but can terminate intruders at source, then activity is satisfactory.

  COMMUNICATION…Concurrence requested.

  COMMUNICATION…Concurrence offered.

  INSTRUCTIONS…Increase control range of Qwip activity.

  Chapter 12

  Leon staggered past the barn and its pens of livestock down a slight slope to a stream. He sat on a stone and stared blankly at the trees beyond. He was breathing hard. Now and then his body twitched in small spasms beyond his control. He tried to close his mind, tried to cut off the empathic link between him and Noel, but it didn’t work. He knew what was happening.

  Noel’s panic reached him like a knife thrust across space. He gasped, pressing his fists to his chest, then the emotion faded. In its place came a leap of iron-hard determination.

  Aghast, Leon jumped to his feet. “No, Noel!” he whispered. “Let it take you. Let it—no!”

  He spun around, horrified at Noel’s plan. Suicide over possession? It wasn’t possible. Noel would never dare. He wouldn’t—

  There came the smell of smoke, harsher and more acrid than simple woodsmoke. He could smell burning cloth, burning hair, burning flesh. Agony reached him and drove him to his knees.

  He wept, pounding his fists on the ground, then staggered up, intending to run back and stop him.

  The contact vanished.

  So suddenly did it go, Leon stumbled and nearly fell. He propped himself against a tree, gasping for breath. Sweat and tears streaked his face.

  He felt free, isolated. All contact with Noel had been severed.

  It should have been a relief to be released from that bondage. His chest no longer felt constricted. He no longer felt mildly feverish. His hand no longer ached. Noel’s pains had faded from him. Noel’s emotions no longer beat at him. Noel was simply…gone.

  “Possessed,” whispered Leon. “You’re possessed, you fool. You are not dead! You cannot be dead!”

  He told himself it was stupid to worry. He’d thought Noel dead several times before, and always he had been wrong. Once before Noel had been possessed by a thing of black magic, and Leon had not been released like this.

  He told himself he did not care.

  But in his heart he knew better.

  His thoughts turned back to that last hour in the cellar with Noel. Qwip had not left as Noel believed. Qwip had communicated with Leon, their exchange undetected by Noel. Stupid Noel, who would never know the advantages of telepathy. It had been a simple deal, an open trade. Noel should have listened when Leon said he would do anything Qwip wanted. After all, Leon’s own safety was offered in exchange for leaving Noel alone where Qwip could get at him. He had told Qwip how to trick Noel too.

  What was the harm? It would do Noel good to have a little taste of possession by that horrifying, creeping essence. When Leon had asked for his help against Qwip, Noel hadn’t paid attention. When Leon had begged, Noel had ignored him. Later, when Qwip was out of him and gone, Noel hadn’t been sympathetic to Leon at all. Noel was always focused on himself. As far as Noel was concerned, Leon’s welfare didn’t matter. But now Noel was gone and Leon was free.

  Inexplicably he struck the tree with his fist and began to cry. It wasn’t in him to choose death over slavery. Why was Noel different? Why did he always have these stupid principles? Why did he have to be heroic? It wasn’t fair.

  If Noel was gone, what would happen to him?

  They’d been closely entwined at the very first, so close Leon almost could not breathe without Noel. Then as they had traveled from time to time, that clinging symbiosis had faded. Leon had become his own entity, strong enough in his own right to cease feeling what Noel felt. He had tried to kill Noel then, and failed because of Noel’s trickery. But now, it was almost as though they had gone back to the beginning.

  Time loop, said his thoughts.

  But Leon couldn’t believe he was dependent on Noel again. He’d existed three months without Noel. He’d been able to eat and enjoy food. He’d been real. He’d been alive.

  Until Noel came. Then they had begun to merge again. And now…if Noel was a dead man, then so would Leon die.

  Shouts roused him from his self-pity. He looked around in alarm and was tempted to run. But past experience had taught him that he was more vulnerable away from people. Reluctantly he returned to the barn, and concealed himself inside it, watching through a crack between the boards as the Crewe servants and the soldiers formed a bucket brigade to put out the fire in the root cellar.

  They barely prevented it from spreading to the main house. But at last the flames were beaten, and only smoke hung in the air. The dead winter grass had been burned away almost to the back steps of the house. Sally was weeping, and Robert had his arm around her. The sergeant went down the steps himself and came back quickly, shaking his head.

  Leon felt his entrails twist and he found himself gnawing like a wild creature on one of the boards. Was Noel dead? Was he? Would they next drag up the charred corpse?

  The people talked and shook their heads and presently dispersed. There was no corpse. Therefore, somehow Noel had escaped. He was not dead.

  Leon slowly sank back in the straw, embittered with himself rather than relieved. What good was a hatred if he flung it away the moment he thought Noel was dead? What kind of fool was he to feel guilt over a betrayal that had come to nothing? He had even wept for Noel, idiot that he was. That infuriated him more than anything else. It must have been the contact with Noel’s mind that had contaminated him, weakened him. He spat, feeling hollow with disgust. Never again would he expend the slightest amount of pity for Noel. Never again would he let himself care, or feel sorry. If Noel thought he was a monster, now let Noel see what he could do.

  For Leon knew something that neither the British nor Sally Crewe knew. It wasn’t Washington’s messenger who would be coming tonight to meet secretly under the very noses of the British. It was Washington himself. And Leon planned to change history so thoroughly the whole world would stagger from it. Noel would never again be able to make a last-minute save. And Qwip could go on as many rampages as it liked.

  Accordingly, Leon kept himself concealed through the rest of the afternoon. He amused himself by prowling through the minds of the soldiers, eavesdropping on their thoughts and conversations. He knew he was still missing, believed captured. For now, it suited his purposes to stay out of sight. If he turned up, Burton would expect a report. Leon loathed reports. Besides, he was no longer certain he meant to stay an army officer. His little experiment in playing by the rules now bored him. He wanted to destroy. He wanted to make mayhem. He wanted to loot and hurt.

  Night came at last, and a full white moon rose over the land. It was a traveling moon, bright and clear. The house blazed with light, musicians practiced their tunes, and carriages began to arrive. Some came for the lavish dinner; others arrived later for the dancing. People called out merry greetings. There was much laughter and revelry. Sentries shivered at their posts, but there was a housemaid to take them a measure of warm grog. Coachmen and grooms lounged in the warmth of the ba
rn, dicing by lantern light.

  Leon skulked through the shadows, keeping himself on the fringes of activity, unnoticed in the general confusion. Since the barn was occupied, where was the meeting to be held? He had missed something, and it annoyed him.

  He began to wish he had reported to Burton. Then he might be standing inside the house among the guests. He could see Sally, radiant in a silk ball gown, the slender curve of her throat pure and white, the fullness of her breasts white against her dress, her eyes alight with daring. Why couldn’t it be him her eyes shone for? But she never saw him. Burton was the only man she cared for, that lanky piece of arrogance, who thought himself better than anyone because of his name and his aristocratic lineage. The marriage fantasies clouding Sally’s brain would come to nothing. Burton was engaged to his cousin, a young lady he never mentioned. He found Sally an amusing armful and a useful dupe, nothing more.

  Eager for a glimpse of her, Leon pressed himself against a window of the house and peered inside at the guests. He had no lineage. Even his name was a corruption of Noel’s, but he would never lie to Sally, never belittle her, never use her. Only he had no chance of winning her heart, and he knew it the way a cripple knows he will never walk.

  But after tonight, she would know he existed. She would look at him with admiration instead of indifference. She would never again ignore him. No one could.

  He heard something, sensed it from far away. His head turned, and he left the window, merging more deeply into the inky gloom of the garden shrubbery. The shadows were coming, riding in smoke silent, leaving their horses far away to finish the approach on foot, coming from different directions, caution uppermost in their minds.

  Leon sniffed the air, aware that the dogs tonight had been chained in the stable. There was nothing to give the alarm. Oh, his Sally was a cool one. He bided his time, singling out a sentry. When the man was alone and his back was turned, Leon struck him down and dragged him into the bushes. He took the man’s pistol and ran. He slipped past the kitchen, past the charred root cellar, past the well, past the barn, past the chicken house, past the servants’ quarters, and out to the empty granary with its round walls and lack of windows. There he blended into the shadows and waited, as silent as the night, for his quarry to come.