by Anthology
The cabby fought his wild-eyed horse to a standstill and began shoving his cab forward through the mess. I yanked open the door, hopped inside and smiled at the two women staring back at me. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
The older woman eyed me warily. “Yes. You are . . . ?”
I dredged up a period name from memory. “Alfie. You remember me.”
Barely visible through the edge of one of the cab’s windows, my pursuer came out of the alley like death incarnate, her hand weapon jerking back and forth as she scanned the crowd. I tried to keep smiling at the two women despite the sweat I could feel forming on my skin, desperately hoping they wouldn’t scream and draw psycho-blonde’s attention.
“Alfie?” The younger one suddenly smiled. “Oh, yes. Ascot!”
“Yes! Ascot!”
“How did that work out, Alfie?”
“Uh . . . fine.”
“Fancy you being here.” More shots boomed down the street. I couldn’t be sure, but they seemed to be going away from me and the cab. “What do you suppose is happening out there?”
The older woman gave her a stern glance. “Don’t look. It’s not our affair. But if this gentleman would be so kind?”
I kept my smile fixed in place even though my cheeks were beginning to ache. “Of course.” I cautiously looked out. Amid the Victorian hats streaming away from us, a head of blonde hair was visible fighting its way along. Then the cab turned a corner and cut off the view. I started breathing again.
“What is it?”
“I couldn’t tell. Odd, eh? Nice seeing you again.” I was out of the cab and back on the street before they could say anything else.
One street away, the panic I’d started was already being swallowed into the inertia of the city. The entire incident, crazed blonde shooter included, might merit a couple of sentences in the next day’s papers. “Jeannie, how far are we now from Kampf’s place?”
“Two hundred meters.”
I found the street and the address, a four-storied rooming house of some sort. Kampf’s room was on the third floor, so I headed up the narrow stairs.
The man who answered my knock peered suspiciously at me. “Yes?”
“Mr. Kampf?”
“Yes?”
“I know something about Miss Riefenstahl.”
“Then you know when I met her.”
“That was in 1934, right?”
His eyebrows rose, then he squinted at me. “I’m not expecting you.”
“Something came up. Please. We don’t want anything to go wrong.”
Kampf pulled me partway into his room. “Why? What’s happened?”
It’d worked once. “They know. They’re on to you.”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are my orders?”
“Abort.”
“Abort!” He shrilled the word, his face disbelieving. “No. Impossible. They’d never order an abort at this point. Who are you?”
I had one hand on Kampf’s coat to keep him from pulling away. “The orders are to abort.”
Kampf barred his teeth at me. “I need verification. I won’t abort without verification, even if you threaten to kill me.”
I tried to look menacing, which was the best I could do. My old survival instructor had drilled into me that you should never carry a gun. It made you too confident, too careless, so you missed warning signs. It also meant I didn’t have anything to shove in Kampf’s face.
But old Professor Matson had been right. There was a tiny sound to my left, just the barest rustle of fabric, which I only noticed because my senses were hyped up with fear. I dropped to the floor while Kampf spun about partway. His coat came off in my hand at the same moment his chest exploded. The door swung wider and I got a glimpse of a newly familiar face. Psycho-blonde had her gun out and was staring at what was left of Kampf with an expression that went from horrified to enraged. Then her eyes locked on me without any hint of recognition, but with a very Caligula-like promise of death.
I didn’t waste time trying to get up, but rolled out of the doorway and right down the stairs, banging myself up painfully. Moments later I was once again running frantically through alleys and streets to lose my pursuer.
An hour and considerable distance later, I chose a small garden and finally sat down to catch my breath. In one hand I still held the late Mr. Kampf’s coat. But at least I appeared to be safe for the moment from psycho-blonde.
The late Mr. Kampf’s coat didn’t match my own outfit, so I had to get rid of it as soon as possible. I went carefully through the pockets, then felt along all the seams, examined the buttons, then carefully pressed my hands along every square centimeter of fabric. Finished, I examined the meager results. A few more coins to add to my small supply of local money. A handkerchief that seemed to have no other hidden use. A big key with a number embossed on it, which matched that of the room Kampf had been using. And a cancelled train ticket to Greenwich.
I pocketed the money, returned the key and handkerchief to the coat, then took a long look at the ticket. It was apparently no more or less than what it appeared to be. Why had Kampf gone to Greenwich? The Royal Observatory was there, so maybe he’d snuck a peak at the rock, which was scheduled to arrive in less than twenty-four hours. No, that was ridiculous. The rock was probably too small to be seen by the optics available Here and Now, even if Kampf knew the exact place to look.
I had a lot of questions for Mr. Kampf, but he wouldn’t be answering any of them for me. My stomach took that moment to once again protest. It was past noon, and the last time I’d eaten was in ancient Egypt.
Jeannie directed me to a pub with an outdoor dining area, as I wanted to be able to keep an eye out for dangerous blondes coming my way. The early twentieth-century English food wasn’t very tasty, but then I didn’t expect it to be and it did a decent job of filling me up. The English beer, though, was a positive joy. I ordered a second pint after polishing off my meal, then leaned back to ponder my next move.
Something hard pushed against the base of my neck as a female voice whispered, “Don’t move.” I sat as still as I could, wondering why psycho-blonde wasn’t shooting me right off the bat. Perhaps this run-in with me was coming for her before either of her earlier meetings with me. The pressure eased and I heard someone moving around to my left.
The woman who came into view didn’t look familiar, and she was dressed like a Victorian. But her movements betrayed the casual grace of someone trained in gymnastics or martial arts, and didn’t appear hindered by the horribly confining undergarments required of women Here and Now. Not a local, I was certain. She sat down opposite me and gave me a long, searching look before speaking. “Who are you?”
I put my best confused and innocent look on my face. “I’m from out of town—”
“That’s obvious, since you have an implanted jump mechanism.”
Definitely not one of the locals. “Do you mind telling me who you are, first?”
“Yes, I do. Obviously I’m not someone you were expecting to see.”
I hoped my smile looked sincere though I feared it was still a bit shaky. “There’s a woman who’s tried to kill me a few times. You’re not her.”
“I could be,” she advised dryly. “Now, tell me who you are. I don’t want to ask again. My weapon still has you covered, so you’d be advised to take my requests seriously.”
I noticed one of her hands was inside her purse, and nodded in what I hoped was a non-threatening fashion. “I’m a T.I.”
“Private work, then.”
“Sort of.”
“Why are you Here and Now?”
I briefly considered possible responses as I examined her. Whatever her motives, she didn’t have any trace of Caligula or even Mussolini in her eyes. So I opted for truth, and explained how I’d happened to be Here and Now.
Her expression didn’t change even after I’d finished. “This woman you say you encountered—”
�
��The psycho-blonde.”
My nickname for my would-be killer finally brought a brief smile to one corner of her mouth. “Why does she want to kill you?”
“Apparently, she tried to kill me the first time we met because the second time we met she accidentally blew away a friend of hers while she was taking a shot at me.”
“She back-jumped and tried to intercept you before the accident happened.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“And why was she trying to shoot you the second time you met her?”
“I’m not certain. I’d cornered someone who I’m sure was an ally of hers, but I don’t know why she responded by trying to blow a hole in me instead of taking some less extreme step.” I paused and frowned. “Though from what I’ve seen of her, psycho-blonde doesn’t seem to think of killing people as being all that extreme a step.”
My questioner nodded. “If she’s with whoever caused the destruction of London tomorrow, that’s entirely too likely.”
“Then the asteroid is an intervention?”
“Absolutely.” I finally saw tension leaving her posture, though her hand stayed inside that purse. “I know because I was here when it hit. Not in this spot, needless to say. I was a ways out of town working a job, saw the object streaking in, and knew immediately it had to be an intervention because my background studies hadn’t mentioned even seeing such an aerial display. Then it blew. I had my assistant jump me back before the shock wave hit so I’d have a chance of doing a counter-intervention.” She eyed me closely, and then relaxed for real, though her eyes kept roaming around in precaution against us being surprised as she’d caught me. I hoped she was better at spotting danger than I was. “I had to make sure you weren’t one of the people trying to carry off the intervention. Did you catch any of the change wave before you jumped in?”
“The first parts. Not the crest, I’m sure.”
“My assistant’s history files haven’t been exposed to the change wave. If we compare them with yours, we should be able to figure out who will profit from what happened to London tomorrow.”
I didn’t reply directly, instead having Jeannie call up her information so I could summarize it. “Starting with tomorrow, the short story is that the British Empire responded to the tragedy by vowing to rebuild London in even more glory than before. Huge sums and resources were sunk into the effort. The rebuilding effort was well along when World War One took off.”
She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Who won that war?”
“The Allies.” I saw her relax, puzzlement plain to see. “At tremendous cost. Russia’s monarchy was overthrown—” she nodded, “and replaced eventually by a communist dictatorship—” another nod, “the French were bled white—” nod again, “the United States came out relatively unscathed, and the British Empire sank what was left of its wealth into finishing the job of rebuilding London.” Another frown. “The combination of the loss of London, the war, and the rebuilding effort bankrupted the empire, so it started falling apart in the 1920s CE—”
“What? The British Empire started coming apart in the 1920s?”
“Yes. By the 1930s, there were just a few rump possessions left. Then when resurgent Germany invaded and conquered France in short order, the British had no choice but to sue for peace on the Germans’ terms—”
“Damn!”
I checked some more of Jeannie’s data and flinched inwardly. “The Nazi Third Reich lasted for one hundred fifty-two years.” I didn’t elaborate on what the Reich had done with that length of time, but I had a feeling I didn’t need to.
I was right. Her eyes and voice reflected horror. “They’re supposed to lose. The Third Reich dies in 1945 CE.”
“Not after tomorrow.” I shook my head. “I have to give them credit, the ones who pulled this off. The years, even the decades, right before and during World War Two are packed with T.I.’s trying to stage interventions for or against the Nazis. They’re always running into each other and countering attempted interventions. But these guys went way downtime, far enough down to avoid the crowds, yet close enough that their intervention played out in the outcome of World War Two.”
She grimaced. “Very clever, in more ways than one. If Germany hadn’t lost the First World War, then the Nazis wouldn’t have come to power. Our opponents had to take out London early enough before World War One to ensure the Empire would commit to the rebuilding, but not too early to allow the Empire to recover from the double blow before 1939. I never thought I’d describe destroying a major city as a surgical intervention, but they did it.” My fellow T.I. (for that was what I was sure she was by now) reached for my beer, pulled it toward her and took a drink. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Am I still covered?”
“Of course.”
“Then be my guest.” She flashed a grin that quickly faded as I asked a question. “What exactly happens tomorrow?”
She took another drink and made a face I knew had nothing to do with the taste of the beer. “You tell me. I saw the object flaring across the sky, then the flash of detonation.”
I checked with Jeannie again. “Best estimates are that an object entered earth’s atmosphere and detonated over London. The city was totally destroyed by an explosion of at least ten megatons equivalent.” I glanced at my companion. “So what really destroyed the city?”
“A meteor.”
“That’s what my history says—”
“That’s what happened. My assistant picked up enough information from the object’s entry to confirm it as an asteroid.”
I sat digesting that for a moment. “Do you have any idea how they managed to use a meteor as an intervention?”
“There’s only one way they could’ve. They jumped a spacecraft through and shoved the rock this way.”
“A spacecraft? In a jump?” My expression must have revealed what I was thinking. The cost and energy requirements for jumps go up exponentially as mass increases.
“I know it’s hard to believe. Whoever did this must have expended a large world’s gross planetary product’s worth of wealth on the project.” She finally relaxed completely and took her hand out of her purse. “I’m Pam.”
“Tom. You’re also a T.I.?”
“That’s right.”
“And you really haven’t met psycho-blonde yet?”
“No.” Pam’s eyes went distant for a moment in the way they do when someone’s thinking deeply. “She’s blonde, you say. Tall.”
“Yes.”
“Blue eyes?”
I hesitated, but Jeannie had automatically saved a file on my brief looks at psycho-blonde. “Yes.”
“She’s someone’s idea of the perfect Aryan killer, I guess. Just the sort of thing a hundred-and-fifty-year-old Reich would produce.”
“Kampf looked nothing like that,” I objected.
“No? And this, uh, psycho-blonde was apparently waiting in Kampf’s apartment when you got there?”
“Yes, I . . . hell. How stupid can I be? I’d waylaid Kampf, someone in the intervention-created future realized it in time to do something, and they sent her to stop me from getting to him.”
Pam nodded and drank again. “Countering your attempt to counter them. Wheels within wheels. But being a blood thirsty assassin, she bungled her rescue of Kampf in her eagerness to kill you.”
We fell silent for a while. I ordered another beer, since Pam didn’t show any signs of returning what was left of my first, and wondered what about this whole picture was bothering me. “Why does it matter?” I finally asked her.
She looked astonished. “Are you serious? Why does the destruction of Here-and-Now London and a Nazi victory—”
“No, no, no. Not that. That matters. What I mean is, if someone shoved a rock at London from out in space, why does it matter if I got Kampf? Or anyone else? How can we stop a rock? Spacecraft are hideously expensive to jump, but imagine trying to jump downtime a Space Object Destruction or Diversion System. If we can’t get a SODD
S, why does Kampf matter, and if we can get a SODDS, why do we need Kampf enough for them to worry about it?”
Pam frowned thoughtfully. “Very good question.” Her expression shifted. “And why is Kampf even Here and Now for that matter?”
“Was Here and Now.”
“Was Here and Now. He must have had some role in what happens tomorrow.”
When in doubt, bounce information off your assistant. Jeannie pondered the question briefly before replying. I stared at Pam as I relayed the answer. “Terminal guidance. A rock hurled at the planet wouldn’t be that accurate a weapon. They need to hit London square on. The only way to ensure that is to have a maneuvering system on the rock so they can bring it down at the right place. Kampf must have been involved with that.”
“But how does the rock know where its target is? They didn’t jump through constellations of navigational satellites. Even aside from the cost, there’d be too big a chance of them being spotted by Here and Now astronomy, or their signals being inadvertently interfered with by primitive electronic experiments—”
“Then they need a surface locator or homing beacon . . .” Here and Now astronomy. Of course. I laughed, earning a questioning look from Pam as I reached into my pocket. “Kampf had this,” I told her, holding out the train ticket.
“Greenwich?”
“The Royal Observatory. High ground, near London.”
“Yes! The perfect site! They must’ve installed something there already. Maybe Kampf was just hanging around in case it malfunctioned and needed repairs.”
I grinned. “I think we can arrange for a serious malfunction beyond the possibility of repair. Interested?”
“Absolutely. Want to take a train ride?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
It took us a while to reach Victoria Station, then we had a wait for the next train to Greenwich, and then we had the journey itself. The day was drawing to a close, and another day wouldn’t dawn over London unless we found what we hoped for at Greenwich. At some point, I realized that even if we diverted the rock, we’d still have a very dangerous object heading for someplace on Earth with potentially horrible consequences. I couldn’t think of any consequences worse than a century and a half of Nazi rule over Europe and a good chunk of Russia, but I wasn’t happy thinking of the people who might catch that rock instead.
