Timewars 06 The Khyber Connection

by Simon Hawke

  “He checked out of the hospital and requested a brief reorientation leave.” Phoenix grinned. “After all, he’d been out of action for a while. I managed to stage a convenient accident. Captain Hunter died in a skimmer crash in San Diego. No trace of the body after the explosion. That way, no one asks any questions, and both Martingale and Hunter are disposed of. After that it was a simple matter to wrangle this assignment. The Referees have given over jurisdiction in this matter to the army, which made it the First Division’s mission. You can imagine how Temporal Intelligence took that. They can’t infringe upon an adjustment mission assigned by Vargas himself, but they could send a covert team back to gather information. I was the logical person to head up that team.”

  “How many agents have you brought with you?” Darkness said.

  “Five. Two in my bodyguard and three posing as my senior lieutenants. I picked the men myself. I think that’s enough to handle the situation if it becomes really serious.”

  “It’s more serious than you know,” said Darkness. “My instruments have detected massive fluctuations in the timestream. I’ve been attempting to pinpoint the source, but it’s impossible. The effect is not a static one. The entire timestream is rippling. It’s Mensinger’s worst nightmare come true.”

  “Jesus,” Phoenix said. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” said Darkness. “I’m not in the habit of making theoretical pronouncements. Not even Vargas suspects how serious it is, and he has a doctorate in Zen physics. He believes it can be resolved by a temporal adjustment. He doesn’t understand that it’s gone beyond that. I think he’s afraid to admit it to himself. He’s been a bureaucrat too long. The truth is staring him right in the face, but he doesn’t want to see it.”

  “Just what is the truth, exactly?” said Phoenix.

  “Exactly? I don’t know,” said Darkness. “An alternate universe exists in a timeline parallel to ours. Perhaps it came about as a result of a massive disruption which overcame the inertia of the timeflow. Perhaps it always existed. Any number of alternate universes can exist, completely independent of each other. Something has happened that has caused two separate timelines to be brought into very close proximity. That would account for the rippling effect, the inertia of one timeline acting upon the inertia of the other, like opposing magnetic fields. Under such circumstances it would be possible for people in one timeline to travel to the other, if they could pinpoint the focus of the disruption that brought the phenomenon about. Even if they couldn’t, it could still be possible, although whether or not they could do so with any degree of control, I cannot say. I, for one, am not about to attempt the experiment until I have more information. You see before you the result of what happened the last time I tried something like that. You have no idea how maddening it can be, being able to travel anywhere I please, teleporting to any point in time and space, yet not being able to walk so much as one step once I get there. I failed to anticipate the influence of the Law of Baryon Conservation, and the result was a permanent alteration of my subatomic structure. Before I make any reconnaissance of a parallel universe, I wish to be certain of the variables. And that’s where you come in.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” said Phoenix.

  “Relax, I won’t be asking you to do anything so esoteric as teleporting to another timeline. I need you to pinpoint a confluence for me.”

  “A confluence? What’s that?”

  “A point at which two timelines intersect,” said Darkness. “There are two possibilities inherent in this situation. One is that agents from the parallel timeline have been able to identify the focus of the original disruption and can travel to this timeline by clocking directly to that point. However, given the rippling effect, I believe the second possibility is more likely that there exist a number of points of confluence where the two timelines intersect as a result of an imbalance in the flow of temporal inertia. One of those points is undoubtedly located in this time period, somewhere nearby. I want you to find it.”

  “How?” said Phoenix. “I mean, how the hell would I recognise a point of confluence, or whatever the hell it is?”

  “Good question,” said Darkness. “Since such a phenomenon has never previously existed, I obviously haven’t seen one. In fact, I doubt it would something one could see.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to find it then?” said Phoenix.

  “You expect me to tell you everything?” said Darkness. “You’re an intelligence agent. Go out and gather some intelligence. And try displaying some on occasion. Use your initiative. The next time I see you, I’ll expect some results. Good day.”

  Darkness tached, translating into tachyons that departed at six hundred times the speed of light. Phoenix took a deep breath and expelled it slowly.

  “How the hell do you find something you can’t see?” he said to himself. “And how do you find it without stumbling into it?” He looked around nervously. “I’m liable to turn a corner and wind up in another universe. That ought to be good for a few laughs.”

  “Your Holiness,” cried the tribesman, out of breath from having run all the way from his observation post, “lancers approach!”

  The man named Sadullah, known to the British as the Mad Mullah, slowly raised his head to stare at the Ghazi sentry. His deeply sunken eyes were dark and their gaze was indeed mad. They never seemed to blink. His dark skin was etched with lines of age and his hair was long, almost to his waist, and utterly white. His head was bare, as were his feet. He wore a long white robe and many amulets and charms around his neck. He sat cross-legged on a rug inside his tent, which was filled with the fumes of bhang. His eyes glittered.

  “How many?” he said, his voice soft and low.

  “Three, perhaps four squadrons, Your Holiness,” said the sentry. “You have but to give the word and we shall sweep down upon the infidel firinghi and destroy them before they can arrive at the Malakand fort!”

  “No,” said Sadullah.

  The sentry was taken aback. “But Your Holiness, if we do not attack now, they shall surely reach the Malakand fort! Then they can join forces with the firinghi soldiers there and march to relieve Chakdarra!”

  “I want them to reach the Malakand fort,” Sadullah said.

  “But … why, Your Holiness?”

  “Do you question me?” Sadullah said, his voice deadly.

  The sentry dropped down on all fours. “No, Your Holiness! You speak with the voice of the Prophet! It is not for one so humble as I to question your methods. I only seek understanding.”

  “It is well,” Sadullah said. “All men should seek to understand, though few succeed. Understand this, then. When the time is ripe, I shall destroy the British. I will not require the help of followers such as yourself. You may all do as you please. Your faith shall be judged in Paradise. Come the Night of the Long Knives, I shall call forth and the heavens shall open. A great host shall descend and slaughter the infidel to the last man, woman, and child. They shall be driven from our land and their blood shall nourish the soil. Those who join with me in that great, final battle shall win their way to Paradise. They shall be invulnerable. With one wave of my hand the bullets of the British will turn to water. With another their shells shall disperse upon the wind. Only those who lack true faith will be struck down. The pure of heart shall be immune to death. Thus it is written, thus it shall be.

  “In the meantime, let the lancers pass. Let them ride on to the fort at Malakand, and with them, the foot soldiers who will surely follow.” Sadullah slowly raised his hands and cupped them. “The Malakand is a great cup. At its bottom, there lie the infidel firinghi. At its rim, all around upon the cliffs, are we. Let the soldiers go into the cup, together with those who are already trapped there. When they are all together in one place,” he slowly raised his hands to his mouth, “we shall take this cup … and drink.”

  “I do not understand,” said Winston Churchill. ‘We have made almost our entire journey unimped
ed. Where are the mujahidin of the jehad? Why have they not tried to stop us?”

  “They’ll be up there in them bloomin’ rocks, sir,” said Mulvaney, “starin’ down at us an’ smirkin’ up their sleeves.”

  “Smirking?” Churchill said. “I fail to see what there would be to smirk about, Private. Sixty-eight hundred bayonets, seven hundred sabres, and twenty-four guns would hardly seem a smirking matter.”

  “Begin’ your pardon, sir,” Mulvaney said, “an’ if you don’t mind me speakin’ frankly, not meanin’ to sound insubordinate— which ain’t ‘ardly on me mind —but I’d say your green was showin’.”

  Churchill frowned. “My green? Explain yourself, man.”

  “Well, you’e a mite young, me son—sir, I mean,” Mulvaney said. “It’s all very fine to get yourself a transfer from the 4th ‘Ussars so you can write up this here campaign for the London Daily Telegraph—nice way to get a bit o’ action an’ pick up an extra quid or two, if I say so myself—but there’s a world o’ difference between writin’ dispatches and anticipatin’ Pathans, sir. For the one you need a bit o’ learnin’, which you seem to ‘ave done plenty of, sir. For the other you need experience, which you ain’t ‘ardly old enough to ‘ave received very much of. Now me mates and I ‘ave been out ‘ere for so long our skin’s startin’ to turn brown, an’ we’ve learned a thing or two about your Pathan fightin’ man. ‘E ain’t no fool, that’s what, sir.”

  “Meaning exactly what, Private Mulvaney?” Churchill said,

  “Meanin’, sir, that ‘e’s got a bloody good reason for not ‘avin attacked us by now,” Mulvaney said.

  “There’s been plenty o’ opportunity for ‘im, but ‘e ain’t done it, so why’s that, I ask meself? Because ‘e’s got ‘imself a better opportunity ahead, and like as not we’re walkin’ right into it.”

  “But we’re almost at the Malakand fort,” said Churchill. “It would seem to me that our strength has intimidated him, otherwise he would have attacked before we could have an opportunity to join forces with the troops at the garrison.”

  “Or ‘e’s waitin’ to knock off two birds with one stone, sir,” said Mulvaney.

  “I’m afraid Mulvaney’s got a point, sir,” said Learoyd. “Put yourself in the Mad Mullah’s place. You’ve got some of your men pressing the Chakdarra garrison, others harryin’ the fort at Malakand. Here comes a large relief force on its way, and in order to attack them, you’ve got to split your own troops further to take them on. The Malakand is situated in a large depression, sort of a valley ringed by cliffs. If you can command the heights, why not wait until the relief has arrived and then ring them ‘round, cuttin’ them and the garrison off from Chakdarra?”

  “Rubbish, man,” said Churchill. “I’ve seen the map of the area. In order to command the heights around the Malakand, it would require a very large force indeed. Thousands, I should say.”

  “Now you’re catchin’ on, sir,” said Mulvaney. “You can be sure you’ll ‘ave yourself a bloody entertainin’ dispatch to write before too long.”

  The terrain they were covering was rough, extremely difficult for a large detachment with pack animals and guns. They had made good time, but making good time in the Hindu Kush range still meant going slow. Nevertheless they were within sight of the garrison at Malakand before too long, and throughout the entire journey they had encountered no resistance whatsoever, not even so much as one stray shot, which was unusual in the extreme.

  Lucas and Andre travelled at the middle of the column, slightly behind Churchill. They rode on horseback, moving along at a slow walk since they were travelling with mostly infantry. Din, their Hindustani attendant, was just behind them, proudly leading their pack mule and keeping so ramrod straight a posture in his brand new khakis that it looked as though his back would break. He had managed to obtain a battered bugle somewhere, which he carried proudly and clutched to himself protectively whenever anyone came near.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Lucas in a low voice, so that only Andre could hear him.

  “I know,” she said. “You’ve been preoccupied throughout the entire journey. It’s this Churchill fellow, isn’t it? You keep staring at him.”

  “This Churchill fellow?” Lucas said.

  “Yes. What’s so special about him?”

  “Good Christ, you really don’t know.”

  “Should l?”

  “Well, actually, you’d be about the only one I could think of in the service who’d have a good excuse. He’s not a part of your history. You went straight from the 12th century to the 27th. That leaves one hell of a big gap, though you still ought to know about him. I find that puzzling.”

  She frowned. “So do I. I thought my implant education was complete. If he was—is—an important historical figure, even if I didn’t remember anything about him consciously, the subknowledge of the programming should have triggered my awareness of him the moment I heard his name. And there was nothing in the mission programming about him either.”

  “I know. That’s what’s wrong. There’s simply no way for that to be possible. Or at least there shouldn’t be. That young subaltern riding up ahead grew up to be one of the most important men of the 20th century. One of the greatest political figures of his time. He became prime minister of Great Britain and led that nation through the Second World War.”

  “My God,” said Andre. “And the programmers missed that? How could they?”

  Lucas shook his head. “They couldn’t. I just can’t see it. Even if someone was somehow negligent, the data banks have built in failsafe for vital information. It’s been driving me crazy. And you put your finger on it. The subknowledge. I knew something was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what it was until you said that. I knew about Churchill, but I couldn’t figure out why there was a gap. Why did I know about Churchill, but didn’t know about him being on this campaign? Because I didn’t know it through the subknowledge of my implant education either! I remembered. I just plain remembered about him on my own, because I like to read history. But it’s been a while since I’ve read any British history, or any 20th century history for that matter. I didn’t remember completely. It just goes to show you how dependent we are on our subknowledge. And that’s the common denominator. There was nothing about Churchill in our mission programming, and neither of us could extract anything about him from our programmed subknowledge because it simply wasn’t there. And that’s impossible.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense. It should have been there.”

  “You still don’t understand,” he said. “It can’t not have been there! I can only think of one possible explanation. A temporal disruption. There isn’t any record of Churchill in our subknowledge or in our supplementary mission programming because there was no record of a Winston Churchill as a pivotal figure in history.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense either,” Andre said. “If that’s the case and a disruption occurred that has prevented—or will prevent— Churchill from following his historical template as we know … as you know it, then how could you know about it in the first place?”

  Lucas stared at her. “You want to run that by me again?

  “I’m not even sure what I just said.” She shook her head. “What I mean is, if there isn’t any historical record of Churchill, then how could you remember reading about him in your history books?”

  “I see what you mean,” he, said. “It has to be an anomaly of Zen physics. Whatever happened that caused Churchill to be wiped from history must have happened after I read about him.”

  “I’m confused,” said Andre. “How could something have happened during his lifetime and yet have taken place after you read about him in the 27th century?”

  “You’re confused because you never studied Zen physics,” Lucas said. “I only have a well-versed layman’s knowledge of it. Delaney’s the only one I know who’s taken the full course, and he said it almost gave him a nervous breakdown. I take that back.
Our friend Dr. Darkness understands it. Hell, he could probably teach the course in his sleep. I wish to hell there was some way of getting in touch with him so we could ask him about this. Let me try to follow it through with you. Assume that some action originating in our time, in the 27th century, kicked off a chain of events that led to the disruption. For the sake of argument, let’s set up a simple hypothesis. Say somebody clocked out to Minus Time, to this scenario, on the day before we went in for our mission programming. And let’s say that someone killed Churchill.”

  “You’d have a paradoxical situation which would have to be resolved by a disruption,” Andre said.

  “Right. Up until that someone clocked out to the past in order to cause the disruption, that is, killing Churchill, there was no disruption and Churchill was part of our history. If we assume that the disruption wasn’t massive enough to overcome temporal inertia —and frankly, I don’t see how Churchill’s death wouldn’t qualify as a disruption massive enough to cause a timestream split—then temporal inertia wouldn’t be overcome. It would simply be affected significantly. You remember the analogy Delaney used, the timestream seen as a river? The river has a current, and that current is temporal inertia. An act that’s insignificant, that is, not historically disruptive enough to affect the timeflow, is like tossing a small pebble into the river. The current or the inertia overcomes any possible effect. You wouldn’t see any ripples from where you tossed the pebble in. Next, take a large rock and toss it in. The rock has mass sufficient enough to affect the current, if only temporarily. You’ll see the splash, perhaps a very brief rippling effect, and then the force of the current eliminates it or compensates for it. Now take a huge, behemoth boulder—something the size of one of these damn mountains—and toss it in the river. The effect of the current is overcome. It either dams up the river somehow, or more likely, splits the flow—creating a timestream split. The river comes back together again on the other side and you have both effects working one against the other. A historical timeline in which Churchill died and one in which he didn’t. Nobody knows how the hell that would resolve itself. It would either create a parallel universe or screw up the future six ways from Sunday. Trying to work out the possibilities has driven more than one scientist right off the deep end. Whatever it is that’s happened back here—or, from where we stand now, is about to happen—has affected the timestream to the point that we have no historical knowledge of Churchill. It wasn’t in the mission programming because the programming session took place after whatever event it was that originated in our time affected history in this time.”