“No,” Noel said vehemently. “Look at me. Listen to me! You will not always be a slave. You are destined for an important role someday. Your name will be remembered in history. Even the white bwanas will know of you and your deeds.”
Kona’s eyes gathered in the hope Noel offered and brightened for a moment before they grew dull again. He shook his head.
“You have to listen.” Noel’s LOC was growing even hotter on his wrist, so hot he slipped his fingers beneath it to take it off. “You must never give up your dream of freedom. You must share that dream with others and give hope where you can.”
“I have no hope.”
Noel gripped Kona’s shoulder. “You must! You must never surrender your dream of freedom.”
A navy seaman in clean duck trousers and a pigtail climbed up over the railing. “Lumme!” he said to Noel. “You’ve ’ad quite a knock to your pate, ain’t you?” He reached for Lady Mountleigh. “’And ’er over, quick like. Cor, she’s a bit of an armful, ain’t she? Better made than my Belle, back ’ome.”
“Treat her with respect,” Noel said sharply. “She’s Lady Mountleigh, and this is her son.”
The seaman paled. “Mountleigh! Not Governor—”
“Yes.”
The man gulped. Leaning over the railing, he yelled, “Look sharp, mates! This ’ere’s the governor’s own lady and ’is tyke.”
While the seamen lowered Lady Mountleigh tenderly over the side and passed her by careful degrees down to a waiting dinghy, Kona’s gaze shifted. Noel looked too and saw a second ship coming up on the starboard side, opposite the sloop. There was something odd about her. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Then he saw her outlines shimmer, just for a moment, and his heart stopped. He stared, feeling as though his head had detached itself from his body and was floating away. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
He took a step toward her, then halted. The rest of his surroundings seemed to fade. He could gaze only at the ship, at the hugeness of her. Her tall masts rose to a splendid height.
She was from another era, he realized. Her lines were more refined. She had more decks, a different style of poop; her sails were of a different cut. She was ghostly white, with a pearly, iridescent shimmer to her sails as though they had been fashioned of parachute silk. The huge, blazing sun setting behind her played hues of plum, coral, and yellow across her bows, yet she seemed almost transparent in places, as though made of spun glass.
He realized with amazement that she was sitting on top of the water, rather than in it. Noel held his breath, wanting to believe, yet not daring to. He didn’t understand how the ship could be here, how they could have done it. He didn’t quite want to let hope rise, not yet.
Yet a figure appeared on that ghostly deck. It waved, and there was something familiar in the stance and the set of those broad shoulders. Noel took a few more steps forward, heedless of the listing deck beneath his feet. Yes, he could see now. A big man with bushy red hair and a broad grin on his face. He waved again. No, he was beckoning.
Noel’s vision blurred with sudden tears. It was Trojan Heitz, his colleague and best friend. Trojan’s specialty was medieval history. Independently wealthy, he worked for the Time Institute more as a hobby than a vocation. But beneath his casual demeanor, he was just as serious about history and its preservation as anyone else.
Noel swallowed, unable to trust his eyes. Trojan couldn’t be here. It had to be a figment of his imagination; maybe he had a concussion and was hallucinating. Two travelers could not enter the same time stream concurrently. It was one of the laws of interdimensional travel. So how…
“Mother of God,” a voice whispered behind Noel. “A ghost ship come to claim the dead.”
“Come to collect Black Lonigan’s soul, most like,” said another, “and take it down to Hell. He would mess about with black magic and such.”
The LOC on Noel’s wrist burned as hot as ever. It flickered fitfully as though trying to activate.
“Noel…” Trojan’s voice was so faint Noel almost couldn’t hear it. “Hurry. Come through…”
A shimmering gangplank ran out. The ghost ship drew closer and closer until it almost brushed the sinking Medusa. Noel hurried toward it, his heart hammering wildly, his throat so choked with emotion it hurt.
Then a movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned and saw Leon, poised for flight near the skewed bit of railing left on this side of the ship. The wind blew Leon’s black hair. His chin was up, his eyes unreadable at that distance.
Noel beckoned to him.
Leon shook his head.
“Noel…” Trojan called. His voice was fainter than ever, so diminished now Noel almost imagined he heard the words. “Come now…or never…”
Noel reached out to the gangplank. Although it looked completely insubstantial, he felt something solid. Climbing onto it, he crossed the distance between the two ships. For a moment he felt the ghost ship yaw in the waves, then he was dissolving into a gray mist as familiar and as comforting as home, as gentle a return as his departure had been violent.
Centuries later, he materialized on the platform in Laboratory 14, disoriented, slightly nauseated from the side effects of travel, and dazzled by the glare of lights and the sea of faces.
He swayed and took a step, staggered and sank to his knees. He was crying, he realized with embarrassment, crying in front of everyone. Yet another part of him did not care. The relief and gratitude he felt overwhelmed him. They hadn’t abandoned him. They had brought him back. Somehow, although he did not understand, they had brought him back.
He couldn’t quite focus, couldn’t quite make out the words babbling around him. He tried to stand but failed, then Trojan’s voice came through clearly and Trojan’s hands helped him up.
“Noel, it’s all right. You’re back. You’re back with us.”
Noel looked into Trojan’s blue eyes, misty now and full of affection. Only then did Noel believe it had finally happened. With a gasp, he hugged Trojan tightly and was nearly crushed in return. Trojan thumped him heavily on the back.
“We thought for a while that we’d lost you for good,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t scare us like that again.”
Noel grinned and looked around at the technicians and historians gathered there. Even Dr. Rugle was wiping her eyes, and he’d never suspected the old hag even owned tear ducts.
Shakily he wiped his face. “How—how long was I gone?”
Trojan’s expression sobered. “Seven days, present elapsed time. One hundred sixty-eight hours—”
“—and twenty-four minutes,” broke in Bruthe, the senior travel technician.
Everyone laughed nervously.
Trojan glared al Bruthe and said to Noel, “That’s as fast as we could get the programming in place for a manual return. The Flying Dutchman was my idea. Not bad, do you think?”
Noel grinned. “Not bad at all.” He pulled the coin from his pocket and flipped it at Trojan. “Here, have a piece of eight.”
Trojan caught the coin with a gasp of delight, which he swiftly muffled. He glanced furtively at Dr. Rugle, who was frowning, and closed his fingers over the coin.
The woman said sternly, “I don’t think—”
“Whoa, Dr. Rugle,” broke in Noel with a swagger. “I’ve got more souvenirs to pass around. This is for you.” He pulled out the pearl necklace, and in stunned silence she took it.
The others crowded around to look at it.
“Genuine pearls.”
“Fabulous size. Perfectly matched.”
“Lovely.”
“Yes, er, lovely.” Dr. Rugle cleared her throat. “But quite against regulations—”
“Are you going to make me take them back?” Noel asked.
Everyone laughed, and Dr. Rugle softened. “I suppose not.”
Noel grinned at her, then a wave of dizziness passed over him. The next thing he heard was Dr. Rugle’s gruff voice giving orders.
&
nbsp; “Everyone, clear back. Let the medical staff through. He’s got to be examined now. Stand back, please. Kedran, may I extend to you a warm welcome back. I am pleased that you adhered to your oath and did not alter history. Your methods were perhaps a bit unorthodox; however, we need not go into that now. Naturally the staff will want to run extensive tests on you. In the meantime, we’ll process the LOC recordings. When you are released from the infirmary, I shall want to see you in my office for debriefings. No one has ever been in the timestream this long before. We have much to do.”
Noel stared at her and struggled to find something to say. Even pearls weren’t going to keep the old bat from making her speeches. But before any words came to him, Trojan’s hand gripped his with a warning squeeze. Noel relaxed. It was just like old times—him losing his temper and Trojan cooling him down.
He smiled at his friend, then the medical team was there.
“Got to get this LOC off while leaving you some hide,” a doctor said. She was a pretty blonde that Noel hadn’t seen before. He regretted not saving the pearls for her. “It’s practically fused to your skin.”
Smiling, Noel held up his left wrist to show the burn mark. “I peeled it off when it went haywire the first time.”
“Good thing you put it back on,” Trojan said. He’d refused to leave when Dr. Rugle shooed everyone else away. “Without it we couldn’t have traced you at all.”
“It worked for a while, then it quit.” Noel frowned, remembering the panic he’d felt. “It just quit.”
The pretty doctor glanced up sharply and gave him a shot.
Trojan patted Noel’s shoulder. “Of course it quit. We turned it off so that we could link it to our return program signal. What did you think?”
Noel wanted to tell him about the voodoo and strange messages from the bocor coming in over the LOC’s transmitter, but he was starting to drift from the medication and it seemed too much trouble right now. His eyes felt heavy, but before he succumbed to the fuzziness there was something he had to tell Trojan…something important.
“Mr. Heitz,” Bruthe said. His voice sounded strained. “Is that LOC deactivated yet? I’m still getting a wave pattern in the time stream.”
Noel forced open his eyes, and for a moment the fuzziness of the drug receded. “It’s him,” he said.
“Who?” Trojan asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Not now,” the doctor said impatiently. “I want this man taken down to the infirmary so I can remove this fused piece of equipment under a sterile field.”
“Wait,” Noel said.
He lifted his head and saw with irritation that at some point he’d been strapped to a gurney. When? He didn’t remember.
“It’s probably that ghost pattern we kept picking up,” Bruthe said. “I thought the system would clear when Mr. Kedran came back.”
Noel frowned, momentarily distracted. Since when had Bruthe ever called him mister? Did the attitude seem different around here? He was drifting again. He blinked, forcing himself to stay focused.
“Have to tell you about him,” Noel insisted.
“Who?” Trojan repeated. “Take it easy, Noel. There’s no rush.”
“The drug’s taking hold,” the doctor said, activating a scanner. “He needs to rest.”
“Leon Nardek,” Noel said. He let the name hang in the air for a moment while he stared up into Trojan’s puzzled eyes. He saw his friend sort it out. Trojan blinked. He opened his mouth.
“Yes,” Noel said. “A double, created in the time stream anomaly when I first went through. He wouldn’t come back with me.”
Bruthe grunted. “Would have been impossible. It was set for your pattern only.”
“He’s my double.”
“Reversed maybe. The wave is moving backward.”
Noel felt rising irritation. “Of course reversed,” he snapped, ignoring the doctor who was taking his pulse. “I’m left-handed. Leon’s right-handed. His heart’s on the right side. His name is the reverse of mine. Even his personality is…”
He stopped, unable to go on explaining.
Trojan gripped his shoulder. “There’s plenty of time, my friend. We don’t have to deal with the problem now. If he’s an anomaly, chances are he’ll fade soon from the time stream. Right, Bruthe?”
“Hmm?” the technician responded absently. “Oh, right. Probably. No, I’m sure he will. He has to. What’s to support him? It’s not like he’s an original. He’ll fade all right.”
“Monitor it anyway,” Trojan said.
“Look, Heitz, I’ll do my job.”
Noel closed his eyes and let the medics roll him away. In his mind’s eye he conjured up a picture of Leon…a fraction shorter, his eyes a lighter shade of gray, his jawline more blurred. Noel saw Leon smirking, Leon plotting mischief, Leon groveling with fear. He heard that triumphant note in Leon’s voice when his duplicate had said the link between them was broken and he was no longer Noel’s shadow.
Maybe Leon would fade away soon from the time stream. Shadows couldn’t exist, after all, without their originator. But what if Leon continued in the time stream? He would go on creating havoc, upsetting history, and doing his best to unravel the future.
Did Leon tell the truth? Is the link really broken? Or did he lie, just to make me wonder?
As Noel wondered now.
More from Deborah Chester
Time Trap
In the 26th century, chaos threatens to overwhelm civilization—but the historians on staff at the Time Institute are determined to change things for the better. Through first-hand recordings of the greatest events of the past, they hope to reawaken the modern-day populace and restore its zest for achievement. The trouble for the Institute is that saboteurs have infiltrated.
The trouble for time-traveler Noel Kedran is that his mission lands him in the wrong place and century.
Medieval Greece is little more than a way-station for European knights headed for the Crusades. All but forgotten, this small pocket of history is awash in treachery as Greek bandits, French knights, and Constantinople's diplomats battle for supremacy. Caught in their clash to rule Greece, Noel fears that any alteration to the course of history could destroy his own time, until he meets a stranger who is his mirror image. This twin, as determined to destroy the future as Noel is to save it, will take both Noel’s fate and history into his own hands.
Showdown
Unable to return to the 26th century, historian and time traveler Noel Kedran struggles to repair the sabotage that keeps him ensnared in time's web. His evil twin Leon, created by the anomaly, works just as hard to prevent Noel from escaping the trap. Each attempt to go home lands Noel and Leon in a different era. Now, they're in the New Mexico territory in the year 1887—a harsh desert land plagued by lawless bandit raids, border wars, and fierce Apaches.
Although determined to preserve the fabric of history, Noel soon finds himself involved with the perils facing a ranching family. The ranch has been burned and a young girl abducted. If Noel can't find a way to rescue her, the altered time stream will change the future forever. That's exactly what Leon is hoping for. Which means that sooner or later, the two of them must have a showdown.
Restoration
In his attempt to return to the 26th century, historian Noel Kedran is transported, alongside his evil twin Leon, to the squalid streets and royal palaces of Restoration England—and into the blazing heart of the Great Fire of London.
Amidst the inferno, Noel will distinguish himself as a hero, whose only hope is to get home to his own time. To do so, he will have to outwit the treacherous, equally brilliant Leon.
But how can any man hope to outwit himself?
Turncoat
A time loop drops historian and time traveler Noel Kedran into the Revolutionary War—and into a deadly battle with himself. While America fights for its independence, Noel wages a desperate struggle against his evil twin, Leon.
Leon's plan is to assassinate George Washingt
on and change the course of the Revolutionary War. If the plot succeeds, history will be as warped as Leon's mind. Now it's up to Noel to defeat the British army, and his own worst enemy—himself.
Termination
In Renaissance-era Italy, as rival houses of nobility use deception and murder to gain power and wealth, historian and time traveler Noel Kedran struggles against the machinations of his evil twin, Leon.
Thrust into sixteenth-century Venice, Noel arrives just in time to step into a trap set by his mad double. Sentenced to torture for a crime he didn't commit, Noel attracts the interest of a sorcerer who wants the mirror-image twins under his control. He will plunge Noel into a shadowy realm of terror, madness, and death.
There's only one person Noel can trust to help him survive—the very twin who has pledged to destroy him.
The Children of Anthi
In the grand tradition of Dune, an epic of adventure and survival on a dying world.
Omari has violated every sanction of his world to hijack the Forerunner and blast his way through a black star to reach the Uncharted Zone—and freedom.
But on Ruantl, a toxic world lit by a black sun, Omari found himself hostage in an underground citadel deep beneath a radioactive wasteland. Here the enigmatic high priest and his horde of black-robed barbarian mutants guard an army of crystal caskets—and plan a bloody rebellion to save their race from extinction.
To survive, Omari has one chance. But does he dare undergo the ultimate sacrifice and become one of the CHILDREN OF ANTHI?
Requiem for Anthi
In the grand tradition of Dune, an epic of adventure and survival on a dying world
The world of Ruantl is nearly dead, its waters tainted and its land scorched by a poisonous black sun. Members of the Galactic Space Institute have crossed into the Uncharted Zone, eager to strip Ruantl of its gold and gemstones. They will not—and cannot—be stopped. Not by the few survivors of a dying race.
But one ancient lord is ready to fight back—even if he must reawaken the mighty goddess Anthi herself.
Pieces of Eight Page 19
