Time Trap

by Deborah Chester

  “Then let it change! Let my name be written in their history books. Let my descendants fill the world. How else can I be?”

  “No—”

  “Yes! Damn you, yes! I have already made it so. And if you are wise, Brother Noel, you will not seek to stop me.”

  He whirled away before Noel could reply and banged on the door. “Jailer! Jailer, I want another cell. I demand it! Jailer—”

  “Be quiet,” said Noel. “He isn’t going to accede to your demands. You’re a prisoner, just like me.”

  “It’s your fault I’m here,” said Leon. “I was already Sir Magnin’s favorite. He likes my company. I amused him. I gave him good ideas. But you have spoiled everything, turned him against me, made him distrust me.”

  “Good,” said Noel. “We both have to find a way out of Mistra. Recall will come any minute now. We mustn’t interfere more than we’ve done already. You know that.”

  “I’ve already said I do not care. I will regain my position with Sir Magnin. I can offer him skills that no one else can.”

  Foreboding filled Noel. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Oh, no, I am telling you nothing about it.”

  “You had better.”

  “Go to hell, Brother Noel.”

  Putting his back to the door, Leon rolled his eyes up in his head and stayed that way for several seconds. Noel watched him with concern, wondering if he was crazy in addition to his other problems, but before Noel could think up another approach with Leon, the jailer came to the door and unlocked it.

  “We’ve got another cell for you, my lord,” he said. His eyes looked slightly glazed. His voice sounded wooden. “Better if the two of you stay apart. You might cook somethin’ up.”

  Noel stared, too astonished to act. Grinning broadly, Leon strolled from the cell. Noel stepped forward, but the door was slammed in his face.

  “Wait,” he said desperately. “You must listen to me—”

  Leon only laughed as he walked down the cell block and was locked away.

  Noel hammered on his door. “Jailer!” he called. “Jailer!”

  But a brick came hurling at his door, striking it with such a savage thud Noel was startled into leaping back.

  “Shut that noise!” yelled the jailer. “Pipe up again and I’ll have your tongue out.”

  Noel frowned, his mind awash with worry and the implications of what he’d witnessed. What had Leon done to convince the jailer to move him? What kind of mental powers did he possess? Noel knew that he himself lacked any kind of telepathic skills. He’d been rigorously tested before he was allowed to enter the training program at the Time Institute. How could Leon be a duplicate copy and possess different abilities? Was there something latent in Noel that the duplication had picked up and amplified?

  He could ask himself questions like that for an eternity and come no closer to getting any answers.

  Clearing off a space on the floor, Noel settled himself gingerly there and leaned against the wall. It was cold and hard against his shoulders. His problems were getting worse, and he was further from solving any of them than he’d ever been.

  His hand closed over the bracelet on his left wrist. He had to make the LOC work. He needed answers, and he needed them soon.

  Worried and tired, Noel dozed until the dungeon grew quiet and the fires burned down to low embers. Then he went to work.

  “Come on, LOC. Come on, LOC!”

  Shivering with cold upon the dank stone floor, Noel hunched himself up in a knot to conserve body warmth and tried to crush the fear gnawing the pit of his stomach.

  “LOC, activate,” he said.

  The device did not respond. Apparently it was jammed in disguise mode. He knew part of it was still functional, for its warmth on his wrist told him it was monitoring him and operating its recorder. Unless he could access its data retrieval banks, he would be forced to continue without any information on this time and place. It was like being blind.

  “Last chance,” he muttered and twisted the bracelet in an effort to find the concealed manual override switch that would respond only to his imprint. The LOC was isomorphic, and only he could operate it, but it was acting as though it had its defenses up against him as well. That minuscule depression on the side had to be it, but when he pressed it nothing happened, just as nothing had happened to his emergency recall signal, just as the end of the time loop had come and he was still here.

  Sweat dripped into his eyes despite the cold. He felt suddenly clammy and without hope.

  For all his complaining about life in the twenty-sixth century, for all his disparagement of modern people’s lifestyles, for all his criticism, it was still his time. He cared about it; he wanted to make it better; he needed it for his own identity. Never to go back…

  He shoved the growing fear away, not wanting it to paralyze him. He had to keep his mind clear and his hopes up.

  “Damn you!” he said and chopped down on the bracelet with the heel of his hand. “Activate!”

  With a low, almost inaudible hum the LOC came on. The bracelet’s copper image dissolved into the reality of its Plexiglas sides. They revealed the pulsing optics and complex circuitry that made this small device capable of such wondrous things.

  Noel closed his eyes a moment and sagged in relief. He felt as though he’d just been thrown a lifeline. But there wasn’t time to waste. At any moment he might be overheard or discovered.

  Collecting himself, he said softly, “Scan. We are at Mistra in Greece, era medieval. Determine date. Identify and correlate all important historical events for this time and place. Begin.”

  “Scanning,” said the LOC’s toneless voice in acknowledgment.

  Noel wiped the sweat from his face and waited. As long as his LOC functioned, he was not helpless. He could get himself out of this mess. He just had to take it one step at a time.

  “Ready,” said the LOC. “Specific date 1332 A.D. Location Mistra. Important historical events…”

  It stopped talking. Noel frowned in alarm.

  “LOC,” he said, trying to keep anxiety from his voice. “Are you malfunctioning?”

  “Negative.”

  “Are there no important historical events?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “None?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Noel’s frown deepened. “That’s not possible. The fourteenth century marked numerous political power struggles in this part of the world as well as in Asia Minor and Europe. There’s a power struggle going on right now, and someone mentioned Turkish pirates making raids on the coast. Scan again.”

  “Scanning,” said the LOC. It paused. “Anomaly warning.”

  “Well, isn’t that amazing,” said Noel, then caught himself. The LOC did not respond to sarcasm. “Specify.”

  “Time split. Parallel alternatives.”

  He swore. “Of course. LOC, this is the situation. A duplicate of me has been created during our journey through the Time stream. That duplicate is called Leon.”

  “Reversal of Noel,” said the LOC.

  “Yes. I’m left-handed; he’s right-handed. He’s telepathic or something. I’m not. I don’t know how many other comparisons we can make. That’s not important. What we’ve got here is someone who looks like me who wants to change history.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “LOC, give me data on the history parallels.”

  The LOC hummed but made no reply.

  “Are you malfunctioning?”

  “Negative.”

  “You can’t specify the alternative lines of history?”

  “Not at this time.”

  “Since when?”

  “Negative.”

  Noel’s frown deepened. The LOC wasn’t making sense. “Run diagnostic codes,” he said. “Scan for registering malfunctions. Identify.”

  “Scanning…destination codes,” said the LOC.

  He felt that cold shiver of fear again. “Obviously those are shot to hell. Look w
here we ended up.”

  “Date codes.”

  “Yes. What else?”

  The LOC did not reply.

  “Are you malfunctioning—”

  “Retrieval codes. Systems…nine, four, zero, two date. Two date. Error. Scanning…”

  It was getting warmer on his arm. Noel touched it. “LOC,” he said urgently, afraid it would crash on him. “LOC, stop internal check. Run hypothesis.”

  “Ready.”

  “What if Leon didn’t affect history? What if Leon didn’t exist? What would be the important events happening here at this time? List them without dates.”

  “Theodore of Albania named governor of Mistra. Rules province five years. Marriage of Theodore and Lady Sophia. Three children produced. Invasion of Turks under Umur, the Emir of Aydin, stopped at walls of Mistra. Bulgarian uprising is—”

  “Stop,” said Noel. “What about Sir Magnin? What part does he play?”

  The LOC did not reply.

  “Are you malfunctioning?” Noel asked.

  “Negative.”

  “Run another hypothesis.”

  “Ready.”

  “If Leon changes history here, what part does Sir Magnin play?”

  “Sir Magnin the Black usurps rule of Mistra, leads Peloponnese in revolt from Byzantine rule. Lady Sophia dies of suicide before wedding. Umur leads Turkish janissaries up river and conquers Mistra. All holdings of Peloponnese and Athens fall into Turkish hands within—”

  “Stop,” said Noel. “Question. What action does Leon commit that changes history?”

  The LOC hesitated. “Action already committed.”

  Noel sat up straight. “What!”

  Something stirred outside his cell. The man in the iron maiden moaned, and Noel hunched over his LOC in frustration, reminding himself to keep his voice low.

  “Repeat.”

  “Action already committed.”

  “Damn,” said Noel. “Damn, damn, damn, damn.”

  He couldn’t go back and undo it. With date and destination codes malfunctioning, he certainly couldn’t expect to do the kind of tight maneuvering required to create that short of a time loop. Besides, the LOC wasn’t being specific enough. Apparently it wasn’t programmed to handle the kind of contingency Leon represented. No one had ever been duplicated while going through a time stream before. For that matter, no one had ever been sent to the wrong time and place either.

  “All right,” said Noel, thinking rapidly. “I can’t stop Sir Magnin from taking Mistra. That’s already happened. But can I help topple him from power and keep him from trying to marry Lady Sophia? Will that pull events back into proper alignment?”

  “Unknown.”

  “You must know something!”

  “Unknown.”

  “Damn!”

  The LOC remained silent, its circuit lights pulsing steadily.

  “All right,” said Noel, drawing a couple of breaths in an effort to regain control. “All right. Maybe I should forget the whole thing. Maybe all this is supposed to happen. Why don’t we get on with our original mission? Can you reprogram to original destination? Location Constantinople. Date 634 A.D.”

  The LOC did not reply.

  “LOC!” he said sharply. “Respond. Are you malfunctioning?”

  “Negative.”

  “Then reprogram, dammit!”

  “Wait,” said LOC. It almost sounded sullen, although that was impossible.

  “Come on. Come on,” said Noel impatiently.

  “Reprogramming not possible,” said the LOC.

  “Why?”

  “Malfunction in destination and date codes. Date two, zero, four, four, four…scanning time retrieval scramble not found, not found, not found—”

  “Stop,” said Noel. “Let’s try again. Reprogram. Location Constantinople. Date 633 A.D. Run.”

  “Wait,” said the LOC. It hummed briefly. “Reprogramming not possible.”

  Noel swore. His hands were shaking. He rubbed the moisture from his palms. Forcing himself to remain calm, he said, “Reprogram. Location Byzantium. Date now. Run.”

  “Wait.”

  He waited, listening to faint snores and the suffering whimpers of the man in the iron maiden. The LOC kept humming, but it did not respond.

  “LOC,” he whispered. “Are you still reprogramming?”

  “Affirmative,” said the LOC.

  Noel’s spirits rose. His confidence came back in a rush. “Good. Let’s travel there now.”

  The LOC did not reply.

  “Are you malfunctioning?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Noel’s heart hit his shoes. “Reprogramming is impossible?”

  “Destination of Byzantium is impossible. Destination codes malfunctioning. To execute retrieval scan—”

  “Stop,” said Noel. “Question.”

  “Ready.”

  “Is reprogramming for destinations other than Constantinople possible?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Oh, hell!” Noel started to cancel in frustration, but forced himself to wait. He thought a long while, then sighed. “Run hypothesis.”

  “Ready.”

  “Input this data. My time loop should be near its end within an hour or two.”

  “Mission time scheduled to end in exactly three hours.”

  Noel grinned. “That’s more like it. Input this. Emergency assistance recall failed. Question: will my time loop end with recall?”

  “Negative. Anomaly warning.”

  Noel’s frown returned. “You’re saying that because of the duplication and the changes in events that have already taken place, I have nothing to return to?”

  “No return. Anomaly warning.”

  “So much for getting yanked away from this mess,” muttered Noel. He rubbed his forehead. “What’s the length of my safety chain?”

  “Safety chain programming intact,” said the LOC. “Derive the square root of the forty-nine-minute time ratio to­—”

  “Seven—yeah, then what?” Noel did swift figuring in his head. “I make that about, what, twelve extra hours?”

  “Twelve hours, nine minutes,” said the LOC.

  The safety chain was a highly complex contingency program intended as a fail-safe device in times of emergency, when a time loop did not end with a proper recall. It was not inconceivable that something might go wrong on a mission, involving, say, the temporary removal of a LOC from a traveler’s possession. The safety chain consisted of several miniature time loops built in to expand the main loop and thus allow the traveler some leeway in straightening out problems. But its length was limited because access to a time stream could only be maintained for a certain duration.

  As far as Noel knew, only one traveler had ever had to use the safety-chain program. Now, it was about to be two travelers. He swallowed hard, and thought there must be an easier way to make history.

  “I’m not certain I can fix the problems in just twelve hours,” he said. “How many links in my chain?”

  “Standard.”

  That meant three links, and a link consisted of seven times the number of hours within the loop. He had about ten and a half days before…

  “What happens if I don’t fix the anomaly by the end of the safety chain?”

  The LOC did not respond. It didn’t really have to. Noel knew the answer. The time stream would snap shut, and the alterations to history would be permanent. No other historians could journey back to this time and place to attempt further repairs. The future, for better or worse, would be changed.

  It also meant he would be trapped here for the rest of his life.

  He rested his forehead on his knees, trying not to let his emotions give way. Whoever had sabotaged him had done a hell of a job.

  The rules and his operating principles had just changed. He could no longer remain an uninvolved observer. Leon had to be stopped, and nothing—not pity, a sense of unexplainable obligation toward his twin, or anything else—could be permitted to def
lect Noel from that purpose.

  “Deactivate,” he said.

  The LOC disguised itself as the bracelet of hammered copper and shut down. Noel stared at the wide band spanning his wrist. It tapered to two narrow ends at the heel of his palm. The hammered surface looked dull in the shadows. He grimaced and pulled his sleeve down over it. Time to go.

  Rubbing his eyes that were gritty from insufficient sleep, he said softly, “LOC, activate but retain disguise mode.”

  The LOC did nothing at first. Just as he felt his tenuous hold on his temper slip, the bracelet grew warm upon his wrist and hummed quietly. It did not assume its true appearance.

  He sighed in relief. “Project external electrical field. Unlock this door.”

  The device grew warmer on his wrist, almost unpleasantly hot. A hinge bolt flew through the air and struck the wall with a loud ping. Noel jumped, his nerves on edge.

  “Stop!” he whispered and listened to hear if anyone had been awakened.

  No alarm sounded. He let out his breath. His heart, however, kept on pumping too fast.

  “Continue,” he said and braced himself.

  The next hinge bolt went flying. He ducked and heard it whistle over his head. It landed at the back end of the cell, the sound of its impact muffled in the pile of straw.

  Noel tugged at the door, working its heavy weight off the hinges slowly, silently, making sure he did not strain the lock itself into creaking. When he had maneuvered himself enough space to squeeze through, he whispered to the LOC: “Engage external electromagnetic fields, human body level. Dampen.”

  The LOC grew hot again on his wrist, busy controlling the alertness levels of the men sleeping within the cells and within the jailer’s quarters. It would not keep them from awakening if Noel made a lot of noise, but it would prevent them from being disturbed by any subconscious registering of his stealthy exit.

  He crept through the near darkness, the torture area lit only by a few dim coals still glowing on the ash-filled hearth. It seemed as though he held his breath the whole way; his nerves stretched into taut wires, ready to snap at the least provocation.

  No one heard him. No one came awake. No one raised the alarm. He crept, ghostlike, up the steps into the palace itself and emerged into the cold, clean air of the night.

  Chapter 9