The Timekeeper Conspiracy

by Simon Hawke

  The First Division lounge was a small bar and it was almost empty, so Lucas spotted Delaney at once. He was sitting all alone at a table by a window, hunched over his drink. He had lost some weight and the thick red hair had been shaved, but as Lucas approached the table, he saw that at least one thing hadn't changed. Delaney still could not hold onto a promo­tion.

  "Well, that commission didn't last long, did it?" Lucas said, eying Finn's armband, emblazoned with the single chev­ron of a Pfc.

  "Priest! Good God!"

  Lucas grinned. "That's Captain Priest to you, Mister."

  Delaney got to his feet and they shook hands warmly, then hugged, clapping each other on the back. Finn held him at arm's length, his beefy hands squeezing Lucas's biceps.

  "You look good, kid," he said. "But I thought you'd mus­tered out."

  "I did. I re-enlisted."

  "Whatever happened to that burning desire for the easy civilian life?" said Finn.

  Lucas shrugged. "It burned out, I guess."

  Finn chuckled. "I might've known you'd screw up on the outside."

  "At least I've managed to hang onto my bars," said Lucas, glancing at the silver insignia on his armband. "You seem to have misplaced yours."

  "Hell, you may be an officer now," said Finn, "but you'll always be a grunt at heart. That's how it is when you come up the hard way. I'm damned glad to see you, Lucas. Welcome back."

  "I'm glad to see you, too, Finn. What're you drinking?"

  "What else?"

  "Irish whiskey? Good, I'm buying. I see you've already got a sizable head start. Look, I'm not due to report in until 0600. If you've got nothing better to do than sit and drink, what say we have a few and then go out on the town?"

  Finn grimaced. "I'd love to, kid, but I can't. I'm under house arrest."

  "What? What for?"

  "Striking a superior officer," said Finn.

  "Again? How many times does that make, four?"

  "Six," said Finn, wryly. "The ref made a point of remind­ing me."

  "They brought you up before a referee for that!" said Lucas. "Who'd you hit, a general?"

  "A light colonel," said Finn.

  "I'm almost afraid to ask, but why?"

  "Because he was a pompous military asshole, that's why," said Finn. "I had my blouse unbuttoned in the officer's club. And this runt of an administration desk jockey starts chewing me out about it. I told him to fuck off, so he sticks his face about two inches from my nose and starts screaming, spraying me with spit. So I just popped him one."

  "And they dragged you up before a referee?"

  "Well, no. Not exactly. That happened after the fracas with the M.P.s."

  "What fracas?"

  "Oh, you know, the standard bullshit. Resisting arrest, direct disobedience to a specific order, striking officers in the performance of their duty, damaging government property, and a few other things that they tacked on that I can't remem­ber."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah. So I'm confined to quarters until further notice. The old man's been nice enough to give me some slack there, which is why I'm here, but I can't so much as go near the lift tubes. I've been cooling my heels for the better part of a week, waiting for the review board to meet. Been spending most of my time right here in the lounge, trying to drink up my back pay. It's kind of funny, actually. Remember the old days, when we scarcely had a moment to ourselves between assign­ments? Now that we're here in this 'elite' unit, it's nothing but hurry up and wait."

  "You said the ref put you down for a review board," Lucas said. "What was the ref's recommendation?"

  Finn grunted. "She was a real hard-assed bitch. Read me the riot act about all the 'previous irregularities' in my record. I think her exact words were, 'Perhaps you'd be better off in a nontemporal unit. Someplace where your flamboyant tenden­cies won't be quite so much of a disruptive influence.' You know what that means, don't you?"

  "The Belt Command?"

  "I'll lay you eight to one," said Finn. "If I could get my hands on a plate, so help me, I'd skip out to the underground."

  "Not so loud, friend," Lucas said. "Somebody might hear you."

  "Who gives a shit? I don't see how I could possibly be in any deeper than I am now."

  "You can always get yourself in deeper," Lucas said. "It's the getting out that's not so easy. Maybe something can be done."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. But at least they haven't reassigned you yet."

  Finn scratched his head. "Hell. I had to go and hit that asshole. They've probably fixed his jaw by now and he's back pushing papers, while I'm going to get stuck out in the Asteroid Belt, keeping those crazy miners from killing each other. You know, I might've expected just about anything, but somehow I never thought I'd wind up as a policeman."

  He looked out through the giant window that was the out­side wall of the First Division lounge. It was dark outside and all the buildings were lit up, bathing the plaza far below in a garish glow. The skycabs threading through the maze of build­ings made the night a sea of red and amber running lights. The window shut out all the noise, rendering the scene outside into a silent ballet of light and steel.

  "Doesn't look real somehow, does it?" Finn said as he con­tinued gazing out the window. "I really hate it here, you know that? I was born into this time and yet I don't belong to it."

  Lucas smiled. "You're a romantic, Finn."

  Finn snorted. "I'm a soldier, kid, that's all."

  "Look, nothing's settled yet, right? The board still makes the final disposition."

  "When's the last time you heard of a review board going against a ref's recommendation?" Finn said.

  "There's always a first time."

  "Don't hold your breath."

  "Well, if they send you out to the Belt, I'll go along and keep you company. I can put in for a transfer."

  "Don't be an ass."

  "Why not? How bad can it be? The duty's less hazardous and it would sure beat hell out of the lab job I left behind to re-enlist. Besides, we go back a long way together. All the way to 1194, to be exact."

  Finn smiled, recalling the adjustment in 12th-century En­gland. He nodded. "Yeah, that was a hell of a mission, wasn't it? We almost didn't make it back."

  "We did make it back, though," Lucas said. "And we were in a worse fix than you're in now."

  "Maybe. Hooker never made it back, though. And Johnson bought it, too." He tossed back his whiskey. "Hell, I must be getting old. I'm turning into a maudlin drunk."

  Lucas pushed back his chair and stood up. Finn glanced at him, then turned to see Major Forrester approaching their table. He wasn't required to stand to attention in the presence of a superior officer in the lounge, but he made a determined effort, anyway. He was slightly more than halfway out of his chair when Forrester said, "At ease, gentlemen. As you were."

  Lucas sat back down.

  "Sorry, sir," said Finn. "I gave it my best shot, but I can't seem to feel my legs too good."

  "I've got half a mind to cut 'em off for you, Delaney," For­rester said.

  The old man hadn't changed. Antiagathic drugs made it dif­ficult to accurately guess a person's age, but Forrester looked as old as Methuselah. Even his wrinkles had wrinkles. Yet For­rester stood ramrod straight and he was in better shape than most men under his command who were one-sixth his age. He had been their training officer in the field and Lucas knew only too well just how "old" the old man really was. He glanced at Lucas.

  "You just get in, Priest?"

  "Only just, sir. I was going to report to you in the morn­ing."

  Forrester nodded. "I knew you'd be back. There's nothing on the outside for a soldier." He sat down and ordered a drink. Both Finn and Lucas were glad that they had already started on their Irish whiskey. It meant that they had an excuse not to join the old man in his favorite libation. For some un­fathomable reason, Forrester had picked up a taste for Red Eye. Of all the swill that he had downed during his temporal travels, L
ucas hated that old west rotgut the most. Those oldtime gunfighters either had iron constitutions or a death-wish. The stuff could make a man go blind.

  "I hope you haven't gone soft on me, Priest," said For­rester. "I just got a hot one dumped into my lap and I need to put a team together in a hurry, so I hope you haven't lost your edge."

  "I'm ready, sir," said Lucas. "But what about Delaney? He's filled me in on the situation and if you don't mind my saying so, sending someone with his experience to the Belt would be a waste."

  "Thanks, kid," said Delaney, "but you don't have to—"

  "I agree with you," said Forrester. Finn's eyes widened in surprise. "He's insubordinate, but he's a hell of a good soldier."

  "Thank you, sir," said Finn, taken aback by the compli­ment.

  "Don't thank me, Mister. I'm just stating a simple fact. You're a good man in the field, but when you're between assignments, you've got the emotional stability of a ten-year-old. I'm all too well acquainted with your record. Well, you're under my command now and I'll only tolerate so much before I lose my temper. You've got a yardbird's temperament, Delaney, and if you get back from this mission, I'll beat it out of you if I have to."

  Finn stared at him." You mean—''

  "I mean you've got a temporary reprieve," said Forrester. "You two have pulled off tough ones in the past. I don't like to break up a good team. You'll still have to get past that review board, assuming you'll make it back, but I've been talking to the officers who will be sitting on that board and I've been given to understand that if you do well on this one, they'll take that fact into consideration. So it's up to you to pull your own fat out of the fire. But if you screw up on me again, I'll personally drag your ass down to a plate and clock you out to the Paleolithic Age. You should fit right in. You'll be able to brawl to heart's content with all the other Neander­thals."

  "You've made your point, sir," said Delaney. "And thanks."

  "Just get the job done, Delaney. That'll be thanks enough for me."

  "Any idea what it is, sir?" Lucas said.

  "None whatsoever," Forrester said. "But this one's got full priority. I can't say that I like the arrangements, though. You'll be loaned out to the agency for this one."

  "The TIA?" said Lucas. "That's a bit unusual, isn't it, sir? They don't normally use outsiders."

  "No, they don't," said Forrester. "That's why I know that it's a hot one. If Temporal Intelligence figures they need help, it's got to be a bad one."

  "I'm not crazy about working under some spook," said Finn. "Those guys are a bunch of psychos, if you ask me."

  "I didn't ask you," said Forrester. "And for your informa­tion, you've got those psychos to thank for saving your bacon. They specifically requested the team that pulled off the 1194 adjustment. Or what's left of it, anyway. And that's you two."

  "I suppose we should be flattered," Finn said. He raised his glass and toasted Lucas. "Welcome back to active duty, kid. Looks like you've got perfect timing."

  "While we're on that subject," Forrester said, "I wouldn't make it a late one if I were you. The mission briefing is at 0700, so get some rest. You're clocking out tomorrow." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen."

  Lucas grimaced. "Hey, Finn," he said, "what was that you said about 'hurry up and wait'?"

  Delaney poured himself another shot. "I don't know," he said. "What was it you said about 'You can always get in deeper'?"

  Lucas tilted his glass toward Finn. "Cheers."

  Finn raised his own glass. "Confusion to the French."

  2

  The briefing took place in a secured area on the sixty-second level of the TAC-HQ building. Normally, this was a floor occupied by the administrative personnel working directly under the local office of the Referee Corps, but this morning they had all been assigned to other office space, on other floors. There was no one allowed on the sixty-second level who had not been cleared and checked through by the TIA. They had taken over the floor the previous night and even while Finn and Lucas sat drinking in the lounge, agents had been securing the area, failsafing it against surveillance.

  Finn and Lucas walked together down the empty corridor, having been checked through by the agents at the lift tube.

  "These people give me the creeps," said Finn.

  "You might as well get used to it," said Lucas. "This is going to be their ballgame."

  "Oh, I'll get used to it," said Finn, "but I won't like it."

  They came to the briefing room and were checked through again, their papers verified and their retinal patterns scanned for positive identification.

  "Bunch of paranoid assholes," mumbled Finn.

  Forrester was waiting for them in the briefing room, along with a referee, one other man, and a woman seated at a desk terminal.

  "Gentlemen, please be seated," said the referee. He waited until they had taken chairs and until one of the agents outside brought them coffee.

  "That was thoughtful," said Lucas.

  "I'll wait until you taste it first," said Finn.

  "All right," said the referee. "Let's begin, shall we?"

  "Sir?" said Lucas.

  "Captain?"

  "Aren't we missing some people? Like, the rest of the team?"

  "No, Captain, we're not."

  "You mean, we're it?"

  "Not exactly, Captain. I don't know how much Major For­rester told you, but this is a TIA affair. You'll be on loan to the agency for the duration. We have an adjustment on our hands, or a potential one, at any rate. It's a unique situation, one in which the functions of the TIA and those of the corps overlap. Frankly, they're more qualified to handle this one, but as the case could develop into an adjustment, they've re­quested commandos to supplement their effort. Your role in this mission will be defined as you go along, but it will be defined by the agency. Therefore, I am turning this briefing over to Mr. Darrow, of the TIA."

  The ref turned to the agency man and nodded. Darrow was a slender man whose hair was graying. He was dressed in a nondescript clingsuit. He was of average height and average weight. A man who would not stand out in a crowd.

  "I'll bet it's not even his real name," said Finn, softly.

  "No, it isn't," said the man called Darrow. He stretched his lips into a mirthless smile. "I have excellent hearing, Mr. Delaney. And there's nothing wrong with your coffee, by the way. You can drink it safely. If you have any other pertinent comments, I'd like to hear them now, so we may proceed."

  Finn cleared his throat uneasily and shook his head. Lucas grinned.

  "Very well, then," Darrow said. "Are you gentlemen familiar with a group calling itself the Timekeepers?"

  "Terrorist organization," said Lucas.

  "Correct, Captain. Specifically, they are the terrorist fac­tion of the Temporal Preservation League."

  "Mensinger's group?" Finn frowned. "I had no idea they were in any way connected."

  "Supposedly, they're not," said Darrow. "The league has formally disassociated itself from the Timekeepers, con­demning their actions and branding them fanatics. A case of the pot calling the kettle black, but be that as it may. We believe that the league is still funneling funds and providing other means of support to the Timekeepers."

  "I can't see that as being consistent with Mensinger's aims," said Finn.

  "Yes, well, he's dead, isn't he?" said Darrow. "And politics, especially the politics of fanaticism, makes for strange bedfellows. But not so strange, perhaps. The league functions openly, lobbying and agitating, all perfectly legal and above-board. The Timekeepers prefer a rather more extreme means of persuasion, but their goals are still the same. Cessation of temporal warfare and the cessation of time travel. That last is a somewhat more extreme position than the late Dr. Men­singer's, but it's still roughly consistent with his ideas, wouldn't you say, Mr. Delaney? You're the expert."

  "All right, so you know I studied Mensinger's research," said Finn. "You probably also know when I spoke out of
turn as a kid and when I wiped my ass for the first time. Mensinger was still far from a fanatic. Get to the point."

  "Delaney, shut your mouth!" said Forrester.

  "That's quite all right, Major," Darrow said. "I'm well aware of the fact that Private Delaney has a rather low opinion of the agency. That's of no consequence, unless it were to interfere with his performance on this mission."

  "It won't," said Finn.

  "Yes, I know," said Darrow, giving him his mirthless smile. "Your record is particularly impressive. I'm not especially in­terested in your disciplinary problems. Some of our finest operatives have spent time in military prisons, a singular dis­tinction which you have been spared. So far. But you wanted me to get to the point.

  "We had succeeded in infiltrating the league some years ago. However, it wasn't until recently that we were able to infiltrate the Timekeepers. They've been escalating their terrorist campaigns lately and we had a feeling that they were building up to something big. In point of fact, we underestimated them.

  "They're more clever than we thought. They managed to penetrate our agent's cover and eliminate him. However, he managed to leave behind a message. He didn't live long enough to complete it, unfortunately. Pity. As a result, we don't know the full extent of their plans. What we do know doesn't make us very happy.

  "Our agent had reported earlier that the Timekeepers had made contact with someone in the underground. One of your old people gone bad. The logical assumption was that, since they made this contact in Plus Time, this deserter was obviously one of those having access to a stolen chronoplate." He glanced at the referee briefly. "It's bothersome to us how those things have a habit of walking away from time to time. At any rate, we assumed that the connection had been made in order to allow them to escape to Minus Time to avoid detection following their terrorist acts, but they evidently have something much more ambitious in mind.

  "Terrorists are not the most logical of people. They see their goal as being to tear down an established system and they often don't think much past that point. To date, their activities have been limited to the more traditional methods. Bombing, kidnapping, assassination, etc. They're especially fond of taking hostages to use as leverage for their demands. Well, this time, they've outdone themselves. They've taken time itself hostage.