Termination

by Deborah Chester

  For Noel, it was necessary to make the adjustment that this was indeed a duel, a fight to the death, not a practice bout with blunted tips and strict rules about targets. Sweat poured into his eyes, half blinding him. Vicente had the same problem. Noel’s breath sawed raggedly through his lungs. He circled, set himself, and lunged. Vicente riposted with unexpected swiftness and jabbed his sword through Noel’s arm.

  Again the spectators gasped. Noel staggered back, feeling the steel withdraw from his arm. Hot blood spurted as it pulled free. His right arm suddenly hung useless at his side, throwing off his balance. He felt no pain, however, only the trickle of blood down his arm.

  They did not stop. Vicente’s eyes flashed eagerly, and Noel knew that Vicente had been saving that trick. No doubt he had others. They crashed together again, the blades ringing, then Noel nearly slipped on a patch of his own blood.

  Vicente danced back out of reach and dragged his forearm across his perspiring forehead. “Bind the wound,” he commanded the physician. “Someone, wipe up the blood. I don’t want to die because of a slip.”

  The rest almost undid Noel. Heaving for breath, soaked to the skin with sweat, he felt his adrenaline ebbing. The physician bound his wound tightly, and for the first time he felt the burn of pain. Leon rushed to him and held a small leather flask of wine to his lips.

  “Drink,” he commanded.

  Noel turned his face away in suspicion. “More of Tibo’s potion?”

  Leon flushed red. “Drink it,” he said roughly. “You must win.”

  Noel let out his breath with a little moan.

  “You need it,” Leon said. “Drink!”

  Noel glanced over his shoulder and saw that Vicente was guzzling wine from a cup. Afraid of what the flask might contain, yet too spent to protest further, Noel took the flask and sipped from it.

  “More than that!” Leon said worriedly.

  Noel could already taste the numbness on his tongue. The pain in his arm faded. He found himself able to ignore the trembling weakness in his weary legs. Experience had taught him that in fencing the legs could sometimes fail before the arm. Now he straightened as the physician finished dabbing at the cut across his hand. He looked across the courtyard at Vicente, who gestured his readiness.

  A mind, alien and cold, pushed fiercely against Noel’s: “Kill him.”

  Noel whirled around and aimed his sword at Tibo. “Stay back from me,” he said furiously.

  Messer Tibo glared at him. “You belong to me,” he said. “You will obey my commands.” He pointed. “Finish it quickly before you bleed to death.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Messer Tibo shook back his sleeve to reveal the LOCs. “Then you’ll never regain the use of these. Serve me, and you’ll remain at my side. Together we shall visit your time. We shall learn, and we shall have power.”

  Noel pitied him. The future was closed to them. He’d hoped by now to have heard again from the Institute, but there’d been no contact, no message. They were gone.

  Messer Tibo was glaring at him. “If you do—”

  “Save your breath,” muttered Noel indifferently. “I have heard all your threats before.”

  “You—”

  “I have sworn to my brother that I will kill,” Noel said. “I keep my word.”

  Turning his back on them, Noel trudged back to the center of the courtyard where his opponent waited. They faced each other, both weary and less savage than before. Both, however, remained equally committed. This was to the death. Until that happened, no one would leave this courtyard. Grimly their swords crossed, then flashed into action.

  For Noel everything grew very narrow. The weariness in his arm, the shock of the blows traveling through his sword blade into his wrist, the sweating fatigue in his fingers as he balanced and maneuvered the blade all blurred into something nearly automatic. He could see Vicente’s face, grim and determined. He could hear each of them grunt softly as they parried and thrust in turn. It would never end, thought Noel. It would go on and on, like eternity.

  Sunlight suddenly stabbed down into the courtyard, filling it with patterns of light and shadow. Noel circled, holding his blade en tierce, seeking his next strategy. Vicente’s eyes never wavered from his. Leon and Tibo shifted out of their way and went to stand beside the others.

  Noel’s blood pounded through his veins. Kill. He measured the distance to the wall, and kept circling. In a sudden flurry he attacked. Their blades rang out, the steel singing. Then Noel danced back.

  In the distance voices could be heard approaching. A bell was ringing. Vicente’s attention shifted fractionally. He frowned.

  Noel moved in, but Vicente was expecting it and he evaded the trap.

  “For the sake of God,” called Aldo urgently. “Finish this, Vicente, before you are caught.”

  Vicente was breathing hard, but Aldo’s warning seemed to rouse him to a second wind. He attacked, seemingly as strong as ever. But now his executions were sloppy. His parries were economical, devoid of the previous flourishes. His sword point kept dipping lower and lower en garde as though his arm was also leaden.

  Time had run out. Noel feinted and rushed him, driving him back with a ferocity that caught Vicente by surprise. He parried desperately, but Noel pressed him harder and harder in a blur of motion. Up and down their blades flashed, back and forth and back, again and again. Vicente stumbled and almost fell. He lost his footwork, then his timing. Giving him no quarter, Noel drove him right through the onlookers, scattering them, until Vicente’s back bumped into the wall.

  Kill.

  Noel’s blood was roaring with the command. He saw nothing but his purpose, scarcely heard the shouts around him. Vicente’s eyes held defeat. He knew he was beaten, but his courage did not fail. He faced Noel to the end, willing to fight until he was beaten by the better swordsman. Noel attacked, and even while pinned against the wall Vicente did his best to parry. But Noel reversed his feint, catching Vicente off guard, and sent Vicente’s sword flying from his hand.

  Vicente froze, his chest heaving for air. Defiance flashed courageously in his eyes and he waited for death.

  “Merciful God,” moaned one of Vicente’s friends.

  Kill. Noel thrust with all the strength in his body. His sword aimed straight at Vicente’s heart, and only at the last second in that powerful lunge did Noel pivot ever so slightly on his lead foot.

  His point slid harmlessly past Vicente’s shoulder and rammed into Messer Tibo’s chest.

  The astrologer screamed a thin, shrill cry. His black eyes held only astonishment before the life in them dimmed. He slumped, and Noel jerked out his sword. The body crumpled to the ground, and there was only stunned silence.

  Noel stepped back and wiped his face with his sleeve. His pulse was thudding so hard in his temples, he was almost dizzy. He could not gulp in air fast enough. Vicente still stood against the wall. His face held only shock and disbelief.

  “What?” he said in confusion. “Why—”

  Noel tossed down his rapier with a clang. “He is your traitor. He is the man who tried to cast a spell over Lady Francesca. He is the man who wanted to poison you so that Claudio Virenza could marry your bride.”

  “That fat wastrel?” Aldo cried. “Never!”

  Noel caught his breath. Favoring his injured arm, he knelt beside Tibo’s body and removed the LOCs. Holding one out to Vicente, he said, “I’m a little hampered with this arm. Would you buckle this on for me, please?”

  “Take care!” Aldo warned, but Vicente frowned at his cousin.

  Crouching beside Noel, he turned the LOC over in his hands with puzzlement, but he fitted it around Noel’s bloody wrist. His eyes met Noel’s.

  “I do not understand you,” he said. “I think all this time you have been on my side, but I cannot say why. This…” He gestured at the courtyard and Tibo. “Why?”

  “It’s a complicated story,” Noel began.

  “I am interested. We shall discuss it over
breakfast.”

  Aldo caught Vicente by the arm. “Are you mad? This man is your enemy and you would eat with him?”

  “This man could have killed me and did not,” Vicente said sharply. “Sene vado. Leave us in peace while I endeavor to understand what seems to be a very complicated matter.”

  Beneath Noel’s sleeve, the LOC suddenly grew warm against his skin. It gave him a little jolt to get his attention, then began to pulse steadily in one-second intervals.

  At first Noel could not believe it. But he had no time to stand around being stunned. It was the silent warning for…

  “Warning,” intoned the LOC. “Recall commencing. Stand by for recall.”

  They had less than a minute, if all was running smoothly.

  Noel glanced across the courtyard at Leon and grinned. “Hey!” he shouted. “Guess what?”

  He whirled back to smile at Vicente, who had moved away from him in alarm.

  “Careful,” Aldo said, also backing away. “He is going to put a spell on us. You should have killed him when you had the chance.”

  Vicente said nothing. His eyes were very wide. Noel gripped his limp hand and shook it.

  “I’d like to have breakfast, but I must go,” Noel said hurriedly. “Good luck with your wedding. Have lots of children. Ciao.”

  “But where are you going?” Vicente asked in bewilderment.

  Noel was already striding toward the exit. “Home!” he called over his shoulder.

  At least he hoped it was home. There was still no guarantee that this recall would get him to Chicago. If he bothered to ask the LOC it would probably tell him he had a very strong chance of being bounced by the time loop to yet another wrong destination, with yet another set of problems to solve.

  “Leon!” he called, waving. “Come on!”

  Leon stared at him. “Is it happening?”

  Noel grinned broadly. “Yes!”

  He reached for Leon, but his duplicate shied away. “Not again. I don’t want to go.”

  “Don’t be stupid. We have to go together.”

  The LOC pulsed more rapidly against his wrist, reminding him that time was running out. They needed to get set.

  But Leon was still backing away. “No. No!”

  “Leon, you have to put this other LOC on first—”

  Leon turned and ran for the arcade.

  Chapter 13

  Cursing, Noel pounded after his fleeing duplicate. He was already worn out from the duel, but Leon was fresh and had panic to spur him on faster. He drew ahead of Noel easily, dodging past people who had begun to throng the piazza.

  Struggling to get through the crowds, Noel worked to keep Leon in sight. Already his wind was failing him. He sobbed for breath and forced himself to keep running.

  “Warning,” said the LOC. “Recall in fifty seconds—”

  “Delay!” Noel said sharply. He almost missed Leon’s dart into the basilica past an elderly woman and her attendants. Noel pounded up the steps to the ornate doors. “LOC, delay recall. We aren’t together. Recall will be imbalanced. Delay!”

  People were staring as he ran past them, talking apparently to himself. Noel dived into the gloomy interior of the church and halted, puffing hard. He gazed around, momentarily dazzled by the magnificence. Everything seemed covered with gold, and the domes overhead had spectacular mosaics of religious themes. There were few worshipers present. He saw no sign of Leon.

  Besides, Leon wouldn’t take refuge in here. Leon had no concept of sanctity. He wouldn’t know about sanctuary, and wouldn’t believe it if he did. Gazing around, Noel caught a glimpse of movement overhead. He stared at the galleries and saw nothing.

  Locating the stairs, he started up them, hampered by his wounds but taking the steps two and three at a time. His heart was going to explode from the exertion, but he drove himself on until tiny black specks danced in front of his eyes. Reaching the top, he saw Leon trapped at the end of the gallery, frantically searching for a way of escape.

  “Leon!” he shouted. “Stop running. This is necessary.”

  “I won’t,” Leon said hoarsely. “I won’t!”

  “Warning,” said the LOC. “Delay has expired. Time sequence ending. Countdown to recall sequence commencing.”

  “Hell,” Noel said and ran down the gallery.

  Leon had been fumbling with a small doorway. Now he finally succeeded in flinging it open. He scrambled through just before Noel reached him. Noel’s fingers gripped his doublet for an instant but slipped off the fabric. The LOC was pulsing rapidly against his wrist, too rapidly to count now. Noel knew they had only a few seconds left. He dived bodily through the small doorway and rolled, coming up to his feet with a stagger.

  They were on the balcony above the entrance to the church, standing amid the life-sized bronze horses brought here from Constantinople as booty. In Noel’s time, the statues had long resided in museums, corroded green, their bodies rough from the effects of pollution. Now they seemed sleek and shiny. Leon was clinging to one, wedging himself between its chest and the balcony railing.

  The view of the city was spectacular, had Noel had the time to look at it.

  “Leon!” called Noel. “You have to come with me.”

  Leon did not bother to answer. He put his foot on the horse’s knee and levered himself up onto the railing. Teetering there, he balanced for a moment, then looked back. His face was wild with defiance.

  “You want me to die!” he shouted.

  Pigeons strutted across the rooftop, undisturbed by their argument.

  “I don’t want you to die,” Noel said, hurrying toward him. “For God’s sake, Leon, don’t you know me by now? I don’t want to harm you. We have to be together.”

  “It’s the same thing as death. I stop, and you go on. I’d rather die here and now than just vanish in the time stream.”

  “You won’t vanish in the time stream,” Noel said. He put his hand on the horse’s bronze shoulder, anxiously measuring the distance to see if he could grab Leon. “Get down from there and put on one of these LOCs.”

  Leon said nothing, but his expression changed. He turned and looked down at the piazza below them. With a yell, he pushed himself off.

  Frantically Noel hurled himself forward and managed to grip the back of Leon’s doublet with his good hand. He thought his weight would pull Leon back, but his impetus carried him forward bodily over the railing, and they fell together.

  Still gripping his duplicate’s clothing, Noel could hear Leon screaming over the rush of wind in his ears. The ground hurtled toward them incredibly fast.

  “Warning,” said the LOC. “Recall in five seconds. Four, three, two…”

  It wasn’t going to be in time. It wasn’t going to work. They were going to end here, smashed on the pavement, dead a thousand years too late.

  Leon was still screaming, and Noel heard himself yelling too.

  Horrified bystanders scattered out of the way. Gritting his teeth, Noel shut his eyes. Just when he should have crashed into the stones, he and Leon passed right through them and went on falling into the time stream. It tumbled them together in a maelstrom of lashing currents and electrical energy.

  There was no chance to feel relief. Something seemed to be trying to rip them apart. A force pressed between them, shoving Noel back. He gripped harder, determined this time not to lose Leon. He couldn’t go through this again. They had to be rejoined. It had to end. He’d done all a man could endure and more. Why couldn’t it be finished, once and for all?

  But he knew it was futile as he was tumbled and tossed through infinity. He knew that he’d failed to get a LOC on Leon, just as he’d failed the last time he possessed two LOCs. It would never end. The time loop could never be broken. All his struggles had been for nothing. He had failed.

  “No!” he shouted. “No!”

  The force between them drove him back. He heard the sound of cloth ripping and Leon’s wild cry of fear. Then Noel went spinning away on his own. He could s
ee a fragment of cloth still clutched in his hand, but Leon had vanished. From the distance Noel heard his name howled. He shouted back, but there was no reply. He was jolted along, alone and despairing, and he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to materialize again. He wanted to stay out here, lost forever, rather than face another set of people in the past and their problems.

  Folding in his arms and legs, he curled himself up as tightly as he could, and closed the Time Institute from his mind. He let hope go. He let control fade from his thoughts.

  He didn’t want to go on failing, again and again, trapped in time like a gerbil on a treadmill, running endlessly and never reaching the end.

  Usually the time stream was utterly dark, or at most gray. This time he found himself hurtling through bursts of color. It was as though he’d been placed in a cosmic kaleidoscope. The patterns around him formed and broke apart, changing colors across the spectrum of light. He was a speck, a mere mote of dust in all of this. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. A rough jolt knocked him up and up, then for the space of a heartbeat he was high above the shifting patterns and shapes, high above the tunnel itself. He thought he was looking at the universe from the inside out, for it spread around him in all directions. It was calm way up here, calm and quiet and cool. He could see the kaleidoscope below him, constantly moving and changing. It looked flat; however, at the far edges he could detect a slight curve.

  Struck with wonder, Noel realized this was his reality and all its possible alternatives. He had been shifting from one pattern to another, one dimension to another, one time to another. Now he was way out here, and he wanted to stay forever.

  Even as the thought filled his mind, he felt himself start to fall. Back he hurtled toward the kaleidoscope. Now he could see its center, swirling but constant, like the center of a whirlpool. He was sucked down into the vortex, back into the rough, painful, jolting course of the time stream.

  Was it the same one he’d left? Were there others? His mind could not cope with the possibilities.