by Lory Kaufman
“But that means we have to come out of phase.”
“Just do it!”
Hansum was already up the stairs and in the room with Guilietta and the younger Hansum. He pressed his emergency node, causing a blue spark and snap. The younger Hansum, lying with his arm curled over his sleeping wife, spun around to find a hand clamping onto his mouth and a face he had often seen in the mirror staring down at him.
“I’m here to save Guilietta. Feltrino’s outside.”
With that, the younger Hansum spun further around in bed, reaching for his sword on the floor. The older Hansum reached down and put his hand on the hilt first. “You let me handle that. I’m better than you now.”
The younger Hansum got up quickly. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“No time for details. You get Guil into the other bedroom. My Lincoln and I will hold them off till help arrives.” Before Hansum could go out of phase again, the younger man spoke.
“Where’s Pan? Your Pan? Use his friggin’ laser, like he did at the river.”
“We’re alone here for a while. No A.I.s. Bad timing.” He touched his node and was disappearing as he said, “I won’t let it happen to her again . . .” and he was running through the walls. As he entered the other bedroom he watched Shamira and Lincoln coming out of phase. The Signora had a sheet wrapped around her face, her blubbery cheeks and tightly closed eyes the only parts showing.
“Something bad is going to happen,” the old woman was crying. “Something bad is going to happen.”
The Master was sitting, his back to Shamira and Lincoln, trying to comfort his wife.
“No, my dear. All is well, all is . . . Carmella, Marucio. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“There’s trouble, Master,” Shamira said. “Feltrino’s outside,” at which the Signora flung off the sheet and screamed shrilly.
“Master, let’s get the Signora on the floor,” Lincoln said. “We must use the beds to block the stairs.”
“Come Mistress. Off the bed,” Shamira urged. “Sit on the floor.”
As the older Hansum watch from out of phase, he racked his brain on how to proceed. He looked at the sword in his hand, realizing it was from the Podesta’s own collection. What would Mastino do if he were in this predicament? He bit his lip with resolve and clicked his communications node.
“Lincoln, I’m going downstairs. When the other Hansum comes in, have him help with the barricades, but don’t, I say, don’t let anyone come help me. Do you hear? Nobody!” He turned and was gone through the wall.
As the Master was helping Lincoln move his wife, he looked at Lincoln oddly.
“You look . . .” he started, but his wife saw something too.
“Such strange clothes, Carmella. Such strange eyes,” the Signora said, and she winced as they sat her on the floor.
The younger Hansum entered, helping Guilietta walk. As soon as they had her on the floor, a pounding started at the front door.
“Master. Romero. Quickly. The bedframes and mattresses from both rooms,” Lincoln ordered. “Barricade the top of the stairs.”
Shamira grabbed the straw-filled mattress off the bed and the men heaved the heavy bedframe on its side. They muscled it across the floor and through the doorway, ripping down the curtain, Shamira right behind. Manhandling the frame, they wedged it tightly into the narrow passage.
“I will go down and confront him,” the Master said. “I’ll give him my gold and as many lookers as he . . .”
“That’s not what he wants now, Master,” Shamira said sternly. “He’s here to kill Hansum, I mean Romero.”
“No!” Guilietta screamed from the bedroom. The Signora started praying.
The pounding on the door became more fierce.
“Still, I shall confront him,” Agistino insisted.
“Husband!” the Signora cried.
Lincoln and the younger Hansum were already pulling the bed out of the other room, setting it on end against the other frame. Master della Cappa tried to squeeze through, but Hansum and Lincoln pulled him back.
“Leave me . . .” Agistino shouted. The pounding at the door now sounded like someone was battering at it with an ax.
“You must stay here and hold the barricade, Master,” the younger Hansum said, squeezing himself past the upturned bed. He broke one of the slats from the base of a frame.
“No Hansum,” Lincoln shouted, making a grab but missing him.
The door to the house burst open and there was Feltrino, standing menacingly, his clothes drenched in blood. He stepped in, his fierce look turning to a grin when he saw Hansum on the steps.
“A stick?” he commented, stepping forward. Right behind him was his captain, sword and knife in hand, equally bloody. “This time no talk . . .”
There was a crack in the air, a flash of blue, and then a quick guttural grunt of agony. Feltrino spun around as more blood spurted onto his face. It was his captain’s, who now stood with a big red smile across his neck. The sword that had put it there was now pressing into Feltrino’s chest. As the captain slumped dead to the floor, Feltrino slowly turned to see the man who had bested him.
“Apprentice!” he gasped, then flashed a gaze back to the stairs. The same face looked back at him from both places. “How?”
“Drop your weapons and lie down with your hands behind your back,” commanded the Hansum with a sword. “I said . . .” he pressed the sword harder, causing Feltrino’s skin to tear. Feltrino complied. “Tie his hands,” he said to the other Hansum. As the younger Hansum came down the steps, he grabbed a coil of rope from a peg. As he approached Feltrino, the older Hansum commanded, “Wait,” and he placed the blade straight on top of Feltrino’s spine, like he had seen him do when he murdered Lieutenant da Silva. “Part of me hopes you make a move, Gonzaga,” Hansum said in a voice that told the prince this was not the same man who spared his life at the river. Feltrino strained his neck and looked up at both Hansums, and then went limp. The younger Hansum tied Feltrino’s wrists together very tightly.
“Now tell me what’s . . .” the younger Hansum began, but his other self talked over him.
“I saved her. Finally,” the older Hansum said to himself in Earth Common. He exhaled deeply and smiled at his younger self. “We did it this time. Guilietta’s safe.” And a hot shiver went up Hansum’s back. “We’ve saved her from more pain.”
“Thank Cristo, he’s bested him,” the Master’s voice shouted from up the stairs, and there was the sound of the barricade coming down.
“No, stay up there,” the older Hansum shouted, but it was too late. The Master was already bulling his way around the barricade, pulling the older Shamira and Lincoln with him.
“Romero, you did it . . .” the Master stopped in his tracks as he saw twin sons-in-law.
“Get him back before the others see . . .” but that was too late as well. There was Guilietta, already standing on the steps, holding onto the railing, her eyes and mouth wide.
“What’s going on?” another voice shouted behind Hansum, and in from the street ran the younger Lincoln and Shamira, horrified looks on their faces. The widening pool of the captain’s blood and the trussed Feltrino, however, were not as surprising to them as seeing their other selves standing in front of them.
“Holy Cristo,” the Master said crossing himself. There were three pairs of twins.
“Go to Guil,” the older Hansum said to his younger self. “Take her back up.”
“Tell me what is going on?” the younger Hansum insisted.
“All I can say is things are really screwed up and nobody knows why. But we’re trying to fix it. The important thing is Guil is . . .” he looked at Guilietta and all his conditioning vanished. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “. . . safe.”
The younger Lincoln and Shamira came and stood next to their older selves. They stared at each other.
“I’m lookin’ good,” the younger Lincoln chimed. “Hey, a bit a stubble,” he said rubbing his other face with
a thumb.
“We got back?” the younger Shamira asked herself.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Mom and Dad okay?” the younger girl asked. A nod. Then, you could tell the younger one saw something in her older self’s eyes. “We’re in love.” Of course, she would know.
The older Shamira smiled. “Oh yeah,” she answered. “I guess it won’t hurt now.” She touched the communications node on her temple. “Kingsley,” she said. “It’s all clear here. You can come in.” No answer. “Sweetie, there’s someone here who wants to meet you. Kingsley. Kingsley?”
The older Shamira moved to the door. The older Hansum grabbed her arm.
“I’ll go check,” he said seriously, but Shamira tried to pull away. “Sham, you stay here,” he ordered. “You two watch her,” he said to the Lincolns.
“Kingsley,” Shamira repeated, tapping her temple, panic in her voice.
“Who is . . .” started the younger Shamira, but her older self moved to bolt from the house.
“Hold her!” Hansum commanded, and both Lincolns and even the Master grabbed Shamira.
“What’s going on?” shouted the Signora’s voice from upstairs, adding to the confusion.
“What’s wrong with my sister?” was the last thing the older Hansum heard Guilietta asking as he ran out of the house.
“Kingsley,” he shouted as he passed the dead guards on the stoop, one’s throat cut and the other lying in a pool of red, blood still oozing from his chest and mouth. “KINGSLEY!” he shouted as he jumped off the stoop and started running down the alley. “Kingsley! Answer me, Kingsley!”
“Kingsley,” he heard Shamira’s voice shriek from the house.
Hansum stopped momentarily at the body of a man in a deerskin jacket. “Kingsley!” Hansum shouted again. There. A figure on its knees, silhouetted in the dark. “Kingsley,” Hansum said with relief in his voice. He ran more easily now, touching his communications node. “He’s in the alley. He’s okay.” The faces of the older Lincoln and Shamira came into his mind. They both looked relieved. Then, as Hansum neared the kneeling figure he scolded it. “Man, Kingsley, you had us all so worried. Why didn’t you . . .” he stopped.
“The angel,” came a voice from the kneeling figure. It wasn’t Kingsley’s voice, but a rasping croak. “The large angel appeared from thin air and saved me, Romero.” Ugilino was speaking very quietly. He was kneeling beside Kingsley, who was on his back, his eyes staring up at the stars, his head surrounded by a dark halo. “He slew one and I ran away. And then he kept fighting. I guess, I guess he isn’t an angel.”
The others were running from the house now, the older Shamira in the lead.
“Kingsley, I was so afraid,” she called from the dark.
“Stop her!” Hansum shouted. “STOP HER!” but the others couldn’t catch up till she was only a few steps away. As the truth of the situation slammed into Shamira’s mind, she jerked still, her arms convulsing backward. She gasped and froze, her skin instantly going white as blood drained from her face. The Master, both of the Lincolns and the other Shamira took hold of her, all standing with horror and confusion on their faces. Finally, the older Shamira was able to inhale. As she did, her face contorted in an agonized knot.
“KINGSLEY!” she shrieked, her wail echoing up the alley. She pulled her arm violently, almost getting away from one of the Lincolns, but the Master enveloped her in a massive bearhug.
A whirlwind came from the younger Lincoln’s lirripipe and Pan appeared on the ground. Ugilino fell onto his backside and the Master looked on in astonishment. Pan peered at Kingsley closely, and then looked up at Hansum, shaking his head.
“Kingsley.” This time the older Shamira said it very softly, and she slumped. The Master and both Lincolns helped her to the ground. Once there, she crawled over to her dead fiancé and lay over him.
A glow wrapped around the older Hansum’s chest and Sideways appeared, returning from the 24th-century. His smiling face changed as he assessed the situation.
“I must go to my sister,” they heard Guilietta’s voice call, and she appeared hobbling along, holding the younger Hansum’s arm. Her eyes took in everything, the two Lincolns, her one sister draped over a large dead man, the other standing, hands clasped over her mouth. Guilietta quivered as she looked into the face of the other Romero and her eyes bulged as she stared into the living face on his cloak. Her legs gave way. As she fell, her Romero caught her, helping her gently to the ground. But now she was eye to eye with a little man with hairy legs, goat feet and a gnarled, frowning face. Guilietta’s eyes rolled up into her head and she fainted.
“We must go,” Sideways said, and A.I. tendrils shot out from the cloak. They grabbed hold of each person from the future, including Kingsley, and disappeared. Pan snapped his fingers and winked out of sight.
Ugilino got to his knees. He looked at the remaining Shamira. “Were they angels or demons?” he asked. But Shamira didn’t answer. She just stood there, staring at the spot where her other, terrified self had been screaming and crying over the body of a very beautiful man.
BOOK FOUR
Without Fear or Cost
Chapter 1
Hansum preferred being put to sleep during his DNA repair procedure, although it wasn’t technically necessary. But it made his stomach queasy, something that just came with age the doctor told him. Then again, many things made his stomach queasy of late.
“If you just let Medeea do a deeper mind-delve, she could fix you up.” Lincoln had been telling him this for years.
“No thanks, pal.”
“I really don’t know why you always refuse,” Lincoln said, shaking the grey locks that now hung over his ears and collar.
Hansum had never allowed a deep mind-delve. He didn’t want anybody to know what he was really thinking or, more to the point, feeling. He’d only allowed conversational delves, exchanging just what he wanted to say.
As he drifted asleep to receive his third and last allowable DNA repair, it wasn’t long before the images came again. They were the Mists of Time recordings he hated reviewing during his monthly planning meeting with Lincoln, the ones they used while working on their ever-developing tactics for a next foray back to the 14th-century. The images came in waves, washing over him and causing high tides of emotion. He saw Kingsley lying dead as they appeared back in the medical facility, both the human and A.I. doctors rushing to save him. But he had been stabbed multiple times in the heart, lungs and liver, and his spine had been severed. He had also lain dead too long. It was almost twenty minutes before the older Hansum found him, and till Sideways returned to take him back to the 24th-century. The sights and sounds of Shamira’s hysterical screams still plagued him. She pleaded that they go back immediately and change events so her fiancé wouldn’t be killed. But that wasn’t allowed. Shamira cried in Hansum’s arms as Arimus explained how, when Kingsley’s parents were informed about their son, they refused permission to change the event.
“His family loved him without reservation, my dear.
But of death and the concept of right and wrong,
people from the 26th-century think differently, I fear.
To think we are the same is a temptation,
but change comes with every generation.
This is among the hardest lessons to learn
and accept.”
It was indeed a hard lesson to live with, but Shamira survived. She resigned from time travel and chose instead to marry herself completely to painting.
“My baby. My child,” Hansum murmured in his dream sleep. He saw a new image, Charlene floating close by when Lincoln finally had time to tell him that Guilietta was pregnant. As the gravity of it hit Hansum, he collapsed. His vision morphed into him struggling to talk, his voice harsh and broken after hours of sobbing, confessing to his A.I. confidant, “When Guil died and burned in the fire, it was bad enough imagining her . . . there. But now I know there was . . . is a baby . . . my baby . . .”
“We have a baby somewhere in the universe,” Charlene said softly. “Somewhere in time. We have to save it.”
So, as hard as it was to imagine, the stakes were now even higher and Hansum could not let himself fall apart, no matter how much pressure he bore.
During the third day of his drug-induced coma, Hansum’s memory re-watched an event that could be fixed. Arimus had simply sent Sideways back to tell the earlier Hansum hiding in the woods to go out of phase while reconnoitering the cannon testing. This forced Elder Parmatheon Olama to go out of phase to find him, so Chinza never saw anyone in the bush. That meant Lieutenant Raguso didn’t order his men to scour the forests, Feltrino attacked and the battle ran as before. The timeline was restored, including the fact that Lieutenant Raguso and his brother, Chinza, as well as the other soldiers, weren’t killed at the della Cappa home. But alas, Chinza was killed when Gina, the cannon, went back to exploding.
Maybe it was the molecules of every strand of his DNA being partly disassembled and repaired, but the next vision vexed the unconscious Hansum even more. It was the obsequious Parmatheon Olama smiling at him as if he were an old friend, acting like it was nothing he had done that initiated the stream of events resulting in Kingsley’s death.
“I’m sure you will be pleased to know,” Parmatheon’s voice echoed in the mind, “I not only relinquished the chairmanship of the Council back to Elder Barnes, but I also started a new committee to organize all the resources you asked for.”
It was true. When they got back, everyone, Arimus included, was again surprised how easily they were able to reverse the damage, while the other situation, saving Guilietta, seemed impossible. It gave more credence to the scientists’ theory of temporal nexus points. That, along with the public’s fascination with the ongoing Romero and Guilietta drama, triggered a stampede of demand for “the project.” And the A.I.s fell in line too.
The dreaming Hansum watched the memory of himself bite his lip and start pragmatically cooperating with Parmatheon. He needed to get back to Guilietta as quickly as possible.
