by Walker, Rysa
“Yes. But recordings can be altered.”
“True. My best guess is that he’ll keep his word if the cost is low enough. From what you’ve said and from what I gathered from my other self, they can just move on and muck about in the next reality, right? Remember, this is a game to him. Just a game. If it becomes boring or not worth the cost, he’ll move on to another playing field. And I can help make it not worth the cost. Gaining control over Coughlin’s network was a big step in that direction. Coughlin has got millions of listeners. And we’ve got nearly two years to gradually shift his broadcasts toward supporting war in the Pacific.”
“Saul . . . it doesn’t matter. We can’t add you to the team. Not even as an observer. The team roster is locked, and I doubt it would have been allowed anyway.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure Morgen would think that a grudge match between two versions of the same player would be great for luring in viewers. But I’m not asking you to get me added to the team. My help will be behind the scenes, and I can just feed you the information about my activities so that you’ll know which moves are theirs and which are mine.”
“What’s to stop them from counting your conversion of Coughlin as one of our three moves?”
“Well, the rules, for one thing. If you don’t enter the move into the system, it will be counted as an unintended consequence.”
“A consequence that happened before any of the other events? That’s crazy!” His eyes narrow, and I go on before he can interrupt. “Anyway, we already did enter it as one of our three initial predictions. Like I said before, it failed. But still, it’s in the system.”
“It won’t matter. You said the clock officially started what . . . four and a half hours ago?”
“More like six. We spent about an hour and a half mapping out a game plan.”
“Either way, everything I did with Coughlin was before the game started. I’m not a team member. I’m not an observer. I’m outside their rules. They can’t count my actions. Not if it’s a fair game.”
“Except you’ve already said they’re not playing fair. That they won’t play fair.”
“They won’t. But the SimMaster will. It’s not like it’s going to know every move you make. It’s simply moderating a game. I assume they have it tapped into some sort of public data system, so that it will know whether or not the US enters World War II, but it’s not going to know whether we make three changes or three hundred. It will measure whether your moves counter theirs, and award style points based on the manner in which you counter those moves. And barring a challenge from the other side, it will make its decision based on that data only.”
“And if they challenge? What then?”
“I assume each side presents its case, using evidence to confirm how the moves and countermoves were made. But that’s just an assumption, since I’ve never dealt with an opposing team capable of actually changing history. I’m guessing they gave you a rule book. Read it. But the main thing to keep in mind is that this is a game to your opponents. The only thing at stake is bragging rights, and if there’s an audience, they lose credibility if they’re not playing by their own rules. Anything I’ve done falls outside those rules. Face it, I’m the only advantage your team has, Kathy.”
He’s talking in circles. My gut instinct is to keep arguing with him, to try and change his mind, even though I generally avoid arguments, especially with Saul. But I can count the times that I’ve changed Saul’s mind on the fingers of one hand. And now I’m wondering if Campbell wasn’t actually referring to Saul instead of Kiernan Dunne when he said that we had a rogue agent tampering with the field before the start of play.
The unfortunate reality is that I can’t stop Saul from doing whatever this is with Coughlin. But it feels dangerous and wrong to hide it from the others. Anything Saul does here in early 1939 could have an impact on the moves we make. And he’s definitely right about one thing. We’re going to need all the help we can get, especially if the other side intends to cheat. And that seems almost guaranteed, given that they’ve already contacted Saul with a bribe.
We’re both silent for several minutes. “I’m going to have to tell the others. We need to coordinate our moves with whatever you’re doing with Coughlin. And whatever Coughlin is doing with this Dennis guy, Lindbergh, and the America First Committee. I’m not even the team lead, so I can’t guarantee that they’ll listen if you offer advice. I’ll try to convince them, but that’s the best I can do.”
He smiles, reaching across the table to stroke my cheek. “In my experience, you can be very persuasive when you want to be.”
I return the smile, but it’s a little forced because I know he’s not going to like what I say next. “But I also need a promise from you.”
He doesn’t respond, just looks at me with his eyebrows raised as if to say go on.
“When we flip the timeline, you have to promise to turn that key over to CHRONOS.”
“You mean the key that isn’t mine? I merely borrowed it, Kathy. Technically speaking, it doesn’t even belong to CHRONOS. Or at least not our version.”
“The tech folks will need to figure out a way to stop these incursions into our timeline, and that key could help them. So, you need to promise that you’ll turn the key over to CHRONOS and . . . that you’ll collect any copies of your revised edition of The Book of Cyrus and whatever this Book of Prophecy is that you may have deposited in the past. No side experiments, okay? The past few days have shown us how very dangerous they are, and we can’t afford to make that sort of error. Will you promise me?”
“Just to be clear, that’s three separate promises that you’re asking.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “One, no side experiments. Two, destroy my version of the Cyrist books, although I will note that the differences are quite small. And three, turn over Morgen’s key. I don’t like that last one at all. It’s theft, and Morgen is going to know I took it.”
While I think I could argue that the no-side-experiments promise is implicit not just in my other two requests but also in the oath that he took as a historian, I stick to the key point. “Morgen might not know that if the timeline is repaired.”
“He’ll know someone took it, and I’ll be the prime suspect, especially when word gets back to him that it showed up at CHRONOS. And word will get back to him. He has eyes and ears everywhere at HQ. He’s got three people that I know of on his payroll in Archives alone. But fine, I promise—”
“Thank you.”
“Let me finish,” he says. “I promise under one condition.”
And now it’s my turn to give him the go on expression.
“You do not tell the others about my role in writing the current Book of Cyrus. I mean, it could just as easily have been entirely the work of that other me, right? I’ll destroy the damn thing when this is all over, but it could cause . . . complications at CHRONOS, if someone were to take it the wrong way.”
That nagging feeling is back—a pervasive sense something isn’t right that I keep getting anytime I think about The Book of Cyrus and that symbol. “This historical religion that you based the Cyrists on, the one down in Florida? The Koreshans, right? You haven’t been giving them any sort of an . . . assist, have you? I mean, before the time shift.”
“Before? No! God, Kathy. I took an oath when I entered field training, just like everyone else. I’ve run this kind of scenario in The Game often enough to know what a major impact it could have. And believe me, if I was going to create a religion from scratch, it would have a bit more . . . teeth. I’ve done a bit of research into the trajectory of these Cyrists, and in this timeline at least, they basically hand over all of the control that could have been theirs to the government. It’s all carrots and no stick. All numbers and no magic. Jemima understood that you need that spark of the unknown, even if you have to fake it. But you’ve heard all this before.”
I have heard it all before. This is another conversation we’ve had many times, usually when he’s mapping out on
e of his Temporal Dilemma scenarios. On our first research trip together, I’d been naive enough to think he’d be disappointed to discover that Jemima Wilkinson’s prophetic abilities were more flash than substance. But he’d been impressed with her initiative, although he noted that she could have been bolder. Could have done more. That others did do more. When he’s had a few drinks, Saul can make a fairly persuasive case for Jesus being a time traveler, explaining how he pulled off each and every miracle. In Saul’s telling of the story, however, the Jesus they encountered outside the tomb three days later was actually three-days-earlier Jesus, and his crucifixion was the end of the line.
“Dangling financial rewards and feel-good carrots works to control some people, but there are always a few who need the literal fear of God,” he says. “The fear of demons and magical consequences for not toeing the fucking line. Anyway, if I’d been screwing around with what eventually becomes a global religion, don’t you think something like that would show up in a Temporal Monitoring check?” His voice grows increasingly tense with each word, and even though he’s not exactly yelling, it’s obvious from his tone that he’s angry. The fry cook behind the counter keeps looking over this way, probably wondering if there’s about to be trouble.
We don’t need trouble. And I don’t really want to argue this with him right now, especially since I’m fairly certain he’s not telling the full truth. But there will be plenty of time to thrash all of this out once we fix the timeline. “Of course they’d catch it at TMU,” I say. “There were just some things about the Cyrists that felt a little . . . off to me. Anyway, what’s your game plan with Coughlin? And when and where should we meet up again?”
Saul taps his palm, which is his signal that he wants to transfer a local point from his medallion to mine. He pulls up the location, not even bothering to lower the key into his lap or cup his hand to hide it. Given that we’ve already attracted attention with our argument, he’s raising quite a few eyebrows in the café by poking at the air in front of him. Maybe it’s for the best, though. If they think he’s a candidate for a psych ward, they might mind their own business.
“This is for my place in Miami. What?” he says, in response to my expression. “I may be working in Michigan, but I don’t have to live here. It’s cold.” He taps the back of his key to mine to transfer the stable point, then continues. “As for Coughlin, I’ve already gotten him, and several others, off the German payroll. The good Father seemed a little surprised that I knew Hitler was paying him, but like I said, he’s easily persuadable. I’ll get him to tone down the isolationist rhetoric. Start questioning German motives, and he can begin nudging the isolationist crowd toward the reality that war is coming, and we’d better get ready for it. Beat the war drums a bit, so that our soldiers can head off to kill and be killed.”
To be honest, I don’t like the way that sounds at all. I’d much prefer to be on the side of preventing wars. But based on what we’ve seen of this new future, it seems like a good time to make an exception. “Why do you think this is going to keep Japan from bombing Pearl Harbor, though?”
“Japan is a lot more likely to make aggressive moves if they believe we won’t retaliate. A weaker isolationist movement could tip the needle if things are close. But I obviously wasn’t counting on that alone. Once I had everything set up here, I was planning to start working on other fronts. But now that I know we have a team, such as it is, in place, I guess I can leave that to the four of you. What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but that tiny wrinkle between your eyebrows just deepened. So what’s wrong?”
“Converting Coughlin just doesn’t make sense to me as an opening move, Saul. Couldn’t you have done this just as easily if he remained a Catholic? I mean, there are certainly verses in the Bible, especially the Old Testament, that could be used to argue in favor of war, especially a just war. Plus, Coughlin doesn’t seem to take direction well. He’s bucked the Catholic hierarchy on more than one occasion. What’s to stop him from taking your money and doing the same?”
“The fact that I said I’d shove him out of the window at the top of that tower, for starters.” He chuckles at my expression. “That was a joke. But you’ve read most of the verses in my version of The Book of Cyrus, right?”
“Well, I haven’t read them, per se. But I’ve heard you and Tate chortling over them when you’ve both had a few beers too many.”
“My point is, you know there are passages that can be used to support any set of beliefs, any philosophy, any policy option. The thing is vague to the point of meaninglessness. I designed it that way. Something for everyone. All I have to do is emphasize the parts Coughlin should stress in his messages. He’ll toss in a few Bible verses, too, for good measure. As for taking direction, I’ll step in directly to keep him on the straight and narrow, if necessary.”
“Maybe. But, if he didn’t take direction from his bishops, what makes you think he’ll take it from you?”
“Well, for one thing, Coughlin believes that bishops are appointed by God, but in the end, they are only men. Fallible men.”
“And what exactly does he think you are?”
“He thinks I’m Brother Cyrus, of course. Seventh messiah, and his own personal conduit to God.”
FROM THE COMPLETE DUMMY’S GUIDE TO US HISTORY SINCE 1950, 23RD ED (2022)
The mid-20th-century schism in the United States is frequently referred to as the Secession Crisis of 1944. While it is true that events came to a head during the summer of that year, the problem had been building for several years, and it extended well beyond the end of the decade. Indeed, one could argue that the crisis lasted into the mid-1980s, when the Western Alliance appealed to the US government to agree to a limited trade pact, which eventually led to diminished tensions and the demilitarization of the border. The most treacherous period of relations, however, was 1957–1958, when the two sides hovered on the precipice of total nuclear war.
Tensions were already heightened due to Mexico’s decision to opt out of a proposed multilateral reciprocal-assistance treaty with the United States. The McCarthy administration argued on the basis of solid evidence that the Western Alliance had threatened trade sanctions against Mexico if they signed the treaty, which was in conflict with the 1946 Peace Accord. The United States even offered to extend the treaty to the Western Alliance, but this peaceful overture was rebuffed.
Then, in November 1958, a group of dissidents within the government of Arizona, led by Governor Barry Goldwater, staged a coup. An unapproved measure on secession was added to the ballot in the 1958 election, with a reported 72 percent of the voters opting to join the Western Alliance. US troops entered the state to restore order, only to discover that Goldwater’s forces had acquired several W-54 nuclear warheads, one of which was launched at US troops gathered at the New Mexico border near the Peloncillo Mountains. The Arizona militia claimed they did not fire first, noting that the small town of San Simon was obliterated by a weapon fired earlier in the day. Several rounds of retaliation followed, with both Bisbee, Arizona, and Lordsburg, New Mexico, taking heavy casualties before a cease-fire was negotiated. Over three thousand American lives were lost, with equal or greater casualties on the opposing side. Unfortunately, the battlefield deaths were followed by a greater number of residents on both sides of the border who were afflicted with radiation poisoning or died of cancer in the coming years.
∞19∞
MADI
SKANEATELES, NEW YORK
AUGUST 24, 1966
I’m kind of regretting not checking this stable point more closely when Clio gave it to me. She said it was to her parents’ house, and that’s where Jack was headed, so I just held out my key and let her make the transfer. It’s my fault that I assumed the stable point would be on the front lawn or perhaps the porch. I’d pictured myself jumping in, ringing the doorbell, and asking Kate or whoever answered the door if I could see Jack.
But, no. The stable p
oint is in their living room. While that makes perfect sense for a daughter, I feel weird just jumping in unannounced. Unfortunately, that’s the only way that I can jump in, since it’s not like I can find a pay phone in 1939 and call their number in 1966 to say, Hey, I’ll be popping into your living room for a visit in a few seconds. My only choice is to scan through to find a time when the room is empty so that I don’t give anyone a heart attack.
As it turns out, that’s not a problem. Scanning through the day after Jack arrived, I find the place very quiet. Of course, Kate and Kiernan are close to eighty, and Jack was probably exhausted when he got in. I doubt he was able to get much sleep on the bus from Memphis.
That’s the key reason I don’t select the time Kate and Jack would have arrived at the Dunnes’ house yesterday. Jack spent nearly two days in transit. He needed time to sleep, get a shower, and maybe relax a bit, and I know him well enough to be certain that he’ll pour all of his energy into watching these stable points as soon as I give them to him. And unlike the rest of us, Jack isn’t subject to the clock. He can take his time, and he’ll undoubtedly be more observant with a clear head. So, I scroll forward to late morning of the next day and jump in.
I’ve seen this living room before. It was the backdrop of several pictures in the Dunne family’s memory book that Kate sent back—or will send back—when she turns over the CHRONOS keys in 2015. It looks different now, however. In those pictures, the walls and bookshelves were lined with sports trophies and photographs, and a knitted afghan was slung over the back of the sofa, along with a variety of other tiny things that give a house the look of a home. This is the same living room, but those things are all missing. It has the generic appearance of an unoccupied flat—a sofa, a chair, a lamp, a coatrack, and a small black-and-white television set with a V-shaped wire antenna. There are curtains on the windows and a few books on the shelves, but otherwise, the room looks abandoned.
