by David Weber
“I know, and I thought of that, too.” Benjamin pushed the bin back. “Now put those things down somewhere and let me handle this.”
“But—”
“I’ve got this.” He patted the synthoid on the shoulder. “You can bring the earbuds, but no glasses.”
Raibert frowned, glanced at the bin full of the interface glasses he’d ordered, then set the bin down next to the period-specific gear Elzbietá was laying out. He grabbed the small bag full of interface earbuds out of the bin. The three of them took a tube up and met Klaus-Wilhelm and Anton on the bridge.
“Sorry about the delay,” Benjamin told his grandfather as he unfolded a map of 1940s Germany and laid it out over the command table.
“Seriously?” Raibert complained. “We’re using paper now?”
“It works just fine.” He smoothed out the map, took out a pencil, and looked across the table at his grandfather. “Now, what can you tell us?”
“This is what I know. During the Battle of Sedan, from May 10 to May 15, Hitler stayed in his field bunker here.” Klaus-Wilhelm stabbed a finger against the map. “Felsennest, near the city of Bad Münstereifel. In the early morning of May 16, he took a motorcade from his field bunker into the city, then north to Cologne.” Klaus-Wilhelm slid his finger along the route. “There, he boarded his private train for a trip back to Berlin. Teams of SS scouted out the whole route the day before and had nodal detachments spread along it. I don’t know their exact locations, but they would have been placed to cover every station and junction, as well as each bridge.”
His fingertip slid along the rail line.
“Each detachment consisted of at least one twelve-man squad, but most of the reaction forces were larger, closer to platoon strength. The one that matters, though, is here”—the moving fingertip tapped—“just east of the city of Stendal: a single squad responsible for guarding a bridge over the Elbe River.”
“And that’s where the assassins blew the bridge,” Benjamin noted.
“Correct. Around noon the same day, they blew the supports on the bridge, and the train ran off the rails and into the river. Assassins gunned down every last soul who made it to shore, and not a single person survived. But here’s the curious thing. As far as anyone knows, the assassins never attacked the SS security detail itself. That security detail was stationed in a farmhouse near the bridge, and every man in it was simply found dead after the fact.”
“So they were attacked,” Raibert said, cocking one eyebrow with a puzzled expression.
“No, they weren’t. Or not with any conventional weapons, at least.”
“Then what killed them?” Raibert asked. He didn’t look any less puzzled.
“It’s impossible for me to say for certain,” Klaus-Wilhelm admitted. “There was a great deal of honest confusion at the time, and even attempts at secrecy. I’ve heard just about every conflicting version you can imagine, and the exact nature of what happened was never made public. But there were rumors—solid ones, from people I know and trust, who aren’t prone to exaggeration—that the security detail was killed by ‘unnatural’ means.”
“Unnatural?” Benjamin asked. “Can you be more specific?”
“Yes, but I honestly never believed it myself until I saw all of this.” He indicated the time machine they were flying in. “Even now I’m not too sure, given how bizarre it seemed. But according to my sources, they were fused with their surroundings.”
“Fused?” Benjamin echoed.
“Corpses halfway imbedded in walls or partially sunk into the ground, their lungs filled solid.”
“I never heard any of that before.” Benjamin scratched the back of his neck. “How about you?”
Elzbietá shook her head.
“I’m not surprised.” Klaus-Wilhelm snorted. “My source said the nature of what happened was suppressed and all evidence destroyed to prevent any sort of ‘supernatural’ connection to Hitler’s fate.”
“And you believe this?” Benjamin pressed.
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m standing in a time machine talking to a grandson who hasn’t been born yet. My capacity to believe the unusual has greatly increased.”
“Okay. Fair point.”
“But still”—Elzbietá shook her head doubtfully—“people sucked into walls?”
“Huh.” Raibert remarked suddenly. He crossed his arms and grimaced at the map.
The rest of them turned and looked at the synthoid.
“Something on your mind?” Benjamin asked.
“Well, it just occurred to me that what he described could have come from a chronoton impeller failure. After all, an impeller allows regular matter to take on a different phase state—namely the weakly interacting properties of chronotons—which allows the time machine to phase through time in the first place. It has the added effect of placing us out of phase with the entire Earth. I mean, we’re phasing through regular matter right now, so it’s not out of the question that, just for argument’s sake, debris from an exploding impeller could have the effect he described.”
Benjamin, Klaus-Wilhelm, and Anton exchanged confused looks.
“A damaged time machine might have killed the security detail,” Elzbietá translated.
“Then why didn’t he say so?” Benjamin asked.
“I did,” Raibert replied.
“Does it really matter how they died?” Benjamin asked. “It’s more important that they shouldn’t have.”
“Agreed,” Klaus-Wilhelm stated. “If your goal is to put the timeline back and save this universe, then the security squad has to be in position to prevent the assassination.”
“Or a group of substitutes,” Elzbietá added, and Anton gave her a curt nod.
“We’ll play whatever role you need us to,” he said, and Benjamin heard the conviction in his voice. Anton and Klaus-Wilhelm might not have understood technically why this particular event in the past needed to be changed, but they didn’t need to. Nor did they seem interested in the details. The attack on the Provisional Residence had told them who they stood beside. The crew of the Kleio had earned their trust, and they accepted the more esoteric aspects of their new mission with the faith of believers forged in the crucible of battle.
“I think that’s going to be necessary,” Raibert said. “If there really was a time drive explosion or something like it, then the timeline in that area has been scarred. It might be impossible to save the security team.”
“Will merely stopping the assassination be enough?” Benjamin asked. “If we’re right, then the security team was supposed to live through this.”
“I know,” Raibert sighed and leaned over the map. “Look, all we can do is get the Event back as close to the original as we can, and that means saving everyone on that train, including the mass-murdering tyrant. If we’re right, that should bring the Event close enough to the original for the Knot to unravel and for the timeline to heal.”
“The sword that cuts the knot,” Benjamin intoned. “I hope you’re right. We’re going to be adding a whole new set of variables just by being there.”
“I know, but my gut tells me this is it. The information we have is as good as it’s going to get, and we’ve already had too many close calls with Shigeki’s goons. It’s time for us to end this.”
“Professor?”
“Yes, what is it, Kleio?”
“I have received a chronoton telegraph addressed to you.”
“You what?”
“Is someone else speaking?” Klaus-Wilhelm asked.
“Oh, right.” Raibert tossed the bag of earbuds onto the table. “There. Take your pick.”
Klaus-Wilhelm peered into the bag, then plucked out a single earbud and scrutinized it.
“You stick them in your ears,” Benjamin said. “Just think of them as very small radios.”
“All right.” Klaus-Wilhelm and Anton inserted the devices.
“Okay, Kleio.” Raibert planted fists on hips. “Now what’s this about a telegraph fo
r me?”
“It is exactly as I said, Professor. I have received a chronoton telegraph addressed to you. The signal appears to have originated upstream of our current coordinates. Possibly from or around the year 1950. More than that, I cannot say.”
“Was it sent from an Admin chronoport?”
“I believe so, Professor.”
“Then how did they suddenly learn SysGov telegraph binary?”
“They did not. The message was sent using Morse code.”
“Huh.” Raibert’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s actually sort of clever of them. Who sent it?”
“The person sending the telegraph is identified as Director Csaba Shigeki.”
“So, Shigeki finally wants to have a chat, huh?” Raibert grinned and rubbed his hands together. “I guess blowing up three of his chronoports got his attention. Well, let’s hear what he has to say. Kleio, synthesize the message into voice, and autotranslate it for our guests.”
“Playing now.”
“Professor Raibert Kaminski of the Consolidated System Government, this is Director Csaba Shigeki of the System Cooperative Administration. I hope you will indulge me for the moment and allow us to set aside those titles, for this is a personal message from one very determined man to another.
“First, I must acknowledge your success in eluding my forces so far. You have frustrated us with your tenacity and ingenuity, and are to be commended for your efforts. But you must also realize that the net we have cast is tightening around you. With each small victory of yours, you shed more light on your intentions, and while you have damaged us, we retain a force of overwhelming power compared to your one, small ship.
“Second, I must also acknowledge why you are fighting us. You truly believe in your cause, and I respect that. You wish to restore your home, your reality, and I could very easily see myself doing the same thing if I were in your position. But I am not. In order for your world to live, mine must die, and that is a result I will not allow.
“Because, Professor, as much as you are fighting to let your SysGov live, I am fighting so that my world, my way of life—indeed, my family—will not die. You are the existential threat to everything I hold dear, and you must realize only one of us will survive this war we are waging across time.
“But there is another way, Professor. Let us acknowledge that we have both suffered. You lost your body, and now I have lost my son. But this needn’t continue. These grievances can be set aside. I showed you mercy before. I spared you from the punishment our laws demanded, and now I offer you mercy once more. More importantly, I offer you peace.
“Cease your attempts to disrupt the timeline and return to the thirtieth century with me, not as a prisoner but as a partner. Let us stop this madness before either of us loses anything or anyone else. With your technology and my resources, surely we can find another way. Surely there must be some solution to this problem where both our worlds can survive. We have over a thousand years to find it, after all.
“I ask you, sincerely, to give my offer serious consideration. This conflict of ours need not end badly. I await your response.”
“Message ends, Professor,” Kleio said.
The occupants of the bridge looked around at one another.
“That was unexpected,” Elzbietá said quietly.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Raibert replied.
Doubt suddenly gnawed at Benjamin’s mind, and he wondered if, just perhaps, there really was another way. If they succeeded, Elzbietá wouldn’t exist anymore. He’d thought he’d come to terms with that—win or lose, she wouldn’t be there to know it—but Shigeki’s words filled him with doubt. What if that didn’t have to be?
Even Raibert seemed to be having a similar moment of reflection brought on by the unexpected olive branch. It was a dubious olive branch to be sure, and one that brought with it tremendous risk, but shouldn’t they at least consider it? Everyone on the bridge seemed to be thinking the same thing, or at the very least considering it.
Everyone, that was, except for Graf Klaus-Wilhelm von Schröder.
“Was that from the bastard in charge?” asked the man who had just lost his wife and three of his four children.
“Yes, sir,” Benjamin said. “That’s him.”
“Good.” He smiled without joy. “Then in that case, I have a few words I’d like to share with him.”
*
“Telegraph incoming from Pathfinder-2. They relayed it from a source downstream. Looks like it’s a response from the TTV, Director.”
“That certainly was quick,” Durantt commented.
“Let’s have it.” Shigeki inhaled deeply and waited.
“Sir…” the telegraph operator began. “Uhh, sir? I’m not sure how to read this.”
“Then show me.”
“Yes, sir.”
The message appeared in his virtual vision and read: Fick Dich und das Pferd, auf dem Du her geritten bist.
“What the hell am I looking at?” Shigeki demanded.
“Unknown, sir. It appears to be gibberish.”
“Vassal?”
“Director, the message is written in a form of German consistent with the twentieth century.”
“Can you translate?”
“Yes, Director.”
“Then what does it say?”
“‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,’” Vassal read with deadpan delivery.
Shigeki sucked in a sharp breath. Captain Durantt and the rest of the bridge crew didn’t say a word, though a few of them turned in their seats to catch a glimpse of his reaction.
“Well,” he finally said after a long, fuming silence. “Then that’s that. Can you trace the signal’s origin?”
“I have the raw chronometrics from Pathfinder-2, but it appears that a layer of noise has been added to the signal to mask the point of origin. This suggests a very fine level of control of the telegraph’s—”
“Yes yes, thank you. That will be all.”
“Orders, sir?” Durantt asked.
“My orders remain the same, Captain. The next time we spot his ship, we gather our full force and crush him.”
*
“Here’s the gear we’ll be using.” Benjamin gestured across tables laden with trench coats, shirts, trousers, boots, gloves, gas masks, helmets, submachine guns, grenades, magazines, and one Panzerschreck rocket launcher. Everyone had gathered next to the Kleio’s printers to arm up for the coming battle.
Klaus-Wilhelm picked up one of the black SS trench coats.
“You know,” he said softly. “I’ve killed a lot of people wearing these. It’ll feel strange putting one on.”
“I can certainly understand that, sir,” Benjamin said.
“It was uncomfortable then, too.” He rubbed his thumb over the runic lightning bolts on the collar. “I was a supporter of Hitler’s before the war, much to the disappointment of my parents. They never thought much of the ‘Austrian corporal.’ I always found Nazi populism—and especially their anti-Semitism—repugnant, but I also grew up in a humiliated, impotent nation torn apart by civil strife. Hitler’s promise to restore domestic peace and rebuild Germany to its rightful place in the world…appealed strongly to me.”
“You weren’t the only one, sir. And you never hid that from your children or your grandchildren.” Klaus-Wilhelm looked at him sharply, and Benjamin looked back steadily. “I know exactly when you recognized how wrong you’d been…and in both of ‘my’ universes, you took a stand against it. Not only that, you taught your son and your daughters and your grandson”—their eyes locked—“to stand for what they believed in. What they knew was right. At the end of the day, that’s not so bad a legacy, Großvater.”
Klaus-Wilhelm looked at him for several seconds, then exhaled.
“Perhaps I wasn’t so bad a fellow after all, if I could raise a grandson like you,” he said softly, and squeezed Benjamin’s shoulder for just a moment. Then he drew a deep breath.
“I take it these aren�
�t like the originals,” he said in a brisker tone, holding up the trench coat.
“They’re not,” Benjamin agreed with a thin smile. “They’re camouflaged body armor.”
“The uniforms have a prog-steel weave inside,” Elzbietá continued. “Think of it like a flak jacket, only much, much better. Gloves and boots, too. The helmets have a solid prog-steel layer underneath. Even if you’re hit and the armor is damaged, it can adapt and repair itself.”
“These gas masks look a little different from the ones I remember,” Klaus-Wilhelm observed, setting the coat down. “The front is the same, but the rest doesn’t match.”
“We made a conscious decision to change that.” Elzbietá picked up one of the masks. “Admin drones and special operators have very accurate weapons controlled by sophisticated sensors. We’re pretty sure they’ll be able to pick up the armor under the uniforms, and if there’s a chink in the defenses, they can see it—and hit it—at extremely long ranges, so we extended the gas masks to include hoods to protect the back of the head and neck. Every part of it has an armor weave, and yes, as an added bonus, it still serves as a gas mask.”
“Remember, if the Admin shows up, gas masks go on,” Benjamin said. “There’s no point wearing all this armor if your face and head are exposed.”
“But we still have to fight back,” Anton protested. “I’ve always had trouble shooting with one of those on.”
“Not with my design, you won’t.” Elzbietá handed him one. “Try it.”
Anton frowned at the mask, then fitted the hood over his head and pulled the goggles and respirator into place.
“What? But I can see perfectly out of this!” He waved his hand in front of his face, then around to parts where a traditional gas mask obstructed his field of vision. “I can see right through the mask!”
“We equipped each mask with what you can think of as a camera and color television to allow you to see normally out of them.”
“There’s a camera and a television inside each mask?” Anton peeled it off and turned it around in his hands.
“And radios, too,” Elzbietá added.
“But where are they? And how are they so light?”
