Frasier opened Moms’s folder, flipping and scanning pages until he found what Dane referred to. “Interesting. I don’t believe we’ve had a direct connection like that in any previous mission.”

  “Which means,” Dane said, “that the Shadow might be attacking us as much as the timeline on that mission.” He scrawled Moms’s name next to the mission. “She’ll deal with it.”

  “A moment, sir,” Frasier said.

  “What?”

  “Why have me in this room if I’m to have no input? Am I simply a formality?”

  “If you have something to say,” Dane said, “then say it.”

  “When it comes to family, Moms’s normal parameters of action are not as solid as they usually are. She avenged her mother with an unsanctioned killing not very long ago. Trying to escape the ghosts of her past, which stretch farther back than her mother, obviously.” He indicated the folder. “Now, we’re sending her on a mission directly into the ghosts of her past.”

  “She’ll deal with it,” Dane repeated.

  Frasier held up a finger. “But. If one of the Shadow’s goals of this mission is to attack Moms, perhaps we should send someone else.”

  “Then we could lose two agents, instead of one,” Dane said. “I’d like to keep damage to the team at a minimum.”

  Frasier had been in the covert world long enough to understand that cold calculus.

  “Also,” Dane said, “two other missions involve direct loops into our small world of the Time Patrol. Very unusual.” He held up the mission sheet. “Nine A.D. Do you have a suggestion?”

  Frasier knew when he was being thrown a bone. “Roland, of course.”

  Dane was hesitant. “This battle was a major event. Stopped the Roman Empire. Change the course of the Roman Empire, and you change western civilization. And that was really the beginning of merging the tribes that would eventually become Germany. And Germany—” He left the obvious unsaid. “We assume because it’s a battle that a fighter is needed, and Roland is our best. But the Shadow is rarely this direct. The easiest way to influence a battle is to influence the leaders. Also, we must bear in mind the old adage that for lack of a nail, the shoe was lost. Roland is not known for picking up the subtle, i.e., the missing nail.”

  “There’s no further intelligence on that bubble?” Frasier asked. “The battle lasted a couple of days. Is the bubble on the front end? The middle? The end?”

  “Nothing further,” Dane said.

  “Roland did pretty well on the Odoacer mission,” Frasier said, “and that was full of political intrigue. Unlike modern politics, in ancient times, such matters usually ended up being resolved by the sword.”

  “If only that were still true,” Dane muttered. “I’d like to send Roland on the Two Thousand-Twelve mission, since it’s his forte, but we have no choice on that one.”

  Frasier frowned at the mission sheet. “I don’t understand this one in Two Thousand-Twelve.”

  “We’ll get to it,” Dane said. “And, by process of deduction from the other missions, Roland is actually the most logical candidate for the Nine A.D. mission. It’s interesting that the closest he’s come to our own time is Gettysburg. Roland is, perhaps, an anachronism of our time?” He phrased it as a question, but Frasier didn’t take it as a question. Dane wrote the name next to the mission.

  “Seventeen-Seventy-Six,” Dane said. “Suggestion?”

  “Doc,” Frasier said. “He went to the same year on the last mission. And he’ll run into a couple of the same people on that. Franklin and Adams. Of course, that could be problematic. They might wonder at his appearing again. And his disappearing on the last one.”

  “They might,” Dane acknowledged.

  “Have I done something to piss you off?” Frasier asked.

  “You think I’m pissed?” Dane said. “Is that your professional assessment?”

  “It’s my professional and personal assessment,” Frasier said.

  “Why were you watching Lara? Why were you in the team bunk room?”

  “She’s an anomaly,” Frasier said. “The few notes we can read from her file indicate her dreams are the key to understanding her.”

  “So, you thought you’d figure something out by being a voyeur?”

  “You won’t let me talk to her,” Frasier said. “How can I help you assess her capabilities if I do nothing?” He indicated the thinnest of the folders. “We don’t know much about her, other than the fact the Russians foisted her on us. She was born here in America. How the Russians even got her, we don’t know. Where she was before that, we don’t know.”

  “What good did watching her sleep do?” Dane demanded.

  Frasier pointed at his artificial eye. “I don’t think she was actually sleeping while I was watching her. She was very agitated. Her pulse was rapid. Yet her body temperature dropped significantly, almost two degrees. There was rapid eye movement. I’ve seen people sleeping. Even having nightmares. This was different.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “I don’t know,” Frasier said. “I need to do some research on what I saw.”

  Dane was quiet for a few moments. “All right. When we’re done here, you go to the present and research.”

  Frasier nodded.

  “Doc gets Seventeen-Seventy-Six,” Dane said, writing his name in then moving on. “Nineteen Seventy-Three,” Dane said. “That’s a curious one.”

  “There is some speculation,” Frasier said, “that Al-Qaeda chose the Eleventh of September in Two Thousand and One because of what happened in ‘Seventy-Three. It’s been argued that the coup in Chile was instigated by the CIA. We only have Ivar and Scout left,” Frasier pointed out. “Unless you’re considering Lara operational?”

  “She went to the Space Between,” Dane said. “Do you not consider that a mission?”

  “I meant travel in time,” Frasier said. “Earhart was with her in the Space Between. Is Lara ready?”

  “No one is ready to travel in time,” Dane said. “It’s the nature of the problem. But Lara is here for a very different reason. So it’s Scout or Ivar. And Scout has to take the next mission.”

  “Why is Lara here?” Frasier asked.

  “You don’t have a need to know,” Dane said.

  Frasier grimaced, then changed the subject. “Doc and Ivar have been having theoretical debates without any solid progress and—”

  “You’ve been eavesdropping on them, too?”

  “It’s my job,” Frasier said. “It’s why you brought me here. To evaluate personnel. I don’t think they trust us.”

  “They’d be stupid if they did,” Dane said. “No good covert operative trusts. Are you trying to shake my faith in them by bringing this up, or retaliating about your lack of need to know?”

  “I’m just informing you,” Frasier said stiffly. “That’s my job.”

  “Ivar gets Nineteen-Seventy-Three,” Dane said. He put his pencil down. “We’re done.”

  “Wait a second,” Frasier said. “We haven’t covered the last mission. Two Thousand and Twelve.”

  “It’s Scout’s,” Dane said. “There’s nothing to cover.”

  “But I don’t understand it,” Frasier said.

  “I don’t, either,” Dane replied, “but it is what it is.”

  Frasier took the dismissal for what it was and quickly departed.

  A few seconds later, one of the other doors opened, and Neeley came in.

  “How is Hannah?” Dane asked.

  Neeley sat across from him. “She sends her greetings and desires to know what you want. Why am I here?”

  Dane’s answer was simple. “There’s another scroll.”

  The Mission Briefing

  MOMS WAS THE FIRST into the Team Room, wearing woolen blue trousers, a loose, darker blue shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She was heavily armed, carrying an 1853 Enfield muzzle-loading rifle-musket, a Colt 1851 revolver in a leather holster on her belt, and a Model 1840 Cavalry saber in a scabbard. An ammunition pouch hung on a leather strap over one shoulder.

  She barely had time to lay the rifle down and unfasten the belt to put saber and pistol on the table, when Eagle joined her. He wore a gray-green flight suit with a woodland pattern survival vest over it and carried a white flight helmet.

  “That should make you happy,” Moms said. “You get to be in the cockpit.”

  “Except it’s Russian gear,” Eagle said. “Do I look Russian?”

  Moms pointed at the nametag. “It says you’re a Major from Ethiopia. They fly Russian jets.”

  Eagle granted that. “True. But I have a bad feeling about this.” He noted her weaponry. “Civil War, maybe. But the uniform isn’t quite right, although at the beginning of the war, there were a lot of variations, so—”

  “I know,” Moms said. “I’d say your guess is as good as mine, but it’s probably better. Dane will tell us soon enough. It beats my last get–up.”

  “Your clothing is early- to mid-nineteenth century,” Eagle said. “I’m obviously more modern.”

  “I had them hurry with my outfit,” Moms said, “because I wanted to get in here before the rest of the team. Make sure they all see the board.”

  Eagle nodded. “It’s tough to wrap our brains around this. Seeing it helps.”

  Doc entered. “I’m going some time close to my last mission,” he said as he shut the door behind him. He wore breeches, stockings, waistcoat, coat, and cravat, and carried a tricorne hat.

  “Looks the same,” Moms agreed.

  “It is the same outfit,” Doc said. “You think they’ll realize there weren’t many Indian colonists back then? My cover story was weak at best in Philadelphia.” He looked at the board. “Interesting. The big picture. Ivar and I are looking at it differently, trying to find the connections between the missions. Of course, the connections run through what you’ve done here. We’d need to run a three-D computer simulation at the very least.”

  Scout came in, dressed for combat in relatively modern gear. Black fatigues, black MOLLE vest, loaded with an assortment of ammunition. She had an MK23 MOD-O .45 caliber pistol in a thigh holster. She carried an Accuracy International L96A1 sniper rifle. A Vietnam–era M-79 grenade launcher hung from the vest on a snap link. She dropped a rucksack that appeared quite heavy onto the floor. There was a distinct thunk from something metallic inside it.

  “I don’t know how you guys carry all this crap,” she said. “It weighs a ton.”

  “Oh!” Moms was surprised, a rarity, followed by a flash of concern she always felt for her team, but rarely showed.

  “I think Dane’s lost his marbles,” Scout said. “This is more Roland’s gig.”

  Moms looked over Scout’s equipment. She made a few adjustments on the combat vest, tightening here, shifting there. “Jump up and down,” Moms said.

  Scout had been through the drill in her training. She hopped.

  “Good,” Moms said, approving the lack of noise. But there was a worried line on her forehead. “No insignia. A strange mixture of weapons. The rifle is British, and—”

  “And Roland will give me its entire history,” Scout said.

  “But the MK is more recent.” Moms was trying to sort it out. “The thumper, though, is—”

  “‘Thumper?’” Scout repeated.

  Moms tapped the grenade launcher. “That’s Vietnam–era. This is a weird combination. The vest is more recent than the weapons. No insignia or rank. I don’t like this.”

  “I’m not too thrilled, either,” Scout said, “but at least I shouldn’t see Pandora, and I’m not going back to Ancient Greece again. A silver lining.”

  The door opened and Ivar came in, also in uniform. Olive drab fatigues, a pistol in a holster on his hip, a black beret on his head. He indicated his clothing. “Cuban. A captain in the Army. Why am I going to Cuba?”

  “Why are any of us going anywhere?” Moms asked. “We’ll find out shortly.”

  Roland stomped in wearing leather armor and a bear cloak, carrying a large battle axe, a big smile on his face.

  “Do you realize,” Scout asked him, “that you’ve had a weapon for every mission?”

  “Cool, isn’t it?” Roland said.

  “Yeah, cool,” Scout said, shaking her head.

  Roland noted Scout. “That’s some intense weaponry you’ve got there. The rifle—” He frowned. “It’s not the latest, but it’s really good. You know—”

  He was interrupted by Moms. “Pay attention,” she said, now that she had the entire team. She pointed at the board. “Eagle and I were trying to make some sense out of all this. Put the pieces in some sort of coherent order. What do you all think of what we’ve done?”

  “Atlantis is part of our timeline,” Ivar said. “Not sure it needs to separate from the Time Patrol. We’re a result of it.”

  Roland’s forehead furrowed, the most recent scar burning bright red. He kept glancing at Scout, obviously troubled.

  “And we can only take Dane’s word on the Ones Before,” Doc noted. “None of us have had any contact with whoever or whatever they are.”

  “Good point,” Moms said. “What else?”

  “What do these lines mean?” Roland asked, indicating the ones going from Other Timelines to Legion, Diana/Bow and Spartan Mercenaries.

  Moms answered. “We suspect all three might be timelines separate from that of the Shadow.”

  “There are an infinite number of parallel timelines,” Doc said. “The problem is, we don’t know the starting point. We thought it was the destruction of Atlantis, but Moms’s mission into pre-history, before the destruction of Atlantis, negates that.”

  “I want everyone to pay more attention on this mission,” Moms said, “to anomalies. Any sightings of any of this,”—She tapped the board—“we need to know more about. Dig for more information if you can.” She looked at each of the team members. “Of course, the priority is the mission and staying alive. But we need more intelligence. More data, as Doc would say.”

  “If—” Doc began, but one of the doors opened.

  They all turned, expecting Dane and Edith, arriving to brief them, but it was Lara. She wore the standard gray jumpsuit worn by almost everyone in the Possibility Palace.

  “I didn’t think you were being given a mission,” Moms said.

  “Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere,” Lara agreed, “but when you left me in the prep area, someone took me aside for a little while, and I just sat there. Then they told me to come here.”

  “Maybe she’s going to the Space Between again,” Scout wondered.

  Lara shrugged. “Whatever.” She looked at the board. “Far out. I don’t know what some of those are, but it looks pretty wild.”

  Moms pointed at the board. “These are some of the—” She stopped as a door opened, and Dane came in with Edith right behind him, carrying her leather satchel. She smiled at Eagle, no longer pretending.

  Dane perused the Op-Board. “About as much as anyone knows,” he said.

  “Are the Ones Before the Fates?” Eagle asked.

  Dane shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. They’re part of the legend coming out of Atlantis, that the Ones Before gave Atlantis the information it needed to stop the Shadow from destroying the world. Sin Fen picks up their messages as best she can. More of an impression, and rather infrequent. Last one we had was to have Scout get that sphere map at the Battle of Thermopylae and pass it on. That was three missions ago. Nothing since then.” He nodded at the diagram. “Under Other Timelines, there could be an infinite number of worlds.”

  “We’re concerned right now about the ones we’ve run into,” Moms said. “The ones who’ve come to our timeline.”

  “Which brings up an interesting point,” Doc said. “How do they get here?”

  “We assume via the Space Between,” Dane said.

  “I thought that was only for travel between timelines,” Doc said, “not traveling back in time. Does the Shadow use the Space Between to punch its bubbles into our timeline?”

  “If we knew how the Shadow did it,” Dane said, “we might be able to stop them.” He grabbed an eraser then moved to wipe the Op-Board clear.

  “Whoa,” Eagle said. “That’s ours. This is our team room.”

  The eraser hovered over the surface of the board for a few seconds before Dane put it down. “All right.” He went to the door then stuck his head out, shouting something. A few seconds later, another blackboard was rolled in.

  “High-tech,” Ivar muttered.

  “Why don’t we use PowerPoint or computers?” Doc asked.

  “We don’t,” Dane said.

  “That’s not an answer,” Moms replied.

  “Those systems can fail,” Dane said. “They can be infiltrated. One of our priorities is to be as secure as possible from infiltration by the Shadow.”

  “Has the Shadow ever infiltrated the Possibility Palace?” Eagle asked.

  “Not this one,” Dane said.

  “Yo,” Scout interrupted. “Stupid question, but what is this place? I mean, we’ve all been here a while, and we don’t know where it is, when it is, or even what it is. Who built it? And saying ‘not this one’ means there are others.”

  Dane held up his hands. “We don’t have time to get into that right now, and I couldn’t answer most of your questions, anyway. It is what it is. Can we focus on the mission?”

  “Date?” Moms asked him.

  “Eleven September.”

  That brought a few moments of silence.

  “Nine Eleven,” Moms said. “Is Two Thousand and One one of the missions?”

  “Yes,” Dane said. “Eagle, that’s yours.”

  Eagle shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. If I have to allow those planes to fly into the Towers or the Pentagon, or the one where those brave people stopped—”

  “None of that,” Dane said. “None of it. Look at your uniform. You’re going nowhere close to the United States. What you’re doing on that day isn’t connected to the terrorist attacks, so let’s start there.” He turned to the new board and wrote:

  11 September 2001, Barents Sea Russia.

  “Russia?” Moms asked. “Why not New York or the Pentagon?”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22