Time Travel Omnibus, page 919
Fortunately, Pam was better armed than I and also a good shot. Psycho-blonde’s wrist snapped back at an odd angle and her weapon flew away as Pam’s shot hit. I jumped up to run forward as Pam pumped out a couple of more shots, but psycho-blonde evaded both by a stunning display of speed as she leaped at Pam. Pam’s gun also flew away as the two women grappled. Despite psycho-blonde’s bleeding and apparently broken wrist, Pam barely held her own while I watched for an opening.
Pam finally got in a good slam at psycho-blonde’s wrist, generating pain even the Aryan berserker couldn’t shake off. In the momentary lull, I shoved my finger against psycho-blonde’s back and fired the tranq crystal into her.
After that it was only a matter of keeping her from killing Pam and me until the tranq knocked her out. That was easier said than done, but eventually we found ourselves looking down at our unconscious foe, breathing heavily and trying to ignore all the places where we’d been battered. “Based on how she killed all those soldiers,” Pam gasped, “I guessed she’d be so focused on killing you that she’d ignore me for long enough.”
“You don’t know how glad I am that you were right,” I wheezed back.
“Why don’t you carry a more effective tranq weapon?”
“It’s effective enough to drop a mammoth within seconds!”
Pam shook her head, looking down at the blonde. “But it took a few minutes to take her down. I wonder what her genetic profile looks like.”
“I don’t want to know.” Nazi genetic engineering wasn’t a scenario I liked contemplating.
“We need rope in case she comes to.”
“Rope, hell. There’s some chain back where I was hiding.”
The chain wouldn’t have sufficed to hold a battleship at anchor, but we wrapped it around psycho-blonde as many times as we could, interweaving the wraps so she wouldn’t be able to just shrug it off.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too hard to find the device psycho-blonde had been guarding. Outside, it looked like a small Here and Now trunk. But the energy it was giving off led our assistants to it easily. We checked for booby-traps, then cautiously opened the lid and saw a control panel far too sophisticated to be local work. “Jeannie, what is this thing?”
“The device before you is transmitting a continuous encrypted signal.”
“Can you break the encryption?”
“No. Not with available resources.”
I turned to Pam. “My assistant can’t break the signal.”
Pam nodded and smiled. “Mine can.”
So Pam’s assistant was more capable than mine. I hadn’t really had time to think about When she was from, but it was now apparent she lived uptime from me. Not too far uptime, I hoped. “Should we shut it off?” I asked.
“No. If we just did that, the asteroid would probably continue on its last heading and still cause a lot of damage even it didn’t hit the city. My assistant thinks she can alter the homing signal parameters, though, and . . . ah! She’s found the atmospheric entry command sequence.”
“Has it activated?”
“Not yet.”
“If we can cancel the maneuver—”
“No! The rock will still reenter and we’ll have no idea where it’d impact.” Pam stared at me. “Trust me.”
“But . . . okay.” It sounded like Pam was going to try to make the object enter earlier than planned. It’d come from the east, Pam had told me, so that meant the new trajectory would bring it down somewhere east of England. What was east of London in 1908? Europe. Heavily populated even then. Then Russia. Or the Russian Empire, rather, in 1908 CE.
Pam seemed to be sweating as her assistant worked silently to alter the space object’s destination. Jeannie and I waited. I watched Pam’s face for any sign of how her attempt to alter the asteroid’s path was working, but couldn’t see any clues there. I found myself looking outward, wondering if I’d see the incandescent path of the space object heading for London.
A light blinked off on the device. Then another. Pam drew a long, deep breath. “It’s coming down early.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere in a region called Siberia.” She shot me an aggrieved look even though I hadn’t said anything. “I couldn’t stop it and I can’t achieve a precise target area without a homing device like this there, so I aimed it for the emptiest place I could. Siberia seems the best chance we have to minimize the death and destruction this intervention will cause.”
I nodded, realized it’d been a while since I’d breathed, and inhaled deeply. “Siberia is one of the least populated regions on Earth right Now.”
“Yes.” Pam sagged with reaction as the tension fell out of her. “When we get back to our own Here and Nows, there’ll no doubt be mention of a big explosion in Siberia on,” she paused to check the date, “30 June, 1908 CE. Hopefully in the middle of nowhere.”
I grinned. “I wonder to what they’ll attribute the good fortune of it hitting in the middle of nowhere?”
“The usual, I’m sure. Accident or chance or luck. The standard way of explaining something when they don’t really know the answer.”
“If they didn’t explain things away like that, our job would be a lot harder.”
“True.” We heard a strangled sound, and both looked toward where we’d left psycho-blonde. The killer was snarling soundlessly at us, having recovered from the tranq with amazing speed. “What should we do with her?” Pam wondered.
“If they don’t manage another counter-intervention, she should loop out any time now when the future that created her ceases to exist.”
“Yeah, but how long will that take?” Metal clanked on the heels of Pam’s question, and as we watched, the loops of chain that had been wrapped about psycho-blonde collapsed into the vacant space she’d once occupied. “I think the fat lady just sang. How’s it feel to know you’ve saved London?”
“Right now it still hurts. Too bad the bruises that woman inflicted didn’t vanish along with her.” I stared at the pile of chain. “I wonder what kind of person she’ll be with a different history? Maybe not too bad.”
“Are you planning on looking her up?”
“No way. I think I’m going to be a little wary of blondes for a while.” I suddenly noticed shouting outside. “I think all the gunplay has attracted too much attention.” I went to what must have been the same point where psycho-blonde had been firing from and looked downward. People who had cause to be about in the very early hours of the morning were gathering around the bodies of the dead soldiers, examining them and speaking in indistinct but clearly excited voices. “We’d better get out of here.”
“Not without this.” Pam indicated the now-silent device. Unlike psycho-blonde, it’d been put here by a history that still existed. “I hope it’s not too heavy.” She tried to raise it, then grinned with relief as it came up easily. “Not bad at all. I can handle it alone. Let’s go before anyone realizes the shots came from here.”
“Wait.” I checked to make sure psycho-blonde’s weapon had vanished along with her. Sometimes the strangest things get left behind even after the reason for their existing had looped out. But that’s another story. “Where’s your gun?”
Pam smiled. “Already on me. But thanks for thinking of that. Now let’s go.”
Pam and I ran again, this time out of the observatory. Once at the door, we slackened our pace to a walk, moving nonchalantly away from the growing crowd around the remains of His Majesty’s brave military men. I felt sick again, even though I knew that because of historical circumstances their deaths Here and Now wouldn’t even be a drop in the tides of history. Odds were that all of those soldiers would have died anyway within a few years, between 1914 and 1918.
Or during the influenza epidemic that started in 1918. But that’s also another story and not one I like remembering. Then my shoeless foot hit a stone and another pain occupied my attention.
We soon entered a built-up area where the streets meandered past still-closed shops and pubs. I wondered what the local time was, thinking it must be getting close to dawn. Pam finally paused and set down the trunk. “It’s high time we jumped out of here. The local cops are going to be looking for anyone who might know anything about those dead men. And as long as this homing device is still Here and Now, there’s a chance someone might try to retrieve it. Do you want it?”
I had Jeannie calculate the cost of jumping that extra mass uptime and winced. “Not unless you don’t want it.”
“Okay. I think I know some people who’ll give me a few bucks for it.” She smiled and offered her hand. “Nice working with you.”
“Likewise.” We shook hands, then I gathered my courage. “Pam, what would you think about getting together on a non-business basis?”
“I’d like that.” She named a date about a century uptime from me, and then saw my expression. “Are you up or down from that?”
“Down.” I named my own date and Pam had the grace to look disappointed. There are expensive get-togethers, and then there’s going on jumps for get-togethers, which only the incredibly rich and idle can afford. I didn’t fit either category.
“Well, maybe something will work out,” Pam offered. “Come up and see me sometime.”
“If I can, I will.”
“Too bad we can’t see the sites of London together. Thanks again for the help. And the company. See you around.” Pam smiled, blew me a kiss, and then jumped uptime, leaving me gazing at the empty place on the sidewalk where she’d been.
I checked in my pockets, confirming that my stash of ill-gotten cash had dwindled to a few small coins I suspected even beggars would turn up their noses at. Both of my feet hurt from running on cobblestones and the occasional tree trunk or rock.
There I stood in Edwardian London, with no money, no girl, and no shoes, doubtless being sought at this moment by numerous Sherlock Holmes-wannabes from Scotland Yard. Hail the conquering hero.
“Jeannie, prepare the jump back home.” Maybe I’d be able to hit up my friends for contributions to pay for my trip here and back. Bill sure as heck owed me some, but professors didn’t tend to have large bank accounts and he might not even remember the entire incident. “And look up any organizations that might give me some sort of reward for saving London and ensuring Hitler’s defeat. That ought to be worth something.”
“You will have to convince them that the history they know is the result of your intervention,” Jeannie reminded me.
“I know. Hopefully they’ll accept your files on this trip.” When you’re a temporal interventionist, history is what you make of it, but you usually don’t make enough from making history. I faced east, where a gradual lightening of the night sky foretold the Sun still rising on the British Empire. “Let’s go home, Jeannie.”
SCREAM QUIETLY
Sheila Crosby
Oaklands,
Cathedral Rise,
Lincolnshire, England
7th July, 1849
My Dearest Joanne,
Sweet sister, my husband grows more violent. Little Julian greatly admired the wooden horse you sent for his first birthday, and he gave me a wonderful present, by taking his first steps! Naturally I was delighted, but then he tripped, fell, and wept a little. I thought them very few tears for the lump on his head, but in an instant George charged upstairs to us. He knocked Julian out of my arms entirely, roaring that a man had a right to peace in his own home. And does Julian have no right to peace in his house? I will not say “home”; this has never been a home to either of us. Of course, Julian screamed (which at the time I believed to be largely from terror) and George picked him up by one arm and flung him into a wardrobe, locking the door and pocketing the key. Julian was abruptly silent, which terrified me.
Naturally I protested.
George pushed his face within an inch of mine and screamed, “I will not have my son mollycoddled like a baby!”
I replied, “But he is twelve months old. It is natural that he should cry when he falls.”
“Then he must learn, I tell you!” shouted George with his face growing ever redder. I thought he would have apoplexy.
“George, release him! Give me the key.”
He made to go, and I stood in front of him. “The key, George. I beg you.” Perhaps you will think it rash, and indeed I was terrified, but I was desperate to rescue my child.
He pushed me violently, and I fell over the alphabet blocks. I managed not to scream, so the neighbours will have no cause for gossip this time.
“You brought it on yourself,” said George, and quit the house.
He was drunk, of course, and it was not yet ten in the morning. At least on this occasion the bruises do not show, being entirely on my back.
Lucy helped me to my feet, with many a “Poor Madam!” and “Lord have mercy!” and we surveyed the wardrobe. To my inexpressible relief, poor Julian started to whimper within.
At length I said, “The hinges are inside. I believe we must send for a locksmith, Lucy. Julian may need the apothecary for his hurts.”
Lucy bit her lip shuffled her feet. “Please, Ma’am. I think I might open it,” and she did so, using my fine crochet hook. You may imagine my severe disquiet over a maid who can pick locks, but at the same time, I am very grateful to her.
Julian was severely concussed his collar bone was broken. The apothecary bound his arm while the collar bone heals. He suspects that the skull may have a small fracture, and recommends that he stay abed for at least a week. You know my son. Do you believe I can keep him confined for a week?
George will doubtless be most repentant when he comes home. He blames the drink, but will not stop drinking. Oh, it is a bitter thing to be owned as a slave is owned!
I have walked around the room to calm myself a little. It is true that my lot is far better than a slave. Whatever else I may have to bear, I am well fed clothed, and nobody requires sixteen hours of hard labour from me each day, merely a vast amount of fawning cringing. I still wish most fervently that George had no part in such a cruel and illegal trade, but George sees no difference between carrying slaves to America in his ships and carrying bolts of cloth home. I confess, I should be delighted were the West Africa Squadron to capture one of his clippers and free the slaves, though George should be ruined, and I with him.
Well, I have a little lighter news also. Do you remember Mary Dunn at school? She is Mary Bassom now, having married a farmer, and lives in Yorkshire. You probably remember her as I do, a good-hearted girl, but solemn unimaginative. We have corresponded since we left Miss Bainbridge’s Academy, although I do not open my heart to her as I do to you. In her last letter, she assures me that she has recently had visits from faeries! Can you credit it? I confess, I know not what to think, unless she has left her wits. Her letter seemed rational and collected enough. At any event, she says her fey guests do not speak English, but German, and are clearly anxious to communicate something. Since I was so very clever at foreign languages, she says, would I do her the kindness of visiting? Though I cannot conceive that faeries (if faeries they be!) would speak German, I should cheerfully live in Newgate jail to escape George for a while. (My Dear, that is not a hint. I am perfectly aware that your employers consider it unthinkable for a governess to have visitors, and my thoughts are with you, always. Alas, I should find your company very much more congenial than Mary’s. Doubtless I shall hear a good more than I care for about what the baker’s wife’s second cousin said to the haberdashery assistant’s sister on Thursday. Or was it Wednesday?)
I shall use all my charm to persuade George to permit this visit, as soon as possible, even though Julian is scarcely fit to travel. At some wayside inn he would be safe from violence, if not from bedbugs.
Your loving sister,
Sophie
The Nag’s Head Inn,
Nether Grassmeade,
Lincolnshire, England
8th July, evening
My Dearest Joanne,
My circumstances are greatly altered and Julian I left for Windscour Farm this morning. I have explained to everyone that George is travelling on business and I do not expect his return in the near future. Would that I could write more! But all explanations must wait.
As we entered the coach, a gentlewoman of middle years approached and called me by name. I thought her familiar, but could not place her at all. At all events, she looked deep into my eyes and said, “All will turn out for the best, my dear. But you will need all your courage.”
Would that I could believe her! And yet I cannot forget her either.
Your loving sister,
Sophie
Windscour Farm,
Otley,
W. Yorkshire, England
14th July, 1849
My Dear Joanne,
The journey was less dreadful than I expected. We brought our own sheets, and travelled but twenty miles each day. I had expected Julian to be a sore trial, confined for so many hours each day to the jolting coach, but he was enchanted with the changing view, and when he tired of that, Lucy I sang to him and he would sleep. At each inn they immediately ascribed his hurts to an upset of the coach, and couldn’t do enough for him. Poor Frank came in for a good deal of scolding from innkeepers’ wives for his supposed reckless driving. He nobly forbore from telling otherwise.
On arrival, we bathed, of course, and after some bread milk, I left Julian sleeping under Lucy’s watchful eye, while I went to take tea with Mary. She was most concerned about Julian, and recommended that I find a new coachman. In justice to Frank, I had to tell her that Julian came by his wounds before our journey began. Then she was horrified that I subjected the child to a journey in such a condition, whereupon the whole story of my marriage came out. Mary Mr Bassom were loud in their sympathy, and warm in their offer of a refuge here as long as possible. In short, until George positively insists on my return. Mr Bassom opined that the law is unjust to women, that it is unreasonable that George may do anything to Julian I short of murder. “A woman is not a pair of boots, and should not be treated thus!” he said.
