“They’re your brains,” the chron-op replied.
“I doubt I have that many left, anyway.” He gave his assistant a sidelong look. “What keeps TPB from knowing I’m here?”
“As far as they’re concerned, you’re Mr. Hopkins. At least, that’s what your interface is telling them.”
“Well done.”
Theo took a couple of steps, managed to find his balance, and then followed his assistant out of the chronsole room.
“Any sign of Harter?” Fulham shook head. “How about Alegria? How’s she holding up?”
“Your sister is doing just fine. Anytime TPB pulls another legal stunt, she just bats it back in their court.”
“Never play poker with her, Fulham. She’ll clean you out every time.”
“Thank you for the warning, sir. Might I suggest you visit Guv’s physician? You look awful.”
Theo rubbed his temples, trying to ease the constant headache. “It’s just lag. It’ll resolve.”
His assistant fixed him with a frown. “Oddly enough, I have heard that same comment from Miss Lassiter. You do remember what happened to her?”
Yes, I do.
Three serious Guv agents, all in their wormhole-black suits took over escort duties. He was herded to a small meeting room. Sitting in one of the ergo chairs, hands folded over her ample chest, was M.A. Fletcher, formerly a member of the Time Protocol Board. Her fiery red hair was highlighted by the glow of the recessed lights.
An acknowledged genius at miniaturization, it was joked that if you gave Fletcher a two hundred-story skyscraper, in an hour you’d have something that would fit in your pocket. In reality, her talents lay in nano technology, but it made a good story nonetheless.
Fletcher greeted him with a nod, which he returned. “Been awhile, Morrisey. You look like death warmed over.”
“Been traveling.” Gingerly, he settled into a chair. For some reason all his bones ached.
“So Klein said. What’s it like?”
“Tiring, exhilarating. Frightening.”
Fletcher gave a knowing nod. “Frankly, I’m surprised they got you out from behind your computer.”
“Blame it on the Restricted Force Warrant. I stay here I’m in jail, so I figured it was time to experience the monster I created.”
A wry chuckle. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to get myself shrunk to a nanobit just out of curiosity, that’s for sure.”
Klein arrived at that moment. “Fletcher. Morrisey.” The agent tapped his foot twice on the floor plate, and a table slowly rose into position between them. He took a seat. “How’s Lassiter?”
Theo shot Klein a questioning look.
“You can speak freely,” the agent assured him. “Fletcher’s in the loop.”
“Miss Lassiter is holding it together,” Theo replied. “I’ve not seen any signs that she’s out of control. If anything, she’s more subdued than usual.”
“Did she really bust TPB’s shrink in the jaw?” Fletcher asked.
Theo nodded. “Quite a scene,” he commented with a smirk.
“Wish I’d been there.”
The senior agent cocked his head. “I forwarded that coin to Fletcher. Figured she might be able to help us.”
“Cue miniaturization expert.” She tossed the disk on the table. “As you guessed, it’s not of 1888 origin. This critter contains a miniature amplifier. It receives a signal, pumps it up and passes it on.”
“What sort of signal?” Theo asked.
“We’re not sure. It’s not electromagnetic or a vid-rad frequency. Common waveforms do nothing to excite it; neither do temperature changes, humidity or atmospheric pressure.” Fletcher leaned forward. “Why is this thing so important?”
Theo frowned. “How open are we being here?”
“Her security clearance is equal to yours,” Klein replied.
Theo tapped on the table and a small keyboard projected itself onto the top. Another tap, and a port appeared into which he synced up his interface. A holographic display shimmered into being in the air above the keyboard, the electronic version of the maps he’d created while in the East End.
“9 November, 1888. Lord Mayor’s Day. Nineteen explosions ranging from Bethnal Green to Rotherhithe across the Thames.” He pressed a key. “On 12 November…”
By the time Theo finished his holographic destruction of London, Klein’s eyes were closed in thought. A vein throbbed near his temple.
“Damn, that’s ugly,” Fletcher said. “Will it ripple forward?”
“Very likely.” Theo gestured at the disk. “One of the Victorians found this near where they were storing the explosives. I began to wonder if it had something to do with the accuracy of the detonations.”
She grinned. “I think it does. What if a time pulse initiates a chain reaction, moving forward coin by coin?”
“How does that trigger the explosion?” Klein asked.
“If the coin heats up during the process, they just need to have it in contact with the gunpowder,” Theo explained.
Fletcher picked up the coin, studying it under the lights. “Which means your Victorians had a technological power assist.”
“TPB?” Klein pounced.
“Not their style,” Fletcher replied.
“Don’t be so sure. They kicked you off the Board right before this whole thing fell out,” Klein countered. “Seems like a move to keep you out of whatever they’re up to.”
“Davies isn’t that smart,” Fletcher maintained. “Trust me on this.”
Klein leaned back. “Who, then? Do you know anyone doing this sort of work?”
“We haven’t gone this far yet,” Fletcher replied, shaking her head. “Just basic products like the chrono-tint wall color that changes every couple of hours. Making a damned fortune off that stuff.” She picked up the coin. “I estimate this is at least ten years down the line. Actually, less now.”
She grinned, deftly rolling the disk over the knuckles of her right hand and then back again. “We’ll reverse engineer it. I love it when someone else does the R&D.”
Theo’s headache edged up another notch.
“Oh, come on, gentlemen,” Fletcher chided. “We all know this came from the future. Just admit it.”
“That’s the last damned thing I want to admit,” Klein said.
Fletcher spread her hands. “No other conclusion.” She looked over at Theo for support.
“Agreed,” he said reluctantly. “At present, we use pulses to determine the location of a Rover during Inbound and Outbound travel. There’s also some pulsing during side-hops.” He frowned. “Any Rover with an interface could trigger this sequence. They might not even know they’re doing it.”
“But you didn’t set them off,” Klein argued.
“Just luck, I guess.”
“What happens if you don’t stop this? How big of a ripple will there be?” the agent demanded.
Theo keyed the question into the computer, without bothering to input a security screening code. Guv’s computer system would be airtight.
Unlike his computer, this one didn’t generate a Renaissance or Baroque painting in the air above the keyboard while it cogitated. Instead it painstakingly constructed an image of a beehive. All the bees were drones.
Guv’s view of an ideal society.
“Task complete.” Even the computer voice was bland.
“Run task report,” he ordered. The hive melted away. “The truncated version,” he added.
“Destruction of 1888 London will substantially affect the power of the British Empire for a period of nine point three years. Other opportunistic governments will take advantage and capture British colonial outposts, including India, Burma, Singapore and Egypt. This disruption will significantly impact British capabilities in the First World War and delay Allied entry into the Second World War. With the rise of Russia in—”
“Cut to the chase,” Klein demanded. “What about 2058?”
“Unknown,” the computer replied. “Unable to determine extent of changes beyond the end of the twentieth century due to unspecified parameters.”
“What parameters are those?” Theo asked the computer.
“Indefinable.”
Fletcher scoffed. “God, that’s helpful.”
“What are the chances of a total disconnect between 1888 and 2058?” Theo quizzed.
“Ninety-six point two percent.”
Fletcher whistled.
“End query,” Theo murmured. “With so much change, time travel may not be discovered the second time around, or be significantly delayed. My guess is that we have one shot at this.”
“You going back?” Fletcher asked.
“Of course,” Theo replied. “That’s where it’s all happening.”
Klein shook his head. “My bosses will have a fit.”
“Don’t tell them.”
“Yeah, right. I’m the one stuck here taking the heat, Morrisey.”
“From whom?” Theo scolded. “If this plot plays out, neither Guv nor you may exist.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“There’s one other matter,” Theo began. “Both Miss Lassiter and Harter have been off-timed. Did Guv have anything to do with that?”
Klein shook his head. “Too hard to pull off.”
Which means you’ve tried it.
“What’s off-timed?” Fletcher asked.
“A Rover sets his interface for a specific location and time, and is diverted to another by a secondary source,” Theo explained. “Miss Lassiter found herself at the exact moment my nephew’s body was discarded in the Thames.” He paused, about to hand Guv the ammunition they needed to bring down their hated rival. “Dalton Mimes was there…and so was Copeland. He was involved in Chris’ murder.”
The senior Guv agent’s face actually cracked a smile, the muscles twitching slightly as if unaccustomed to the task. “You know, my gut told me he was good for it.”
“Copeland?” Fletcher asked.
Klein ignored her, his smile widening. “If we can get him to roll over on Davies and the rest of the Board…”
Theo slowly rose from the chair, unsteady on his feet. He didn’t care about this petty war anymore. No matter how Guv played it, Chris was still dead. “I really need to get back.”
“TPB is in the process of shutting down all travel to 1888, saying it’s too unstable,” Klein advised. “They’re pulling out all the tourists and the Rovers. Sending in a big team isn’t going to be an option.”
“I agree,” Theo said. “How many can I have?”
“Whomever I commit to this mission may not return. That means they have to be unmarried.” The agent frowned, thinking it through. “Three agents plus Hopkins. He’s already in ’88. I’ll tell him you’re in charge of the operation.”
“Thank you.”
“If you find Copeland,” Klein began, the smile appearing again, “send him our way.”
“Of course.” Providing he’s still breathing when I finish with him.