We hailed the ship on VHF. I gave the captain the same story we’d been telling the helicopter pilot, which was that this was an “enforcement operation” related to a “sensitive national security situation” and that it would be best if he just clammed up and didn’t make a fuss until I could come and talk to him. And then I requested permission to come aboard, which is the polite thing to do.
We landed on the top of the container stack and set a rope, which I used to let myself down to the door. I cut off the padlock with a battery-powered grinder and got it open. We let down a rope ladder and helped Rebecca and the chopper pilot get down and inside. I went back up onto the top of the container stack and walked forward to the ship’s superstructure, which projects up above the level of the containers. The captain was waiting for me. I was in full quasi-military tactical gear, and I guess I looked convincing. The captain is Spanish, the crew is Filipino, and, at the end of the day, none of them wants any trouble. They just want to drive this thing to Le Havre and cash their paychecks. I explained to the captain that there was a situation in the red container that he needed to see with his own eyes. It took a little social engineering, which Mel always says I’m not very good at, but after a few minutes he sort of rolled his eyes and agreed to come back and have a look.
So now it’s me and Rebecca and the chopper pilot and the ship’s captain all together in the red container, and I can tell that the ATTO system has been turned on. The first few times I experienced the inside of a running ODEC, I came out of it deeply confused, like a kid who’d been roofied at a frat party, but over the years I’ve become accustomed to it. I can maintain some level of conscious awareness and come out of it a little spacey, but basically intact.
The same was not true of the ship’s captain and the chopper pilot, who just became listless and generally out of it as soon as I shut the ATTO door. Felix, for his part, was smart enough to just hang out on top of the stack until this part of it was over.
Witches have no problem in ODECs/ATTOs, and Rebecca had been practicing enough with Erszebet so that she could give the captain and the chopper pilot a mild talking-to, there in the ATTO. Outwardly it just looked like a school librarian lecturing a couple of schoolboys who brought their books back a day overdue, but I could feel the GLAAMR all over the place as she made sure their memories of all this would be seriously muddled. Go Rebecca.
Then we opened the door and shut off the ATTO. The captain went back to his business without a word. The pilot climbed into his chopper and took off, headed back to Boston, taking Rebecca back with him (not that she isn’t game for an adventure at this point, but she’s exhausted after her first successful psy-ops mission and Frank will probably forget to eat if she’s not around).
As for the ship’s crew, all they know is that they saw some weird stuff happen, but it’s not in their interest to talk.
Felix and I went back into the ATTO, removed all of our ropes and carabiners from the outside, and locked the door behind us.
TL;DR Magnus hijacked the ATTO, the Fuggers hijacked it from Magnus, and now we have hijacked it from the Fuggers. As long as Felix and I keep it powered down, people can’t be Sent to it.
Now we wait.
ENTRY FROM PERSONAL JOURNAL OF
Karpathy Erszebet
BUDAPEST, TRAIN STATION, 28 JULY 1851
Dear Diary,
Today has been the most horrifying of my young life, although I fear it is only the beginning of many days, and weeks, and decades of woe.
This morning, Mother suddenly emerged from her room, descended the stairs, and called me into the great room, with a fierce determination on her face, but otherwise so wan as to look waxen, and so haggard as to be almost unrecognizable. “Erszebet,” she said, and seemed about to say more— —so I stood there in a wholly receptive state awaiting her words. But she did not continue to speak to me directly. Rather she uttered ugly incantations I had never heard before, and a terrible feeling came over my body, as if I were bound with hot iron, while being frozen on the inside. I screamed in alarm and pain, but the sensation only grew more intense. It seemed to last for a very, very long time. Hours— —and then suddenly, it stopped. And I found myself lying prone across the ottoman. My skin felt unnaturally tight on me and I felt somehow heavier. Mother was lying prostrate near me, in the doorway, as pale as death.
“I’ve done it,” she said grimly. “Better bad magic than no magic at all. Now you will be here for Melisande Stokes.”
“I will undo it,” I said between clenched teeth, fighting off panic.
“I do not think so,” she said. She turned away from me and tried to raise herself up but lacked the strength.
“Give me an hour to regain my spirit, and I’ll undo the spell,” I insisted. “And then I will leave here and you shall never see my face again.”
“In an hour, there will be no more magic, anywhere upon this earth,” said Mother hoarsely, sinking back onto the carpet and covering her pale face with one pale hand. “The solar eclipse has already begun. Somewhere in Prussia, this Mr. Berkowski has set up his photography equipment. In mere minutes it will all be over.”
I have no words, dear diary, to express the feeling that came over me. I have refuted any connection to my parents; immediately I packed a small suitcase and left the house with no idea of where to go. Then I went to the train station and bought a ticket to Praha to stay with my paternal cousin, Dagmar, as I know a little bit of Czech.
Now even if I wished to help Miss Melisande Stokes to return to her time, I would be unable to. She is in part to blame for my predicament, for if she had not come, I would not have heard her remedy and then neither would Mother, and now I would be like Mother, or any other witch—a normal mortal woman. Such simplicity is to be denied me. It is a very bitter fate.
In the absence of any other remedy I suppose I must rely—as my foremothers have in the worst of their years—upon the mercy of the Fuggers.
Exchange of posts on
“Ops” GRIMNIR channel
DAY 1970 (20 DECEMBER, YEAR 5)
Post from Tristan Lyons, 05:30:
Anyone there? This is a burner phone I picked up in Boston, you’re just going to have to take my word for it that it’s me. Seeing one bar, apparently a cell tower in Penzance.
Reply from Mortimer Shore, 05:31:
Pirates of Penzance reading you. Welcome to the English Channel, bro!
From Tristan Lyons, 05:33:
They call it La Manche where we’re going, but thanks. Everything fine here in the ATTO. I think I read the entire works of Dickens and did 80,000 push-ups.
From Mortimer Shore, 05:35:
Heh I think I drank 80,000 pints in the local.
From Tristan Lyons, 05:37:
What is sitrep? Got numbers for me?
From Mortimer Shore, 05:40:
All good. BTW, I’m going to lose you in a short while but later in the morning you will come in range of the island of Jersey, which is where we registered our shipping company. Esme is hanging out there. And Julie’s en route Le Havre. Rebecca’s in London en route Gatwick (last I heard). Frank and Erszebet are at the house back home. Erszebet’s in charge of feeding the cats LOL.
From Tristan Lyons, 05:45:
Hang on, we have a shipping company?