Simon Hawke - The Nautilus Sanction

“It had less to do with Martingale and the odds against him than it did with the Valkyrie,” said Lucas. “We’ve got enough to worry about with stopping you without having a time ship fall into the hands of a pirate like Gambi.”

“As practical as ever, Mr. Priest,” said Drakov, smiling.”You still believe you can prevail. I admire that.”

“I could do without your admiration,” Lucas said.

“Pity,” Drakov said. “I rather like you. You are a man of principles, a rarity in any time. Of all the men I’ve ever met, I respect you the most. Which is why I want to make certain we understand one another. You three are unquestionably the First Division’s finest, which is why it would be fitting for my father to receive the news of his defeat from you. Tomorrow morning, we shall be leaving Barataria for my base. I fully expect you to attempt something. I would be disappointed in you if you did not. However, I will remind you that I am at war and that you three are prisoners of war. The battle for you is over. I will take special precautions to insure that you do not have any opportunity to cause trouble. When we arrive at my base, you will find yourself even more helpless than you have been up to now. If you find that idea intolerable, Mr. Priest, then I urge you to escape now, while you can. It will not be easy, but no one will pursue you and you may be able to make contact with someone in the Underground eventually. If not, there are worse times in which to be marooned. But I hope you will remain. If you do, you will become a part of history. I leave the choice to you.”

After the others had left, they found Martingale on the veranda, being attended by two young women Lafitte assigned to him while he recovered from his injuries. He sat in a cane chair while the girls fanned him, poured him rum and fed him bits of sweetmeats with their fingers.

“You look like a dissolute Roman emperor,” said Lucas. Martingale grinned and sent the girls inside to bring more glasses and more rum.

“You seem to be bearing up remarkably well,” said Andre. “Try not to strain yourself.”

“The trouble with Lafitte is that he likes ‘em too damn young,” said Martingale. “What the hell have I got to say to a couple of sixteen- or seventeen-year-olds, fresh from the Gold Coast? They’re babies. They don’t know anything. Now you, on the other hand, you and I could probably find a thing or two to talk about.”

“Right now I’ll settle for talking about what we’re going to do about this mess,” said Andre.

“Have a seat,” said Martingale. The slaves brought out the rum and glasses, then he sent them away while they talked.

“Lafitte certainly has a hard life,” said Finn. “He’s come a long way since he was a filthy little street urchin in Paris.”

“He’ll be on the way back down again before too long,” said Martingale. “He’s too visible, too famous. The secret of success is to keep your head down.”

“You consider yourself successful, do you?” Andre said.

“I’m doing exactly what I want to do,” said Martingale. “That’s all being successful is. It’s not about money or anything else. I say I’m in it for the money because that’s something Drakov understands. He’s got lots of it. People who have lots of money understand real well what it’s about when someone comes to them wanting some of it. They can deal with it because they know the rules of that game. Drakov could never understand you like I do. He doesn’t even understand the rules you operate under.”

“What makes you think you do?” said Finn. “You opted out of the game, as you put it.”

Martingale shook his head. “No, 1 didn’t. 1 just changed the rules around a little, so they would suit me more. The game is still the same, in many respects. Not to get overly philosophical, but life’s just a joke. You’re born, you struggle, you learn, you grow, you accomplish, then you die. No matter what you manage to pull off, death is still the final reward. So it’s a joke. No matter who you are or what you do, everyone gets paid off the same.”

“That sounds pretty cynical to me,” said Lucas.

“It happens to be true,” said Martingale, “but it’s a trap only if you accept it at face value. It’s not the payoff that matters. That’s where people go wrong. It’s the work. I deserted the Temporal Corps and became a mercenary not because I wasn’t happy with what I was doing, but because I wanted more control over it. The only real difference between us is that you have to serve the missions Forrester picks out for you. I get to pick my own. I can say no, and I do, frequently. I only fight the good fight.”

“I see,” said Finn. “Martingale only fights on the side of the angels, is that it?”

“You think that sounds corny?” Martingale said. He shook his head. “It only sounds that way because people think idealism is corny. I’ll tell you something, if six billion morons got together and decided that blue was purple, that’s what the world would accept. But it wouldn’t change the color, chum. Only the name. I’ll tell you what’s corny. We’re sitting here in a sunlit veranda on an island in the Gulf of Mexico, waited on by slave girls, for God’s sake, while out there somewhere is a nukie sub with enough death on board to wipe out half the globe. The guy who’s got his finger on the button is in New Orleans, having dinner with a pirate chieftain and a science fiction writer while we’re sitting here sipping rum punch. Now you tell me life’s not a joke.”

“Yes, but what’s the punchline?” Finn said.

Martingale took a long drink. “You’ve got me there. Drakov won’t tell anybody anything. He’s all twisted up inside, but he’s sure as hell organized. He has a knack for picking people and a knack for leading them, as well. He’s recruited men from all different periods of history, all soldiers, all top professionals in their own way. He keeps them well in line and he’s always got our buddy, Santos, to fall back on. One session with Benedetto and you’re a good little soldier again, programmed for following orders unquestioningly.”

“You don’t have any idea at all what he’s going to do?” said Andre.

“I assume it’s going to be nuclear blackmail,” said Martingale. “The same sort of thing the Timekeepers tried to do, only on a larger scale. But he’s been set up to do that ever since we stole the sub. He’s got something more complicated planned-”

“Wait a minute,” said Lucas. “1 knew there was something bothering me about all this. If the Referee Corps asked Dr. Darkness to help them with this, and you’re working for him, how could you have been involved before the sub was stolen?”

“It had nothing to do with the sub, initially,” said Martingale. “Darkness knew about the theft of the warp discs before your people did.”

Finn frowned. “How?”

“Who do you think owns Amalgamated Techtronics?” “Darkness?”

“You think a scientist can be bothered with manufacturing?” said Martingale. “He needs someone to turn out the gizmos he invents. You’d be surprised at what he controls.”

“But Amalgamated Techtronics! That’s one of the biggest corporations in the whole-”

“So? What do you think, he gave the Temporal Corps the warp grenade for nothing? When they found out about the stolen shipment, they didn’t dare report it until they’d had a chance to tell the Doctor. They couldn’t exactly call him. No one knows where he is. He just sort of… appears from time to time. Fortunately, he was due in to check on a shipment of weapons prototypes they were building for him. It’s a lucky thing Drakov didn’t steal those.”

“What sort of prototypes?” said Lucas.