Simon Hawke - The Nautilus Sanction

They were brought out on deck, still under guard, for their first glimpse of Drakov’s base. Verne and Land, neither of them knowing what to expect, were both awed by the sight which greeted them.

The submarine was on the surface of a giant lake inside the volcanic crater. High above them, the walls of the hollow mountain tapered to the opening, across which birds flitted as they darted from one side of the volcano to the other, their cries echoing down to them. To their left, they saw the tiers of buildings that were the quarters of the base personnel, modular units built into the rock, with catwalks connecting them. Above them, spanning the lake, were the pedestrian cable bridges across which people walked several abreast, carrying equipment or pushing dollies. To their right, the larger area of the complex was the heart of Drakov’s base. In the water near the dock was a submarine tender, toward which they slowly moved. The crewmen of the tender stood ready to receive them. Beyond the tender, in a large slip, was berthed the Valkyrie, her sails neatly furled. Overlooking the entire complex, like an eagle’s aerie, was Drakov’s house, partly carved out of the stone wall and partly built of white brick. It looked like a cross between a cliffside Pueblo Indian dwelling and a lamasery.

“Unbelievable,” said Verne, his voice almost a whisper.

“You will experience much that defies belief here, Mr. Verne,” said Drakov. “Pay close attention. You shall record all this for posterity. Here, in this burnt-out caldron, an age will end and a new one will begin. You shall see history in the making and I shall be the one to make it. Literally to make it, to shape it out of nothing.”

Finn glanced at Drakov sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“You will soon see,” said Drakov. “The time has almost come.”

The submarine was made fast to the tender and they disembarked. With Drakov leading the way, they walked down the dock and across a short stretch of beach to the main building.

They entered a large hall, with several corridors branching off from it. Lucas fought the temptation to look over his shoulder at Martingale. Their guards conducted them through the building, past the mess hall and recreation rooms, past a library, a computer center and a generating plant, toward the rear of the building and an elevator which took them up to Drakov’s house. They came out directly underneath it and circled round to a wide stair cut into the rock face, ascending to the entrance of the house.

They climbed the stairs to a small portico and a large, carved wooden door, which one of the men opened for them. They entered into a foyer with a mosaic floor and large planters placed around it. A winding stairway led to the upper story of the house. Thick carpeting covered the stairs. Oil paintings hung on the wall, mostly Pre-Raphaelite art. There were several busts, one of Julius Caesar, another of Napoleon. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Drakov’s boots echoed on the tile floor as he turned to the left and walked out onto the veranda, a wide, tiled plaza with a brick wall running round it at about waist height. The view was spectacular. They were halfway up the side of the volcano, looking down onto the lake, the submarine and the schooner, the cable span-bridges not far below them. Drakov leaned on the wall and looked out over his domain.

“Today is T-Day,” Drakov said, still looking out over the base. “T for Transition. Transition from one age to another.” He turned around to face them. “This has been my base of operations, my sanctuary from temporal agents and soldiers like yourselves who have dogged my heels ceaselessly since the Zenda affair. I spent my entire fortune to construct this place. Here I gathered and trained my people, preparing them for the tasks which they will embark upon today. Until now, not even my officers knew the full extent of my plans. What one does not know, one cannot reveal, no matter what the temptation may be. Now, it is safe to reveal all, for no one can stop it. Within the hour, it shall be done.” He took a deep breath of relief. “It has all gone well. Everything is ready. Shiro, bring champagne.”

“What are we celebrating?” Finn said.

“The ultimate disaster,” Drakov said. “The end of time as you know it, Mr. Delaney. From today, the entire character of time will change. And you will have a ringside seat. All three of you. After we have our toast, Santos will prepare a disc for you, one which will send the three of you back to the 27th century, back to my father and the war machine he serves to tell him he has been defeated. You had assumed, no doubt, that I would emulate my old compatriots in the Timekeepers and attempt to blackmail the war machine into dismantling itself. Perhaps that might have worked, but it would not have provided an ultimate solution. Perhaps nothing ever will. But I think I can increase the odds in its favor.”

He looked down at the submarine below.

“I have twenty chances,” he said, “twenty opportunities to make a better world, a better universe. I have had some of my people clocking out to various periods of time, preparing other bases for us, not as ambitious as this one, but they will serve. It has taken time, it has taken money, and it has taken backbreaking labor, but all is done now.”

He looked at Martingale, von Kampf and Benedetto.

“I am sorry to have kept you in the dark,” he said. “I felt it was necessary. There was too much at stake to share my plans in full with anyone. Everyone has had a task. Some worked on our new bases, others disposed of riches that we found in order to provide the funds for all the work, still others worked to establish connections for us in the places we shall be visiting. There was much groundwork to be laid. Many nights, while you thought I was resting in my cabin, I would return here to keep track of our progress. Shortly before we left Barataria, I learned that all was in readiness at last.”

Shiro brought out the wine.

“In order to create something new and clean, there must be a purging,” Drakov said. “I shall purge the human race, not once, but twenty times. Each ballistic missile in the Nautilus has been equipped with a warp disc in its guidance system. Each will be launched from here into a different time period. Each will change the course of history. One will strike the Soviet Union during the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Another will strike the state of Israel during the Six Day War. Still another will be targeted on New York City during the time of a crippling embargo against the USSR. All will strike different locations in different time periods. Each will result in events radically different from those of history as we know it. Each will result in a timestream split. We shall have twenty different timelines to choose from, my friends. We shall have twenty alternate universes to explore. By clocking back through time, starting with the most recent split we shall initiate, we can travel to our base moments before the split occurs and then clock forward, thereby finding ourselves in an alternate timeline. We will see the future we will have helped create and, if it is not to our taste, we shall clock back to the next most recent point before the split and try again, when that next timestream split occurs. We shall all be able to pick and choose our futures and work to influence them. And with twenty different timelines in existence, the effect on temporal inertia will be such that none of these timelines will ever rejoin. Yes, we will destroy, and that will be the purging. But just think of what we shall create!”

They were all speechless at the enormity of what Drakov proposed. Even Benedetto, who had accepted the worst excesses of the Timekeepers with indifference, was so stunned he dropped his glass.