Simon Hawke - Ivanhoe Gambit

He paused again, observing the men. They were grimly silent, all save Delaney, who groaned and put his head in his hands.

"There is, of course, another possibility," said the referee. "Once Irving splits the timeline, it is theoretically possible to clock back to a point before that split occurs and attempt to prevent it from occurring. However, that raises some very unpleasant possibilities. Split timelines must eventually rejoin. The moment Irving succeeds in creating the split, its effects show up in the future. It isn't possible to prevent the future from happening, but it is possible to warp our history and hurt a great many people. A great many. The moment the split occurs, from the standpoint of the future, an entire separate timeline already exists, incorporating God only knows how many lives. To go back and prevent it means to destroy everyone within that separate timeline. That would be nothing less than the most massive genocide in the history of the human race," said the referee, "and there's no telling how that would affect the future. Allow me to illustrate with yet another hypothetical situation. Suppose I send for another team, unaware that by that time, Irving has already created the split. Suppose I am sent a team. It could happen. The people who clock back could very well be coming from a future already affected by the split, for better or for worse. If I were then to attempt to eradicate the parallel timeline by preventing the split in the first place, a.-I would be risking causing a split myself and, b.-the people coming from a future affected by that split might never even have existed had not the split occurred. I would then be threatening their history, not to say their very existence. Under such circumstances, I expect that they would do their level best to kill me. Perhaps those would even be their orders, regardless of the problems created by the split. They would want to preserve their status quo, no matter how chaotic it might be."

"Christ," whispered Hooker.

"Scary, isn't it?" said the referee.

"How are we supposed to stop it?" Hooker said.

'' I thought that was obvious,'' the ref said.

"We're a hit squad, son," Delaney told Hooker. "We're supposed to try and kill this Irving person."

"The rather archaic phrase is 'terminate with extreme prejudice,' " said the referee. "Should you succeed in doing that, I will then become Richard the First and act accordingly, as per our history." He grimaced. "I would prefer not to have to die in France in another five years, but I have no choice. So you see, gentlemen, I may be sending you out on an extremely difficult assignment, but I don't think you'd want to trade places with me."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Hooker?"

"Why only four of us, sir? Wouldn't we stand a better chance with more men?"

The ref smiled. "A good question. Yes, perhaps. Frankly, I wish I could have had an army at my disposal. However, I am somewhat handicapped-as are you-by organizational paranoia. It has been decided that the optimal number of men for this mission, in order to minimize the chances of temporal contamination, is four. Plus a support team, the other people whom you've seen here. Why not five, you ask, or six or seven or three, for that matter? Well, I argued that point, but.. The situation calls for a small, highly effective unit that could be infiltrated into key positions in this time period. There is such a thing, the reasoning goes, as having too many spies. It was felt that a larger team would introduce a greater element of risk into this operation."

"Chickenshit bastards," mumbled Delaney.

The ref smiled. "You're insubordinate, Mr. Delaney. However, I can't help but to concede the point. Nevertheless, that's how it stands." He indicated the cryotanks. "We have here four people who are of some significance in this scenario. These people are the ones whom you will be impersonating in this operation, so play your parts well, gentlemen. Your lives depend on it."

He got up and motioned to the technicians, acknowledging their presence for the first time. One by one, they swiveled the tanks into vertical positions.

"Mr. Delaney, you are now this man's twin," the ref said, pointing to the first tank. "His name is John Little, but he is better known as Little John. Mr. Johnson, if you have a touch of the romantic in you, you may be intrigued to learn that you will be assuming the role of the Baron of Locksley, otherwise known to history as Robin Hood."

"Holy shit," said Bobby.

The ref chuckled, in spite of himself. "Do try to maintain a sense of perspective, Mr. Johnson. Folklore notwithstanding, this man is only human, as are you. Mr. Hooker, you will notice that your counterpart has a fresh scar upon his face. I'm afraid we shall have to give you a matching one before we send you out. He gave us some difficulty. He proved highly resistant to drugs and we had to subdue him forcibly. You will take his place as squire to Sergeant Major Priest. Your name, the only one you're known by so far as we have been able to ascertain, is Poignard. Your not inconsiderable skill with knives will no doubt serve you well. And now, Mr. Priest…"

The final cryogen.

"I understand that your assignment to this operation came about as a result of your exercising a code choice option. You may be regretting that now. As it happened, rather ironically, you were ideally suited for this mission, better qualified than the man you have displaced. The moment you punched in, some soldier got off easy. He'll never know what he missed. Do you believe in fate, Mr. Priest?"

"Yes, sir, I think I do."

"Well, in that case, meet yours." He rested his hand on the edge of the cryogen. "Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe."

Priest's suspicions about part of the implant programming having been subliminally inhibited were confirmed when they were dropped off on the mainland with their gear. He also saw that the ref was not without an ironic sense of humor when he faced them all and spoke the words, "Sir Walter Scott," and they instantly "remembered" things they never knew.

They stood upon the beach, watching the much-modified LCA making headway back toward the tiny, windswept island off the coast. Its engines were muffled to the point where they were barely audible and Lucas wondered what some passing Saxon would have made of the spectacle of their landing. But there were no passing Saxons, or Normans for that matter. The coastline was quiet and deserted. Nothing marred the stillness of the night save for the sound of wind, the crashing surf, and the cries of a few seagulls. They were on their own. Beached upon the shores of time.

None of them spoke as they started slowly moving inland, each experiencing unfamiliar memories. The four men in the cryogens had been drugged and questioned extensively so that the team might possess the information that would enable them to carry off their impersonations. Yet, there was no guarantee that the information that had been implanted in their minds would allow them to carry off their charade successfully. There were still a thousand things that could go wrong, such was the nature of covert operations. Risk was part of the game.

The men whose places they had taken had been snatched shortly before their arrival in Minus Time and they had been interrogated around the clock during the time in which the team completed their mission training. With the information extracted from Ivanhoe, Lucas was familiar with his background and with the status quo.

John Lackland was still controlling the reins of power in England. Richard had not yet returned from captivity. The main thing Lucas had in his favor was that Wilfred of Ivanhoe and Richard had been comrades in arms during the Holy Wars and Irving did not know that he was a bogus Ivanhoe. Perhaps the real Plantagenet would have been able to discern a change in his old friend, but Irving would be too busy playing his part to notice, unless Lucas made some dreadful error. Lucas guessed that Irving, despite the advantages that he possessed, would be as much concerned that his "friend and vassal" of Ivanhoe would not perceive a difference in his king as Lucas would be that he was taken at face value. It was to be a game of double bluff, with both parties striving to maintain a poker face to conceal the cards that they were holding.