James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

The sun was climbing high overhead as Burton completed his tale and finished off the brandy. Herbert stared at him, blinking. Weena was in the next room, singing softly and arranging unusual flowers in a vase, heedless of the explorer’s presence.

“Where did you get the brandy?” asked the Time Traveler.

Burton looked down at the empty bottle. “Oh. On the way here I stopped by my home and grabbed a bottle. I needed a drink, and figured you could as well, given all I had to tell you. And here we are.”

“Yes,” said Herbert, arching an eyebrow. “Here we are. I still can’t believe I have a mischievous doppelganger who has befriended the bloody Morlocks.”

“Neither can I. But I’ve seen them with my own eyes. What horrors this future holds.”

“Horrors that are now spreading,” said Herbert. “But what can be done about it? I’m sorry I ever built that bloody thing.” He pointed. In a far corner of the hut was the Time Machine, its crystalline levers removed.

“I was hoping you might have some idea how to stop him. After all, Nebogipfel is you.”

Herbert sat on the edge of his bed, cradling his head in his hands. “Bloody hell, Captain Burton. This is all so confusing. And frustrating. To think that I have an evil twin who has been mucking about through Time with those bloody awful Morlocks. And all because I came here in the first place.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” said Burton. “I know how confusing it must be. But you might be our only hope in stopping all this.”

The Time Traveler nodded and stood. “Care to take a walk with me?”

Herbert whispered something to Weena and gave her a peck on the cheek. Then the explorer and the Time Traveler walked down the gently sloping green hill toward the plain where the Palace of Green Porcelain and the White Sphinx stood. “Nebogipfel won’t come here,” Herbert said.

“How do you know that?” asked Burton.

“Because he can’t risk my discovering him. And because I am always at peace here. More peace than I have ever felt at any other time or place in my life.”

“But what does it matter that he doesn’t come here? He’s got all of Time and Space to play with.”

“His ability to move about isn’t the issue,” said Herbert. “The issue is with me. He thinks of this far future time as my complacent prison, one in which I am content to remain while he plays about causing trouble.”

Burton shrugged. “So?”

“So,” said the Time Traveler. “What is the one thing this self-described God of Time wants? What’s the one thing that his mastery over all of Time and Space can’t give him? He gave you a hint when he repeated some of your first words to me, when we met aboard Nemo’s Nautilus .”

Burton froze in his tracks. “Bismillah! He wants his freedom.”

“Precisely. He can never truly be free until he is rid of me.”

“But he can’t kill you,” said Burton. “He can’t kill you. He would cease to exist as well. Good God!”

The Time Traveler grinned. Exactly. He wants to use the Wold-Newton stones to split us off.”

They stopped near the White Sphinx, Herbert looking up at Burton in the shadow of the great statue. “He wants our schism to be permanent, but to do that he must bifurcate the timeline so that there will be two of us. One, here in this dead future, with only the docile Eloi for company, and one free to rove about all of Time and Space, seeding Morlocks everywhere. And who has the Wold-Newton stones?”

“Mycroft Holmes,” Burton murmured.

“Exactly. And what better way to get hold of them, or at least find out where they are so he can steal them, than to offer Mycroft a gift that arrogant, manipulative sot could not possibly refuse?”

“Bismillah!” said Burton. “Can Nebogipfel even do such a thing?”

Herbert shrugged. “Perhaps. You told me of the stones’ power to make contact with other realities, in which you met alternative versions of yourself. He may seek to enter one of these realities. Who knows? All I know is that, given what you have told me, that is what I would do if I were him. He cannot risk anything happening to me, or he will cease to exist. I’m too far away from the turbulence he is causing to be that much affected.”

“What do you mean?” said Burton. “Every alteration of an event causes ripple effects that can be felt years, decades, centuries hence.”

Herbert put his arm around Burton’s shoulder. “Look around you, Captain. This is a dead world, save for the Eloi and whatever Morlocks might be left, of course. But everything our kind created is gone. There are only our degenerate children, living in the shadow of what we built. Everything we accomplished, every piece of knowledge we acquired, has long since turned to dust. But gone too is every sign of our wars, our saber-rattling, our ignorance. Whatever we make of ourselves, for good or ill, this shall be the end result. Man had his time in the sun.”

He began walking again, and Burton followed. “And even should a race of creatures with some semblance of ourselves reach out to toil among the stars, those same stars shall eventually grow dim and die, either by exploding violently or collapsing in upon themselves, until the entire Universe follows suit. Every last possible chemical reaction will have long since occurred, and all will be nothingness. Neither our greatest triumphs nor our worst mistakes will change that. I know this all sounds morbid and dour, but I find it strangely comforting. Everything, you see, works out exactly as it is supposed to in the end.”

“I think I understand what you mean,” said Burton. “In the grand scheme of things, one paltry human life doesn’t seem like much. But when that paltry human life is your own, you want to do your utmost to protect it.”

“And protect it we shall,” said Herbert. “We are going to put an end to Nebogipfel’s foolishness once and for all. I will help you.”

“Thank you, old friend,” Burton said, craning his neck to stare up at the White Sphinx. “Say, has your Sphinx always looked like that?”

“What do you mean?” asked Herbert, following the explorer’s gaze up the base of the statue to the stern countenance staring out across the Thames valley. “Yes. It’s exactly how I remember it.”

“Bismillah!” said Burton. “That’s Mycroft Holmes. He made his mark on history after all.”

“I don’t remember it looking any other way,” said Herbert. “Perhaps the White Sphinx was destined to wear his countenance.”

“Perhaps,” Burton mused, stroking his beard. “Do you know of the people who built it?”

“No,” said the Time Traveler. “Only that they were more advanced than the Eloi and Morlocks. I thought about moving my Time Machine next to it and going back through Time to watch its dismantling and then construction, find out who built it, but I knew I’d be tempted to stop and meet them, and that would cause further paradoxes for me in this time.”

Burton nodded. “It’s of no matter. We must get the Map away from Holmes.”

“Agreed,” said Herbert. “All we need is a plan.”

Burton shook his head. “I don’t have one. Your doppelganger can foresee every contingency. Or, failing that, go back in Time and undo it.”

“Perhaps not,” said Herbert. “Let’s go and have a talk with the fellow. He won’t be expecting me. It might throw him off his game enough for us to gain the upper hand.”

Burton shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

The two men walked back up the hill toward the hut-like structure the Time Traveler shared with Weena. Burton was sweating. “I’ll say one thing, your London has better weather.”