John Schettler - Golem 7

“When?” said Paul, waiting cautiously and hoping the Sheik would be forthcoming with an answer.

“It was part of the general plan for this campaign. I do not have the exact shift time for that mission at hand.”

“Well enough,” said Paul. “Except for this… In our history, the information we hold protected here in our touchstone RAM Bank, there was also an unusual explosion during the attack on convoy HX-126. We uncovered evidence of obvious tampering in that event stream—ships reassigned, steaming orders changed, and a strange underwater explosion that was noted in the reports of several eye witnesses.”

“You mean the subterranean earthquake?” the Sheik smiled.

“That was no earthquake,” said Paul, frowning. “We believe it was an explosion on one of the ships sunk by U-556 in that attack, the Darlington Court. Imagine our surprise to discover the history in our own RAM bank had already been tampered with.”

The Sheik’s jaw hardened, his eyes narrowing. LeGrand gave him a suspicious and reproachful look, but the heavy set man also seemed discomfited.

“We can say nothing more on the matter,” said LeGrand. “I do not wish to seem stubborn or uncooperative here, but there are some things that we simply cannot divulge—out of respect to your very own rules concerning Prime Movers, Miss Lindford.”

Paul nodded, satisfied that he now knew enough about that event to justify his inner fears and suspicions. The reaction of the two men was transparent. It was clear that the history had been tampered with, but his mind moved on to greater consequences.

“There is something else at stake now that is bigger than all our mutual interests here,” Paul took a seat and leaned forward heavily, elbows resting on his legs, hands clasped under his chin.

“We believe the continuum is fracturing, gentlemen. The minor phasing aberration I experienced on retraction was but the barest inkling of what is to come. And we think the fractures already caused in this conflict will propagate out to much more serious consequences in your day. There’s a reason why you asked for Arch support at this end before you shifted in, LeGrand. And you, my dear Sheik, there is a reason why you missed your target date by three days, eh? Because I saw you three days ago, down in the garage when I was seeing to the fuel situation during our Tours intervention. You appeared, holding that very same sword at your side there, then vanished. I believe you saw me as well, so you know I speak truthfully here.”

The Sheik was flustered. “It was merely a ‘Spook Job’ to use a phrase you have coined. A simple reconnaissance.”

“Rubbish,” said Paul. “Yes, you will tell me that the penumbra of Palma accounts for these irregularities, but we believe something more is happening. Be frank with me, sir, or suffer our eternal enmity. If we side with LeGrand and his people we’ll checkmate you at every turn. Our privileged position on the continuum gives us enormous leverage on events. We antedate every other Arch complex you can build and you may wish to consider the advantage that gives us in any ongoing conflict. We have stopped your entire operation cold, Palma, the Sami’s little scheme at Castle Masyaf, Rosetta, Tours, then we sunk the damn Bismarck and reversed Palma yet again. Are you hearing me? Am I making myself clear?”

The Sheik was clearly cowed, the look on his face speaking volumes behind his wan smile. “We had no intention of sparing Bismarck as a means of restoring Palma. That was an unexpected dividend,” he said testily.

“Well, whatever you were up to, it’s over,” said Paul.

The Sheik eyed him suspiciously. “Not quite…” he started, then seemed to reconsider, sighing heavily. “A gun to our heads, indeed,” he looked at LeGrand.

“Very well,” said LeGrand, folding his heavy arms over his belly. “You’re on to it, quite clearly, and you may as well know. What you have said is true. The continuum is fracturing, to use your term. You don’t notice it here yet, but you will in due course. By our day we’re facing some rather severe ramifications. You know of what I speak, Aziz.”

The Sheik nodded solemnly. “Phase shift is the least of our worries, Mr. Dorland, a mere nuisance, but there is more.”

“Quite a lot more, I’m afraid,” said LeGrand. “Things are… well, not as they should be. We have predictors that return integrity numbers you would be proud of Mr. Ramer, but then events shift, they slip, they twist into an unexpected consequence that no one, in spite of all our considerable efforts, has foreseen. The incidence of Free Radical elements encountered in even the slightest intervention is astounding. We think we have everything nailed down in the research, and then it all goes to mayhem when we intervene.”

“For not even the wise can foresee all ends,” said Kelly.

“Thank you, Gandalf,” Maeve smiled at him. But LeGrand was not finished.

“At first we considered that these difficulties might be counter operations conducted by the Assassins. Then, in a moment of rare clarity and frankness, one of your associates disclosed the fact that you were struggling with similar aberrations in your operations as well.”

“In the interest of accord I will confirm this,” said Aziz. “We believed our problems were the work of our enemies as well, or even the Founders here, yet soon even simple courier missions became so problematic that we were forced to suspend operations. It is the reason, in part, we sought to etch the history in stone, quite literally, in an archive hidden deep in the past, well away from the damage we were observing. We thought the Shadow of Palma was deepening, and we could have no certainty in our day. There were regrets among many of our most senior Seers and Khadis. Some even advocated that we undo the mischief and misery we unleashed upon the world with Palma.”

“Then you will not be too distressed to learn we’ve done the job for you,” said Maeve.

“I’m afraid it goes far beyond Palma,” said LeGrand. “We always wondered about something else,” he said darkly, “and undoubtedly you have posed this question as well my dear Sheik. You see… we have a future as well. When we leave here we go forward, returning to the present we know, which is well in your future,” he gestured to the Meridian team members. “But we have a future as well, and it always bothered us that no one from that future, to this day, has ever paid us a visit with any friendly advice in the heat of this struggle. We took that as a bad omen when the scales were balanced against us, but even when we had the upper hand, our future remained entirely dark and silent. We get no messages in apples, as it were. Not a whisper, not a wink or a nod, and we have come to feel that there is some cataclysm of unimaginable immensity waiting for us just round the next turn in the Meridian. We do not know if the damage we have caused continues beyond our point in the continuum, but it is reasonable to assume it does. Are we responsible for this great silence? It is most unsettling.”

“As for now,” said the Sheik, “ I can say we have shared the dread you speak of. For we, too, have prayed, and called to our brothers who may live in generations yet to come. We have sent many messages, words we were certain our future generations would discover and surmise, yet we, too, receive no answer. We have come to believe that all Meridians are bent toward one great Finality. We are blind to what it is, or where it may wait for us in the future, though the strange aberrations we have experienced may indeed be the root cause. Believe me, it is unnerving when one sets down a goblet of wine and turns to a friend in conversation, only to find the goblet and wine missing when you reach for it again, the bottle unopened, the friend not there when you whirl about in amazement and find yourself alone. All of our Walkers report such experiences now. We perceive the changes, yet we do not forget what we once knew to be correct. We ourselves are not altered. At first we believe these were mere hallucinations—after effects caused by too many Time shifts, but they continue and continue, and they are increasing. We call out to our future like a frightened child, and we wait, yet no word ever returns…”