John Schettler - Devil's Garden

Time had balanced her books, yet now he had to decide what to do with these other two men. He could not tell them where they were, and if he left them here they would face the same paradox that may have claimed Haselden, for in just a few years they would reach the time of their birth. Yet how could he get them back to their own time in 1942? They were getting ready to run the procedure with Rod-25 again. If, by any chance, they ended up bouncing back to where they were in that year, then he might set them adrift well outside the radius of the Anatoly Alexandrov . If they shifted somewhere else…He realized that their fate was somehow bound up with his own now; with Orlov, and all the rest of them there.

“Well gentlemen,” he said quietly. “We’ll have to hold on to you for a while yet. In fact we may have to hold on to you for quite some time. I can’t explain everything now, but in time, once we sort this business out, I will try. In the meantime, our Sergeant Troyak here will see to your needs.”

He left the room, heading for the operations center where Dobrynin was preparing to run the procedure again. The Chief had listened to the recording they made of their shift here, and now he was given the daunting task of trying to reverse that outcome and get them home.

“Can you do it, Chief?”

“I have no idea, Mister Fedorov. Yet all I can do is try, and we are ready to begin.”

“Very well, we’ve lingered here long enough. I used the time trying to find that missing British soldier while we were waiting to hear from Karpov, but I think I know what happened to him now. The ship is battened down. Everything is securely fastened and radar says there is nothing within five kilometers of us at the moment, so hopefully we won’t take anything else with us. Let’s begin.”

Even as he gave that order a sudden thrum of anxiety rose in his chest. What if Karpov changes the history so radically that we are never even born or alive in the year 2021? If we try to return there, how would time account for our presence there in 2021? Will we vanish like Haselden? He realized they could be trying to shift themselves right into oblivion! Then another inner voice calmed him. It said that Karpov would never even be here unless they were all alive on Kirov and lost on this strange odyssey. Somehow he had to feel an essential part of it all, and have faith that paradox could not reach out to steal him away.

A darker thought came to him…What if Karpov does something that set the world on a course to catastrophe? What if Rod-25 politely takes us to the year 2021, but there is nothing left of the world-just those devastated cities we saw each time we shifted forward? This means the Great War was fought before 2021! That’s why we saw the destruction everywhere! Then we had Kirov at hand to go back into the past and try again. But what could I do with the resources here on the Anatoly Alexandrov ? His mind went round and round, but there was no more time to consider these things.

Dobrynin nodded, looking over at a technician at the operations console and raising his finger like a conductor about to begin a composition.

“We’ve selected rod number eight for replacement, and so let us begin.”

The technicians began throwing switches and even Fedorov could hear a change in the sound of the reactor now as servo motors and other systems kicked in to begin the procedure of withdrawing a the control rod from an active reaction. Meanwhile, Rod-25 waited in place above the core, ready to descend again into the nuclear soup.

Chief Dobrynin closed his eyes and listened. He had to remember the sound of their fall to this place in time, and now reverse it. He listened, hearing the overture in the subtle vibrations and sound frequencies; hearing things that none of the others seemed to notice at all. He raised a hand, speaking softly as he listened. “Begin replacement rod insertion. Set timing at interval two.”

There it was, he thought, the song to the Angels. He could hear it, feel it, and with each vibration pattern he knew what should come next. He made several other adjustments, first subtly increasing the insertion rate, then slowing it down again, and all the while Rod-25 sang its song, a distinctive voice in the choir of the 48 other rods working to control the nuclear reaction, like the soloist leading on the others in a rising chorus of neutron flux.

It was not long until they began to notice the same strange effects again. There was a tang of ozone in the air, a sudden chill, and the odd luminescent, pulsing waves that emanated from the Anatoly Alexandrov . Then the air seemed to thicken around them, a deep mist enveloping them.

And they were gone.

Thescore was played, to the very last note, ascending the scales of infinity to find shape and form again in another time. Dobrynin heard every note, varying the rhythm and time at intervals, and subtly leading the operation with the harmonies he listened to in his head so many times.

They were back-somewhere, and Fedorov wasted no time trying to find out where they were as soon as it became evident that the Anatoly Alexandrov had stabilized in this new milieu. He turned to the communications station and had them immediately send out an emergency signal to the Naval facility at Kaspiysk on channels that had been reserved for his operations, and with special coding. To his great surprise, they got a return signal in confirmation, and voice communication soon ensued.

“Wild Geese, Wild Geese, we read you. This is Mother Hen. Over.”

“Mother Hen. This is Wild Geese, please confirm date and time. Over.” To his great surprise and delight, they had arrived back in the year 2021, just hours after they left! Of course, he thought. He just learned that they could not ever shift to a time where they already existed. They would have to arrive there after they left, or they would be faced with the paradox of seeing duplicates of themselves. If Haselden’s experience was any guide, Time would not permit that.

“You did it, Chief! My God that song in your head brought us home. We still have time to do something. It isn’t too late! How did you manage it?”

“Don’t ask me to explain it, Fedorov. Just be grateful we’re here.”

“Yes, and we have no time to lose. We need to get everything ready to go, Rod-25 and the other two control rods as well. Get them on the helicopter and we’ll head for the airfield at Kaspiysk. There was an Antonov transport plane there, and it can get us to Vladivostok faster than any other way I can imagine. Now get me Admiral Volsky on the secure mission channel. Top priority!”

“Right away, sir.”

* * *

AdmiralVolsky had been listening to everything Kamenski was telling him, trying to sort it all out in his own head, and wishing Fedorov were there to help him. The shadowy ex-KGB man had come to him with startling evidence of Karpov’s shift to 1945, and the fate of the Red Banner Pacific Fleet that fell from heaven into that hell of a war again. Now he wondered about the mission they had planned for the Anatoly Alexandrov.

“What about that, Kamenski? Do you know what happened to Fedorov and Dobrynin?”

“To some extent. I can tell you that the Anatoly Alexandrov got back to 1942 safely, just as you planned it. Then things began to happen. Some very unusual things…because I just came from the special code room. We have received another message.”

“Another letter? From who? Was it Fedorov this time?”

“Not another letter, Admiral. This time it was a radio call, and yes, it is from your young navigator. I told them I needed to speak with you first about these matters. The call is holding on line one if you would care to pick up your telephone. I think we may both learn just a little more of this story now, and have some of our questions answered.”