by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

When there's no more war, what happens to an ancient profession? Or, as the old song almost says: What do you do with an obsolete sailor?

There was silence in the Operating Room except for Shiro Tsubaki’s soft voice counting elapsed time. Behind the broad expanse of duo-glass that looked down on the Theatre the technicians’ faces flickered with reflected data from their computer displays. The video monitors each showed the scene from the Theatre below—a static scene in which a small cylindrical robot sat in a shimmering field of dancing motes.

Trevor Haley watched the same scene through the window, waiting tensely for something to happen.

“Shifting,” said Shiro’s voice.

Trevor blinked, his eyes straining to see any change in the bot. There was a change, all right. The little machine’s solid lines began to waver and bleed into the shimmer around it. Before he could blink again, it was gone. He pulled his attention back to his console.

“Shifting to Green minus one,” said Shiro. The counter on her monitor ticked off a series of numbers that looked like seconds, but were not. “Shifting Aqua minus one...” Another silence followed. “Shifting Blue minus one...minus two. Stop Shift at...Blue minus six. That’s negative 36.”

Someone said, “Wow,” and the entire Operating Room breathed a sigh of relief.

“Halfway there,” murmured Magda Oslovski. “Five minutes, Shiro.”

“Counting.”

Oslovski shifted in her seat. “Video status?”

“Fully functional.” George Wu shook his head, trying to clear the sense of unreality. “The video carousel is at 30 degrees. We ought to have some great footage.”

“Let’s hear Toto’s stats, Trev.”

Trevor stirred. “Temperature: 18 degrees Celsius; humidity: 60 percent—a little higher than normal for the time of year; attitude: five degrees from upright and adjusting.”

Oslovski nodded. “It’d be nice if we could maintain video contact.”

George Wu snorted. “Right. Maintain an optic link across a temporal spectrum. Piece of cake.”

“There was a time,” said Oslovski in her when-I-was-an-eager-young-scientist voice, “when an optic link between cities was science fiction. Now it’s just science—old science. Mark my words, George, given enough time-“

“Movement,” said Trevor. “Thirty degrees, three meters distance. Object reads...less than a meter in height, about a meter long. Damn, I wish we could see...” He peered at the shifting readings on his display. “This is weird. The object is moving and part of the object is moving independently. Closing to two meters. Independent movement is rhythmic, uh... It’s like, uh-“ He waved his hand back and forth.

“Someone waving?” suggested Shiro.

“One meter tall?”

“Not waving, wagging,” suggested George. “It’s a-It’s a dog!” He shrugged when everybody turned to look at him. “Well, it sounds like a dog.”

“Object at one meter.”

“You know if that is a dog,” said George, “it just might mistake Toto for a fire hydrant.”

Oslovski grimaced. “Great. We may get to see how well he withstands precipitation.”

“I don’t think that’s what the Techs had in mind,” George murmured.

“Two minutes,” announced Shiro.

They continued to spout data intermittently for another three minutes, watching the progress of the “dog-like object” carefully. At the end of a full five minutes, Oslovski gave the order to reverse the field.

“Reversing field,” announced Shiro.

Trevor laughed. “Object radiating percussive audio vibration and receding rapidly at 30 degrees.”

“Ah,” said George. “What is the sound of one dog barking?”

“Shifting to Blue minus one,” said Shiro. “Aqua minus ten... And Green minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one and zero.”

Every eye in the room went to the monitor that displayed the contents of the Theatre. In the shimmering field, the bot appeared, looking no different than it had when it left.

“Welcome back to Oz, Toto,” someone murmured.

The O.R. exploded in a spontaneous cheer. Hugs and laughter and silly dances followed in a ritual celebration of accomplishment so ancient it had probably marked the creation of the first successful Folsom point.

It lasted for all of thirty seconds. Then the backslaps dwindled to pats, the laughter died to throat clearing coughs, the flushed faces drained of color and hilarity. Six pairs of eyes swung to Magda Oslovski.

She read the questions in them and sighed, feeling suddenly and incongruously depressed. “Okay,” she said. “We did it. Presumably we did it successfully. Now we gather up our data and study it. We write our lab reports and...and move on to Phase Five.”

People looked at their shoes. People looked at their handcomps. People frowned.

“Magda,” said Trevor Haley tentatively, “when are we going to report to the Chiefs? You’ve been holding them off for the better part of a year with ‘steady progress is being made.’ We’ve shown them disappearing orange tricks and talked about it being years before we dare Shift human subjects. At some point they’ve got to be brought up to date.”

“I have not been holding them off. I’ve been...cautious. Do you think we should let them in on all phases of the project?”

“I didn’t say that. I just...wondered...”

“When the axe was going to fall?” asked Shiro.

“Falling axes have to do with being fired,” George reminded her. “I don’t think for a moment the Chiefs are going to let us get off that easy.”

“No, they’re not.” Oslovski scratched at the edge of her handcomp with a well-manicured thumbnail. “In fact, General Caldwell and company are due here next Monday to check in on us. I didn’t tell you before,” she added over a chorus of protests, “because I knew it would affect your work...and your health.”

She looked up. Her eyes had that steely look she was famous for. “I haven’t decided how much we’re going to tell them yet.

“Gather up your goodies, people. Staff meeting in half an hour.”

Thirty-five minutes later, a subdued group congregated in the Level 3 Conference Room and took their places around its large oval table. Magda Oslovski was the last to arrive. She seated herself at the head of the table and called the group to order.

“All right, folks. I’m going to turn this over to George and company for show and tell. George?”

George Wu popped a video disc into the console set into the table-top before him. He glanced at his assistant, Louis Manyfeather, then threw the rest of the group a nervous grin. “I’ve got to admit, we peeked,” he said. “This is great!”

He started the playback. Around the table, video displays came to life. The title screen showed first: Project Hourglass—Phase Four—4/21/24. Then they saw a dewy sward of close-cropped grass from roughly the vantage point of a four year old child. About four meters distant, a border of evergreen shrubbery blocked their view of the trunks of a variety of trees. The video image panned slowly, showing more of the same.

Through the trees a building came into view—low and squat and square and composed predominantly of greenish tinted glass and strips of pink granite. The image panned along the building further. Then something else came into view. A chuckle rolled around the table.

“There’s your ‘dog-like object,’ Trev,” said Shiro. “I think it’s an Airdale.”

“Told you so,” said George.

The Airdale disappeared as the video unit continued its sweep. They saw more grass, a metal sprinkler head, the roof of another building.

“Wait! Pause that!” said Oslovski. “That’s the roof of the Library building, isn’t it? You can’t even see that from here, now.”

Heads nodded absently. The slow pan continued and concluded, and the screens went dark. Toto’s audio recorder let out a wild yelp and a short series of barks. There were a few chuckles.

“Now,” said George, “Louis hit the archives and came up with this.” He slid a second disc into the unit. The displays lit up again with a still shot of a very similar scene. “This is the Campus thirty-five years ago. The photo was taken from the steps of what was then the Psychology building. That lawn is now covered by this facility. The white ‘x’ in the grass marks the spot in the O.R. where Toto was Shifting.” He paused, ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “Ladies and gentlemen, we just sent Toto back thirty-six years in time. Chances are we can just as easily send him into the future.”

There was a moment of hushed appreciation while seven people tentatively explored the wonder of what they’d just done. Trevor Haley put a damper on the wonder.

“Our masters aren’t interested in the future,” he said drily.

“They’re interested in the here and now.”

Magda Oslovski sighed and took off her glasses, laying them on the table with a solid click. Most people considered her glasses a scientist’s professional affectation. The state of medicine being what it was, there was no reason for anyone to ever have to suffer glasses again. They were, in fact, more expensive than the corrective surgeries available. Oslovski was hard put to make anyone with 20/20 vision understand the mental benefits of being able to make the “real world” go out of focus at will.

The faces of her team were just fuzzy enough that she couldn’t read their expressions. That was good, considering what she was going to say.

“As I mentioned previously, General Caldwell and the Joint

Chiefs will be here next Monday. What that means, folks, is that he’s expecting a full report on our accomplishments to date and probably some sort of whiz-bang demonstration. He will, no doubt, be very pleased with today’s progress. And, if the milestones continue to be met, we may have positive reports to offer on Phase Five as well.”

“Oh, joy,” said Shiro, with nothing like joy.

“Do I need to remind you that we are under contract to the Department of Defense and are bound, by that contract, to deliver the fruits of our research?” Oslovski eyed the fuzzy faces.

A combination of mumbles and groans circled the table.

“All right. We’ve penetrated Negative 36. We’re going to march back into our Operating Room, recalibrate our equipment and repeat Phase 4. This time we’ll turn the clock back a little further—see if we can’t extend Toto’s leash into the Violet range. And I want scrapings from his casing to go to analysis for any signs of fatigue.” She glanced down at her wrist watch, grimaced, put on her glasses and glanced at it again. “Let’s take a lunch break. Meet in O.R. in an hour and a half.”

oOo

Shiro dug her fork viciously into the lettuce on her plate, got too much and worried the excess off the tines. “This whole situation stinks like yesterday’s garbage,” she said. “How can we just go merrily along with our research when we suspect it’s going to be used to change history?”

“We’re under contract.” Trevor mimicked Oslovski.

“Huh! A contract with the devil.” Shiro bit into a radish.

“It’s not that bad...is it?” asked George. “I mean, we don’t know that they intend to use it for anything heinous. They said they wanted to go back to strategic points in time to-to-“

“Meddle,” said Trevor. “Oh, I know, I know—that wasn’t the official language. What was the wording they used? Oh, yes—‘rectify and enhance.’ As if there was a whole lot to enhance. There hasn’t been a war anywhere on the globe for close to fifteen years. No Communists have slunk up the continent from South America, no petty dictators have reared their ugly heads—

successfully, at any rate—and the so-called Super Powers are behaving like kissin’ cousins. How the hell do you enhance that?”

“Ah,” said Shiro, waggling her fork at him. “That’s the whole point! One man’s poison is another man’s dessert. What is good for the world does not necessarily seem good to all the officers and gentlemen being put out of work by what is good for the world. Nor vice versa. For years there has been talk about combining the military branches and putting them under the control of the National Guard and the United Nations. More military bases are closed every year. You know they feel the squeeze.”

“And you think,” asked George, “that that’s what they want to rectify? The shortage of wars?”

“They’re soldiers, George,” said Trevor. “Soldiers are trained to fight enemy soldiers. With enemies in such short supply, there’s not a whole lot for them to do these days. And the money that used to buy them technological gadgets is now involved elsewhere.”

“So, then the question arises: Why are they spending the last measly mega-bucks of their dwindling budgets on time travel?” Shiro asked.

“Maybe,” suggested George, “they want to go back to a simpler time when being a soldier was an honored profession instead of something you have to apologize for in polite company.”

“I wish that was it,” said Trevor. “But I’m sure it isn’t. If we hand them the past, we’re handing them the future right along with it. Our future—everybody’s future. It scares the hell out of me.”

Shiro nodded, her mouth full of salad.

“Okay, me too,” admitted George. “But what can we do about it? We’re just the hired hands. And, as Magda pointed out, we’re under contract. The reputation and survival of QuestLabs is riding on our fulfilling our obligation to the Defense Department.”

Shiro grimaced and pushed her plate aside. “There’s a heck of a lot more riding on it than that.”

oOo

The sequel to the Phase Four experiment was as successful as the original. Oslovski’s team sent Toto (Totable Temporal Oculus) back over four decades. With the exception of smaller trees and the presence of a gardener and a few dorm-dwelling students (which shortened Toto’s planned stay of ten minutes), the scene was much the same as it would be nine years later.

There were no cheers this time upon Toto’s successful return, although the team’s junior members, Manyfeather, Khadivian and Walsh, did exchange a “high five.”

Afterward, Magda Oslovski barricaded herself in her office, ostensibly to draft a report for the Joint Chiefs. What she did instead was sit in the glow of her computer terminal, staring at the data through unfocused eyes. She took her glasses off, finally, and rubbed her eyes, then swore when she realized she’d just turned her eye makeup into brown and black smudges.

She was almost relieved when her three senior researchers violated the “do not disturb” message she’d left on her hall monitor. They collected before her desk like recalcitrant kindergartners, managing to look defiant and apologetic all at once. George Wu sat, Shiro Tsubaki perched on the arm of his chair, and Trevor Haley stood behind them, hands buried deep in the pockets of his blue lab coat.

“Have you been crying?” asked Shiro.

Oslovski shook her head and put on her glasses. “No, not yet. Are you going to make me?”

They smiled with all the sincerity of the second runner-up at a beauty pageant.

“Come on people, let’s hear it.”

Now they exchanged nervous glances. Trevor cleared his throat. “Madga, we... We’re in a real dilemma over this project. Or rather, over the use we’re afraid the results of this project will be put to.”

“Frankly, the language of the contract bothers us,” said Shiro. “We’re very concerned about the morality of our position.”

Oslovski was nodding. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this. I can’t say I wasn’t dreading it, either.”

“Don’t you have any feelings about it?” asked Trevor. “Doesn’t it scare you to think what a group of men facing the extinction of their way of life might do with time travel?”

Oslovski made a peaked roof with her fingers and studied the long, natural fingernails. “Before I say anything about my feelings, I have a duty to deliver the party line.”

They groaned almost in harmony and she held up her hand. “Hear me out, please. I’ve got to say this. We are not the first scientists to be confronted with this dilemma. Psychologists even have a name for it—the Openheimer Syndrome. Science is neutral—neither good nor evil. Only the end uses of science can be viewed through a filter of moral principles or ethics. You know all this; I’m not telling you anything new.”

She got up and began a deliberate stroll around her office. “Party line, folks, is: We are not culpable for the actions of the people who purchase our expertise or the fruits of our research. We make time travel possible and our responsibility ends there. We aren’t accountable for what’s done with it once it leaves this facility.”

“But, dammit Maggie, it doesn’t leave this facility!” Trevor moved to follow her. “Don’t we have anything to say about that? Do we have to be associated with their...historic enhancements?”

She stopped to look at him. “Are you suggesting we cast them out into the world with our research notes and wash our hands of the technology? Give them the recipe and make them find their own cooks?”

“We could do that, couldn’t we?” asked George hopefully.

Shiro shook her head. “We were talking about morality, George. Is that any more moral than doing the work ourselves? Given our research, they could find other people to do the work. The world would still be up the tree without a paddle.”

“Creek,” corrected George.

“Creek, then.... I feel we should keep the technology in‑house and exert some control over how it’s used. Can’t we do that?”

Oslovski shook her head. “I don’t see how.”

“Okay, Magda,” said Trevor. “You recited the party line.

Duty is done. Now, tell us how you feel about this.”

“Very uneasy. Close to crappy, in fact.” She circled back toward her desk. “General Caldwell has been extremely closed‑mouthed about the reasons the military community has targeted Temporal Research for support. I’m not terribly comfortable with phrases like ‘enhancing history’ or ‘rectifying cultural aberrations.’” She was back at her desk now, and seated herself behind it. “Fact is, folks, we are bound by contract to deliver the ‘fruits of our research,’ as the papers say, to our clients. Fact is, our administration will hold us to that contract regardless of our moral inclinations. Let’s say we default—refuse to continue. Best case, they take the body of our research and use it without our cooperation, maybe even ban us from further work on time travel.”

Shiro gasped. “Could they do something like that?”

“Read the contract, Shiro. It gives them the right to the disposition of Temporal Shift technology.”

“So what’s worst case?” asked Trevor.

“Worst case is, they do all that and bury this whole institute to the bargain.”

“So we’re powerless over our own creation, then. That’s what you’re saying. We can’t do a damned thing.” Trevor’s fists threatened to rip through his pockets. “Jesus, Magda, can’t we do something?”

Oslovski took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You ever read Saint Francis of Assisi?”

Shiro nodded. George and Trevor shook their heads.

“Saint Francis wrote a prayer that went something like this: ‘God grant me the courage to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference.’”

“That’s an answer?”

She shook her head. “It’s a...a yard stick. If we start with wisdom, maybe we’ll be able to determine whether the situation calls for courage or serenity. Right now, my best advice is accept the situation as it stands and pray for a sign from God.”

They weren’t happy with the advice, she could tell that by their glum faces as they filed out of her office. She felt sorry for them. Hell, she felt sorry for herself. She couldn’t even go holler on their administrator. She and Peter had already been around the proverbial rocket silo with her ethical objections to letting the military lead her research team around a blind curve. He’d reminded her about the sacred neutrality of science.

“Screw the sacred neutrality of science,” she’d said.

“Neutral is not a synonym for amoral.”

“You’re a professional,” he’d said. “I know you understand that there are also business ethics involved. Make your people understand. And make them understand that their temporal research would have died on the vine if the Defense Department hadn’t gotten interested in it.”

oOo

“Screw business ethics,” she snarled, as she threw herself onto her living room sofa that evening. “Since when are business ethics more important than human lives? Since when are they supposed to count for more with scientists than-than moral integrity?”

“Since businessmen started managing scientists?” Her husband poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

She grimaced. “God, yes. Bottom line.... Party line. Contractual obligations and scientific neutrality. And I, dutiful parrot that I am, read it right off the cue cards to my Team. You should have heard me, Vance. I actually quoted Saint Francis of Assisi to them.” She sighed and sipped her coffee.

“The poor man is probably spinning in his grave.”

Vance smiled. “I would have quoted Galata.”

“Galata?”

“One of my ilk—a psychologist. He said that human beings who fail to adjust their situation will be forced to adjust their attitude toward that situation.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, in the case of your crew, it may mean that they’ll adapt by developing a thicker skin. Maybe focus on the technology itself, on the, ah, scientific esthetic as opposed to the moral ethic.”

“I smell an ‘or’ in there somewhere. Faced with an unchangeable something they either adjust their attitude or what—go crazy?”

He shrugged. “That has been the reaction of some minds to unbendable obstacles.”

Magda shook her head. “No! Dammit, Vance, my Team should not be the ones to have to adjust their attitude! It’s precisely because the military won’t accept and adapt to its dwindling sphere of influence that we’re working on this project.”

“Mm-hm. Precisely. Because of their inability to adapt, they’re funding your life’s dream.”

She glared at him, thinking that there was a definate dark side to being married to the Team shrink. “That’s it, Mr. Psychologist. Make me feel like a self-centered, spiritually bankrupt toad.”

“Everyone’s self-centered, Mags. It’s a perception we learn to adjust as we realize the universe does not revolve around us.”

“Only some of us don’t adjust very well.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. At least you realize there’s a dilemma.”

oOo

That was not enough consolation to give Magda Oslovski a good night’s sleep. She arrived at work feeling limp and run down. A glance at the faces of her senior staff revealed matching sets of dark circles under their eyes. Louis Manyfeather and Vahid Khadivian looked more well-rested, but they were unusually quiet as they went about readying Toto for his morning outing. Judy Walsh was almost surly.

Oslovski gathered Haley, Tsubaki and Wu for a review of the previous day’s data. They were business-like (she was beginning to hate that word) and muted, answering questions in monosyllables and sharing sullen glances. They were on their way down to O.R. when she was paged to take a phone call from Washington. Three pairs of eyes assaulted her.

She held them off with a shake of her head. “I’ll handle this,” she said.

“Handle it, how?” asked Trevor.

She grimaced and crossed her fingers. “With wisdom, I hope.”

It was Caldwell, of course, wanting an unofficial report in anticipation of the official one he’d receive along with the other Chiefs the next week.

Oslovski licked suddenly dry lips. “We’re...we’re doing very well here, General. In fact, we...we’ve successfully completed Phase Three of the project.” She was glad she had the video link off and he couldn’t see her face.

“Phase Three? Ah, yes! That would be the short jumps into the past.”

“Yes. We sent Toto—the Temporal unit—back in time in increments from one hour to one year and successfully retrieved it, of course. After a thorough study of the data we included a compartmented cage containing several varieties of insects. They survived and we were then able to send mice.”

“Which also survived?”

“Yes, General. Although we’re still monitoring them for side effects. There did seem to be some disorientation. You can never be too careful with live animals.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Then you haven’t sent a human being anywhere yet.”

“Of course not. That would be premature.... Of course, it’s only a matter of time.”

“If you need a volunteer-“

“No, General. We do not. It’s too early.”

“Hmmm. So the next Phase, then—Phase Four—that’s where you’ll shoot for longer backward jumps?”

“Yes. We’ll lengthen both our stay and our range. It should be...exciting.” (It would have been if you hadn’t been footing the bill, she thought.)

“How far back?”

“Uh, we, um, had plans to attempt a jump of several decades.”

“That’s excellent, Dr. Oslovski. That is precisely the time period we’re interested in for our first experiment. We need to know as soon as you can send a man back thirty-two years and put him wherever we want him.”

“Well, spatial displacement is part of the n- um, of Phase Five.”

“Excellent. Is there any chance you’ll be at that level by next Monday?”

“Uh, there is a slim possibility.”

“Outstanding. Then I’m going to give you a target, Doctor. A time and a place to shoot for: April 21, 1992, New York City, World Convention Center, Main Hall, Upper Deck.”

Oslovski frowned. “Is there a particular reason for that target? Or is that something I’m not permitted to know?”

“I can only reveal the general nature of the mission, Doctor. There was a major snafu in New York in ‘92. We want to...set it right.”

“Sounds...earthshaking.”

“Oh, it will be.” There was more than a little pride in that statement.

Oslovski was online to the Data Library within seconds of breaking the connection with Caldwell. She instituted a search for significant events connected with the date he’d given, knowing full well what she was going to find.

“First World Congress,” returned the computer in well-modulated tones.

“Location.”

“World Convention Center, New York.”

Oslovski rolled her eyes. “Just this once, I couldn’t be wrong?”

The computer didn’t respond.

“Um, detail, please. Significant occurrences connected with the World Congress.”

“Admittance to Euro-Commonwealth of the Soviet Democratic Republic of the Russias, Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia and Rumania. Euro-American Alliance formed, including broad-based arms agreement and Demilitarization Pact. Continue?”

“Demilitarization Pact—didn’t that have a huge impact on the military establishment?”

“Affirmative. The Pact formalized the removal of American forces from Northern Europe and was the beginning of the ongoing dismantling and consolidating of the super-powers’ armed forces. The Pact was signed on the second day of the World Congress by the Presidents George Bush and Mikhail Gorbachev.”

Was that the snafu? The signing of the Pact? “Library, were there any negative occurrences at the conference? Any... scandals, things of that nature?”

“Affirmative. On the first day of the Congress, an attempt was made to assassinate President Gorbachev. It was foiled by the United Nations Guard.”

Oslovski felt a chilly fist grasp her stomach. “Detail,” she ordered.

“The attempt was made during a televised speech. The assassin was discovered as he was preparing to fire. The shot went wild. No one was injured. The President was escorted to safety. However, the assassin was shot while trying to escape. Members of the U.N. Guard denied responsibility for the shooting and a cursory examination revealed that the bullet came from a variety of long-range weapon not used by the U.N. forces. The assassin’s body was destroyed in a fire before a complete autopsy could be performed. Arson was suspected. Destruction was complete.”

“No teeth?”

“Specify.”

“Weren’t the assassin’s teeth found? Couldn’t they check dental records?”

“Negative. The assassin was apparently wearing a dental plate made of meltable plastic. Analysis of the residue yielded no information. Identification was never made.”

Oslovski sat quietly, stunned. Was that it? Was that the General’s “snafu?” Two possibilities occurred to her simultaneously. One was that the military meant to keep the assassin from being killed so the conspirators could be discovered. That was laudable. But since President Gorbachev had survived, what was the point at this stage in history?

The other possibility....

“Library. Ramifications of attempt on Gorbachev’s life—analyze.”

“The success of the U.N. Guard in protecting the President forestalled a major socio-political disaster. The United Nation’s position in the Congress and subsequent conferences was strengthened and Soviet-American relations cemented. Both the U.S. and U.S.S.R. expressed outrage at the destruction of the assassin’s body, which was in the custody of a Naval hospital.

The investigaton that followed was a joint Russo-American effort.”

“Further analysis: Impact of these events on the role of the U.S. military in the world sphere.”

“The handling of the assassination attempt by the U.N. forces and the subsequent charges of negligence brought against certain Naval personnel was a factor in diminishing regard for the military establishment. The ineffectiveness of the military to handle the situation with Gorbachev made the accords signed by U.S. and Soviet leaders regarding military decommissions much more tolerable to the American people. Political figures who had stood behind a strong military abdicated that position faced with what was perceived as a scandal.”

Oslovski frowned. “Question: At the time the assassination attempt was made, had either Gorbachev or Bush signed any agreements significantly affecting the military?”

“Negative. As previously stated, the attempt took place on the first day of the conference at precisely 11:00 a.m..”

Oslovski had one last question—one she was more than a little afraid to ask. “Was...was the military in any way...implicated in the assassination attempt, or was it just a question of negligence?”

“There were no formal charges made, although there was some speculation that the situation involved more than negligence. The assignments for security were handled directly by a committee made up of high-ranking military officers.”

Oslovski sank back into her chair. ‘This has to be wrong,’ she thought. ‘I have to be wrong. This can’t be what it looks like.’ It was inconceivable that intelligent human beings could be capable of something so impossibly evil as attempting to kill, not just a man, not just a country’s leader, but World Peace.

She got up and went down to O.R., her brain ticking like a jelly-filled time bomb. The Team was waiting—not very patiently—and nearly mugged her when she came through the door. She waved them down.

“Yes, it was Caldwell. We...we have things to discuss—after we start Phase Five.”

Trevor made an exasperated sound. “Why? Why can’t we talk now?”

“Because.... Because I need to launder my brain. I need to be a scientist for a while.” (And because I’m half hoping Phase Five will flat out fail and buy us some more time, she thought.)

“Places, everyone.”

They went without argument, slid into their duties and performed them flawlessly. Toto was sent backward in time to several sets of spatial coordinates that had verifiable landmarks. The experiment was a complete success. That generated some excitement, but not nearly what it should have.

At 1:00 p.m., Magda Oslovski looked over the body of data, gritted her teeth and called a staff meeting.

“As some of you know, I talked with General Caldwell this morning,” she told the assembled Team. He and the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be here in six days to see what progress we’ve made on Project Hourglass.”

“We’ve made wonderful progress!” enthused Vahid Khadivian. “Did you tell him that?”

Everyone else glanced at Khadivian, glanced at Oslovsky, then studied their blank video displays.

Oslovski started to take off her glasses, then changed her mind. She had to be able to read them accurately now.

“First, I’ll tell you what he told me. Then I’ll tell you what I told him. He gave me a target time and location. New York City, 1992, April 21, World Conference Center.”

“Oh! First World Congress,” said Shiro. Everyone else nodded.

“Correct. The General informed me that a...snafu—a major mistake—had occurred at this time and location. One the Joint Chiefs wanted to rectify.” She engaged the computer. “Library. Display headlines pertinent to the incident on the first day of World Congress.”

The computer produced the front page of a New York newspaper with a banner headline: ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT AT WORLD CONGRESS - GORBACHEV UNHARMED.

“The assassin was shot and killed,” said Oslovski. “His body was destroyed by a suspected arson fire while in the keeping of a Naval hospital and under a U.S. military guard.”

“Was that the mistake?” asked George. “The assassin’s death and the destruction of his body?”

Oslovski shook her head. “I don’t know. Let’s see what you think.” She filled in the details then—slowly, carefully, using the computer as part of her presentation. When she was finished, there was a heavy, disbelieving silence.

Trevor Haley broke it. “Do you think they intend to make sure the assassination attempt is successful?”

Oslovski shrugged and spread her hands. “I hate to think it, but it looks that way to me. The other possibility doesn’t make sense. Frankly, it sounds as if the assassin surviving his capture would really throw a spanner in the military machine.”

“What did you tell Caldwell?” asked Shiro.

“I told him we’d successfully completed Phase Three.”

Khadivian and Walsh both blanched.

“Phase Three?” repeated Vahid. “But that’s not true. We’ve completed Phase Four.”

Oslovski shook her head. “I did not lie to the man, Vahid. I merely under-xaggerated. We have completed Phase Three.”

“But when they check our reports-“ said Walsh.

Oslovski held up both hands. “Forgive me, Judy, Vahid, but that is simply not important right now. We have a major moral dilemma on our hands. I trust I’m not the only one who feels that way.”

A chorus of negatives indicated she was not. “I know I read some of you the party line yesterday—all that about the neutrality of science. Well, folks, science may be neutral, but scientists can’t afford to be. Mankind can’t afford for us to be.” She stood up and put both hands flat on the table. “All right, situation is this: I suspect that the Joint Chiefs intend to use our technology to go back to the First World Congress and attempt to create a situation that will also make it the last World Congress. Does anyone else share that suspicion?” She raised her left hand.

Haley, Tsubaki and Manyfeather followed suit immediately—George Wu with reluctance. Vahid kept both hands in his lap and looked miserable. Judy Walsh just stared at the table top, a fierce scowl on her face.

“Do you two disagree?” asked Trevor. “Do you think we’re being paranoid? It seems to me we at least have reason to tread cautiously here.”

Vahid shook his head. “I don’t know what to think.... They...they’ve paid so much for this research. Without them, we wouldn’t even have gotten to this stage.”

“We’ll all be paying for this research with our lives if they use it the way it looks like they mean to.”

Vahid just shook his head again.

Judy said, “I just can’t believe it. My father’s an Air Force non-com. I can’t believe they’d-“

“We’re not talking about the whole military here, Judy,” said Oslovski. “Just a group of very powerful men who...who may be having difficulty facing reality. Unfortunately, this group is at the top of the chain of command.... I can arrange for a transfer,” she added gently. “If you want to opt out now, you can.”

Judy took a deep breath. “No. No, this project has been my life for four years. I can’t just get up and leave. And I don’t want to see it used to kill. Besides, my father would be ashamed of me if I ran out in the middle of it all.”

Oslovski nodded. “Vahid?”

“I’m scared,” he said.

“We’re all scared,” said Oslovski. “The question is, do we stand around and shake and shiver, or do we do something about it?”

“I’d like to do something,” admitted Vahid.

“Right.” Oslovski let out a pent up breath. “Now, given the situation, what do we do?” She looked at the group around the table.

“We could send the General and his people back to the Cretaceous and leave them there,” suggested Trevor.

“Be real,” said Shiro. “We don’t even know if can penetrate the Cretaceous.”

“Seriously. Can’t we strand them someplace—I mean, some time?”

Shiro shook her head. “That would be as immoral in its own way as what they might be planning. Besides, they might manage to change the course of evolution or something.”

Louis Manyfeather sat forward in his seat. “What if we go back in time and make sure the assassin is captured?”

Oslovski grimaced. “Tempting, but none of us is exactly James Bond. Besides, that might change history just as effectively as a successful assassination. We need to make as little impact as possible on what’s already happened. We need to-to change the present to protect the past. Keep them from going back at all, if possible.”

“We could lock up our data,” suggested George. “Tell them what they’re asking is impossible.”

Oslovski nodded. “I thought of that. But remember, we’ve already shifted back past their target. The computers know that. I know you’re a talented programmer, George, but you’d have to be the king of hackers to destroy all that data without leaving a trail. Every activity log on every piece of equipment in O.R. will call us liars if anyone develops a sense of curiosity. Besides that, whose to say they won’t just go elsewhere for the expertise?”

“But that would take years,” said Louis.

“The net result would be the same, don’t you see?” asked Oslovski. “Time is no object. No matter how long they wait, if they achieve their goal....”

He saw, and nodded glumly.

“If we can’t get rid of them and we can’t fool them,” said Trevor, “then what can we do? Hypnotize them so they give up and go away? They’re not going to change their minds just because we

think they need an attitude adjustment.”

Oslovski stared at him. “An attitude adjustment,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Something Vance said last night about human nature. That presented with an unchangeable circumstance, the human mind adjusts its attitude to accept it...or goes mad, I suppose.”

Shiro nodded. “In other words, it grows the serenity necessary to accept the inevitable.... But how can we make the irresistible force believe that is has met an immovable object?”

Oslovski raised her eyebrows. “Maybe Trev has something there—hypnotism.”

Trevor snorted. “I was being facetious, Magda. There’s no way we can hypnotize the entire Defense Department.”

“We wouldn’t have to. The entire Defense Department isn’t going to be time traveling. They’ll send one or two men back—hell, we can control that much. We’ll tell them the field won’t allow more than that.” She started pacing, thinking. “I want to change the script for the next Phase Five experiment. We’re going to send Toto downstairs.”

oOo

While the others ate lunch, Magda Oslovski went up to her husband’s second floor office. He was munching on a tuna sandwich when she came in clutching her coffee cup in both hands.

“Hi,” he said. “Have you had lunch?”

She shook her head and he handed her half of his sandwich. “You have ‘that look.’”

“That ‘lean and hungry look?’” she asked around a bite of tuna.

“No. The patented Magda Oslovski ‘I’ve come to a definite decision and God help you if you try to change my mind’ look. So, what’s it going to be, Saint Mag of QuestLabs: Courage or Serenity?”

“Our courage, their serenity. Before I tell you what that means, answer a question: Can you hypnotize someone to make them think they’ve done something they haven’t done?”

“Can I, personally?”

She nodded.

“Ye-es,” he said slowly. “Given the right environment. It depends a lot on the magnitude of the suggestion and the natural resistance of the subject. Some individuals require a little help—sodium pentathol or Ephkal-A.”

“Ephkal-A—that was developed here, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve worked with it, then.”

“Yes, I have. It’s been very helpful in handling the endorphin imbalances that contribute to nasty conditions like schizophrenia.”

“In other words, it helps you adjust someone’s attitude.”

Vance shook his head. “Not quite. It helps the body adjust it’s own attitude. There’s a difference.”

“Okay, distinction noted. But it makes this hypnosis thing do-able?”

“Oh, it’s do-able. But it’s also undo-able. The effects have been known to fade.”

“Fade? Over how long a period?”

“Years, months. But real memories tend to do the same thing. Even things I did—oh, last night, say—tend to take on an aura of...fantasy.” He gave her a provocative look.

“I love you too,” she said. “But couldn’t this fading be counteracted with a regular regimen of Ephkal-A?”

He sighed. “We put schizophrenics on Ephkal-A boosters. It keeps their moods balanced and helps them to retain positive memory associations. It can be taken orally.... Where’s all this leading, Mags?”

“I’ll tell you. But I want you to be quiet until I’ve finished. Take notes if you have to. Then I want to hear what you think. Then I want to know if you’ll help.”

oOo

She was back in O.R. an hour and a half later, her face flushed and a mad gleam in her dark eyes. She called her Team away from their calibration routines into a pow-wow.

“Okay, here’s the new Phase Five game plan. The object of the experiment is to send Toto back one day to another location here in the Emerald City. Specifically...” She tapped out something on her handcomp and handed the unit to Shiro. “These coordinates.”

The younger woman glanced at them, then looked up puzzled.

“These are right downstairs, aren’t they?”

Oslovski nodded. “They are indeed. Directly below us, as a matter of fact.”

“That facility is identical to this one, isn’t it?”

“Right again. I just notified Admin that we’re going to be making use of it for some very delicate and oh-so-top-secret work. Peter was ecstatic. It’s one more thing he can add to the DOD tab. Phase Five now goes something like this. We send Toto down and back to ascertain we can hit the precise coordinates. Then, we’re going to incorporate a little bit of Phase Six into the plan: We’re going to bring in our animal friends. First, the mice, then, if they survive, we’ll send Q-Bert with a full medical array. And if he makes it through all right, it’s onward and upward.”

“You mean we’re going to go to a human subject?” asked Trevor.

She nodded. “Except that for the first round human Shift, we’ll just send someone downstairs in the same temporal range, just to make sure they’re okay.”

“Teleportation?” George looked both eager and concerned.

“What about Temporal Spectrum Shift? We’ve never tried moving an object along the same wave band. Theoretically, I’m not sure it would work. We can’t put someone through solid walls.”

“But we can use the Temporal Spectrum to move them from one place to another,” said Shiro. “We can shift back, change the location on the Spectrum, then shift forward again.”

“Ah!” George nodded. “Ah, yes! Sort of like a knight in chess.”

Shiro looked doubtful. “I guess so.”

“And to what purpose to we do this?” asked Trevor.

The devil was back in Oslovski’s eyes. “To the purpose of making the irresistible force think it’s met an immovable object. Think, Trev. What might make our clients adjust their attitude?”

“Is this a quiz?”

“Think.”

“Okay. Well, you said it. An immovable object.”

“Yes!” Shiro nodded eagerly. “I see. Something they can’t change. A-a future they can’t change, perhaps.”

“That’s what I hope to show them, people,” said Oslovski. “A future that their monkeying around didn’t change to their liking.”

“And what about the other thing?” asked Trevor. “What are we going to do about that?”

“We’re going to stop them. Stations, people. Let’s complete our calibrations.”

oOo

Q-Bert weathered his flight with all the aplomb of a veteran time traveler. He complained only when his sensors were attached via a small cap that fitted tightly over his head and fastened under his jaw. Louis had added insult to injury by laughing at him, something the genteel terrier couldn’t abide.

“You’re the first person he’s bitten since he was a puppy,” said Trevor, as they reviewed Q-Bert’s data.

Louis stared glumly at the bandage on his finger. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“I think you should take it as a warning not to laugh at Q‑Bert. He’s a scientist, after all, just like the rest of us. Except, of course, that he has a wet nose.”

“Yeah, and sharp teeth.” Louis shook his finger. “How did he do?”

“Just great. Respiration fine. Brain activity, relaxed—except when he bit you. Heart rate, normal. Blood panels look good. He’s a healthy, happy canine.”

Louis bit his lip and tried not to look desperately excited. “That means the next step is sending one of us.”

Trevor nodded. “Once Magda’s seen this data, I think she’ll agree to that.” He gave Louis a sideways look. “Are you volunteering?”

“You bet, Kimosabe. Wild horses couldn’t stop me. I can just see the headlines: Descendant of Sitting Bull First Man to Time Travel.” He grinned. “My folks will be so proud.”

Trevor looked skeptical. “Are you really a descendant of Chief Sitting Bull?”

“Bona fide, guaranteed.” He twiddled the eagle feather that hung, solitary, from the braid at the back of his head.

“That’s ironic.”

Louis raised his eyebrows.

“Little Big Horn,” said Trevor. “The Sequel.”

oOo

Operation Little Big Horn proceeded the next morning with a careful, full-staff study of Q-Bert’s data. Q-Bert himself was subjected to a thorough examination by Drs. Trevor Haley and Judy Walsh. When that was over, Magda Oslovski okayed the next phase.

Louis took Q-Bert’s place on the Spectral Grid, watching nervously as Trevor set up his sensors for the trip. Downstairs in the other O.R., Vahid Khadivian waited for the materialization.

Psychologically, Louis didn’t take the Shift as well as Q‑Bert had. His heart raced as the Field was activated and he was unable to slow it down. The Field danced like a swirling patina of stars before his eyes. A tingling sensation cascaded down his back, then spiraled upward again to spin crazily, but not unpleasantly, in his head. He blinked rapidly several times—saw colors flash vividly.

‘My God,’ he thought, ‘it really is a spectrum.’

Then the trembling stars returned and melted and he was watching Vahid Khadivian blink back at him. They stared at each other for a moment, then Vahid grinned and said, “Welcome to the Underworld, my son.”

Louis let out a whoop.

oOo

“Your heart rate got a little crazy there, Louis,” said Oslovski. “All through the Shift.”

“I just got a little excited, that’s all. Really.” He shrugged. “Adrenalin is a powerful drug, doctor.”

“No discomfort?”

“No. No, it was...tingly. Exhilarating. And there really are visible color bands. I saw them flashing when the Field effect faded.”

“Mmm.” Oslovski looked at the computer display again. “And most important of all, you made it. You ended up right where you were supposed to.” She gazed off into space for a moment.

“Okay. All right. Next phase.”

oOo

In the week that followed, they sent Toto back to the target date. He recorded the entire assassination attempt, tucked neatly away behind a pillar on the upper deck of the Conference Center. Oslovski’s Team reviewed the footage painstakingly.

They studied official accounts. They met far into the night, discussing, consulting, arguing, mentally rehearsing routines for Phase One of Operation Little Big Horn; running over a long list of “what-ifs.” They also started laying the groundwork for Phase Two.

When the big Monday arrived, the Chiefs appeared in full military regalia. With them were two “special operatives”—Ferris and Hilyard by name. Oslovski adopted the immediate suspicion that these were the would-be assassins. They contributed nothing to the briefing, but merely sat in silence, watching and listening.

Magda Oslovski conducted the briefing flanked by Vance Keller and Trevor Haley. The other members of the LBH conspiracy were busily readying themselves for the inevitable demonstration.

“Since I talked to you last, General Caldwell,” said Oslovski, “we’ve had several important break-throughs. But rather than tell you, we’ll show you. Dr. Haley, the video please.”

Around the oval table, video displays showed footage taken by Toto during his sortee in New York. The aborted assassination played out, followed by mass confusion, an explosion of golden motes and a sudden shift to aqua. The screens went black.

Oslovski’s eyes were still on Caldwell as he turned to stare at her.

“That...that was the assassination attempt on-“

“Yes. The date you gave me was the opening day of the First World Congress. But, of course, you knew that. We just happened to get this rather spectacular footage of the attempt on President Gorbachev’s life. That was the event you were targeting, was it not?”

Caldwell glanced at his clam-faced peers and nodded once. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Forgive my curiosity, General,” said Oslovski, “but what do you intend to accomplish?”

“The righting of a wrong, doctor,” he said. “That’s all you need to know. And that our work, our very lives, are dedicated to the best interests and the honor of this great nation.”

“And the well-being of its people?”

He smiled. “Of course, doctor. The two things are inseparable.”

“And what about the welfare of the world as a whole society?”

“The world is not a whole society, doctor. It’s a mish-mosh of societies and cultures. My concern—our concern is with the strength of the American nation. The other nations only concern us insofar as they are either beneficial or dangerous to U.S. interests.”

“I see.” Oslovski nodded. “And may I guess what you hope to accomplish?”

“You may guess all you want. We will neither confirm nor deny.”

She nodded again. “Naturally.... Two possibilities present themselves. One is that you wish to make sure the assassin isn’t, himself, assassinated so you can find out who hired him.”

General Caldwell’s smile didn’t falter. “A reasonable assumption, I suppose,” he said.

“The other possibility is that you intend to make certain he succeeds.”

None of the faces at the nether end of the table altered expression, but there was an eloquent flurry of exchanged glances.

Caldwell merely quirked an eyebrow. “What an interesting mind you have, Dr. Oslovski. I’m glad you’re not working for the other side.”

Oslovski smiled as if accepting that as a compliment. “What other side, General?”

“You do realize, of course,” Caldwell said, ignoring the question, “that you are contractually and ethically bound to bring this Project to a successful conclusion regardless of what we intend to do. So, you see, our intent is really irrelevant.”

“Of course.”

“And, of course, as scientists, you must observe a sort of code of non-intervention.”

That was more order than commentary and Oslovski bristled. If one more person cited the “Scientific Code of Non‑Intervention,” or preached objectivity at her, she vowed she’d send them back to the eruption of Krakatoa.

“So, we’ve seen that you can send a robot back to the target time and place. What else have you got for us?”

She showed them the bio-data on Q-Bert and Louis which included Louis’ recorded account of his experience. She took them to O.R. next, explaining the function of each station.

“How soon?” asked Caldwell when they’d concluded the short tour and examined Toto and the Field Generator. “How soon can our operatives begin making time jumps?”

“We can make them part of a demonstration right now, if you’d like.”

The Chiefs were more than eager to see a Temporal Shift in action. They watched as each operative was sent to places and times that were easily verifiable. Both men handled the experience as if they were veteran time travelers and consumed healthy amounts of lunch immediately after.

oOo

“They’re ice men,” said Shiro.

Oslovski’s Team was reconnoitering in the O.R. after their own hasty lunch, while their clients privately debriefed.

“You’d think they were just taking a drive around the block.”

“Conditioning,” said Trevor. “Mental conditioning.”

“Mm-hm. And we have to get around it somehow.”

Oslovski blew steam from her coffee cup and grimaced. “This is where we try a little psychology. They’ve been wondering all morning why the Team shrink’s been included in. They’re about to find out.”

oOo

They rejoined the Joint Chiefs in the Level 3 conference room for a final meeting to discuss any questions generated during the day and to set a timetable for the next Phase of the Project. Could delicate equipment go through the Spectrum, the Chiefs wanted to know. Could weapons?

Toto was delicate equipment, Trevor told them, the video rig and medical array, likewise. “For that matter,” he added, “a human being is delicate equipment. And as for weapons...” He wanted to claim some magical Omniscient Guardian of the Time Spectrum caused all weapons to disintegrate on transit, but couldn’t. “There’s no reason why they shouldn’t be fine.”

“I’m satisfied,” said General Caldwell when the question-and-answer session had wound down into nodding and note taking.

Oslovski raised her eyebrows. “General, you’re overlooking a very important factor in all of this.”

“Oh? And what might that be, doctor?”

“I think Dr. Keller is more qualified than I am to speak to that subject. Doctor, would you answer the General’s question?”

Vance nodded, tapping a pen lightly on the tabletop. “The psychological ramifications of time travel are quite complex.”

“For example?”

“Well, General, you’re undertaking to change history. Have you considered how many events might hinge on the one you propose to change?”

“It has been considered.”

“Then you are all prepared to face the changes in your personal lives that may result from your...” He’d been going to say “meddling,” but smiled and finished, “editing of history?”

“We’re counting on it,” said Caldwell, and the others nodded.

Dr. Keller spread his hands, palms up, on the table. “I just wanted to be sure you were properly prepared. It could be quite a shock for your operatives to return and discover they’ve edited a loved one out of existence.”

“What?”

They were all staring at him as if he’d just said “there’s a bomb under this table.” Oslovski fought the urge to grin.

“Gentlemen,” she said, “you must be prepared for any eventuality. You yourselves could be ‘edited’ out of existence by a change in history.”

“My God, how can anyone be prepared for that?” The reserved, soft-spoken Naval Admiral Krenshaw was visibly stunned.

Vance Keller nodded sympathetically. “I know it’s a terrifying prospect—to suddenly find your entire life rewritten—wives married to someone else, children never born.

And, of course, the guilt factor could be immense—the realization that you did it to yourselves.”

Caldwell looked like he’d just swallowed a sour pill.

“And then,” added Oslovski, “there is the possibility that your operatives could be stranded in the past.”

“I thought you said the technology was reliable,” said Caldwell sharply.

“Oh, it is. But it’s entirely possible that with a change in history, the technology might never be developed.”

“That’s damn pretzel logic! If the technology is never developed then how could anyone go back in time to-to get trapped?”

“The technology is reliable,” said Oslovski. “But the concepts behind it are sometimes dimly understood.”

Caldwell’s jaw was ticking. “And how do you propose we prepare for these eventualities?”

Oslovski met his chilly gaze with an equal amount of frost. “That’s what we have a psychologist on staff for, General. I would recommend that your operatives spend some time with him during their orientation.”

“Orientation?”

“We’ll need to do a complete medical work up on anyone who’s going to be sent that far back through the Spectrum and stay for any length of time,” said Trevor. “We have to know the normal physiology so any abnormalities can be spotted.”

Caldwell nodded, once. “When do you want them?”

“Right now. Barring unforeseen difficulties,” said Oslovski, “we can be ready to send one of your men back to the target in a week, maybe two.”

Caldwell frowned, puckering his mouth. “You’re sure the field can’t be expanded to take both men through at once?”

“That could lead to a dangerous instability in the Field. We might attempt to send two sujects through in single file, as it were. But until we’ve successfully retrieved two non-human subjects, we can’t try a double passage with your men.”

Caldwell looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. He took his Joint Chiefs and departed for Washington D.C., leaving Ferris and Hilyard in the capable hands of Oslovski and Keller.

oOo

Vance began “preventative therapy” sessions with his two subjects almost immediately. They discussed the ramifications of editing history in great detail. He encouraged them to talk about their fears. Then he worked hard at exploiting them—something that rubbed completely against his grain.

“Dammit, Mags, I can’t help but feel like a traitor to my calling. I’m supposed to help people overcome their fears and anxieties, not feed them.” Vance ran a hand roughly through his curly, black hair and grimaced.

“Sometimes fear is healthy, Vance. You know that. It keeps us from doing stupid, dangerous things like screw with history. People should be afraid to do that shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t they be afraid or ashamed to commit murder?”

He looked up at her out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds almost noble. I guess I just need to be sure that it really is. That we’re not just rationalizing. Because using psychology that way rubs me raw.”

Magda folded her arms across her chest and studied his face. “Is it that bad? Do you want to opt out?”

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “No, it’s not that bad, dammit, but this little voice in my head keeps telling me it should be. Frankly, knowing what I know, it’s hard to be objective. Hell, it’s impossible to be objective. Hilyard gives me the creeps and Ferris has the most advanced case of tunnel vision I’ve ever seen when it comes to the activities of the military. To hear him talk, you’d think the Joint Chiefs should be canonized—or at least knighted. And Hilyard-“ He shook his head. “I got him talking about war and how he felt about it. He said he thought dropping the bomb on Hiroshima was beneficial.”

Magda shrugged. “A lot of people feel we wouldn’t have achieved peace without having stood face to face with that horror first. You have to admit, it made the whole world stop in its tracks and realize war was a no-op.”

“I think he meant it was beneficial because it let the other nations know who was boss. It established the U.S. as a Super Power—‘separated the men from the boys,’ as he put it.”

“Oh.... So, how are they doing with the program?”

Vance’s dark face brightened a little. “Pretty well, actually. Hilyard is just oozing with half-healed post adolescent wounds and a lot of resentment against his superiors. He doesn’t like feeling expendable and he fears that’s just what he is. Ferris is just a conscientious G.I. trying to do what he feels is his patriotic duty.”

“Assassination?”

Vance shrugged. “I’ve had them both under hypnosis. Ferris seems to take to post-hypnotic suggestion just fine, but Hilyard’s a little resistant. Oh, there’s one thing I might be able to use against him, though.” He made a face. “Dear God, did I just say that?”

Magda threw a paper clip at him. “Snap out of it, Doc.”

“Anyway, he expressed belief in reincarnation and past life regression. I think there are some possibilities in that direction.”

Magda nodded, looking thoughtful. “Vance, what’s your assessment of the mental and emotional health of these two men?”

“That’s a tough one. Judging from what they’re planning to do....” He shook his head. “I’d have to say we were looking at two pretty sick little puppies. Oh, mentally, I’d have to give them a clean bill of health—based solely on the standard issue tests. But faced with this...mission of theirs, they’ve got to be buying their day to day sanity at the expense of their emotional stability.”

Magda got up and moved to face him, locking her fingers at the back of his neck. “While you’re busy feeling guilty about brainwashing them so they don’t have to go through with their mission, ask yourself what would happen to them, mentally and emotionally, if they did go through with it. Hilyard is right, Vance. As far as Caldwell is concerned, they are expendable.”

oOo

During the week and a half prior to their Time Shift, Hilyard and Ferris each established their own unique behavior patterns. Colonel Ferris spent most of his free time alone or, almost perversely, it seemed, in Vance Keller’s company. He rarely interacted with any of the other team members. Hilyard, on the other hand, elected to shadow different members of Oslovki’s Team insatiably asking questions about the Temporal Spectrum and its attendant technology.

“It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe it,” said Trevor, “and he’s asking all these questions trying to catch us out.”

Shiro nodded. “I know just what you mean. And you know, he actually seems to understand what we tell him. It’s eerie. I feel like he’s watching us all the time. Listening to everything we say and taking notes.”

“He is taking notes,” averred Louis. “Every time I turn around, he’s talking to that handcomp. I’d love to get my hands on that thing to hear what he’s been saying about us behind our backs.”

“Let’s get serious, folks,” said Oslovski from the head of the table. “He’s very likely keeping reports for Caldwell. Let’s just make sure he doesn’t see or hear anything compromising. Now, tomorrow’s the big day. We’ll have one more procedural drill tonight. Are their any issues we need to discuss... Judy?”

“I’m a little concerned about the combined effects of Ephkal-A and the tranq they’ll receive. The tranquillizer will inevitably create a condition that the Ephkal-A will counter-act. I’m wondering if we shouldn’t delay the infusion of Ephkal-A until after the Shift. That way they won’t be subjected to an endorphin double-whammy.”

Oslovski nodded. “A valid concern. Trev? What’s your opinion?”

“I can see a potential for metabolic confusion. There’ll be a natural tendency toward rapid pulse and increased adrenal activity. The tranq will damp that and it will depress some neural functions, which Ephkal-A will then try to elevate. But, frankly, that could be to our advantage.”

Judy Walsh flushed angrily. “What about their advantage? Or don’t we care if we drive them into a seizure?”

“Of course we care, Judy,” said Trevor. “I just don’t see a clear danger. Q-Bert didn’t have any problem with the compounds.”

“Q-Bert’s a dog, not a man. His heart didn’t pound the way theirs did. His nervous system didn’t go into overdrive. They may seem like icemen, but they’re not. I’m afraid of what the combination of drugs and adrenalin might do.”

“I think Judy has a valid concern,” said Oslovski. “Vance, is there any way they can receive the Ephkal-A at your end?”

“I don’t see why not. We’ll have to get the timing right—wait until their attention is engaged elsewhere—but sure.”

“All right. Trev, will you oversee that?”

He nodded, making a note on his handcomp. “Got it.”

Oslovski glanced around the table again. “More issues?”

Vance raised a hand. “I’ve got a couple. Which do you want first, the good issue or the bad issue?”

“Oh, please. Let’s hear the good one first.”

“Well, as you no doubt noticed, Bert Ferris has been stuck to me all week. He’s a nice guy, but sort of a bundle of contradictions. He’s a very...religious man, I guess you’d say. Very active in his church. The doctrines of his particular sect include the idea that world peace is something that won’t or can’t or shouldn’t come until the literal and physical return of Christ. The current peace is, ipso facto, false and evil. He more or less told me that he considers it his Christian duty to ‘undo the Devil’s work,’ as he put it, in any way he could.”

There was a moment of complete silence at the table. Judy Walsh’s face was a deep red and Vahid’s lips moved in a silent invocation.

“The good news is, that this predisposition to-um-“

“Crusader mentality?” offered Trevor acerbically.

“Trevor, please,” Oslovski cautioned him.

“Sorry. I just don’t understand that mind set. If God hadn’t wanted peace on earth, how the hell could we have achieved it? Look at all the obstacles that had to be overcome. If the history of the last thirty-five years wasn’t some sort of Divine miracle-“

Oslovski raised a hand to stop him. “No one here is arguing with you, Trev. But our understanding of Ferris’ mind set isn’t germane. What is germane is that that mind set might be an advantage to our crusade.”

Trevor mumbled something under his breath.

“As I was saying,” Vance continued, “Colonel Ferris has a predisposition, even a deep-seated drive, to correct what he sees as a cosmic evil. He’s a man with a mission—to see this false peace brought to an end. Now, I grant you that on some level, he is very likely aware of the contradictions in that ideology. And on another level, there’s every indication that because of that ideology, these many years of peace we’ve enjoyed pose an extreme test to his faith. The bottom line (if I may be so crass) is that he’ll want to believe he’s accomplished that mission. He’s already proved to take post-hypnotic suggestion very readily.”

“Good,” said Oslovski. “So, what’s the bad issue?”

“The bad issue is that both of these guys are thoroughly terrified by the idea that they might ‘erase’ someone as a by-product of their mission. I think Ferris’ sectarian indoctrination will override that fear, but I’m not so sure about Hilyard. He’s a cold-blooded S.O.B., but he’s got a mom, a dad, two younger brothers and a younger sister in Omaha, Nebraska. Even if he doesn’t erase them, in any nuclear engagement that would be one of the first places to go—it’s within spittin’ distance of SAC Headquarters. He has what I’d call a very strong subconscious imperative not to believe that his mission was a success.”

Oslovski’s brow knit. “Has be been resistant to hypnosis?”

“Moreso than Ferris. It’s not insurmountable. I just wanted to warn you.”

“Consider us warned. Anyone else?” When no one answered, Oslovski started to dismiss the meeting. “In that case we’ll-“

“Excuse me.” Judy Walsh’s voice was barely audible.

Oslovski motioned for her to speak.

“I just...I just wanted you all to know we’re not all like that. Christians, I mean. Some of us—maybe even most of us—believe peace is God’s will.”

“And I must be honest in admitting,” said Vahid, “that there are some very devout Muslims who feel much as Colonel Ferris does. I trust their beliefs will not reflect on me.” He glanced at Trevor who shook his head.

“Of course not. I’m sorry if I was out of line. I hate bigotry. Especially my own.”

oOo

At 0900 hours they were calibrated and ready. On strict orders from Caldwell, Ferris would be the first to go, Hilyard following as immediately as possible.

Magda Oslovski found that significant. It implied that Ferris was the primary operative and that Hilyard was his backup.

She, Trevor and Vance briefed them just prior to the Shift, reminding them not to stray too far from the Temporal Field Grid lest they lose track of it and become stranded.

“Of course, one of you could heft it and carry it with you,” said Oslovski. “It’s portable enough, but the potential for damaging it is increased if you move it. The nearer to the materialization point you can accomplish your...mission, the better. We’ve positioned you behind a support column, well out of sight so you should be able to just leave the Grid in place.”

She glanced at her handcomp, checking her notes. “Oh, yes. You’ll be invisible as long as you’re within about two meters of the Grid. That’s part of the Field effect. Again, if you stay close to the Grid, you can use that for cover.”

Trevor Haley bit the inside of his lip and peered studiously at his own handcomp.

“If there are any questions?” Oslovski glanced from one operative to the other. Both shook their heads. “All right, then. Colonel Ferris, if you’ll follow Dr. Haley, he’ll set you up on the Grid. Major Hilyard, you’ll watch from the observation deck with General Caldwell.”

Judy Walsh was nervous. Her hands shook slightly as she prepared an infusion of tranquillizer for Colonel Ferris. She breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t the type that liked to watch shots being administered.

She was just preparing to infuse him when he sighed and said, “I don’t suppose you could give me a pill to adjust my electrolytes?”

She blinked. There was a smile on his lips and it unnerved her. She glanced at George Wu, who was performing the last minute adjustments on Ferris’ bio-monitor.

“Sorry, Colonel,” said George, “but we’ve got to get this stuff into your blood stream pronto. Besides, Dr. Walsh likes to watch people squirm.” He grinned conspiratorially. “We have to let our M.D.s have some fun or they get cranky.”

Judy smiled nervously and pressed the infuser against Ferris’ neck. He winced, then sighed again and looked at her.

“Pretty women are so often cruel. I’ve never understood that.”

“Yeah,” said George, his eyes on Judy’s blanched face. “Uh, Dr. Walsh, we’d better hurry.” He jerked his head toward the O.R..

She nodded, picked up her tray and let him steer her out of the Theatre. Once in the O.R., she set the tray down with a clatter and wrapped her arms around herself. “Thanks, George,” she mumbled, her teeth chattering. “I’m sorry, but this whole thing is just-“

“Shifting,” said Shiro.

Judy glanced at her, then at the monitors. The Spectral Field glistened like a shower of diamonds. Within it, Colonel Ferris faded from sight.

“Station, Dr. Walsh!” ordered Oslovski.

Judy exhaled sharply and slid into her seat. The data on the Colonel’s vital signs rippled across her screen. “Heart rate spiked briefly to 150. It’s falling off now.... One twenty... one hundred. Stabilizing at...95. Respiration seems normal.”

Oslovski leaned toward Shiro Tsubaki. “Where is he? Or should I say, when is he?”

“Green minus seven and Shifting towards Aqua.”

“On the timer, Shiro. Give the tranq a few more seconds to work, then make the spatial shift and pull him in.”

Shiro nodded and glanced at her timer. “Okay, I’m going to reset coordinates in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0. Resetting coordinates.” She punched up the new location on her keyboard.

“Que Trevor. Reversing Field...now.”

Oslovski activated her head set and hailed Trevor, who was standing by in the lower level Theatre. “Shiro’s reversing now.

You’ll have him in about twenty seconds.”

“We’re ready.” Trevor hefted the infuser-full of Ephkal-A and waited, his eyes on the spot where Ferris and the Temporal Field Grid were slated to appear. Beside him, Vance Keller took a deep breath and counted.

Ferris re-materialized right on schedule, head lolling slightly, hands still clutching his compact weapon. He materialized face into a curving screen that all but engulfed him. His unfocused eyes saw the sweeping upper gallery of the Word Conference Center. He wobbled his head to the right. A pillar blocked his view.

Trevor moved quickly with his infuser, then nodded to Vance.

“He’s all yours,” he mouthed.

oOo

Ferris was troubled. The Time Shift had disoriented him and he felt slow and muzzy. He was glad the chosen location offered so much protection. He knew he was supposedly invisible, but he found that a little hard to believe. He chucked inwardly at his own skepticism. Here he’d just traveled through time and he was balking at the idea of invisibility.

He scanned the immediate area. It was completely clear.

According to their information, this part of the auditorium had been totally sealed off and was guarded at either end. There was no way in and no way out...except their way.

He could hear the sound of a myriad voices rising from below and checked his watch. It was 1045. He settled his shoulder against the pillar and waited for Hilyard, the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” playing softly in his head.

oOo

Dr. Judy Walsh was ready this time, or so she thought. She had a smile all ready for Major Hilyard as she prepared his infusion of tranquillizer. Then, he turned out to be a watcher.

She gritted her teeth and smiled more broadly.

“What’s in that shot?” he asked unexpectedly.

The infuser wavered an inch from his neck. Judy’s face paled then flamed. “Just...uh...vitamins and...uh...a compound to-to balance your electrolytes.”

“Why is that necessary?”

She tried hard not to meet his eyes, but hers kept colliding with them. “The effects of the Field cause certain...uh... stresses on the-on the nervous system. This will counteract them.”

He studied her intently for a moment, eyes narrowed, then asked, “Is there anything harmful in it?”

She stared at him, half relieved, half terrified. “Oh, no!”

He nodded. “Get on with it, then.”

Judy blinked at George—who stared back, owl-eyed—then administered the tranquillizer.

oOo

Bert Ferris swiveled as Hilyard materialized behind him. He checked his watch. It was 1050. They checked their weapons—matte black rifles with scopes that were as long as the barrels—then moved stealthily to the steel and cement railing at the edge of the gallery.

Ferris looked back toward the Grid. He couldn’t see it because of the pillar, but he guaged they were within the two meter invisibility range. He raised himself up slowly and peered over the edge of the gallery. He checked his watch again—less than a minute to go. He readied the rifle.

Below, Gorbachev was introduced in several languages. The audience cheered and applauded at length. Ferris’ lip curled—a standing ovation for the Devil. He rose to his knees and lifted the rifle. He sighted.

A shot reverberated through the hall and the figure in the center of the stage froze. In that second, Ferris fired twice.

The figure crumpled beneath a spray of scarlet.

In the pandemonium after, Ferris sank back and gave Hilyard the thumbs up, then he crawled back to the Grid. After a swift peek over the railing, Hilyard followed. Ferris mounted first and waited for the Field to engage. A mere twenty seconds later, he was back in his own time.

Hilyard followed, coming out of the Field to see Ferris wobbling away toward the door. His own legs felt weak and he staggered against someone. He turned his head groggily to see Dr. Walsh blinking at him. She tried to smile.

“You made it,” she said. “Welcome back.” She gave him another infusion. “Something for the disorientation.”

He nodded and let her lead him from the room.

oOo

“I don’t understand it,” fumed General Caldwell, “You said expect changes. And believe you me, we did. But nothing’s changed—not a damn thing. Killing- Fulfilling our mission seems to have accomplished nothing. I called our contacts in Washington, Berlin, Moscow—everything is the same.”

At the mention of his contacts, Magda Oslovski glanced across the table at her husband, her heart suddenly feeling like an ice cube in soda water. Did the contacts check their history books?

If they did... She berated herself mentally for such a glaring oversight. They’d been so wrapped up in the technological aspects of the situation, they’d ignored the most obvious logical ones.

“General,” said Vance, “we never said things would change radically. Just that they could.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Oslovski saw George Wu trying to attract her attention. He gestured, first, at his video unit, then at himself. She responded with a slight nod.

“Are you sure you killed him?” Caldwell was asking Ferris.

“Killed or vegetized,” responded the Colonel emphatically. “No one survives two direct hits to the head with an AK-70.”

“Hilyard, you corroborate?”

Hilyard nodded.

“How can we know for certain?” was Caldwell’s next question.

Oslovski glanced at George Wu.

“History books,” he said quickly. “Newspapers. We can have the Library Computer get a sampling.”

“Do it.”

George keyed in his request. Within seconds, they were looking at a front page spread: GORBACHEV VICTIM OF ASSASSINATION PLOT.

“Continue,” George prompted. The page changed. WORLD STUNNED BY VICIOUS ATTACK ON GORBACHEV: DOCTORS HAVE LITTLE HOPE FOR SOVIET LEADER’S SURVIVAL.

“Hold that!” said Caldwell. “Let me read the copy.”

“Amplify,” said George.

The page enlarged, rendering the text beneath the caption readable.

“He wasn’t killed,” murmured Caldwell. Then frowned. “But it amounts to the same thing—severe brain damage, kept on life support in a Moscow hospital. He’s a vegetable.” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. How come nothing’s changed?”

“What were you expecting?” asked Oslovski as dispassionately as she could.

He ignored her, his eyes devouring the story on the monitor.

“I could find some history books,” offered George.

Caldwell waved a hand at him. “No, don’t bother. I caught the drift from this-“ He flicked his fingers at the newspaper spread. “A lot of wimpy speeches about ‘our brother’s sacrifice not being in vain,’ a lot of fancy political rationalization about the impossibility of going back. Weak willed-“ He clenched his jaw.

“Maybe the effects are further in the future,” suggested Ferris.

“That’s a distinct possibility,” said Oslovski thoughtfully. “Time travel is a frontier. What we know of the Temporal Spectrum suggests that changing history—altering the pattern of the Spectrum—might cause an actual branching effect. This close to the bifurcation, we might not see its full effects. Although, heaven knows, we could even have created an anomaly—a parallel history, or a bubble in history.”

“And we could be in the middle of this...bubble?” asked Caldwell.

Oslovski adjusted her glasses on her nose. “As I said—a distinct possibility. Then again, maybe Someone or Something just won’t let us change history...retroactively.”

Caldwell just stared at her blankly. Ferris gritted his teeth. Hilyard smiled.

“How far in the future—these effects?” demanded Caldwell.

Oslovski shrugged, enjoying his frustration. “Years, decades...”

“I want to see it,” he said. “I want to see the future.”

“All right, but it will take several days to recalibrate our equipment for a forward Shift. We could be ready to send your operatives into the future in as little as...say...four days.”

“Not them, me! I want to see it! Hilyard, you’ll come with me. In the mean time, I’ll be having my contacts check their own Library computers.” He jabbed the table with his forefinger, then pivoted on his heel and left the room with Ferris right behind. Hilyard watched them leave, then rose slowly and followed, still smiling.

Oslovski shivered. “I see what you mean about him,” she told Vance. “He is creepy.” She turned to George. “I could just kiss you! Where did you get that stuff you showed us?”

George shrugged. “Over the last couple of days I got to thinking about how Caldwell and his bunch would react to this, and it occurred to me that they’d want to see solid proof that what their operatives said happened actually did happen. There wasn’t any time to discuss it with everyone, so I had the Library Computer play ‘what-if’ with the assassination and come up with some hypothetical headlines and political analyses. Then I just got a little creative with the output and had the computer assign well-known authors to the commentary. There’s a front page, lead story and follow-ups for every major U.S. and European publication. Oh, and I had the computer draft some hypothetical history texts, too.”

“What made you decide Gorbachev didn’t die?” asked Vance.

“Well, it also occurred to me that Caldwell might very likely do his verification somewhere that fell through my cracks, as it were. If he did, he’d see that Gorbachev died of natural causes in a private hospital outside Moscow about eight years ago. I had to adjust my ‘history’ to that. I was able to get to his private computer through the Library of Congress system. If he connects through that system, he’ll find that Gorbachev was taken to a private facility where he eventually died—this is history according to George, now. I also planted the idea that there was an attempted cover-up. That a group of Soviet higher-ups tried to make light of the President’s injuries and claimed that he had only been superficially wounded—so that people wouldn’t lapse into despair or renewed animosity.”

“Why that?” asked Vance.

“Covering our tracks, Doc. There’s still every chance that Caldwell or his contacts could look in the wrong places and come up with a Gorbachev who was not only alive, but lively. Even with my noodling, that could still unravel our whole fabric. Now, if I knew who Caldwell’s contacts were, what data bank they’d be likely to access and what nodes they’d be using, I could make sure they all got matching information. Unfortunately, I’m not a mind reader.”

“You might not have to be,” said Oslovski. She held up a small, dark gray box. “Hilyard dropped his handcomp.”

George ogled. “And it’s displaying a list of contacts?”

“No, it’s displaying an index.” She held it out to him.

“You’re the hacker—have at it.”

It was at once logical and beyond all possible miracles to suppose that the names and system addresses of Caldwell’s contacts for Project Hourglass were amongst the data stored in Hilyard’s handcomp, but they were. George and Louis went into high gear. They downloaded the information to their own handcomps and immediately set about using it to shunt any requests for information originating from the contact’s terminals through to the QuestLabs’ Library server. Hilyard’s unit was returned to him post haste.

“But what if somebody just goes to a library terminal and requests information about Gorbachev’s assassination?” asked Shiro.

George allowed himself a self-congratulatory grin. “I planted something in the nature of a glorified IF-THEN statement in the Library of Congress system. IF anyone requests information on the assassination attempt, THEN they get routed to our ersatz fact file. Since all libraries network to that system-“ He shrugged.

“George, you’re a marvel,” Oslovski told him.

He blushed faintly at the praise. “Well, I couldn’t cover all our tracks, but I did what I could. It’s just...” He made a wry face.

“What?”

“Well, it seems too much of a fluke, I guess. Here we find ourselves in a position where we could use certain information and—bingo!—it falls onto our conference room floor.”

“Miracles do happen,” observed Vance.

George tilted his head. “I don’t doubt it. But there’s something a little odd about this miracle. For two weeks, Hilyard’s been taking notes on that handcomp. I didn’t find a trace of them.”

“Maybe it was encrypted,” suggested Shiro.

“Even encrypted information takes up room in memory, my dear. The only data left in that unit, with the exception of the information we needed, was general stuff. There wasn’t even a letter to mom.”

Oslovski stiffened. “You’re suggesting we’ve been set up.”

George shrugged. “The nodes I accessed were operative and the addresses and passwords were real. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

“And maybe not.” Oslovski frowned thoughtfully. “Let’s keep a close eye on Major Hilyard.”

“What do we do if he does anything suspicious?” asked Louis.

Oslovski grimaced. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. But we don’t have any time to worry about it. We’ve got to get ready for Phase Two of Operation Little Big Horn. First order of business is helping General Caldwell decide where to go.”

oOo

“It has to be someplace where I can ascertain military activity,” said Caldwell. “In other words, a military installation.”

“A...War Room, perhaps?” suggested Oslovski.

“You mean a Tactical Center,” corrected Ferris. “We haven’t called them War Rooms for years.”

A rose by any other name, thought Oslovski. Aloud, she said, “Tactical Center, then. Would that be appropriate?”

Hilyard looked up from fiddling with his handcomp. “Begging your pardon, sir, but if a Tactical Center was in operation in the future, wouldn’t that indicate something about the health of the military establishment?”

Caldwell nodded slowly. “Makes sense. All right. Send us to Offutt. If there’s any activity at all, it’ll be there.”

oOo

Four days later they were ready for the Shift, their target, the year 2075, Offutt Air Force Base, Bellevue, Nebraska. Caldwell didn’t ask what was in his shot, but accepted the electrolyte story at face value. This time it was closer to the truth. Instead of a powerful tranquillizer, the infusions contained only a mild neural damper and a dose of Ephkal-A.

Hilyard went onto the Grid first—a precautionary measure, Cladwell insisted. Caldwell himself was plainly nervous as he followed; only Hilyard’s extreme calm persuaded him he was not going to merely evaporate into the shimmering void.

He re-materialized in semi-darkness and stiffened in apprehension. The wave of anxiety passed at the pressure of Hilyard’s fingers on his arm.

They were standing on a narrow catwalk. What light there was in the vaulted room seemed to be coming from below. Figures moving about the room cast eerie, elongated shadows onto the curving ceiling. Caldwell and Hilyard moved in unison to the steel railing at the edge of the carpeted walk, Caldwell looking back to make certain the move left them inside the invisibility range.

Below and beneath was a large horseshoe-shaped chamber bathed in mellow gold light and populated by uniformed soldiers.

Computer generated maps alternated with video screens along the curving walls, while in the heart of the room were several computer stations. Directly at center was an odd piece of equipment that looked like a rectangular stalactite/stalagmite formation rendered in some sort of anodized, black metal.

Between the top and bottom of the unit, hung a shimmering curtain of colored light. Next to that mystery stood a figure with what appeared to be an admiral’s insignia on its shoulders.

Caldwell frowned. The uniform was an unfamiliar silvery-blue unrecognizable as being from any branch of the military. The rank suggested Navy, but.... He scanned the other figures.

Several, apparently officers, also wore the silver-blue, others wore a vivid shade between royal blue and midnight. From his high vantage point, he saw nothing of their faces; only the tops of heads covered with unfamiliar caps.

Before he could solve the puzzle, one of the blue-suited soldiers seated at a computer termial turned and said, “Commander, we’re receiving new data on the Northern Front. It looks like a much bigger push than we anticipated.”

“On screen, Tech Newman.”

Caldwell stiffened. It was a woman’s voice. He’d never objected to women entering the service—but in a War Room? Still, that the War Room was here at all was- One of the wall maps came suddenly to life. Caldwell’s eyes flew to it and ogled.

Across a green representation of the United States and Canada, swept a coruscating swathe of gold, orange and red, its southern edge pressing as far south as Montana. On the east, it reached greedy fingers of glowing hues toward the Great Lakes.

“My God,” Caldwell breathed awfully.

Hilyard glanced at him and tapped his ear.

The General barely noticed him. What nation could field such a massive front, let alone push it all the way into the northern states? He licked his lips, wondering what they were fighting it with.

“Have all the warnings gone out?” the Admiral asked.

“Yes, sir. Forty-eight hours before the leading edge.

Status reports are already coming in; everybody’s battening down for the duration.”

The Admiral nodded. “When will the leading edge reach Yosemite?”

The technician plied his keyboard for an instant, then consulted his monitor. “Approximately twenty-four hours, sir. They’ve been advised.”

Twenty-four hours? Caldwell thought. What army could move that fast? Maybe it was a weapon of some sort. Nuclear? No, too wide- spread. Chemical? Biological? How could they remain so calm in the face of such vast destruction—as if it was everyday fare. This looked like...Armaggedon.

“Thank you, Newman,” the Admiral was saying. “Mr. Mendez?”

“Yes, sir.” Another technician glanced up from her console.

“Are you in communication with Yosemite Base?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is their status?”

“Heavily embattled, sir,” answered the slightly accented voice. “Commander Li says the situation is barely under control.”

“Visual reference,” ordered the Admiral.

Next to the huge map, a video panel pulsed on. Nothing showed upon it but billowing smoke and flames. So faintly he wasn’t certain he’d really seen them, Caldwell’s eyes caught the movement of bodies plummeting through the fog-thick smoke. The observing camera eye panned. He saw uniformed soldiers scrambling through the blazing brush, flames patting at their passing legs like playful but deadly kittens.

Below, the Admiral made a clicking noise and said, “Visual off. Advise Commander Li that we will send reinforcements immediately. Then contact Colonel Darnell and have her dispatch a company of men and aerial support units. I believe the closest air squadrons are aboard the UNS Crazy Horse. Have the air support sent in from there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you’ve completed that, put me in touch with General Dreyfus in Juneau.”

The Admiral turned as a second officer approached her carrying what appeared to be a handcomp. He made what Caldwell felt was a half-ass salute.

“So, Mr. Krasnik,” said the Admiral, not bothering to return the gesture. “What new hot spots do you have for me today?”

“Actually, sir, it looks very much as if we’re going to have an unusual situation in Florida. Cuba Station has already begun tracking.”

The Admiral jerked a thumb at the odd machine to her right.

“Show and tell, Mr. Krasnik,” she said.

“I have General Dreyfus, Admiral,” announced Technician Mendez.

The Admiral signaled Krasnik to go ahead. “On audio.”

“Admiral Halleck, sir. Good to hear from you,” said a disembodied voice.

“I noticed you were out from under. What’s your status, Vinnie?”

“Pretty bad. We’ve been hemmed in for the better part of four days. Everything was grounded. Today...it’s terrible. The sheer number of corpses, sir—it’s devastating. The bio-med team has been doing its best, but we-we’ve had to put so many of them down.”

Caldwell’s mind froze and threatened to recoil. What in the name of all things holy had they come to in the last fifty years—putting the injured down? His lip curled in disgust. He supposed they called it euthanasia or some such nonsense. Murder—that’s what he called it. Sheer brutal laziness. He glanced again at the map. Or had the enemy weaponry become so hideous-?

Beside Caldwell, Hilyard frowned thoughtfully, almost unconsciously resting his elbows on the catwalk’s padded guardrail.

General Dreyfus finished his report, noting that he could use something larger than his present complement of destroyer, cruiser and corvette to help “mop up.”

“More men would be appreciated too, Admiral. We’ve got our hands more than full disposing of the bodies. It’s gonna take one helluva pit to bury all of them.”

Caldwell almost puked. He gripped the guardrail, oblivious to Hilyard’s bemused observation. It couldn’t be that bad. It could never be so bad that you had to-

Officer Krasnik turned from his machine and whispered something in Admiral Halleck’s ear.

“My tactical officer informs me that you have about 5 days to get your situation in hand. You’re evidently going to be hit fairly hard from the northwest again.”

Dreyfus swore.

“Sorry, Vin. We’ll get your reinforcements to you on the double. The battleship Walesa is in Anadyr. I’ll have her deployed to your waters. How many men do you need?”

“I could use a battalion,” said Dreyfus.

Halleck snorted. “Take two, they’re small.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“I didn’t think you were.... Casualties were that bad?”

“Thousands upon thousands, Admiral. Worst I’ve seen in a situation like this. The Apah Param couldn’t have struck at a worse time of year. Shit, it’s hard to believe one damn boat could do so much damage!”

One boat! One! Caldwell swallowed and found his throat too dry for the activity. And what the hell was an Apah Param? He had the sudden horrible thought that perhaps the Enemy wasn’t even human.

“They will insist on year-round activity,” said Halleck.

“We’ve certainly advised them against their bad weather jaunts, but who can reason with them? It’d take another Gorbi, God bless him.”

Caldwell’s mouth popped open. Gorbi?

“Well, do your best, Vinnie,” urged the Admiral. “Of course, you always do. Then, when this is all over, why don’t you take a nice vacation somewhere sunny and warm?”

“Oh, sure. So I can come back and do it all over again next year!”

“Well, you could transfer to Yosemite in the spring. We’ll be sending in a couple of battalions to rebuild.”

“Yeah,” sighed Dreyfus. “I like trees.”

Caldwell shook his head. The conversation was getting hard to follow. His assumptions about the situation shifted beneath him like dune sand as he tried to make sense out of it.

Admiral Halleck signed off, then and turned her attention to Krasnik and his machine. “Show and tell time, Mr. Krasnik,” she said.

In response, the officer touched an instrument panel on one side of the machine’s black base. The column of muted light became a colorful multi-leveled sea of three-dimensional images, flowing in stately waves—advancing, retreating.

They reminded Hilyard of the “plasma clouds” he used to generate as a kid, using fractal equations on the family computer.

Krasnik tapped and keyed and adjusted and the images settled into patterns that almost made sense. Vibrant green formed hills and vales below wisps and billows of subtly changing hues.

Hilyard frowned, bemused, then felt the patterns click into sudden clarity. His mouth twitched as he turned his eyes to the ogling Caldwell.

“And who have we here?” asked the Admiral, nodding at the 3D display.

“This is Mariella.” Krasnik indicated a violently eddying orange area high in one corner. “And this,”—he indicated the rolling greens— “is the coastal area we’re afraid will be hardest hit when she rolls ashore.”

Halleck frowned. “Poor Cuba. That’s twice in three years. What’s the prognosis for Florida?”

“Not so good, if this continues to gain velocity. This mass here,”—he gestured with a sweeping, circular motion—“is strengthening rapidly. We may be looking at a full-fledge blow before tomorrow morning.”

Caldwell’s ogle changed to a stunned scowl.

“What’re the chances of seeding her to force the precipitation?”

Krasnik shrugged. “Cuba’s on it. Along with a wing of storm bombers from Mexico. We can but pray and send troops to help Florida batten down.”

Admiral Halleck nodded. “Too bad we can’t get Mariella to dump her load on Yosemite. Coax Nature to put out her own fires. Wouldn’t that be poetic justice?”

“We’re working on it,” said Krasnik soberly.

Caldwell’s fists tightened on the catwalk rail. Confusion and anger swept up from his gut in a hot spray, warring with something blasphemously like relief.

“I’ve seen enough,” he whispered and went to the Grid.

oOo

“What the hell was that place? Where the hell did they send us?” Caldwell turned on Hilyard the moment he stepped off the Grid. “It sure as hell wasn’t a War Room!”

Hilyard blinked at him, feeling only slightly disoriented. “No sir, of course not. It was a Tactical Center.”

“That was no Tactical Center like I’ve ever seen, Major.”

“No sir. I don’t imagine anyone else has ever seen one like it either.”

“And that-and that machine—some sort of-of-“

“It was an atmospheric model, sir.”

“A what?”

“An atmospheric model. A three dimensional projection of-“

“Yeah, yeah- Doctor!” Caldwell launched himself at Oslovski as she stepped into the room. “Where did you send me? What was that place?”

Oslovski glanced from Caldwell to Hilyard. “We sent you to a Tactical Center, just as you requested.” She spread her hands in a gesture of bemusement. “I can’t tell you more than that. You were there just now, I wasn’t.”

Caldwell swung back to Hilyard. “Major, what do you make of it? What was that all about?”

“I’d say sir,” said Hilyard, his voice soft and almost patient, “that we were sent to a military Tactical Center. I’d also say that they seemed to be fighting battles on several fronts.”

“Battles? What battles? They weren’t fighting-“

“They were fighting all right, sir,” said Hilyard imperturbably. “The enemy just wasn’t...people.”

“What did you see?” asked Oslovski.

“A farce!” erupted Caldwell.

Hilyard ignored him. “Evidently in the future, we’ll be battling forest fires and hurricanes and oil spills...or so it seems.” He shrugged. “Maybe reforestation will replace demolition as a specialty—an environmental defense specialty.”

“That’s absurd!” snarled Caldwell. “Fighting men fight, dammit. They don’t damn garden!”

“And what’s wrong with killing forest fires instead of people?” asked Oslovski. “Or planting trees instead of land mines? Wouldn’t you rather be the heroes of a constructive process instead of the villains of a destructive one?”

“Villains?”

Oslovski looked him in the eye. “Most of us don’t like war, General. We hate it. We’re not likely to thank anyone who perpetuates it when peace is within reach. I know you don’t understand that. Nor will you likely understand that most of us look forward to a day when the military is obsolete. Well, it looks like that day isn’t going to come. It looks like the future needs the military, after all—needs it for construction instead of destruction. I’d think you’d be happy about that.”

Caldwell stood glaring darkly at the floor.

“Looks like our interference in history didn’t accomplish anything after all,” observed Hilyard. “Maybe even made Gorbachev more of a hero than he already seemed to be.”

“Hell,” muttered Caldwell. “What’m I supposed to tell the Chiefs?” He started toward the door. It scooted obediently out of his way.

Oslovski shrugged and watched him pass. “You could find another historical crux and try again.”

“We don’t have the funds. Dammit, we were so sure that was the right time and place—the right enemy.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to know who the enemy really is,” observed Oslovski. “Or if there’s even an enemy at all.”

He threw her a scathing glance and passed through into the hall. She found herself eye to eye with Major Hilyard.

“We have met the Enemy and he is us?” he murmured, quirking an eyebrow.

She smothered her reaction and followed the two men into the corridor, steering them toward the Conference Room. The rest of the Team was already there, along with Colonel Ferris, but Caldwell ignored them, dropping into a chair at the far end of the table.

Hilyard seated himself next door and sat back in his chair, watching Oslovski make her way to the head of the room.

“We have evidently failed in our mission,” said Caldwell. He glanced at Ferris’ suddenly pale, tense face. “The military of the future,”—he said the word as if it was odious—“is apparently more of an environmental defense mechanism than a national security force.”

“Those people were defending more than the environment, sir,” said Hilyard quietly. “They were helping the people of this country defend themselves against natural disaster. They were helping devastated areas rebuild.” He smiled. “I’ll bet they see a lot more ticker-tape parades than we do.”

Caldwell gritted his teeth. There was that unholy feeling of relief again, of something stronger. “What do we do, then? Slink on home with our tails between our legs and admit all the money we’ve spent went down the rat hole?”

“We could get a head start on the future,” suggested Hilyard. “It looked pretty interesting to me, sir.”

Caldwell glanced at him, pinning his lower lip between thumb and forefinger. “I suppose we could float some ideas around the Hill...before they sack all of us.”

“May I make a suggestion?” asked Oslovski.

Caldwell nodded.

“First, let us put history back the way it was.”

“How can you do that?” asked Ferris.

“By sending you back to the time of the incident and having you not shoot Gorbachev.”

Ferris shook his head. “But then, we’d be there twice.”

“Not possible,” said Shiro. “If we got you there a millisecond before your initial materialization, the pattern of the first event will adjust itself to the second. Think of time as light waves. The first temporal event—your first visit—set up a waveform, if you will. If the second temporal event—the second visit—sets up its waveform just prior to the first one, it will cancel it out, engulf it, re-form it.”

“Then what?” asked Caldwell.

“Well, to paraphrase Saint Francis of Assisi,” said Oslovski. “Have the courage to change what you can, the serenity to accept what you cannot change and the wisdom to know the difference. Accept peace. Get used to it, and to the idea that you do have a peacetime role that’s more than just training for the next war—the war that won’t come. We can help you do that. Dr. Keller could help you set up a program to ease you into that peacetime role. The future doesn’t have to be miserable just because you have no enemies.” She nearly crossed her eyes at the sheer absurdity of the thought. “Judging from Major Hilyard’s description of the future, I’d say you’ll have lots to do...and lots of support in doing it.”

Caldwell chewed his lip and thought. Then he glanced at Hilyard. “What do you think, Major?”

“I think it’s worth a shot...sir.”

“Ferris?”

“I-I can’t say, sir. I...I don’t know. This peace...it isn’t real. It can’t be.”

“Only time will tell,” observed Oslovski. “You know, back in the early 20th century a gentleman named Abbas Effendi said, ‘Why not try peace for a while? If we find war is better, it will not be difficult to fight again.’” She spread her hands toward Caldwell, pushing the ball into his court.

“You’d be willing to set up counseling clinics, uh, reorientation, or whatever?” he asked.

“Whatever it takes,” said Oslovski.

“Damn!” Caldwell slapped the table with the flat of his hand, making everyone jump. He pointed a finger at Oslovski.

“You’ve got my back to the wall, doctor. I’ve got no choice and you know it. It’s either put up, or shut up and go back empty handed. I’ll get the Chiefs up here. You can start your psycho-stuff on them while I package a few ideas and try to sell them on the Hill. Shouldn’t have too much trouble with the environmental lobby, I suppose. Right now, I’ve got to lie down. I’ve got a hell of a headache.”

He pushed himself away from the table, rose and left, Ferris trailing behind him like a woebegone pet.

Hilyard sat where he was and smiled at the tabletop. The tension in the room mounted by the second. Finally, he got up and glanced down the table at Oslovski. “I don’t know how you did it,” he said. “And I’m not sure I want to know. There’s a part of me that wants to blow the whistle on you, even though I couldn’t prove a damn thing...at least, not without implicating myself in certain matters. But there’s another part of me that knows what you did was right...for everybody concerned.”

He gave the circle of stunned faces a long, lingering look, then nodded and moved to the door, stopping just short of the pressure pad. He turned back. “One thing I’ve got to know: When did you play out that little scene Caldwell and I just saw?”

Oslovski cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Two days ago in the theatre downstairs.”

He nodded, smiling. “Thank you,” he said. The door slipped open to let him out, then closed silently behind him.

oOo

Less than a month later, the Joint Chiefs of Staff made a ground breaking proposal to Congress that instead of mothballing fleets, bases and men, the government embark on a military overhaul, converting whatever was convertible to peace time use.

Battleships could fight oil slicks; tanks could fight fires; troops could learn to build shelters for hurricane victims, shore up leaking levees and plant forests.

The EPA loved it, GreenPeace was ecstatic, the Red Cross was more than grateful for the offer of troops and equipment to aid in their relief efforts. The Chiefs spoke of global applications and the United Nations applauded and handed them a list of ideas as long as the Great Wall of China.

“I would love to take credit for all this,” said Vance Keller, scanning the latest edition of a national news magazine, “but to tell you the truth, the counseling program hasn’t been as much of a factor in the conversion process as we expected. Oh, there are the inevitable individuals who are having trouble accepting the sudden shift in orientation-“

“Ferris?” Magda Oslovski glanced over the top of her coffee cup.

Vance puckered. “Actually he’s doing okay. He’s finding a great deal of comfort in playing Gamaliel.”

Magda raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“’If this work be of men, it will come to naught,’” he quoted. “He’s been studying his scriptures a lot. He’s come up with some interesting alternatives to the party line interpretations of prophecy.” He grinned. “Vahid is overjoyed—Ferris has been asking all sorts of questions about Muhammad and Islamic prophecy.... Anyway, most of the G.I.s we’ve interviewed seem to be happy to be beating their swords into ploughshares. Practicing for war takes a lot out of a person. If you want my honest opinion, I’d say General Caldwell and his bunch were a lot less keen on being heroes than they imagined they were.”

“Oh, but they are heroes.” Magda fielded a folded page of flimsy newspaper nylon. A half-page color picture of a glowing General Caldwell with his young aide, Lieutenant Colonel John Hilyard, smiled up from the glossy sheet under a banner headline announcing Project Ploughshare. “At least, I’m pretty sure Saint Francis would have said so.”

End

© Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff - 1990, 2009

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