'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney
xxx
James Norrington stared into his empty coffee mug, almost resentfully. It had been years since he'd felt such strong desire to ingest something more intoxicating. Not that there was any change of getting it now, with all restaurant service suspended until further notice.
He looked up, scanning the glass-walled café. Twenty minutes ago, this place had been filled with normally-conversing Germans and tourists. Just a few huddled clusters of people were left, speaking in bewildered, anxious whispers. Outside, policemen with megaphones were bellowing orders, in multiple languages, for everyone to either leave the area or to get inside until the situation was brought under control.
Only Norrington already knew what was going on, and how it would conclude. Which was no consolation at all. 'The awfulness at the Munich games,' as Jack had once called it, proving he possessed capacity for understatement.
James' eye lingered on the glass door, through which his recent table companion had bolted at the first rumor of trouble at the Olympic Village. The security perimeter would have been erected by the time he got there, so he'd be spared. Eleven of his teammates wouldn't be so lucky.
The former Commodore bowed his head again. Many of these Lo-Haz Missions involved making sure individuals got to their destinations on time, or making sure they failed to. This was the first such job he'd done that involved a life-or-death situation.
And he'd just made an unhappy discovery. Ordering young men into a battle where they might die felt radically different from watching them walk unaware into a situation where it was certain they would... where they'd be given absolutely no chance to defend themselves.
He really, really wanted a sherry.
Somebody stumbled inside- no doubt shooed in by the police. Uneven steps crossed the floor. James looked up, on the verge of requesting that the newcomer find another table. Then he saw who it was.
A flustered-looking Murphy plunked himself down on the facing chair, folding and re-folding his ruffled newspaper. Doing a very convincing imitation of a tourist dazed by this sudden intrusion of horror into the festivities. "Nobody's close enough to hear. We can talk, if you're of a mind to."
Norrington glanced to the entrance again. He couldn't shake the earlier image of two laughing young Israelis- really no more than boys- exiting through it.
"There were a couple other athletes with him when I first arrived. They excused themselves once we started talking about scuba diving. I knew exactly what they were on their way to. What's happening to them now, what's going to, tomorrow. I didn't even whisper a warning." He threw Murphy an accusing look. "Did it really have to be this way?"
"It did, James. This tragedy will have effects well past today and tomorrow. Including some which, in the long run, shall save far more than eleven lives." He was still fumbling with the paper. "One of your colleagues calls this the 'Edith Keeler Syndrome'."
"I remember the 'training film'."* But that wasn't helping much. It would have been so easy to alert Olympic Security about the impending terrorist infiltration. Eleven fine young men could have been saved. Not just the one youngster- a swimmer- whom James had detained with a riveting account of a treasure-wreck dive off St. Lucia.
The senior man addressed him gently. "I'm aware you have nothing more substantial than my word on this. So you can't help wondering; if we really do have your species' best interests in mind, why do we not prevent horrific events from happening? The Hun and Mongolian invasions. The Black Plagues. The Sand Creek Massacre. Any of the genocides- Armenian, Tasmanian, German, Cambodian, Rwandan. Most of my Operatives confront me about this sooner or later. It would be astonishing if none of you did.
"I can only repeat: our first responsibility is, and shall always be, to the Timelines. Responsibility for the welfare of humans..." Murphy's nervous paper-shuffling paused as he regarded James squarely. "You, more than most, realize where that lies."
"I do know. But there's moments when I doubt we're actually adequate to the job."
Murphy glanced out, in the general direction of Olympic Village. "Keep in mind that you're getting a skewed view, since failures are far more discernible than successes. You'd be surprised how many catastrophes have been averted because a few individuals acted in time. Sometimes just one person. Such as that admirable young man whose life you just saved."
Norrington deliberately recalled that narrow, earnest face under dark curls, alight with interest and anticipation. He breathed a brief prayer that the boy not be irredeemably scarred by the upcoming events.
The elder continued. "I can assure you of this: your world hasn't come close to experiencing the worst that can happen. I know of an example, within this very galaxy, of a Timeline that underwent a 'perfect storm' of damaging events. One of the casualties was a planet's entire biosphere- it's a lifeless rock now. Don't imagine we regard that with indifference." Indeed, Murphy looked like he was speaking of a lost family member.
"I don't doubt you, intellectually. But as I can't actually see the positive results from this..."
"... they don't seem entirely real to you. As opposed to the suffering of those two youngsters whose faces you have viewed. That's a natural consequence of being a sight-oriented species."
"Perhaps... it might improve my perspective, if you could give me some better understanding of the Timelines." Under other circumstances, expressing need for a father figure might have embarrassed the almost-fifty James. But Mr. Murphy was his only reliable source.
"I can explain a few things." The being spoke stolidly, even as his nervously twitching fingers continued their charade with the paper. "To start with the basics: you may have noticed I nearly always refer to Timelines in the plural. Because temporal progression isn't like a solid cable running from past to future. It's more comparable to a braided rope, with the number of strands varying from section to section. The exact number is determined by a myriad of factors, but by human standards it's always immense.
"Timelines almost invariably occur in the vicinity of matter, since the two define each other. They cluster most abundantly in galaxies, thickest of all within solar systems. We whom you call 'Murphy's People' are their issuance... their Children. Though it might be more accurate to describe us as their Antibodies, since our function is to protect their existence and furtherance."
This lecture was, mercifully, lifting James' consciousness from here-and-now. "What do Timelines need to be protected from?"
"From any event, interaction or deprivation which could have damaging effects. Albert Einstein was correct; time and matter affect each other, in both creative and destructive ways."
"Do these time-matter interactions account for the 'quirks' involved in time travel?" Norrington guessed.
"For a number of them, yes. There's a limit to how precisely I can explain it to you. Human languages lack the necessary vocabulary words, because humans have never had occasion to invent them. That's not a thing to regret, James. As I've mentioned before, being obliged to keep track of these complexities is a burden your species is far better off without. At least for now."
"Like Adam and Eve, before they ate the forbidden fruit."
"Not quite. I refer, not to moral matters, but mechanical ones... to knowing how very intricate, and in some ways precarious, the workings of temporal progressions are. Having moment-to-moment awareness of how much was going on, and how many ways it could go awry, would be comparable to being continuously aware of all your metabolic functions. How much enjoyment do you suppose you could take from life, if that were the case?"
James grimaced. "'Ignorance is bliss'- I suppose there's something to that viewpoint. Jack seems to have no trouble subscribing to it."
"Your friend is, in some ways, far wiser than his surface suggests. No human could survive for as long as he has, if they had no knack for striking a balance."
That reminded Norrington of a concern he'd pondered before. "I wonder if you could tell me something. Are there any other Operatives with his sort of resilience... who never get tired being alive?"
"Sorry, James, I can't confirm or deny that. It's confidential information."
"I only thought, if Sparrow could meet a woman of that sort..."
"... perhaps she and Jack would have enough in common to 'hit it off', and obtain the same marital bliss you and Meredith currently enjoy." Murphy regarded Norrington sympathetically. "You know why I can't comment on that."
"Because it's dangerous to know much about the future."
"And because human social interactions- particularly those involved in the forming of emotional bonds- are something we can't claim to comprehend. This is why the closest we ever come to 'playing matchmaker' is to place people in the same vicinity. The rest, we leave up to you."
"As you did when you sent Mare aboard the Lady Buccaneer."
"I did that in hopes the three of you would get along. It's been our experience that Operatives with attachments, of one sort or another, make the most effective teams. They'll go to extra lengths to assist and protect each other, as you three did during your shared experience in the Hebrides."
Norrington's eyes narrowed. "So, you foresaw Jack and I would be kidnapped."
"We knew it could happen."
"And you did nothing to prevent it because you knew the long-term results would be largely positive. For you and, incidentally, for us."
"'Knew' is the wrong word, James. My people don't actually operate under many more certainties than yours does. We just have far better understanding of the possibilities and probabilities.
"And speaking of probabilities, I am aware of something else. You've just witnessed how something as simple as lingering- or not- at a café, can mean the difference between a full length of life and a tragically shortened one. Such awareness could make you overly conscious of the possible consequences of every little choice you make. The only sane advice I can offer is: try not to. That's not how a human is designed to operate. The best procedure you can follow is to make the most informed judgments you're able to, and let the rest take care of itself."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir."
They both fell silent. The street outside was virtually deserted, police sirens still sounding in the distance.
James shifted his feet. "I have another question. You've said the fortunes of the Timelines vary. How is ours doing?"
"Average."
"Just average."
"And I have every intention of seeing it doesn't fall below that." Murphy was giving his Operative that same penetrating look. "You, James Norrington, are part of that effort. You may not be feeling proud of it at the moment, but you should. As I think you will, later."
"Mmmm." James rubbed his temples, still wishing for just one shot of sherry.
Finally there was movement outside. A city policeman appeared, raising a bullhorn to his mouth, and announced: "Attention, please! It is now safe to come out the buildings. You may pursue business, but is required: do not approach Olympic Village." He repeated the message in several languages.
People began repopulating the street, though the tone of the urban hubbub had changed- puzzled, dismayed, desperate for information. A boy with a transistor radio quickly gathered a crowd.
Norrington and Murphy stood up, the latter clumsily reassembling his scattered newspaper. "I'd guess you would prefer to return home now, by the most direct route."
"You guess correctly." The pleasant Capri villa seemed most inviting to James' fancy. Particularly since it was the probable location of the one thing on earth which could soothe him more effectively than a drink.
"I do hope Meredith is home."
xxx
FINIS
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* The 'training film' is the classic Star Trek episode 'City On The Edge Of Forever', by Harlan Ellison. The story involves Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock being transported to 1930s New York City, where they make the acquaintance of admirable social worker Edith Keeler. Unfortunately, they discover they must allow her untimely death, before she spearheads a peace movement which shall delay America's involvement in World War II until Nazi Germany has time to develop atomic-weapons technology and win the war.
KIRK: She was right- peace was the way!
SPOCK: She was right. But at the wrong time.