Disclaimer: The makers of the film The Patriot own Colonel Tavington. I own the rest.

Genre: romance/time travel

Diana Lindsey returns…or rather pulls Tavington out of one time and into another….

Episode 9: The Door Into Time

Part I

He didn't expect to suffer long. The agony was so terrible that he simply wanted it all to be over. Whatever thoughts, whatever regrets he might have had were already fading into darkness. He had not even time to wonder what might come next. Oblivion was at hand, and took him…

And one day, it spat him back into the world of the living.

He heard voices first, and smelled a sharp odour, not unlike strong spirits. A red light glowed through his closed eyelids. Opening his eyes was difficult: they seemed glued shut. His body ached, and he felt almost weightless, floating in an unknown place.

"Here, this might help," said a woman's soft voice, and his eyes were wiped with a warm, damp, cloth.

The light was painful at first, and then he saw her.

"Diana!"

She was the same, but not the same. Her hair was uncovered, and she was dressed very strangely. His first thought was the obvious one.

"Are we both dead?"

She gave a little sob of a laugh, and said, "No, Will, you're not dead and neither am I! You're alive and here with me."

An unfamiliar male voice growled, "Just barely, though. It wasn't easy putting him back together." A new face leaned over, a youngish man with cropped and wildly disordered dark hair, and heavy spectacles. "Not to mention the transfusions."

Tavington was still too weak and disoriented to register the unfamiliar word. He was too happy to see Diana again, even in her odd new guise: a long white cotton coat, buttoned up the front, and long breeches of light green showing beneath. The man was dressed in a similar style. Rolling his head a little, he took in the room, which was full of a large, unfamiliar objects that glowed with coloured light. Some made curious noises. Most unpleasantly, he appeared to be connected to some of them by clear tubing that at first he took for glass. It could not be, however, as it seemed flexible. He was comfortably warm, and dressed in a kind of thin cotton gown. He shut his eyes wearily, not ready to think about it all.

Diana's soft, comforting voice was in his ear. "Will, don't worry. I know this is terribly strange. But everything here is to help you get well. And you will get well. You're almost there now. I'm going to get you something to drink, and little by little I'll explain where you are and what all of this is."

He found the familiar scent of her comforting as well. He had had months to think about Diana, months in which he missed her more and more. She had left Charlestown under mysterious circumstance; but he had been given evidence that she was from some time in the distant future—in fact, nearly three hundred years in the future. He had accepted the wonder of it, while bitterly regretting the lost opportunity to ask her what the coming years would hold for him.

Did she know I would be wounded? Perhaps that is why she was so eager for me to leave the Army. But now I am safe!

A door opened, and another woman called out, "I heard he's awake! How's your handsome stranger?"

Diana hushed her. "He's still very tired. I tell you more later." The door shut again, and Tavington heard muffled footsteps walking away.

There was a liquid sound of something being poured, and Diana said, "Will, we're going to adjust the bed, so you'll be sitting up a little. Don't be alarmed."

A whirring noise, and he was raised by the bed as if by invisible hands. There was a great deal here that he must take on trust, but he refused to show fear before Diana, and before the strange man with her. He opened his eyes again, and Diana was holding a glass full a liquid unfamiliar to him, something brightly coloured, with a pleasantly sharp, fruity smell.

"Orange juice," she explained. He had never heard of drinking the juice of oranges, but was too thirsty to quibble. He drank it down, and lay back again, feeling himself smile. She smiled back, gently. "You probably have a million questions."

If not a million, then certainly thousands.

They were in the future, in Diana's time. Tavington was only a little dazed at the actual date, being somewhat prepared by the coin Diana had left him. Apparently, Diana had planned for some time to rescue him from the battlefield, for more time had passed here than the few months since he had last been in Charlestown. Diana told him to be patient, and that when he was more recovered from his wounds, she would tell him everything. In the meantime, he was to rest, to read if he liked, and when he grew stronger, to explore his new abode. He had thought his recovery miraculously quick, until it was explained to him that they had kept him in a coma for many weeks, to promote healing.

They showed him where they had put away his clothes, his sword, and his other personal possessions. They removed the disconcerting tubing from nose and groin. For his convalescence, they exchanged the flimsy gown for the curious garments they all wore: soft cotton made into long breeches, and a loose, buttonless tunic-like shirt that one slid over the head. He winced the first time he lifted his arms to put it on. There were comfortable cotton stockings as well, that conformed well to the feet. Most interesting were the boots he was given. The left and right boots were designed so, the area for the toes appearing quite different in each.

"An amazing innovation of the 19th century," Diana teased, as she showed him how to put them on. "You'll find the fit superior." Tavington had to agree. They were by far the most comfortable footwear he had ever possessed. Diana was looking at him admiringly. "It all looks good on you, Will."

At first, he wondered if everyone here was Diana's near relation. Everyone used Christian names. The brusque but obviously excellent physician, Mark, he had thought must be Diana's brother. It was not so, however, for he found that everyone introduced themselves by Christian name, and they called him "William" in their turn. A few impudent strangers tried "Bill," until Tavington's expression set them straight. Eventually, they all settled for "Will," which was extraordinarily familiar, but inevitable. And they wished him to address them familiarly, as well.

"We've known each other for a long time, Will," Diana explained. "And we're all part of the team. You might say we're closer than a lot of blood relatives. Anyway, it's customary here. Anything else would seem odd and hostile."

So Tavington endured the forced intimacy. There were only a few dozen people here, the "team" that Diana spoke of, and no one appeared to be a servant, so the equality of situation made it all a little more palatable. In fact, Diana told him the cleaning that was done, was done by them all, on a rotating basis, or all together, as a work group.

In due course, another physician came to help Mark: a woman. Tavington was startled to hear that Gretchen, who had dropped by briefly when he first awakened, was indeed a doctor of medicine. She was a pleasant, comfortable-looking woman, and had a competent air about her.

She admired his healed wounds. Tavington admired them too. There was pink, tender scar tissue, but not the ridged flesh he would have expected. Gretchen said briskly, "You're making a full recovery. Nice to know all the work paid off." She grinned at Diana. "I guess they built them tough in the way-back-when." And then, in a business-like, no-nonsense tone to Tavington: "You need some regular, gentle exercise, like swimming, and I'll expect to see you at 9 in the morning daily, but other than that—you can be on your own within the week."

"Is it usual for woman to be physicians?" Tavington asked, half concerned that he was being vulgarly curious.

"Not uncommon," Gretchen declared calmly, prodding him in extraordinary places. "Women do all sort of things that once only men did."

Tavington wondered why, but saved the question for Diana, when she returned with his dinner and hers on a tray. She was very stimulated by the subject, and talked at great length about the gradual evolution of women's roles, and about the First World War, which seemed to have been the great turning point in social relations. According to Diana, so many men were killed in that war (and the casualty figures were unbelievable, until Diana explained the circumstances and weapons that led to such carnage), that many women had no male relatives to protect them, and no hope of husbands to provide for them. Thus they found themselves, poor creatures, forced out of their homes and into every kind of work and profession: medicine (which did not seem so absurd to Tavington), the law (which seemed much odder), business (many women had good heads for business), government (he supposed there was no reason a woman could not be as good a clerk as a man), and higher education (he smirked at the thought of women dons at university). Diana was a historian, in fact, and had gone to university. She had obtained an actual degree. Tavington digested the idea cautiously, and had nearly accepted it, when she told him that women also served in the military.

At this last, Tavington stared at her in flat disbelief, until she brought him books about recent military history. It seemed shocking, pitiable, and cruel to Tavington, but it was certainly a fact. This modern world had turned its women into cogs in its machines as thoroughly as it had its men. He could see that Diana thought these were great advancements for womankind, and he understood that she was proud of being a scholar, but it seemed very bleak and sad to him that her life as a woman had been neglected until the two of them had met.

Very carefully, he expressed his concern that so many women seemed to be busying themselves with men's work, instead of marrying and bearing children. Back in the past, he had cherished a small hope that Diana might have been with child by him. That hope proved groundless, however. And Diana's reply to his remarks raised even more questions.

She said, a little sadly, "Will, there are fifteen billion people on the planet. Nobody needs more children. In fact, many governments pay a bonus to the childless, and to those who voluntarily have themselves sterilized. No," she smiled, seeing his horrified expression, "I haven't gone that far. But I was fitted with a contraceptive implant—a device inserted under my skin-- before I used a time gate. It's standard procedure, and for our own protection."

"This implant," he began, and pulling her close in a most particular way. "Where is it? Does it hurt you? Why did I not notice it?"

And that stimulated a very amusing search for the device, which was tiny, and hidden away, just under the skin behind her ear. She assured him it could be removed at any time, but asked him to wait until he had had time to adjust to his new home. Tavington assented to this reluctantly, but consoled himself with plans for practicing for the future.

The Aurora Project Research Laboratory was apparently a place where "scientists" and scholars worked and studied and performed experiments. It was a very large building, partly underground, far from a town, and full of more rooms of strange equipment. In the first day on his feet alone, Tavington explored the halls and unlocked rooms, and found windows, looking out upon a barren landscape. The windows did not open.

"No point," the doctor, Mark, informed him as he passed by. "You'd just be letting the heat and pollution in." Tavington was curious and uneasy at the use of such a Biblical word, and later asked Diana what Mark meant, when she joined him for further explorations in the afternoon.

She looked at him for a long moment, as she sometimes did, as if translating the meaning of his words. "Oh!" she answered, finally understanding. "Mark isn't talking about religious transgressions or ritual taboos. He means the air is very unclean—full of toxins—I mean--full of poisons released into the air by machinery. It's better to let the system clean and cool it before we breathe it."

"You never go out?" Tavington had lived much of his life in the out-of-doors, riding, hunting, shooting, involved in sport and getting constant exercise. He was not impressed with the artificially lit room full of heavy machines that Diana explained they used to "work out" with.

"It seems so very dull," he objected. Diana smiled, and took his hand, drawing him down another long grey hall, which had an unfamiliar odor.

Opening a heavy door, a huge indoor pool was revealed. It was designed for swimming, and Tavington found it an amazing sight.

"What is that smell?"

"Chlorine," she answered. "A chemical that keeps the water clean. It's important to rinse off after swimming, because it's a little harsh."

The swimming pool was most attractive, though the heavy smell of "chlorine" took some getting used to. After all, Gretchen had told him this was the best sort of exercise for his healing scar tissue.

"I'm surprised no one else is here."

"They're all busy, I suppose. And it's not a popular time of day." They walked around the pool, and Tavington saw the cleverness of it—part of the pool was deeper than the rest, and the water was circulated by pumps. He stooped to touch the water and found it pleasantly warm.

Diana was smiling at him. "Well, how about it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let's go in. Just be careful about placing too much strain on yourself." She crossed the room to a wall of small metal doors, and opened one. "We have some gear you can use." She returned with a pile of white, fluffy towels, and a ridiculous scrap of cloth, bright red in color.

"What does one do with that?"

"Swim trunks. It's what you wear."

"Is it what you wear?" Tavington asked, quite shocked.

"No, I wear a bit more. Here, I'll show you how to put this on."

Tavington was already stripping off his shirt. "I absolutely refuse to wear anything so silly—custom or not." He found a bench and removed his boots. "There's only one comfortable way to swim." The odd, long breeches were removed, and folded on a bench. He saw that Diana was looking at him wide-eyed. He smirked. "My dear, there's nothing here you have not seen before. Don't look so startled." Carefully he slid into the water, and stretched carefully but pleasurably, admiring the ripples of light on the ceiling, and the sensation of buoyancy.

Diana was gaping him, blushing. He supposed he was outraging some native custom, but he was enjoying himself too much to care. She took a deep breath and hastily discarded her own clothing: white "lab coat," soft-soled boots, and mannish shirt and "pants." She was once again the Diana he knew completely, and for the first time he felt truly happy in this strange place. She caught his eye, laughed at her own modesty, and slipped into the pool to join him. He caught her in his arms and pulled her to him, alone at last, and able to kiss her properly and lengthily. Little waves splashed with their movements, brushing deliciously over his skin. He released her, and then swam away, with an enigmatic smile. She laughed, and swam after him.

"But can you never go out?" he asked again after a little while, floating in the scrupulously clean water, and doing a lazy backstroke the length of the pool. Diana was beside him, looking like a lovely, wet sea nymph; her white skin showing pale blue under the water as she swam beside him. Her hair spread about her like floating seaweed, and his pulse raced, as he anticipated the end of his "gentle exercise," and what other exercise might follow.

She answered slowly. "We go out when we must. Sometimes we need food and other supplies, though the Boss equipped us fairly well. We try to do nothing to attract attention. With the wind generator and solar panels, we're self-sufficient as to power." She meant "electrical power," which Tavington now understood was the source of the lights, the cooling, the ventilation fans, the research machines, and everything else in this strange, mechanical world. Tavington had seen steam engines and Diana had brought him books from the library that explained about "electrical power." The American rebel philosopher, Franklin, had written about electricity, and Diana told him that his work was the basis of their power source.

They reached the end of the pool. By unspoken agreement, they toweled each other off, pausing as they found particularly delightful and interesting places. Diana took him over to yet another machine, one that issued a blast of warm air for drying hair. It was oddly stimulating to stand in the wind of it, and they touched and teased each other, echoing the feel of the mysterious, electrical breeze. He considered taking her then and there, but the uninviting grey stone and metal of the floor and benches seemed too great an impediment in his present weakened condition. His knees, ribs and healing shoulder rebelled at the prospect. Surely Diana must know a better place.

Their clothes were thrown on carelessly. Diana did not bother with her usual underclothes, but slipped her shirt on, and it revealed all too clearly her state of mind. Tavington brushed his palms gently over the sharp, urgent, peaks, and she breathed a soft, involuntary whimper. Without further speech, she hurried him out of the echoing room, and down a new hall, that seemed unduly long. Finally she stopped at another nondescript grey door, and caught his hand in hers.

"This is my room."

"Do you like it?"

"The room? Yes, very much."

He did like Diana's room. Over the past few days it had become his home. It was a real woman's room, with personal items he could understand, and that were Diana's own, reflecting both her scholarly interests and her femininity. She had real furniture: proper furniture made of good wood, and handsomely carved. The soft and accommodating bed, the pair of snug wingback chairs, the capacious chest of drawers, and the wide and polished desk contributed to the well-appointed quarters. These were family heirlooms, she told him, as were some of the pictures, a pair of branched silver candlesticks, and a charming little bronze trinket box, Bacchus and his Maenads parading in high relief. There was a shiny black pianoforte of an improved design, and she played wonderful modern music to him: Mozart and Beethoven and Schubert. Her own books were here, and a regular scholar's mess of papers and notes. It was a homelike place, in the midst of the steel-grey austerity of the Aurora Project Research Laboratory.

The few possessions he had were brought here. No one seemed to think anything of Diana and him living together so, and that was a relief, for their intimacy was his greatest pleasure and comfort. How quickly they had relearned all they had known of each other, and found there were still new things to know. They had a private bathroom, a luxury that Tavington appreciated all the more as he savored the novelty of shared showerbaths. The high standards of personal cleanliness made possible and delectable some acts that had hitherto seemed beyond the pale. Diana, he decided, tasted like the ocean, and all that idea encompassed: rich with life, a universe in herself, and his true haven from the confusions and stress of this most fantastic situation.

She told him how she had suffered when she had left, and how the team had overcome the problems that had left her stranded for two years in another time, while only three months had passed at the laboratory. How she had persuaded the others to intervene on his behalf, and how he had been brought here. There were blanks in the story, though, and Tavington guessed she had not yet told him everything.

Mealtimes were very informal (and the food was strange and not very appetizing, save for some spectacular fruits and salads). Only occasionally were all the residents of the Laboratory present. There were fifty in all (though apparently there had formerly been many more), and some of them were often engrossed in their studies and did not emerge from their laboratories. Gradually, Tavington became better acquainted with them. Some, like Diana's friend Gretchen, the woman physician, were friendly enough. Their "systems administrator," Sonia, was almost too friendly. She was very curious about Tavington, asking him astonishingly personal questions; sometimes asking Diana even more personal questions in his presence, as if he were a half-wit, or a stuffed animal on display.

Tavington liked the library. After Diana's room, it was the pleasantest area in the Laboratory. Some of the books were on a machine that he found too incomprehensible to touch, but there was a vast collection of real books: honest books that he could pick up and sit down with; books full of history, of inventions, of natural philosophy, of medical miracles and natural disasters.

The first volumes he had looked for had been books about the Rebellion. There was a whole shelf of them, though there were some gaps that he suspected were places where books had been removed. The books he did find were general histories, and did not contain much detail about the campaign in South Carolina. To his immeasurable disgust, he learned that the rebels had triumphed, that Cornwallis had been forced into ignominious surrender, and that Great Britain had lost the thirteen rebellious colonies. He had slammed the offending book shut, and had sulked for the rest of the afternoon. He finished it the next day, of course. It was like a hideous sight that one should look away from, but instead stared at in irresistible fascination. The subsequent history of the thirteen colonies was equally irritating. He learned enough to satisfy himself, and turned to more pleasant subjects.

Diana loved suggesting books, as did Mark and Gretchen, and the two other historians, Alan and Keith. Tavington found books full of marvelous "photographs," which were true images of real things, made by something like a camera obscura, but which Keith told him used a solution of silver to fix an image on a plate, or "film." These photographs (or "light pictures"—Tavington had enough Greek to understand the origin of the term) showed him everything from battles to beautiful paintings to vast cities, full of tall, remarkably ugly buildings. He had not understood what they were at first, since it took him some time to get a feel for the scale involved.

"But there must be hundreds of steps in them!"

And Diana explained about machines called elevators, which were movable rooms on cables with doors to let one off at the different floors. There were elevators in the Laboratory, in fact, and she showed them to him. They took a ride together, a nerve-wracking affair that seemed rather pointless for human beings, but quite useful when Tavington considered the issue of freight.

The cities in the pictures, though, were not all still in existence. Alan and Keith, working at their desks, exchanged glances. Keith, who was always more forthcoming, suggested more books, and also that Tavington have a long talk with Diana. But there were other, more immediate issues he needed to grasp.

One night, before falling asleep, Tavington asked Diana, "Who owns the Laboratory?"

She was silent. And then, abruptly, she said. "The Boss owns the Aurora Project. But we haven't seen him in some time."

"Who and what is the Boss?" Tavington had never heard the word.

"Boss means—oh, leader, employer, director. Sam Walford is still technically the owner of the property. He's a billionaire who had the original idea for Aurora, and financed us—bought the land, built the lab, hired the team, set aside enough money to keep us going for a long time."

"Is he busy elsewhere?" Tavington was also thinking over the implications of the word, "billionaire."

"You might say that."

Tavington wondered, from her silence, if she was annoyed at his questions, but she spoke again. "Mr. Walford used a time gate five months ago. He doesn't seem interested in coming back. We never thought that the Aurora Project was meant to create one man's private paradise, but apparently that's the way he saw it. At least he left us a big chunk of money."

"I don't understand."

She sighed, and curled up beside him, wrapping his arm around her.

"You understand that we are here to research travel through time, don't you?"
He grunted assent, and she went on. "Things haven't been going very well for the world these days. You know about the pollution and the heat we warned you about? This area was not always like this. We're in a place called North Dakota, which is pretty much in the middle of North America. It used to be a land of huge wheat fields and harsh winters, but climate all around the world has changed, and sometimes in very odd ways. Now it's hot here much of the year, and very eroded and very barren. Mr. Walford built the lab here because it's not a very populous area and no one is likely to want to bother us. And there's a large natural aquifer far underground to supply us with plenty of water."

"What do you mean, climate has changed? How is that possible?"

"Well," she shifted position, and stroked his chest distractingly. Tavington wanted his questions answered, and laid a gentle, restraining hand on hers. "All right then. You remember the book Keith gave you, about the age of the Earth?"

"And the dinosaurs," Tavington replied eagerly. He had read more books about the amazing dragon-like creatures that had once ruled the Earth. It seemed incredible, but the evidence was convincing. How he would love to see a real dinosaur. Keith said that there were museums that had skeletons of dinosaurs. Tavington wondered if he and Diana could go to one.

"Yes," she said, smiling, "And the dinosaurs. Over the life of the earth, climate has changed often. There have been Ice Ages, and there have been periods of hotter weather. Part of it is due to the movement of the landmasses—"

"Plate tectonics," Tavington said automatically. Michael Flynn, a "geologist," whose accent revealed a hint of Ireland, had stopped by the library and talked to Tavington about dinosaurs, and had also recommended some books. Tavington considered Michael a decent fellow. He seemed to sympathize with Tavington about the limitations of life indoors, and had traveled in some rather wild places. Now and then he would tell Tavington stories about them, and he talked to Tavington as one man to another, not as to an ignorant child or historical relic. He had introduced Tavington to some other interesting men: a machinist who was also an accomplished gunsmith; an "archaeologist" who had seen the ruins of Troy and Babylon.

Diana smiled again. "Exactly. However, other things can affect climate. Since the Industrial Revolution in the 18th century, and to a much greater extent since the beginning of the twentieth century, the machines we used have produced waste materials—gases like carbon dioxide—that have changed the composition of the atmosphere—the air."

"Changing the nature of the air itself seems a risky business."

"Absolutely. But it took a very long time for people to understand that they were doing it. And then it took a very long time to convince people to do anything about it."

"Why?"

"Because a lot of powerful people were making vast fortunes. Even when reputable scientists showed them the evidence of change, they ignored it, or paid their own people to fabricate data that contradicted it. The politicians who owed them favours were not generally very knowledgeable about science, and so believed what their friends told them. And even when the changes really started harming people, there was a lot of denial and clinging to hopes that these were freak events, not all tied together by the same causes."

"Irrational."

"Oh, very. But they finally took notice when the water started rising in New York harbor, when Florida started flooding with seawater, and when—to take a British example—the Thames crawled up to meet London face-to-face. People started building dikes and embankments. Some inhabited islands were completely inundated, and the populations dispersed."

"What caused the floods?"

"The polar icecaps began melting. That raised sea level by a considerable amount. Right now it's thirty feet higher than it was in 2000, for example. The process is still going on—once started, there seems to be no way to stop it. All sorts of things have happened. The overall temperature of the Earth is warmer, the ocean has risen, the winds have changed, and a number of places on the planet are simply uninhabitable."

"But you said there were some fifteen billions in the population! Where do they all live?"

She sighed, "Wherever they can. And of course such a large population places an even greater strain on the planet's resources. Not surprisingly, there are numerous fierce conflicts going on all over the world for land, for fresh water, for food. And there's not much hope of settling them peacefully either. For awhile, back in the twentieth century, there was some interest in space travel, and moving out to other planets. Men actually traveled to the Moon, and there were some fairly good ideas about making the planet Mars habitable, but it all ground to a halt in the early twenty-first century."

This was exciting! He would see if there were books about this in the library. "But why?"

"Well, it was fabulously expensive, and it was hard to make the scientifically ignorant understand the long-term advantages. Some of the governments that had made the most progress were taken over for a number of years by some religious zealots, who really didn't see the point, anyway."

He stared up at the ceiling, baffled.

She laughed at the memory. "I know this sounds absolutely crazy, but they were convinced that the Second Coming was at hand, and so there was no point in worrying about the environment, or about the population explosion, or about disease, or about scientific advancements. They thought the righteous were going to be taken off to Heaven, and they didn't care about the wicked who would be left behind."

Tavington was still staring, utterly astounded. "A curious version of Christian charity! How could such idiots be entrusted with power?"

"Don't ask me," shrugged Diana. "It's one of those historical things that seems completely insane when one reads about it later. Like Tulipomania in seventeenth century Holland." She sighed. "What we're trying to do—or at least, what we were trying to do-- is to find a way to change things just enough to prevent this disaster of a world we live in now."

The next night, nearly the entire team was present at dinner. Tavington had a nodding acquaintance with the three engineers at their table, and had already been introduced to the two "biologists," who were named, he thought absurdly, Justin and Dustin. There was a new face, a painfully thin young woman in shabby clothing, to whom he was presented. This was Jennifer, their botanist.

Rather pleased to meet someone whose field of expertise was immediately comprehensible to him, he made an effort to get to know the extraordinarily shy scientist. Diana teased her gently, telling Tavington that Jennifer rarely left her greenhouse.

Jennifer grumbled, face nearly hidden behind the curtain of her long brown hair, "And you hardly ever leave the library, so I guess we're even."

Tavington wanted to hear more. "A greenhouse? I should very much like to see it." He had always loved plants, and wondered what exotics the future world had developed.

Jennifer turned very red, and began to stammer. She seemed to have trouble simply looking him in the face, and she whispered, "Sure. Fine. Anytime." Growing bolder, she added, "Actually there are several greenhouses. Come whenever you want." Then she must have felt she had gone too far, and hid behind her hair again.

"How about tomorrow after breakfast?" Tavington suggested, eager for variety in this strange, cloistered world.

Jennifer stole another glance at him, still blushing. "Okay. If you like. It's a date." She looked at Diana, and became very flustered. "I mean, it's not really a date—I just mean—"

"Jennifer, it's all right." Diana was too kind to laugh at her. "It's very nice of you to show Will the greenhouses. I didn't want to intrude on your work, but I'm happy you've invited him. They're the most beautiful thing in the whole place." She smiled encouragingly at Tavington. "Jennifer is the reason that we eat as well as we do. She grows a lot of the fruits and vegetables, as well as keeping up with all of her work researching historical plants, and creating really amazing hybrids. But I'll let her tell you herself tomorrow."

Jennifer, ducking her head, took a place at the far end of the table, and picked at her food, peeking occasionally at Tavington in a timid way. He tried not to meet her eyes, knowing that would only embarrass her further, and could possibly be interpreted by Diana as a flirtation. She, however, was quietly amused by it all.

"Well," she murmured, for his ears alone, "definitely a new conquest for the Colonel. Be kind to her. She's a very sweet girl, and she's terrified of men in general. Actually, I think she's terrified of people as a whole. That doesn't mean she doesn't recognize a catch when she sees one. Utterly undone by your manly charms, I'd say."

"Don't." Tavington murmured back, trying not to laugh. "I can see that she's very nice-a very sweet, gentle girl. She needs to eat something, though. She's like a skeleton, the poor creature. Is she ill?"

"I don't think so. Not physically anyway. She's had a lot of tragedy in her past. Her family was caught in the Border Food Riots, and some of them were eaten."

Tavington stopped, fork nearly to his mouth, and darted a glance at Diana to see if she could be serious. She raised her brows meaningfully. Apparently, she was. Tavington set his fork down. It was time to speak plainly.

He thought a moment. "You know, Diana, the more I hear about this future of yours, the more I think you should consider returning with me to my time. We may not have medical miracles or elevators, or photographs, or dinosaurs, but we have fresh air and fresh meat." He gestured disdainfully at the mysterious cutlet on his plate. "What is this anyway?"

"Soy." Gretchen was sitting opposite and overheard. She added, seeing Tavington's confusion. "I was wondering when you'd break down and ask. Pretty terrible, isn't it? It's not real meat. It's soybean protein that's processed to resemble meat—beef, I suppose."

Tavington was tired of tact. "Only a passing resemblance, I assure you. I suppose with the huge population, there's nowhere to pasture animals."

Michael passed a dish of tomatoes, a savory fruit Tavington had not known before, but for which he was rapidly developing a taste. "There's that," he agreed, "and also the fact that it's not really practical to feed animals food that people need. Livestock production in general has been drastically reduced."

"What about fish?"

There were scattered groans and laughs. Diana and Gretchen had strange expressions on their faces, as if he had somehow said something quite indelicate.

Michael snorted, "Only if you want your hair and teeth to fall out from mercury poisoning."

"It's that desperate?"

"Yes." Michael was refreshingly straightforward . "We're a lot better off than most. In fact, we can support more here than we do—and we have. I don't think it was right for Walford to let most of the applied techs go." He explained, "We had hundreds of craftspeople who actually knew how to make the clothes, the tools, the weapons—everything material necessary for time travel. Once Walford had everything he needed for his own jaunt, he gave them all their walking papers."

Mark broke in sourly, "He waved goodbye, and told us if we had any sense, we'd do what he was doing—find a cosy place in the past, and live out our lives there, and forget about trying to save the world. Selfish bastard."

"But rich, certainly by the standards of 1875. And he took Maggie along, so he has his own doctor." Keith gave Tavington a sly wink. "He tried to talk Diana into joining him, but she wasn't having any. I hope his teeth rot. He won't enjoy dentistry 1875 style."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," Mark agreed.

Tavington was beginning to understand how this strange place was ordered. He turned to Diana. "You see, my dear, even this Boss of yours knew the thing to do was to go into the past. I'm very grateful to your friends for their care, but I still have a war to fight, and I very much hope you will come back with me."

Alan, the other historian, a sardonic, bony Englishman, cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Go back? You can't go back. Diana, haven't you told him yet?"

Next to Tavington, Diana had stiffened, and flinched at Tavington's confused and outraged glance. Alan grinned unpleasantly. "Truth is best, Di. Surely you've told Soldier Boy here that he's part of the team now."

Tavington glared at his countryman with dislike. "What do you mean, part of the team? I have to go back, I have responsibilities, I have friends. I have a life back in 1781, and I'll be most grateful if you would send me back as soon as possible."

Diana bit her lip, and murmured, "That's just the thing, Will. You don't. William Tavington died on January 17, 1781, at the Battle of Cowpens. All the accounts say so."

He was stunned. "The gaps in the bookshelves. You hid the books. You said I wasn't dead."

"And you're not. Not here, anyway. But back in 1781, William Tavington was killed."

Notes: The Oxford English Dictionary, which shows the date of the first occurrence of a word in written English, is my reference for words that would be unfamiliar to Tavington. I have shown them in quotes, along with other familiar words that might seem strange to him in context. Not all of them, of course, or it would be too cumbersome.

Next chapter: Tavington contemplates the paradoxes of time, and has an epiphany.