Disclaimer: The makers of the film The Patriot own Colonel Tavington. I own the rest.
Genre: romance/time travel. Tavington sees New Atlantis from the air, and is reunited with old friends.Episode 9: The Door Into Time
Part IVCautiously, by ones and twos, the former staff members of the Aurora Project began returning to the sprawling, utilitarian laboratory in the desert waste of North Dakota. It was important that they not attract the attention of the authorities, who might have noticed a sudden increase of the number of travelers to the area. Instead, time gates were opened in various localities: time gates that moved the reenlisted colleagues only a few minutes in time, but often vast distances in space. Diana told him that was the use for which the technology had originally been created—a way to ship cargo and personnel all over the world nearly instantaneously, without the use of the "fossil" fuels that had poisoned the planet.
Everyone was tremendously busy: Tavington as much as anyone else. There were lengthy meetings. There was much coordination of activity to be managed. And he had a great deal to learn. The broad desk in his handsome new office was piled high with books. He needed a good basic grasp of this time's capabilities. He called Michael and Rocky and even Alan into his office to listen to their abstracts of history, science, and technology. Occasionally he had to stop them and demand explanations when they skipped some essential fact, an implicit part of their world, the lack of which made their explanations incomprehensible.
Never to be forgotten was the day Dieter opened a hitherto unknown door, and Tavington was shown the armory. Five thousand years of lethal weapons were his for the taking. Exquisite bronze swords of Celtic design. A light Egyptian chariot. Crossbows, arquebuses, and matchlocks. Extraordinary, overwhelming modern weapons, capable of firing thousands of rounds a minute. Vast stockpiles of ammunition. Rockets that fired missiles that could destroy a building or a ship. Weapons that threw flame, electrical shocks, exploding bullets. Weapons that made him faintly queasy. Combat with edged weapons had always been a brutal and bloody business, but the idea of poisoned gas that burned a man blind, deaf, and coughing up his lungs seemed unnatural and even demonic. There were some other things he liked. Some magnificent swords, imported decades ago from Japan; some armor that was proof even against the firepower of this new world. It was lighter than metal, made of a material Dieter called "superkevlar."
Dieter lifted out a cuirass of the strange, dark-grey material, and offered it to Tavington, growling in his heavy German accent. "Here. It's good stuff. You try it."
Armor had been out of fashion in his own time, and Tavington eyed the "flak-vest" doubtfully. With a snort, Dieter took the armor to a padded alcove and arranged it on a stand. He strolled over to a cabinet and lifted out a curious sort of pistol. "Stand over there," Dieter directed, motioning Tavington to the side
In one movement, he turned and fired a burst straight at the armor. The rapid fire was deafening in the enclosed space. Sparks exploded as the bullets ricocheted away into dim corners. The echoes died, and Dieter turned a smug smile on Tavington, who approached the armor with wonder. It was unmarred.
"Good stuff," repeated Dieter.
Tavington wasted no time fitting himself out with some of this amazing "stuff." He and Dieter played in the armory for hours. In the end, he emerged, glowing like a child at Christmas, clad in his 21st century cuirass, helmet, and greave-like leg protectors. He had selected a magnificent katana to carry, and a pair of Ruger .357 magnum revolvers in "stainless" steel with ivory grips. A selection of splendid commando knives, a stun gun, and a can of Mace completed his armament. For now. He also had his eye on the pair of Purdy shotguns. Someday he would have the opportunity to shoot game again. Dieter had agreed to become a fencing partner, and also to teach him some of the exotic Eastern arts of combat. He was especially interested in something called "kendo." That was a wonderful afternoon. Diana had been wide-eyed at his appearance. Impressed, yes; startled, certainly; intimidated, perhaps just a little…
He visited the returned seamstresses, happily at work again in their sewing room, and placed an order with them. He had not objected to the comfortable green trousers, tucked into the tops of comfortable modern boots. He had not objected to the soft, tunic-like shirts. But the shapeless white "lab coat" was ridiculous. Instead, Kathleen and Caitlin fashioned for him a short uniform jacket in light scarlet wool, very like his own Dragoon jacket, and exceedingly stylish and becoming. It was faced with green and splendid with gold lace. It made him stand out boldly amongst the others, but that was all to the good, for leaders should be instantly identifiable to their subordinates. Diana admired him in his new garb, and laughed at little at his "18th century sensibilities." He took it in good part, glad to feel more like himself. He had seen the "camouflage" that modern soldiers wore, and while he grasped the theory and saw its use in some situations, it would not do for him. Not now. This was his new role—the commander of the Aurora Project—and clad in his new garb, bright as a fighting cock, and decently armed, he at last made a creditable appearance.
At need, the new armor would fit well over his clothing. And as to the armor itself—as soon as the goldsmiths returned, he would see that his armor was adorned according to his rank. Some sort of insignia over the breast of the cuirass and something for the helmet…
Others were deeply involved with new projects as well. Alan, despite his original hostility, had embraced Tavington's plan with the ardor of the converted. He was a classicist, after all, and this was a dream come true. He was hard at work on ideas about diplomatic relations with the Romans, and what kind of new crops and trade goods would be most impressive and in demand. He had shown up to take part in the department committee meetings, and thought Diana very frivolous when she shrugged at his own suggestions and proposed they grow cocoa, instead.
"Everyone loves chocolate. The Romans will love it too. Give them chocolate and they'll love us as well. 'Confectioners to the Empire!' I can see it now…"
Jennifer smiled shyly. "I do have some cocoa trees. We may have to keep it all under glass, though. Preliminary studies show that we might be able to grow coffee and tea in the mountains, and of course wine grapes, but cocoa is a true tropical plant—"
"Give 'em tobacco!" quipped Michael, rather snidely. Tavington was about to agree that it was a very good idea. Tobacco was, after all, one of the great cash crops of the New World, but it was clear from the sardonic laughs and scandalized expressions that Michael was not serious.
He leaned over and whispered in Diana's ear, "What's wrong with tobacco?"
She whispered back, "It kills people. That's just the sort of thing we don't want to introduce into our island."
"Really? Kills people? How?"
"It rots their lungs with emphysema and horrible cancers. It's just disgusting. It contributes to pollution. You can get your hand cut off for being caught smoking nowadays, or even if you're caught in possession of tobacco products." It was all said quite seriously, even a little primly, like a lesson learned by heart. Tavington grimaced, and changed the subject.
He was often taken aback at how different these peoples' principles were. Smoking tobacco was criminal, but for Diana to publicly acknowledge him as a lover did not even raise an eyebrow.
However, he found out that there were aspects of their relationship at which some of the staff would draw a line. After the meeting, he accompanied Diana to the clinic, hoping to catch Gretchen and have her deal with that annoying prophylactic implant. Gretchen also had been tremendously busy of late with the new arrivals, and somehow had not had time to see Diana. Tavington had the distinct impressions that she was avoiding them.
The clinic was a madhouse. It was now fully staffed again, bustling with activity. Diana saw an anxious mother, holding the hand of a pale, small boy whose skin showed an unhealthy grey tinge.
"Tracy!" Diana smiled and gave a wave as they passed. One the new doctors brought the mother a bottle of some medicine the child was to be given, with reassuring words and advice about diet. Diana called over her shoulder, "We'll talk soon!"
Gretchen was emerging from a consulting room, talking with a rail-thin woman. The woman gave a startlingly sardonic laugh in reply to something Gretchen had said. They turned and saw Tavington and Diana bearing down on them, and the two of them exchanged an inscrutable look. Gretchen gave Diana and Tavington a nod, and headed for the supply closet.
Diana said warmly, "I'm so glad you're back, Marianne. I hope you're all right—"
Marianne shrugged. "Nothing that Gretchen there can't put right. I believe this must be the Colonel." Her eyes raked over Tavington, missing nothing—not the modified uniform jacket, not the weapons, and plainly not the possessive way he draped his arm about Diana.
"Yes, indeed." Diana introduced them immediately. "Marianne, this is Colonel William Tavington. Will, this is Dr. Marianne McNeil, one of my colleagues."
Tavington felt a little wary at the woman's scrutiny. He bowed, nonetheless. "Marianne," he acknowledged, deciding to use the local custom of first names.
She inclined her head, with a slight smile. "William," she responded, "or rather Colonel, for I hear that's how most people are addressing you."
With an easy smile, he said, "William is my name, of course. 'Colonel' is useful in an official capacity. I certainly prefer to it 'Boss.'"
"I daresay." She gave him another keen look. "I look forward to learning more of the plan."
Diana laughed. "I'm sure you'll have plenty to say about it."
"Probably."
Gretchen returned with a handful of little green bottles, and as she passed Diana, whispered low, "No. I won't do it." She went to Marianne, and began handing her the vials. "Excuse me," she said to Tavington and Diana.
Diana pulled Tavington away, to givedoctor and patient some privacy.
"What did she mean, she won't do it?" Tavington asked in a low voice, feeling irritated.
"Will, darling, I have talked about this with her, and she's very reluctant—"
He thought he understood, and began to feel rather ashamed, and angry as well. "It is because we are not married, is it not? Well, that can be arranged."
Diana shook her head. "No, it can't. Not here. It takes tons of paperwork and a lot of money to wring a marriage license out of the government. You don't have any identification—and if you were caught—" She stopped, and swallowed.
"What?" His voice had risen, and Gretchen and Marianne could no longer pretend their conversation was inaudible.
"Summary execution," supplied Marianne with wry helpfulness. "The minute a Central Committee agent did a retscan on you it would show you were an undocumented alien. That means summary execution. Very summary."
"On the spot," agreed Gretchen. She seemed very displeased with Tavington, and burst out, "And that would be a damned sight better than what would happen to Diana, if I removed the implant and she was caught with an unauthorized pregnancy!"
Marianne looked them over and huffed a faint, incredulous laugh.
"Tell me," snapped Tavington. Why do these bloody people think I know all the horrible facts about their horrible world?
Diana protested softly, "Don't. It does no good to dwell on it. We'll be out of here in a few months."
"I hope so," said Gretchen, obviously still ruffled. "I really hope so. And if—or when-- we're safely out of here I'll be glad to help you right away." She fixed Tavington with a glare. "For your information, if Diana were caught—and she would be—the child would be aborted, and then Diana would be forcibly and permanently sterilized and sentenced to hard labor for life at a toxic waste camp."
Marianne added, with a hint of acid, "Not to worry, though. A life sentence only amounts to a year or two at most in a place like that."
It took a moment to digest this, and then Tavington looked accusingly at Diana. She had told him nothing of her danger. She only smiled calmly, and squeezed his arm.
"It doesn't matter. You're going to get us out of here, and then none of this will matter anymore to any of us."
"Yes," he replied, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. "I will get us out of here. And sooner rather than later!"
Justin had made the Drop. They had sent him to the area where the port city of Santa Cruz had stood in their own time. He was back; it had gone well; he had leveled a spot for the helicopter; he had measured a place for a larger timegate. They kept the small gate open in the meantime as a navigation tool. He had a few bruises, but nothing of consequence. He gabbled on and on about the island. He had been dropped near the south coast and had walked to the shore. It was glorious—just beautiful—and he was nearly drunk with delight.
The next day, the team was ready to go through the new, larger gate. Tavington had planned a two days' survey for the scientists to assess the place, and the engineers to start making the necessary measurement for the moving of the project compound. They would have to design a new foundation, and bring in the labor that Walford had previously hired. Doug explained to Tavington how that was done.
"We'll put them as far back in the past as we need to have the buildings ready for the date chosen. The crew won't even know that they're in the past. Most construction teams are routinely gated to the work sites on a daily basis. We've got to find a good water source and construct water mains and deal with waste disposal. We'll get some of them building a wind farm and setting up the bases for our solar panels to generate energy."
The team gathered, and took the elevator to the cavernous gate chamber. The heliocopter, which Tavington thought resembled nothing so much as a monstrous dragonfly, was already there, as well as their other equipment. Tavington prepared himself for the eerie blue light, and stood impassively as a sensation of extreme cold and utter darkness swept over him.
And nearly instantaneously, he was standing on mossy earth, lulled by a pleasant warm breeze full of the scent of flowers. He heard the crashing of waves, and looked out to see the ocean rolling before them. Birds wheeled above, uttering high sharp cries, and Tavington turned his head to relish the feel of the sun on his face at last.
Around him the team members uttered a collective gasp. Lyudmilla fell to her knees. Diana had tears in her eyes, and clutched convulsively at his arm.
The view was magnificent. There were the makings of an excellent harbor, and a rim of white beach further on. Around them, forested hills ascended to the central mountains of the island. Tavington had ridden up into the mountains during his stay here back in the 18th century. It was strange to see the place utterly devoid of human habitation.
Some of the team set up a base camp. A few others would go in the helicopter to make an aerial survey. Michael was their pilot, and with him went Tavington as well as Diana, Mark, Doug, Jennifer, Lyudmilla, Justin, and Jack Gronewald, who had arrived only three days before. He had barely had a handshake from Tavington, before being informed of their interest in the Madeira Islands. Tavington was gratified to find out thatJack had spent the short time before time traveling amassing a tremendous amount of information on their destination. They had maps from their own time; they had cameras. They would cross the island lengthwise, and return, dipping down to the south harbor of the non-existent Funchal. The helicopter would be refueled back at their base. Tomorrow they would visit the smaller island of Porto Santo, to be renamed at some future date.
The noise in the helicopter was terrific. One had to shout in people's ears to be heard. But as they swung away from the earth, leaving the ground below, Tavington was less alarmed than he had feared, and more elated.Flight was not at all like he had imagined it would be.This was loud, brash, masculine, and dynamic. He could feel the vibration of the engine through his boots and through the seat. Birds were left far behind. The helicopter could circle and hover when the team saw an interesting feature. Doug and Diana were taking endless pictures. The scientists screamed observations at one another, their hands waving.
Below them, lush, green and inviting, lay their future home. As they settled back onto the ground, it was all Tavington could not to scream with excitement himself, or babble like Justin and Lyudmilla. He remained in control with an effort, eating the excellent meal that Summer, their returned dietician, had prepared, as the others laughed and chattered. He finished, and waited impatiently for Diana to stop playing with her pudding. At last she was done, and he hurried her to their tent for half an hour's respite.
Diana had plainly never made love in a tent before. She whispered anxiously, "They'll hear everything we do!"
"Not if we're quiet about it," Tavington reassured her, struggling to get her boots and pants removed. He didn't care if they heard: he didn't care what they thought. Finally a pants' leg came free. Without waiting for the other, Tavington threw their sleeping bag to the ground and pinned Diana on it. She struggled a little, laughing while she tried to get the other boot off. The wadded pants flapped with her every move. "Forget it," he hissed urgently.
"Wait," she objected, pushing him up a little so she could slip her shirt over her head, and then her scanty upper undergarment. He threw off his own shirt and their naked skins pressed warmly together; very pleasant, very agreeable. He slid down, mouthing a lovely breast, while she muffled her cries with a corner of the sleeping bag. Tasting, probing, he was blissfully at home within minutes, and smiled as he discovered that Diana really did not care who knew how happy he made her. The thought crossed his mind that they were the first lovers in their new homeland. And then he was swept away in the torrent himself, and for the moment, thought no more.
The entire project staff was electrified by the reports from the island. Working long hours, Tavington was enchanted when the engineering staff submitted their plan for the settlement. They would get a team in right away, gated from one of the huge labor camps, to clear ground and set up wind and solar power bases. Next they would build foundations for the buildings, the streets and the water, electrical, and sewer systems. The Laboratory itself was essential, but they had actually planned a handsome little town as well, including a dock area. One of the engineers explained that most of these buildings too, would simply be gated in over new foundations. With luck, good weather, and double shifts, it could all be done in three months.
Walford's holdings were vast: they had a large selection of buildings to draw upon: an empty villa he owned in Tuscany—a church here, a school there, the auditorium of defunct college—all made unusable in their current sites by social chaos and drought. There were plans as well for "prefabricated" housing and shops as well. They would build the foundations and assemble the parts that would be made elsewhere. Tavington approved of the housing: handsome rows of buildings, each building with three floors and two apartments per floor, built around a small courtyard. They could be assembled quickly, and to Tavington's eye looked luxurious, despite the uniformity. Each apartment contained a large sitting room, three small bedrooms, an efficient kitchen, and a private bathroom. They would also assemble long strips of shops and offices. Tavington was particularly pleased at the design of the town, with a decent-sized square in the center. The plan showed a large fountain and a statue as well.
He asked, "More of Walford's hoard?"
Zachary, the civil engineer, gave a little abashed smile. "I'm from Cincinnati. When the city government collapsed, Walford grabbed some major landmarks in exchange for a bailout. You'll like the fountain. It's called the 'The Genius of the Waters.' As for the statue, you and the committee can choose. Lisa has a huge catalogue of Walford's art collection. A bronze would be best for outdoors, of course." Tavington planned on taking more than a few.
In a few more days, the marine biologist and experienced navigator Lesley Urquhart had made her way back to the project. She brought a young cousin and a pair of friends with her. As soon as the work crews got the docks finished, the yachts would be gated there, and she would take Tavington and his command group on a circumnavigation of New Atlantis.
Jennifer and Jack came to him with their own exciting ideas.
"There's no reason to have to do everything after the final jump. We could go back in time another five or ten years and get some orchards and vineyards started. Give us a workcrew, and we'll clear some land for them and for some farmland too."
Jack said, "The Portuguese burned off most of the island originally. We don't have to do anything so drastic. We'll get the trees and vines planted and then do a series of gates to visit them periodically. We can have mature plantations by the time we actually all live there."
Tavington was impressed. "Do it."
The plans were moving along at dizzying speed. Tavington wanted to move along now on his own pet project. With the clinic fully staffed, they would be able to deal with some casualties of war.
Keith made the initial Drop, and found the skirmish in progress in faraway 1781. He carefully clocked the time from Tavington's departure to the moment a rider appeared in the distance, moving toward them. They had less than half an hour to deal with the situation.
"It was hard to watch," Keith told the committee. He looked rather sick. "It's horrible to see something like that and not try to help." He looked down the conference table to Tavington. "You do know that that one young rebel looked like he was going to scalp you."
Tavington twitched a faint smile. "I wouldn't be surprised, considering his family. His father made his name mutilating Indians in the last war." He laughed contemptuously. "Luck, however, was with me, and I still have my hair. It seems to be that half an hour should be plenty of time to remove my men and all the horses."
"The horses?" asked a surprised Mark, but Michael nodded in understanding.
"Yes, of course!" Tavington replied tartly. "I want every one of those horses—my men's and the rebels' too. Some of them are excellent animals, and trained cavalry chargers are in rather short supply in the 21st century!"
"All right, then, the horses. Diego, Royce, and Cassandra will wrangle them through a separate gate to the vet's first thing. Meanwhile, I'll move people in for triage."
"Triage?" Tavington hated it when these people used jargon unknown to him.
"A process to see who can be saved, and who needs treatment most urgently. We'll do our best for your people, but if they have brain damage or major spinal cord injuries, they're not salvageable."
Keith put in, "Most of the injuries are soft tissue, from bullets or edged weapons." He stole a furtive glance at Tavington.
Oh, yes, remembered Tavington, I used my pistol butt to bash a few heads in. Well, I'm not saving rebels anyway. He was still annoyed at the committee's absolute insistence that he not take part in the rescue.
Well-planned as it was, the operation went smoothly. Tavington paced impatiently in the clinic's waiting room, eager to see his men again. All five he had requested had been brought through the gate, and were in deep, medicated sleep, while the surgeons performed their modern magic. Tavington was secretly in awe of this age's medical capabilities: give a doctor a chance and Death was left in the dust. He was allowed to see them briefly, through a window, and then went back to his own office, ordering the staff to contact him the moment any of the men awakened. They must not be left alone and bewildered in this strange new world.
Two days passed. Tavington heard endless reports: the little outpost on the smaller island, now named "Numenor" after some book Jennifer liked, was nearly complete. It was, after all, only a dock, a warehouse, a runway for airplanes, a large "hangar" with a workshop, a pair of barns, and a selection of vacant farmhouses collected from what was now the New Dustbowl. Jennifer was excited about Numenor, which was flat, fertile, and ready to be tilled and planted in legumes and silage, which would be plowed under to make the ground even more fertile. Before the final jump, they would go ahead and plant wheat and barley and some sugar cane. There were, in addition, several patches of citrus and olive orchards she had already established, for which she had high hopes. On Atlantis, she was also planting olives as well as pineapples, mango and bananas, and a multitude of other experiments. Tavington had insisted on the homely apple, pear and cherry as well.
She and Jack had another proposal, which Tavington thought odd but interesting.
"To the west of the greenhouse area in town, we want to clear a large field for garden plots. Not for us—we already have our experimental fields going—but for all the people. Tracy's giving gardening lessons to everyone who wants to learn. Allow a garden plot to anyone who wants one—just a quarter acre each or less. It will be a way for people to supplement their rations and have something to barter, and we'll see who does the most to deserve farms of their own. Cassandra hopes to do the same with livestock."
Tavington gave them the nod. It was astounding how much ground could be plowed, planted and harvested, using electrically powered farm equipment. There would not be enough for all: private farmers would have to make do with horse-drawn plows and horse-drawn mechanical reapers, which Tavington still found impressive. The equipment would more than make up for the lack of laborers, and did not require food after all. Nor did it cause other problems.
For a problem had arisen at the Atlantis construction site. Doug reported in late in the afternoon, saying curtly, "We've had four more runners."
"Find them."
Unless closely watched, some of the construction workers were disappearing,slipping away into the forests, and hiding when the time came to gate them away. When caught, it was always the same story: this mysterious place looked like paradise to them, and they did not want to go back to their crowded, stinking barracks in some polluted warren of a city.
There were not many runners, really; for so few people had experience of living off the land that it did not occur to them. Tavington had decided to have these men questioned: and if Lyudmilla thought them a good risk, to bring them and any family they had into the Project, with only the warning that once they came to live at the Project, they could never leave. They had recruited a score of good workers so far. A few of the runners had not been found.
Doug finished his report and left, and Lisa knocked at his open door, attracting his attention.
"What is it?"
"You wanted to know when your friends were conscious."
Tavington started up at once, and hastened through the halls toward the clinic.
Bordon had received a deep stab wound, certainly fatal in his own time: but here the surgeons had repaired the damage to his lung and liver, and transfused fresh blood into him. He was pale and weak, but clear-headed. His eyes shifted anxiously around the strange room, and then rested on Tavington with an expression of unutterable relief.
Tavington sat down on a chair by the bed, and spoke gently and earnestly to him. "Bordon, my dear fellow, listen to me. Something quite wonderful has happened. These friends of mine rescued you from the rebels, and you're going to live."
Bordon glanced over at Gretchen and a pair of nurses, standing watchfully by them. His eyes returned to Tavington. "Where am I? I would guess I'm not in South Carolina anymore."
Gretchen smothered a laugh, and smiled kindly.
Tavington leaned over him, and decided to tell him nothing but the truth. "We have been rescued by people from the distant future. I know it sounds mad, but they're very good people and want us to join them in an interesting adventure they've planned."
Bordon stared at the ceiling. "I died, didn't I? Is this some sort of afterlife?"
"No." Tavington saw Gretchen's impatient look, and knew she did not want him to tire her patient. "It's true you would have died if you had stayed where you fell. But they've saved you. We really are alive, and they need experienced soldiers. We can never return to the War and our own time—we would be dead there—but here we're quite alive and presented with a splendid opportunity. I'm going to see that you're well taken care of. You trust me, do you not?"
Bordon sighed, and gave a slight nod. "Yes, I trust you."
Tavington smiled slightly. "Good. Then trust these good ladies, who are certainly the finest physicians and sick nurses I have ever met. They literally work wonders. If they say you will be well, you will be. I leave you to them, and when you're stronger, we'll talk more."
His subordinate's eyes closed, and Gretchen shooed him away, so Bordon could rest.
And so it went with his other four men. They were too weak to resist, and submitted to the ministrations of the medical staff. Tavington took time to talk with each of them.
The one suffering the most was his good Sergeant McKenzie. The man had been his orderly, and then promoted for his merit. McKenzie had a wife and children, and found the loss of them bitter. Tavington explained that there was no help for it:he had died inhis own time, andhe could not return. Gretchen assigned Marisol, a particularly gentle and compassionate nurse, to watch over him; for he was grieving as if his family, and not he himself, had died.
Tavington came down to take a meal with them once a day. Locke was recovering the quickest, and beginning to get about the place a little. A young student on Lyudmilla's staff, Peter Price, was assigned to the soldiers. Tavington felt they would respond better to a man than a woman, so Peter explained the strange world they were in: how to use the sanitary facilities; how to deal with women professionals. He also helped them cope when they were carted off to the dental clinic for examinations, and in some cases, major repair. Tavington winced sympathetically. The 21st century dentists were geniuses, and worked painlessly, but it was still not his favorite experience.
Next, they met Dieter. They were familiar with Germans from the army, and immediately recognized and respected his expertise. Tavington had decided to arm them with superior weapons, but not with things that were incomprehensible to them. They learned the principles of repeaters quickly, and with a good sword, a Winchester, and a pair of revolvers, they were far better armed than any 18th century soldiers in history.
Their new uniforms and weapons raised their spirits considerably. As they recovered, a number of the staff reached out to befriend them. The soldiers were cautious around women. Peter had made plain that none of these friendly and strangely dressed women were whores. With Diana they were especially respectful: McKenzie had been thunderstruck when he recognized her. From him, they had quickly learned of her relationship to Tavington and understood that she was as close a thing to a Colonel's lady as no matter.
Bordon was soon on his feet as well, and moved between Tavington's office and the soldiers' ward at the clinic. He was dealing with the disorientation fairly well, though occasionally he looked tired and harassed. He was an adaptable man, with very good manners. These manners stood him in good stead when he was well enough to attend a committee meeting. He listened, he took some notes, he asked questions. Surprisingly, he made a good friend of Alan, who had gone to the same college at Cambridge as he, though over two hundred years later.
It was at one of his daily meals in the ward, that Locke, who had adjusted more quickly than any of his fellows, began asking about their plans. Tavington told him the general outline: the people in this time had fouled their own nest beyond hope. They had the means to go to the past, where they would build a better and cleaner world than the one they left behind.
McKenzie pulled himself together enough to ask, "Is that why Miss Lindsey was in Charlestown, sir? Spying out the land, as it were?"
"That's a good way of putting it, Sergeant," Tavington agreed kindly. "These scientists here have been trying to find a way to change the past to avoid the terrible things that have happened. The world is so crowded and filthy that the very weather has gone wrong—it's getting hotter and hotter, and the whole place is turning into a desert. There's been cannibalism and God-knows-what. It's no surprise that they want to leave and start fresh somewhere else."
Locke grinned. "Peter told us about how it's so crowded the poor women aren't even allowed to have children anymore. That's why they're working as clerks and doctors and all. I reckon that'll change if we go to this new place."
Leslie and Thurlow grinned as well. They thought the women who had tended them very pretty and kind, and they smelled better than any women they had ever met. As long as they behaved decently, Tavington saw no reason to warn them off any woman they fancied.
Locke was still thinking. "And so we're going to this Atlantis place, sir? What then? Are we going to have to fight with any natives there?" He licked his lips, and blurted out what was plainly on all their minds. "Are we going to get a bit of land?"
It pleased Tavington that he could give them answers they would like. "There are no natives on Atlantis. No people at all but us, so there will be plenty of land for everyone." Leslie and Locke threw each other quick, excited looks. Tavington went on, "Some of these people—the scholars and scientists--know a lot about plants and animals, but there aren't many experienced farmers among them. If you learn some of their new ways, there's no reason you can't do extremely well. And some of the people probably won't want land at all right away. They wouldn't know what to do with it. When they have some time, I'm going to have you meet with Dr. Gronewald and Dr. McCuiston. They can tell you what they've learned about settling a new territory. The people who built up America didn't do it right last time—they brought in some plants and animals that caused a lot of damage, and then they used some filthy machines that ruined the place. Everyone wants our new land to succeed, so I expect you to listen to what they have to say."
His men nodded gravely. Tavington thought they might listen to some of it. Justin had told him the amusing, if dire, tale of Australia and the rabbits. The men would see the point. After all, there was nothing so odd about not wearing out your land and resources. And the committee would have its collective eye on the process.
"It's possible," Tavington told them, "that we might travel for trade. In that case, you might need to go along to act as Marines. But it will probably be some time before that happens. For the most part, you're needed to train a few more soldiers, do a bit of farming, and help keep the peace."
They seemed largely satisfied. His men had been dispossessed of small farms, or never had owned land at all. They also seemed to remember the severity of their wounds, and were glad to be alive. McKenzie would need some careful handling, but surely Time would heal his heart.
Peter came to take the men to the game room for therapy and recreation. Tavington had seen a faintly quizzical expression on Bordon's face and asked him back to his office for a chat.
Lisa had tea for them. She certainly was proving a treasure. Bordon settled back carefully into the comfortable leather chair and sipped his tea thoughtfully. Tavington wondered what was on his mind.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes—quite all right," Bordon answered candidly. "Mind you, I have my moments of astonishment. We're sitting here in an office in a place called North Dakota in the 21st century. I confess I find that rather odd."
Tavington laughed, and set down his cup. "I'm sure you wouldn't rather be dead. That's the only other option. For me too."
"So Miss Lindsey persuaded her friends to save you, and you persuaded them to save us."
"Precisely."
"Do they understand, I wonder, what having us here might mean to them? Our times are so different, and our customs so different. Swinburne has been most kind in showing me their excellent library. They take for granted that we agree with them in all things, but it is clear to me that you, at least, do not."
Bordon always was perceptive. Tavington cocked his head, with a cool smile. "No, I do not. Unsurprising, of course. They are, for the most part, very good people. But their committee heads are philosophical idealists. It is important not to confuse reality with wishful thinking.""They are ardently opposed to slavery. That may ultimately cause some tension if we have dealings with Rome."
"Just so. I am no friend to slavery myself. It is a damned inefficient way to farm, and owning slaves appears to be irresistibly corrupting. However, it is one thing to set an example and another to trumpet one's unpopular views to a neighboring power."
"There are only six of us. However, your position as chief executive gives you an authority that trumps mere numbers."
"So far I have not had to lean on anyone very hard. They needed a leader and I needed a command. However, I do have a mission for them that they may not find agreeable. As you say, there are only six of us, and—"
Lisa called through the door. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Colonel, but Dr. Kolb would like a word. Should I tell him to come back later?"
"No, Lisa, send him in, and bring a cup for him." He turned to Bordon. "Kolb was at the meeting: the head of the physics department, and a decent fellow—"
The door opened, and Rocky Kolb entered, smiling broadly. "I just stopped by to thank you again, Colonel. My family arrived today and they're getting settled. This means all the world to me, and I had to tell you how much I appreciate what you've done."
"Sit down, sit down, Kolb. Bordon, you remember Dr. Kolb: Kolb, I don't know if you've had a chance to become acquainted with my friend, Captain Bordon."
The men shook hands, and Lisa came in to bring Rocky his tea. "With one sugar," she said.
"Thanks, that's right." He laughed. "I may just get used to tea about the time we run out of it."
"We may not," Tavington told him, "Jennifer thinks we can grow one or two varieties. It's simply not very high on her list yet. Please convey my respects to your wife. I hope she and your child are well?"
"Not particularly, but they'll mend. As soon as family housing is ready, I think I may move them to Atlantis. The boy could use some fresh air."
Bordon was pensive, and bit his lip. Finally, he spoke. "Dr. Kolb, I confess myself puzzled by the paradoxes of time."
Kolb laughed. "You and me both!"
Bordon persisted. "No, really. You all talk about the dangers of changing the past, and yet we have already done it, for we have a base on New Atlantis, and yet are all still here. How can this be?"
Tavington stared, nonplussed. He glanced at Kolb, hoping for an answer he could understand.
"You're right," said Kolb with a lift of his eyebrows. "We have already changed time. We just may not have changed this timeline."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that there is a theory that there are multiple universe—multiple timelines. This theory became more believable to me after the departure of Sam Walford, our former boss. Here was a powerful man—a fantastically wealthy man, who set himself up in luxury in the mid-19th century. Now I knew—and disliked—Sam Walford, and I'm telling you that there is no way in the world he would have respected the sanctity of the past. In fact, I believe he wasted no time warping that timeline to suit himself—using his knowledge of the past to speculate in stocks and real estate, amassing new wealth and power. So, I wondered, why haven't we heard of Sam Walford? Why isn't he in our history books?"
Tavington and Bordon knew a rhetorical question when they heard one, and waited for Kolb to answer himself.
"I believe the minute he left this time and moved into the past and began changing it, he slipped sideways into an alternate timeline, or created a new one outright. He can never return to this time, for it no longer exists in his universe. Our other time-travelers, making every effort not to change things themselves, never lost the ability to return here. The fact that they didn't change anything material in the time they visited seems to have made the difference.
"We've been keeping gates open continually since the first jump, overlapping them and using different ones: but there has been a link of some sort between our time and Atlantis from the first. If we were to close all the gates, we might lose the Atlantis we've created, and the people there now would not be able to find us in the future. As long as at least one of the gates remains open, we can still find our way to this time. And we can find the past we've begun to build."
Tavington took a deep breath. "So you're saying that when we move the laboratory, and the last gate is closed, we can never travel to this time again?"
"Yes, and you would probably dissolve if you managed it, because you couldn't exist in this time. More likely, though, a time gate would take you to the future our new time line has created, which wouldn't be at all like this one."
"My head hurts," Bordon groaned. "Let us, therefore, not close all the gates until we're sure we have everything neatly packed and ready in our Time Ark."
"No, indeed," agreed Tavington. "And while you are here, Kolb, I would like to ask you your opinion of another jaunt into the past I want the staff to make..."
Next: The Door Into Time, last chapter: A final foray is made into the more recent past, and unwelcome visitors arrive on the scene.