Disclaimer: The makers of the film The Patriot own Colonel Tavington. I own the rest.
Please excuse the prior appearance of this chapter if you found it incomprehensible. I think it was hacked.
Genre: romance/time travel. The building of New Atlantis continues apace. Final forays are made into the recent past, and unwelcome visitors arrive on the scene.
Episode 9: The Door Into Time
Part V"Oh, crap. A head shot."
"Can't be saved. Look down there in the bottom left. What do you think?"
The images on the screen shouted, dashed about, and fell bleeding. A
team of doctors, engineers, and historians watched the unfolding scene,
making notes and diagrams. Tavington had asked the staff to rescue some
of his comrades from King's Mountain, and they had thrown themselves
into the task with the kind of enthusiasm he only had seen at
horse races and boxing matches.
"Ohhh!" There was a collective groan as a volley roared out and men were blown from their horses.
"A lot of smoke. We can do something with that. Maybe toss a little something of our own in there, and while they've got their heads down, we can move a few with some flash gates—"
"That'll bring in a lot of filth as well."
"--And we'll have to place them right on the gurneys. It's tricky."
"I just don't see any other way to do it. Jesus!"
Alan Swinburne, stewing angrily in his corner, spoke up. "I would like to say for the record that I think this entire operation is a terrible idea. We're meddling with history is a dangerously direct way, and no one knows what will come of it. You're all so eager to show you can do it, you're not stopping to think if you should."
"Relax, Alan. They won't even know what's happened. Hey! Look at that!"
Tavington sat at the other end of the darkened room, absolutely appalled. It was one thing to face the terror of battle oneself, and quite another to sit impotently by, watching these flickering images of men he knew. It was gruesomely theatrical, like one of the Romans' gladiatorial spectacles. Diana, contrary to his expressed wishes, was there, helping plan the operation. Gretchen was there as well, but she, after all, was a doctor and presumably inured to the sight of ravaged human flesh and bone.
Keith had visited King's Mountain a few days before the battle. He had positioned tiny cameras about the site, and had recorded the entire horrible debacle. Tavington could hardly complain. He had asked the team to do what they could to salvage some of the soldiers, and they were all watching the events over and over, dissecting it by seconds, planning to extract a few men as unobtrusively as possible.
The angle changed again. Dieter grunted, "That's a shame." A pretty, red-haired young woman had been shot, and crumpled awkwardly to the ground. Her eyes stared wildly, and her mouth, open as if to scream, dripped viscous blood onto the bodice of her gown. Tavington forced himself to watch. He knew the girl. It was Sally, Ferguson's mistress, and her cousin Polly was running up. He could hear her shrieks faintly, muffled by the gunfire and shouts.
Diana touched his hand. He took her hand in his, and kept his face impassive.
It took hours. Every minute of them was torture. At last the bestial horde was moving off, leaving helpless wounded Loyalists to die by inches. The engineers chattered more cheerfully now, finding easier subjects for rescue. Mark, Gretchen and the other doctors gave prognoses for the wounded men, deciding who could live and recover and who could not. Tavington restrained himself from cracking a few heads together. These were not experimental subjects: these were his friends.
Diana leaned over and whispered softly. "You don't have to stay any longer. Let's leave this to the specialists. You've identified quite a few of the people, and Keith, Alan, and Marianne can handle the historical aspects. Let's get out of here and go for a swim."
He stood, feeling rather wrung out. It seemed obscene to play happily in a swimming pool after seeing friends and fellow soldiers die, but Diana was right. Grief and horror were useless.These men had died long ago. He had been too late to save them three hundred years before, but now he had all the time in the world. With luck and the power of 21st century science, a few would survive.
He replied to her, loudly enough that everyone could hear him. "As long as they save Ferguson. That's not negotiable."
Even in the darkness, he could see the exasperated looks. As he and Diana left, he could hear sarcastic muttering. "Gee, why don't you ask us to do something hard?"
Marianne suggested, "Maybe if you gate him just before the bullets hit----"
"We can't. Not without taking the horse, too---"
"--Unless we do some pretty fancy micro-measurement for the gate—"
"--And the coat is so distinctive—"
Diana closed the door, and walked him away from the conference room. "Leave it to them," she repeated. "You have enough to do already."
-----
The town of New Atlantis was beginning to take shape. After some deliberation, they had decided to use the same site that the Portuguese had used for the city of Funchal. It had the best, deepest harbor, and it seemed wise to settle there from the first, looking south over the Atlantic. Tavington went through a gate later in the day to see the progress for himself. The square was unpaved, but the foundations for fountain and statues were complete. Around the square, foundations for buildings had been dug out, and the concrete poured into them was drying. The foundation for the laboratory, back and east of the square, was a huge project and had a special team assigned to it. It was deeper and far more complex than those for the other buildings.
In fact, the foundation for Walford's Italian villa was fairly large, but quite simple. The foundation was already dry there, and the villa would be gated in tomorrow. Tavington hoped to be able to find time to see it. They were ready for the school next, and then the church.
The church was a pretty building, complete with some very old and remarkable stained glass; and had caught Sam Walford's eye on a trip through Shropshire. Not even its noted history and architecture could rouse enough indignation to save it from the billionaire's rapacity. It had been bought, and then left abandoned until Walford were to decide what he might want to do with it. The pair of engineers who had gone out to measure it for gating had met the elderly former vicar, eyeing it wistfully through the ugly metal fencing. They had fallen into conversation, and the engineers had reported this development back to Tavington.
How startled the neighbors were one morning, to find that the church and vicarage were quite gone, and the vicar and his entire family with them. It was a nine-days' wonder (and perhaps a little longer), but it was the times, the villagers agreed. People and things simply went missing nowadays, and it was best not to make a fuss, lest they themselves disappear as well.
-----
There had been no time for the projected cruise through the archipelago. Captain Urquhart was too busy visiting the docks at Atlantis and at Numenor, and equipping her little flotilla to spend any time upon mere pleasure. She had wanted something larger than the pair of yachts stored at the compound, and persuaded Tavington and the advisory committee to purchase a quite wonderful three-masted schooner. The schooner was twice the size of the larger yacht, steel-hulled, and nearly new. Her lines were elegant, her sails a rich orange-red, and she was altogether a glorious vessel. Best of all, Urquhart and her young cousin Arwen could sail the schooner by themselves. The Project was short of sailors, or even of people who had a passing acquaintance with boats or fishing. Perhaps some of the staff or their teen-aged childrenmight be interested in learning a new trade. Nets and tackle were purchased and stored, and a few small sailboats and rowboats suitable for fishing were sent on to the Islands, along with the bigger vessels as soon as the docks were ready.
There were other issues as well. As the spouses and families of the staff had arrived, Tavington had been startled one morning to find a man emerging from Lisa's quarters. It was early morning—very early morning—and the man, tall, greying, and fit—was perfectly unembarrassed. He saw Tavington's surprised expression, and merely grinned, waved, and said, "Hi!"
"Hi," Tavington responded faintly, still very surprised. He had thought Lisa a spinster. She certainly had an unattached air. Perhaps this was a brother?
The stranger then opened Lisa's door and called, "Honey! It's your boss!"
Honey? Not a brother, it would seem.The fellow stuck out a friendly hand, and Tavington was obliged to shake it.
"I'm Paul."
"I am William Tavington."
"Yeah, yeah. Lisa's told me all about you. Colonel Tavington, isn't it? Paul Seevers. I'm Lisa's ex. Well, I guess I'm her ex-ex, since we're together again. Anyway, I'm a lawyer, and if there's anything I can do to help--"
Do? File suit, perhaps?"Thank you. I shall consider your offer."
Lisa bustled out then, looking very happy, glowing with a certain consciousness. Her ex-ex? What does that mean?
-----
"It means they were divorced, but have now reconciled."
He and Diana lay in bed that night, arms comfortably encircling one another, when he remembered to ask her about it.
"Oh. Divorced?"
"Don't be so shocked. Divorce is quite common. It's hard to marry, but easy to divorce."
"What a world."
"Yes, but a lawyer could be very useful—"
"Yes, I've already heard from Lyudmilla about the importance of a law code. I told her to meet with Seevers and get working on it. They can present it to the committee when they have something ready." A related issue crossed his mind, but he was already too relaxed to consider it. He drifted off to sleep, resolved to deal with it the very next day.
-----
The former Villa Porto, now the Town Hall (or as Michael Flynn sang it, "The Pal-ace of At-lan-tis") had come to rest on its new foundation with barely a sound. The light in the columned pronaos swung briefly on its chain, and then gradually was still, perfectly perpendicular to the earth.
An engineer smirked triumphantly as the villa appeared. "One Tuscan villa, coming up!"
"It's not from Tuscany, you dolt," Alan Swinburne muttered sourly. "It's from Vicenza in the Veneto. Bloody engineers."
Diana and Tavington simply smiled at each other, enchanted with the building.
Lovely, classical, and the butter-yellow of Italian sunshine, it was subjected to a thorough cleaning by Diana, her seamstress friends Caitlin and Kathleen, her musical friends Karen and Ron, and whomever else Diana could press into service for an hour or two. There was little labor to spare. Electricians and plumbers were in and out, connecting water and power. Summer spent a morning seeing that the kitchen was in working order and decently tidy. She set up a small commissary in a bright basement room for the staff who would someday live and work there.
Around it, the other buildings of the square, and then the rest of the town appeared, each filling an empty space in the blink of an eye. There was nothing, and then there was a building. Tavington marveled at it, and loved to watch it happening whenever he could make the time. A smoothly paved road was squeezed out by the big electrical machines, traveling from Fountain Square down to the docks.
He spent one entire week away from Atlantis, and returned to find that housing and strips of shops had grown like mushrooms in the night. There had been some more runners. He decided that security must be a new priority in the town site.
Behind the Town Hall, the housing for the soldiers was speedily erected. In the vast store of Walford's warehouses, furnishings were found, and shared out to the residents of the new town. The soldiers were more than pleased with their lodgings. The villa itself was already adequately and even grandly furnished, though Diana wanted to use her own precious family pieces in their rooms. Superfluous items were moved to the wings, and in no time Bordon was installed in his own pleasant quarters. The stables and horses were moved next. Tavington wanted Bordon and the Dragoons to take up the task of patrolling the town and its environs, and catching the runners who had eluded them thus far. Then too, they (and certainly the horses) would be happier in the sun and sweet air of the Island. The Laboratory was no fit place for any creature of the 18th century.
His men were doing fairly well. Locke had even found himself a girl: one of the clerks in Lisa's office. Tavington decided the girl could be sent to the Town Hall to begin setting up the offices there.
Hard to marry: easy to divorce. The 21st century, of course, was doing its best to discourage family life. In their new world, the exact opposite was called for-----
"Sign this,' Tavington said in some embarrassment, shoving a ledger bound in green at Diana. She was helping Trinity, the new clerk at the Hall, arrange the huge, frescoed room that would be the administrative heart of their world. Eventually, the offices at the Laboratory would be emptied of everything not directly pertaining to the work there. Right now, Diana and Trinity were knee-deep in papers and dust.
Diana turned the volume around, trying to get a look at it. "But this—" she began, with a hint of laughter in her voice.
"Just sign it, if you please," he snapped. "And then I shall."
"You're asking me to marry you?"
"Yes, naturally. When we sign the register we shall be legally married here in Atlantis." He felt the heat of a faint blush.
She did not sign, but stood smiling fondly at him. "That is so romantic. No woman could resist such a proposal."
He was terribly self-conscious and beginning to be angry. "Well, sign it or----"
"I'll sign, I'll sign," she laughed. "I wish you had given me a little notice, so I could have been married in something other than my work clothes."
"You never wear anything but your work clothes," he objected. Diana found a pen and signed. She gave the pen to Tavington, brushing his hand with a feathery caress.
"Trinity," he called, as he inscribed his name under Diana's, "if you would be so good."
"Oh my God!" the girl exclaimed. "I'm going to record the first wedding on the Island." Eagerly, she took the pen from Tavington and signed her own name as clerk. "Well," she giggled. "I guess I can pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
And he did, after taking her upstairs to the rooms that would be theirs. He looked around with great satisfaction. From these upper windows there was a clear view across the square, down the road to the sea, blue-green and radiant. It was a view he would be happy to live with every day of his life.
"I want you to move your things here right away," he told his new wife. "I want you to move here permanently. I can sleep in Walford's old rooms at the Laboratory." He saw her about to object, and stopped her. "Don't, I pray you. This is important to me. If you stay here, Gretchen will remove the implant. And I need to know that you are safe. I am here nearly every day. There is a great deal for you to do here. We'll go back through the gate at the end of the shift and I'll help you start packing." He kissed her again. "This is our home now."
Diana smiled, and kissed him back. "This is our home."
-----
The King's Mountain operation was performed in stages. They did not want to flood the clinic with wounded men, and planned to remove them a few at a time. They decided to deal with the Ferguson problem first: the hardest, the most complex problem of all. That operation, too, was broken down into stages, some lasting only a fraction of a second. The pictures were magnified enormously. Ferguson himself was exhaustively measured. The engineers yammered endlessly about "computer modeling," and creating three-dimensional images on their machines.
How to do the least violence to the past was the problem. After studying the recordings at length, they decided that the simplest thing would be to get him off his horse before the bullets struck. Then the problem remained: the disappearance of Patrick Ferguson from his horse in the midst of battle, with dozens of eyes upon him.
Dieter went in and laid a charge, two days before the battle, timed with exact precision to the moment the bullets were fired. The charge would not do significant damage, but it would be tremendously loud and create a dense smoke screen. The volley would not be deflected. However, Ferguson would be obscured for several seconds, and it would appear that he had been struck by flying debris from an exploding powder keg. Decapitated, actually, for there was no way to fudge the likeness as there had been with Tavington, whose body had not been found immediately after Cowpens.
They would gate Ferguson into the clinic, have Tavington there to deal with his disorientation, and treat him for any injuries. There was no hurry. As soon as convenient, they would dress a headless cadaver, whose arm would be altered to resemble his, in his uniform and checked coat. The attackers would not perceive the transfer, which would happen nearly instantaneously from their perspective.
That was the plan, at least.
Like most things devised by human beings, things did not go exactly as planned. Tavington was waiting in the clinic, anxious to help his old friend. There was a flash of blue light, and Patrick Ferguson fell to the ground, his feet still in his stirrups. With him arrived pieces of saddle. He was in mid-shout, and bleeding. He tried to stumble to his feet, and looked around him wildly, profoundly shocked. Mark moved in from behind, a dose of sedative in hand, and quickly injected him. Ferguson lashed out at this new attacker, and Tavington stepped in.
"Pattie, you're safe. Look at me."
Ferguson, still on the floor, looked up at Tavington uncomprehendingly. He took a ragged breath and managed,
"Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!"Tavington gave him a reassuringsmile. "I'm no angel, Pattie."
The sedative did its work, and Ferguson was persuaded toward a hospital bed. He grimaced in pain, for there had been a slight error in the gate, and the inside of his right calf had been flayed of its skin. Barely conscious, he was gently undressed, and his wounds cleaned. Tavington remained with him, assuring him that he was safe, but not taxing him with detailed explanations. Uneasily, he realized that Pattie might take a quite different view of his rescue than the one they had intended.
----
"How could you do this, Tavington?" he cried accusingly. "How could you shame me by having me desert my men?"
Again, patiently, Tavington stated the facts. "Pattie, you were within a second of your certain death. You died that day, and many of your men. These people are rescuing as many of you as they can without changing history." He brought some books to Pattie's bedside, and showed him the printed history. Pattie was finding his defeat bitter and painful, and had not had Tavington's experience of near-death to help resign him to his changed circumstances. So Tavington related that story: his own horrific wounds at a later battle, the acceptance that he was dying, and his miraculous rescue.
He pointed out, "Just be glad that they didn't bring you here after you had a dozen bullets in you!"
Ferguson rewarded this with a faint smile, but could not be distracted from the issue nearest his heart. "All my men—and those poor lasses of mine—I cannot desert them and keep a shred of honor."
"And you're not going to!" Tavington assured him. "As soon as you're well enough, we're going to start saving some of them too, but we need you to be there to help them. They can take a few at a time—we don't want to overwhelm the surgeons—but they can save perhaps three score or so. And those," he said forcefully, gaining confidence at the new look of purpose in his friend's eye, "are all men who will live to fight another day, and who will have outlived their murderers!"
And so it went. Ferguson's recovery took a little time. The calf wound was minor: the doctors were more interested in treating his anxiety, his rheumatoid arthritis, and his damaged arm. They planned two operations, and finally received Pattie's wary acquiescence. Gretchen said gently, "We can't make it perfect, but we can make it a lot better than it is." Before the first operation, though, he insisted that they help his men. And his women.
He gave his reluctant consent to dressing the headless corpse in his clothing. He understood the bones of their plan, but needed to absorb how very differently they viewed time. The corpse was gated out, and that part of the operation was complete.
Tavington saw to it that Ferguson had a great deal of emotional support. Bordon and the dragoons were brought in to pay a visit, and the men's enthusiastic stories about their wonderful island raised Pattie's spirits. So too, did Bordon's more measured thoughts about their opportunities and the extraordinary nature of this adventure. Pattie's eyes gleamed at the thought of exploring the ancient world, and he had numerous theories of his own about how to improve history.
Ferguson met Peter Price, who quickly realized that he was dealing with someone far more complicated than the dragoons, and far more intelligent than himself. Ferguson listened to Peter's lessons about 21st century life--about the equality of the sexes,about the political philosophies of the age--with a perfectly friendly air that did not conceal the irony in his expression. As he put it to Tavington, in one of their private conversations, "If they're so clever, why is their world a piss-pot?" After a moment's thought, he suddenly said, "All right, then. I'm with you. But you must save my poor lasses, and as many of my men as you can."
There was a discussion with Keith and Dieter. They were compassionate fellows, and Tavington had little trouble persuading him to do what he wished. With Swinburne busy giving Latin lessons, and with Diana safe on the island, there seemed little likelihood of opposition. When the plan was put into motion, Marianne heard and immediately confronted them.
"Are you completely out of your minds?"
Tavington reined in his temper. "We are taking both of them," he said flatly.
"Both of them! I can understand the girl who was killed. No one will miss her or think of her—but we don't know what happened to the other—"
Dieter broke in impatiently, "That's just it, Marianne! The surviving girl will wonder what happened to her cousin. She would make a fuss, she would talk. She was looking at her the entire time, for God's sake!"
Keith agreed, "We can't take Sally before she's shot. There are too many people around her. Once she's down on the ground, no one takes much notice except Polly. As soon as Polly reaches her side, we can get them both."
"And what about Polly? She didn't die that day!" Marianne turned red with frustration. "You don't know what happened to her! You don't know who might be descended from her! We could be removing a staff member's ancestor from the genetic pool. Do you want to risk that?"
Tavington had had enough, and said sharply. "Yes, and we are going to risk it! You want to know what undoubtedly happened to Polly—what happened to hundreds of camp-followers just like her? She returned to the camp—she was passed from man to man—she contracted syphilis, or consumption, or swamp fever. She was killed in battle, or by a customer, or by bad water. She died any number of horrible deaths, and was cast into a muddy hole and forgotten. That is what happened to her. She matters only to two people in the entire world: one of whom is here in the Laboratory, and one of whom is about to die by a rebel's bullet. We are going to save her because she matters to Ferguson, and Ferguson matters to me. Is that understood?"
Marianne had flinched a little at his verbal assault, but stared back at him defiantly. "Oh, yes. I understand you perfectly well. But don't think this is over. By making exceptions for your friends, you've set a precedent. Don't be surprised when some of us want the same chance for people who matter to us." She turned her back and stalked away. Keith and Dieter blew out relieved breaths.
Ferguson was there when Polly and Sally appeared, and caught Polly up in his arms, restraining her as the medical team rushed Sally to surgery. The poor girl was dazed, and even more frightened when the staff insisted that she be checked out thoroughly herself. Again, sedatives did their work, and she was asleep in a clean white bed in short order. When she awakened, Pattie explained as much of the situation as she could take in, and told her that Sally would live.
Polly spent much of the time at Sally's bedside, and the nurses showed her how to perform simple tasks to help care for her. She was bewildered, but clung fiercely to her cousin. Pattie spent a great deal of time with her, and luckily she trusted him enough to remain calm. Equally helpful was a visit from Kathleen, who brought Polly a nicely fitted-up work basket of her own, and sat with her, helping her alter some new clothing to fit both her and Sally, when Sally would be recovered. They talked as they worked, and Polly gradually came to understand how very different this world was. Wisely, Kathleen did not attempt to dress the 18th century women in pants and lab coats. She brought the simple long dresses that she was making for life on the island. Straight-lined, in flower-like colors, they were strange but attractive to Polly, and she set to work willingly enough. Kathleen was impressed with the quality of her hand-work, and eventually took her on a visit to the tailoring workshop, introduced her to the other seamstresses, and displayed a sewing machine for Polly's amusement and edification. As Sally improved and regained consciousness, Polly had exciting things to tell her about their rescue. And as soon as Sally was better, they would travel to the beautiful island Polly had heard tell of.
They were bringing in a few soldiers each day. The doctors and nurses were run off their feet, and Polly was willing to help there, too. It was useful, in fact, when the men saw her familiar face. Most had been in great pain when they were gated in, and were grateful and unresisting. Some believed that they were in a very peculiar sort of Heaven, and were only disabused gradually by the sardonic jests of their Major. Besides serious injuries, there was disorientation and depression to be dealt with. It was an ongoing process, and Tavington left Ferguson to deal with the doctors and the engineers on this particular project.
----
Marianne had not forgotten their quarrel. She appeared a week later at a committee meeting, looking determined. Armed with a detailed proposal, she laid out her demands in a cool, clipped voice.
"The workers of the 3W Assembly Site of New Kowloon. I want to bring them all here." She allowed no time for comment. "By bringing in the new group of soldiers, the Project is creating a serious gender imbalance. There are seventy-three workers at the factory, and all are female. They are mostly convicts sentenced for political crimes. They are living in appalling conditions—I know, because I spent four months there in the office. I had a chance to get away. No one else is going to help these women. We need more people. We need more women. We need good workers. We can go in and gate them out as a group directly to the island."
"Without their consent? I don't know—" objected Lyudmilla.
"With their consent," Marianne counted sharply. "We can go to the barracks at night. I'll ask them who wants to stay in the factory for the rest of their lives, and who wants to go live on an island paradise. Those who wish to remain, certainly can. I don't imagine there will be too many, though."
"But convicts—" Tavington frowned.
"Political crimes," Marianne emphasized. "Failing to report an unauthorized pregnancy. Disagreeing with the current administration. Trying to organize union shops. Nothing that will prevent them being useful members of our society. And you're creating a crisis by bringing in too many men. It's that simple."
"There's nothing simple about it." Lyudmilla was considering the situation. "However, I'm inclined to agree with Marianne. But what if the disappearance is traced back to us?"
"Unlikely," Marianne said. "As long as they all come, there's nothing to connect us with the situation. And we have plenty of housing now. We could lodge them six to an apartment, and they'd be thrilled. I know."
They all came, as Marianne knew they would. They did not immediately comprehend the fact that they had traveled through time. Their travel to a new location kept them distracted. Marianne undertook their management, and found plenty of work for them, as soon as she could keep them from running down to the beach. The addition of seventy-three women, between the ages of seventeen and fifty-three, changed the nature of the population profoundly. The fact that they were very appreciative and happy, and, for the most part, extremely hard-working, changed morale as whole for the better.
The appearance of the women at the New Atlantis town site sent ripples throughout the team. Most were pleased to have more helping hands for their own pet projects. A few approached committee members about friends or associates of their own. These requests were nearly always refused, for self-evident reasons of security or time-travel considerations, but one large-scale appeal reached the assembled committee and was seriously considered.
The children of the staff members had a school at the Aurora Project. The teachers had been dismissed by Walford along with family members and other non-essential staff, but three of the teachers had returned, and one of them, Susan Kreitzer, had brought back stories of her experience teaching under far worse conditions.
Work camps, scattered around the country, had orphanages attached for the children of deceased inmates. The children were warehoused, fed after a fashion, and taught enough to be useful when they turned seventeen and were deemed adults. They were then channeled directly into the camp labor pool. Miss Kreitzer had been desperate for work after her dismissal, and had taken the vacant position at Camp #1249's orphanage school. There had been forty-seven children, and only one other teacher to supervise them, a grizzled veteran named Miss Crockett. Most of the children were between seven and sixteen, for the little ones tended not to live long after losing their parents, or were occasionally taken in by foster homes.
Tavington fidgeted uncomfortably, listening to her anguished pleading. Weeping women made him nervous, unless they were pretty weeping women, who were susceptible to some pleasurable comfort. He did not find Susan Kreitzer attractive, with her spectacles, mousy hair, and face blotched with her endless sniveling. He was trying to think of a polite way to get rid of her, when Lyudmilla unexpectedly supported her.
"We only have thirty-five people under eighteen among us—forty-four counting the children of the workers admitted to the Project. I realize," she said dryly, looking around her, "that we're likely to have a population boom after settling permanently in Atlantis, but those children are not born yet. That gives us a big age gap between the staff –who are predominately in their thirties and forties—and any children who may come along. We need young people now, to learn vital skills and replace the older population. If we don't do this, we risk losing our viability as a settlement."
"What about security?" someone asked. "Isn't someone going to go looking for those children?"
"No one gives a damn about those children," Susan Kreitzer burst out. "Tear a hole in the outer wall—make it look like they ran away. No one cares. There will be fewer mouths to feed, and the administration staff will keep them on the books and make a profit."
"And who will look after them?" Tavington asked. "Where might we put them?"
"Right in the Atlantis School," the teacher said earnestly. "There's plenty of room upstairs in that big school for the children. And maybe," she added in a lower voice, "people will take some of them in."
So it was that two nights later, Tavington went along with Miss Kreitzer, and took Marianne and Dieter with him. Marianne, he considered, owed him a favor, and it would be useful to have another woman along to cope with the children.They gated directly into a shabby concrete warren that stank of crowded humanity. It was dark there. Susan turned on a few lights and roused the children, making them gather in one of the larger classrooms.
"We're going on a trip, boys and girls!" Susan cried, with forced cheerfulness, as she passed the rows of cots. "A place much nicer than this. If you have anything important to you, get it and bring it along."
All the children had a few items. Some had boxes or shabby hold-alls. They tried to keep the children still, but the shrill little voices carried, and the older children were full of questions. A light clicked on in the floor above.
"What is this?" An angry old woman wrapped in a ridiculous purple robe swept into the room, and stood protectively in front of the orphans.
"Uh—hello, Miss Crockett! We've just come to take the children on a field trip!"
The grey-haired woman stood petrified, and then croaked, "Oh, God, is it true? Has the Central Committee really voted to dispose of superfluous children?"
Tavington stepped forward. He and the others were dressed in modern camouflage, and he realized that they might look like government agents. Apparently, that did not seem very reassuring to the older woman. "Madam, I am Colonel Tavington. I assure you we mean no harm to these children. In fact—"
"Miss Crockett! It's me! It's Susan Kreitzer! You know I wouldn't hurt them. We're going to make it look like they escaped and get them out of here to a much better place—"
"A better place!" Miss Crockett snapped furiously. "You think I don't know what that means?—'It's all right: they're in a better place now!'" Carefully, she edged toward the door. "I'm calling the superintendent. Surely he won't allow this outrage—" She swayed, shot by Dieter's tranquilizer pistol. The big man caught her and eased her to the floor.
"She's all right," he called. "She'll just be sleepy for a few minutes. Now line up, kids, and we'll get you out of here!"
Some of the older children resisted, trying to help their teacher. The little ones started to sob. They rounded the lot of them up, herding them to the steps and out into the squalid courtyard, where the gate could get all of them at once. Some hung back, clearly frightened. It was taking too much time. One child broke away, and when Marianne caught her, they discovered that there was a baby sister left behind. Marianne went back into the building with the girl, and they retrieved the infant in her wicker basket.
At last they had the children arranged in a rough square in the proper dimensions. Dieter was about to give the prearranged signal for the gate, when Miss Crockett staggered out of the door, still in her purple robe, dragging a piece of luggage on wheels behind her.
Her words were slurred, but she was determined. "You're not taking those children anywhere without me!"
In less than five seconds, they were standing in the middle of Fountain Square. It was twilight, with streaks of rose and apricot cloud filling the dark-blue sky. Miss Crockett sat down abruptly, and the children stood absolutely silent before bursting into excited talk.
With great difficulty they were led (and pushed) into their school. The other teachers were already waiting and took them upstairs to the unused rooms filled with sleeping bags. Tavington sighed, his head aching. This was the absolutely the last group retrieval. They would make do with the population they now had, aside from the continuing trickle of King's Mountain men. He said as much to Dieter, who grunted his agreement. They made their way to the Town Hall commissary and some welcome beer.
-----Tavington took Ferguson on a tour of the new town. They had rescued twenty-eight of his men by now, and his friend needed a distraction from sickbed visits. As soon as Sally was well enough, his two girls would move to Atlantis, and Ferguson wanted a look at his quarters beforehand.
There was a pleasant reunion with Bordon and the dragoons. Pattie admired the soldiers' quarters, spacious enough for families, and looked longingly toward the stables.
"Later," Tavington promised. They explored the new Town Hall, and Ferguson approved of his future rooms in the east wing. Diana had been there, and arranged them comfortably. If they wanted other things, there was the immense warehouse of household furniture from every period of history at the Laboratory to draw upon.
He found Diana in the office, and introduced his friend to his new wife. Ferguson was charming, and Tavington was proud of Diana's good manners. Her education was evident, and she knew how to speak to a gentleman of his own time. He was also pleased to see her wearing one of the gauzy, bright dresses that he had seen in Polly's hands. So much prettier than pants. The 21st century might not understand it, but it was important to him that his wife be so clearly a lady.
He bade her farewell, with a promise to dine—and stay—with her that evening. Ferguson was longing to see more of their settlement. They walked the circuit of Fountain Square, admiring the statuary, the school, the auditorium, the library, the "Masonic Temple" that had been converted into a museum. They stopped at the church and chatted with the vicar, Mr. Boulton. The day was wearing on toward eleven, and there was still much to see. Tavington decided to amuse Pattie by returning to the stable, and taking his two officers for a ride to the docks.
The three of them headed back through the square, and down Atlantic Avenue. The town was alive with activity. Crews were erecting another row of housing. People were walking about on business, or riding those odd two-wheeled contraptions. Bicycles.
"How in the world do they stay on?" Ferguson wondered.
"No idea."
Everyone waved and called out greetings to Tavington, and he made the effort to smile and wave his acknowledgement. People were fickle creatures, and must be kept in humor. Ferguson had much to say about the excellence of the road. Tavington pointed out Julie Kolb's observatory, set high up in the hills above the town. The road up to it was not much more than a dirt track, but that would be seen to eventually.
The road dropped toward the sea and the docks were suddenly in view, along with their vessels. Lesley Urquhart's big schooner caught the eye, and they dismounted and walked down the quay, so Tavington could introduce his officers to the de-facto head of their navy.
No one was in sight, and Tavington was about look elsewhere, when a girl's voice called out from the rigging. "She's working on the starboard side, Colonel Tavington!" They looked up and saw a pretty young creature peering down at them. The girl dropped lightly to the deck, and shouted over the side. "Lesley! The Colonel wants to talk to you!"
"A sea nymph!" remarked Ferguson, delighted with the girl. Tavington only smiled to himself, anticipating what was to come.
There was a splashing, and Lesley Urquhart clambered up out of the water. She was on the dock with them before anyone could even offer her a hand, and stood there dripping, clad only in a sea green bathing suit. The scanty garment left nothing to the imagination. Ferguson and Bordon were awestruck, and Ferguson muttered low, "And here's a goddess!"
Tavington privately agreed. Captain Urquhart certainly was rather goddessy, in a muscular, Amazonian sort of way. Personally, he had found it best simply to deal with her as with another man. She seemed too straight-forward for gallantry or pretty speeches, even if he had been expert at such arts, and he was too involved with Diana to exert himself with a woman so far out of his own experience. She was evidently a competent sailor and navigator, she obviously could handle herself in difficult situations, and she was good to look upon from a safe distance. It was enough.
And his friends were no fools. As he made the introductions, he was unsurprised that they went smoothly. Bordon was circumspect with these modern women, finding them rather too mannish for his taste, but courteously according them the treatment they demanded. Ferguson, the incorrigible flirt, was frank in his admiration, but suave enough to avoid causing offence. Captain Urquhart simply gave him a cool smile and a measuring look—which could mean anything. Ferguson was undismayed, and continued his politic coquetry throughout their conversation. Tavington noted the appraising looks on either side, and realized that Ferguson saw in Urquhart the same kind of woman that he was a man.
Tavington noted that the name of the schooner had changed, and remarked on it.
"Yes," remarked Urquhart in her offhanded way. "I rechristened her. I decided that 'Enterprise' was a better name, given the circumstances."
"A fine name," Bordon agreed politely.
"And a famous name for a ship," Urquhart told them with a shrug. "There has been an Enterprise since there was an independent America. Among other things, 'Enterprise' was the name of the prototype of the first space shuttle. And I was thinking also of a fictional 'Enterprise,' whose mission was not so different than ours."
She said, gesturing at the ship, "'To find strange, new worlds: to seek out new life and new civilizations: to—boldly—go where no one has gone before.'" It was evidently a quotation of some sort. Diana would be able to explain it.
"Well said," allowed Tavington.
"Well said, indeed, Captain, " Ferguson affirmed with enthusiasm.
-----
"Will, darling---" Diana began, and stopped.
He was nearly asleep, but the tone of her voice suggested that she had something she needed to say.
"Yes?"
"Those orphans you rescued—"
"Troublesome little brats."
She laughed softly, and cuddled against him, stroking lightly over the hair of his chest and belly. "Some people are taking them in as foster children."
"Yes, very good of them," he replied, more interested in what her hand was doing.
"I think we should take one too."
He sat up, fully awake and disagreeably surprised. "Take in one of those—" He growled, "My dear Diana, if you knew the trouble those little wretches gave me bringing them here, you wouldn't ask that."
"They're only children, Will, and they were frightened. Even if we have a child very soon, it will be years before he or she could be old enough to be a companion. I thought perhaps a girl, maybe ten or eleven, who would like to learn music---"
Tavington paused. He did little enough to please Diana, and he sensed this was important to her. Considering their shared past, he thought he understood. "You want another Hannah Clay."
She pulled him down next to her, and nestled close, her arm around him. "I'll never forget Hannah," she agreed. "And it would be nice to have a child to teach and talk to again. "And," she added coaxingly, "if and when our children arrive, she could be such a help to me."
Making a final, weak attempt at resistance, Tavington observed, "Taking in a child is a serious responsibility. The girl would need to be provided for, and in the future—"
"She would have a home, and an education, and ten to one that would be all she'd need. It's not like the 18th century, when she would need a fortune of her own."
"Very well, my dearest, if it makes you happy," he surrendered. It would certainly set a good example, it would keep Diana close to home, and he imagined he would likely not have much to do with the girl. "But let her be a quiet, well-behaved child, at least."
-----
Emily Armstrong was certainly quiet enough. She was underweight and undersized, like all the orphans, with huge, watchful brown eyes. Diana scrubbed her thoroughly, and clothed her in a clean muslin dress, so Tavington could not complain of outraged sensibilities. Her close-cropped hair might have prevented an infestation of lice, but it did nothing for the girl's looks. She sat very close to Diana, and was remarkably still.
Tavington was careful to speak kindly to the child, and welcome her to their family. She whispered her thanks, and he had thought her unlikely to cause trouble. Naturally, he was wrong.
The child meant well, but her life in a crowded orphanage was against her. That first night, she had gone to bed obediently enough across the hall in the pretty room that Diana had prepared for her. In the morning, Tavington tripped over the child as he came out of his bedchamber. She had pulled the sheets from the bed and made a nest just outside their door.
"Why aren't you in your room?" he demanded sharply, and the child flinched.
"Too big," she whimpered. "I was all alone."
Diana came out to calm her, and took Emily back to her room. She was there with her some time. When they were finally ready for breakfast, and the child joined them at the table, Tavington was relieved that the girl did not gobble the food like a wolf, unlike some of the other children. He was chatting with Bordon, when he heard Diana's soft voice chiding the girl.
"Emily, that's not necessary. Put it back. I promise that you'll have lunch today, too."
He glanced past his wife. The girl had been stuffing her pockets with bits of food, evidently fearing she would never be fed again. He rolled his eyes. He hoped Diana's new protegee offered some pleasures along with the pains needed to raise her.
-----
"Before we leave the 21st century forever," Michael said to him one day, "there's something you should see."
Wondering, Tavington followed the geologist to the gate chamber. With a sly smile, Flynn activated the gate switch, and they were propelled into the cold and dark. After a moment, Tavington realized that they had arrived at their destination, but that it was still dark.
"Wait," Michael cautioned him. "We're in a preparation room, and it's the middle of the night. I'll get the lights, and then we'll go downstairs."
The electric lights clicked on, and Tavington saw that he was in some sort of laboratory. He shivered, throwing off the cold discomfort of the gate. Michael remarked, "You know, it's probably going to be a lot worse and a lot longer when the whole Project is moved."
"Don't remind me. Perhaps I won't have to be inside when it happens."
The geologist grinned, peered out the door to see if it was safe, and then signed for Tavington to follow him. "Come on."
They descended some broad stairs, and then turned out into an open mezzanine. There was dim light up ahead, a strange smell of chemicals, and a general feeling of vast space.
They went a little further, and then looked down. Before them was a huge hall, filled with wonders. A huge upright log, carved with animal faces. A pair of elephants, that looked alive and that could not be.
"A museum?" Tavington asked, mastering his excitement. Michael nodded, and pointed to the end of the hall.
Dark red and gigantic, the skeleton of a fantastic beast was displayed as if in action. Huge jaws, lined with fearsome teeth, gaped wide. Claws as long as Tavington's forearm stretched out to snatch at prey. Tavington gazed at it in delight, and then they found another staircase that took them to the great hall's main floor.
He stood before the monster quite a long time, taking in the extraordinary sight. "A dinosaur?" he asked reverently.
"Yes," Michael nodded, full of respect himself, "Tyrannosaurus Rex."
"Was it fast?"
"Fast enough."
There was another silence. "I don't suppose we could take this entire place with us?"
"No, I don't think we could really care for it properly. It has a huge staff. There are dinosaurs under the earth in the past, obviously. I know where to find them. Maybe we can mount an expedition someday and have some dinosaurs of our own."
"What a good idea. A dinosaur would look well in our museum."
They had only few hours to walk about and admire. Tavington saw Egyptian mummies and lifelike animals from all over the world, preserved by taxidermy. He saw jewels and jade, meteorites, and insects in amber. Yet more dinosaurs, and even more ancient creatures. Too soon, Michael said they must go.
They returned to the little upstairs room, and Tavington walked over to a window and peered out at a sprawling 21st century city, lights shrouded in smog, glittering uncertainly in the darkness. Michael stood by him, looking as well.
"Will you miss it?"
"Some things, I suppose. This. Not much else. It's one hell of a mess." He turned away decisively. "Let's go back."
-----
Neither the orphans, nor the factory workers, nor the masses of supplies and tools that were being bought, nor yet the army of laborers gated daily to the past brought an end to the Aurora Project. Sam Walford, the man who began it all, ended it as well.
Tavington returned to the Laboratory one morning well into the third month of construction. He was in good spirits. He had enjoyed a pleasant night with his wife, the work was going well, their little foster daughter was becoming less nervous and fearful, and she had learned to play her first piece on the pianoforte. Out a back window of the Town Hall, looking toward the soldiers' quarters and the green training field, he had seen Sergeant McKenzie and a group of his men teaching some of the older boys from the school how to play cricket. Recruiting was well in hand.
He reported into the office, and was met by Lisa, looking frantic.
"Oh, Colonel, I'm so glad you're here."
"What is it?"
The rest of the office staff were eavesdropping shamelessly. Lisa ignored them. "I've had a very worrying call from the Central Committee Intelligence Agency. Apparently, Mr. Walford has not paid his taxes for the past two years. They're sending out agents to speak to him, and they'll be here tomorrow afternoon."
"Tomorrow afternoon?" Tavington was appalled. There was still so much to do…
"I'm sorry. I put them off as long as I could. The appointment is at two-thirty. We're lucky they're not here right now."
"I am not criticizing you. We must deal with this immediately. Summon the department heads for an emergency meeting so they can be notified. I want everyone here by ten o'clock. Gate someone through to notify anyone on the Island."
He went into his private office to think. Above all, the laboratory must be moved. The foundation is ready, but must be clear of any obstructions at the moment we transfer. Nearly a score of Ferguson's men have yet to be rescued. Roads are incomplete—housing on the west side of the square is unfinished---the latest shipment of horses will not arrive for three more days—
He had secretly hoped, once all possible wounded men were retrieved from King's Mountain, that they could save others of his own command. Chris Hueck had been killed in July of 1780, and Tavington had lost more men yet at Camden. None of that would happen now.
He groaned and slumped in the throne-like chair. It could not have lasted forever. They had approximately thirty hours to complete their preparations, and then they must leave the 21st century behind.
The meeting was brisk, after the first hysterics. Mark was emphatic: if they brought the rest of the soldiers through immediately, they would lose some of them. There were simply not enough doctors to save them all. They could pick up the pace a little for the next thirty hours. More he could not promise. Some administrative staff and craftspeople would be detailed to the clinic, as well as some of the new women workers, and they could probably be of some help. Keith and Michael, whom Tavington trusted, were called back to the Laboratory to help Tavington manage the move.
Royce, the veterinarian, thought that they could still get the horses, if they paid extra and he went to take possession himself. Tavington told him to get them by whatever means necessary. Among the horses was a pair of indispensable Arabian stallions for stud.
The labor crews would be worked around the clock to finish what they could of the roads and housing. Anything else would have to be done themselves. Most importantly, Doug assured him that the foundation of the laboratory was being kept pristine. They would finish their preparations, and be gone before the agents arrived, leaving only a hole in the ground for them to puzzle over.
-----
And then, of course, the government agents appeared very early in the morning.
Tavington had slept over at the Laboratory, catching a few hours of rest before the final push. Lisa woke him, telling him that the security guard had called, and Agents Markham and Kelly were at the front gate and wanting admittance.
"I thought you said two-thirty!" He sat, somewhat dozy, on the edge of the bed, wrapping himself in a sheet for decency's sake.
"That's what they said. I don't know why they've changed the time. Maybe they suspect something."
"Well, there's no help for it. Have Fellowes show them in and take them to that "visitors' lounge" place on the main level. Offer them tea—or coffee, I suppose. Have Fellowes watch them, and don't allow them to go anywhere else. Tell them that the appointment was for two-thirty, and that Walford has not yet arrived. Get Keith and Michael to replace Fellowes at the front gate and tell them to keep a sharp lookout." He waved her off. "I need to get dressed. I'd like to have a look at our visitors for myself."
The "visitor's lounge" had a very modern-looking mirrored wall, which, Tavington had discovered, allowed him to see the area while not being seen himself.
The agents were fairly young: a man and a woman, dressed in dull grey. If they were armed, it was not apparent, but Tavington thought it likely that they were.
Lisa approached them with a tray of coffee, and they showed her some sort of identity papers. The man introduced himself as Markham and the woman as his partner, Kelly. Lisa was so very sorry that they had come too early and would have to wait. Mr. Walford would not be here until shortly before the appointment this afternoon. Perhaps they would like to come back later? Her serene, helpful air, her unctuous tones of sympathy made Tavington smile. What a cool liar. She's probably had plenty of practice, working for a man like Walford.
"No," replied the tall male agent, helping himself to a cup of coffee, "we'll wait. We've come a long way, and we wouldn't want to miss Mr. Walford."
"Especially since no one seems to have seen him in a very long time," interjected the woman, with unsmiling directness. Tavington thought her quite pretty, in a severe way, with dark red hair pulled back into a knot. He considered her observation. Ah, someone has noticed that Walford is gone. This may be even more serious than we first supposed.
Lisa assured them in the most confident way that Mr. Walford would be here precisely at two-thirty for their appointment.
"Actually," Markham told her, swigging down his coffee quickly, "we don't need to wait for Walford to get started. We have orders to examine the financial records of this installation. To examine all his records, in fact."
"—But we thought we'd start here, since none of his other interests show much in the way of financial activity in the pastfew months."
"—Whereas this place has been just as busy as a beehive," grinned Markham, with threatening suavity.
Lisa drew herself up, still impeccably polite. "I believe you should be speaking with someone with more authority. Wait here, and he'll be with you shortly."
"I'm going to have another cup of coffee," said Markham agreeably. "If he's not here by the time I finish it, we're coming looking for him. And we have the power to impound the entire installation."
Lisa walked away with perfect poise, but when she saw Tavington, she was clearly frightened. "What are we going to do?"
"Use that caller thing of yours--" he said patiently.
"—my communicator," Lisa prompted discreetly.
"Yes, yes, your communicator--and summon Paul. He can play the cooperative and unintelligible lawyer perfectly well, I'm sure. Have him ask them about what they want to do, and tell him to take copious notes. We need to delay them as much as possible. And if they become difficult, we can use other means."
Lisa's eyes were wide. "You wouldn't—kill them—would you?"
Tavington shrugged, "Only if they give me no other option. Oh, and call Dieter for me. I want to talk to him, too." He spent a moment in reflection, while Lisa made her calls. How long before someone else comes looking for these people if they do not make a report to their superiors? Killing them in cold blood may not be a good idea--especially killing that young woman. It would shock and offend my own people. Better to clap them in irons and lock them up until we are ready to leave.
Which is what they did. The agents were sitting there, arguing with Paul, when Dieter shot Markham from behind with the tranquilizer gun. They had thought him the greater threat, but Tavington was surprised and impressed with the young woman's reflexes. The moment she saw her partner fall from his chair, she reached into her jacket and pulled an automatic pistol. She even got off a wild shot, shattering a section of mirror, before she too collapsed. Paul sat stunned, papers clutched tightly to his chest.
"Holy shit!" he chattered. "Warn me next time."
"There won't be a next time," Tavington assured him, helping the unsteady man to his feet. "Thank you for distracting him. You were a tremendous help. Now, please go down to the clinic and offer any assistance you can. We may have a lot of wounded arriving very soon." Paul stumbled away, and Tavington turned to Dieter, who had disarmed the agents, and was snapping manacles on their wrists. "Lock them up in one of the biology laboratories—the one with a surveillance window." He called to the approaching security guard. "Here, Fellowes! Help Mr. Held carry our guests, and don't let them out of your sight. We'll put them out the door as soon as we're ready to leave."
He went himself to give the medical staff the bad news. The clinic was crowded. Ferguson had arrived and was going about the beds, talking to anyone conscious, and doing his best to maintain order. Everyone paused to listen. Tavington saw little point in keeping secrets.
"Government agents arrived this morning. They're currently under guard, but more may come looking for them. We have lookouts posted, and they're to notify me immediately if we have more visitors. I am sorry, but you must be prepared to receive the rest of the wounded as a group at any moment. We might have to leave on short notice."
Reluctantly, Gretchen contacted the engineers and told them of the accelerated schedule. They were to stand by for a possible quick exit. Tavington left. He had other things to do, and had no desire to see the ensuing blood and chaos. He told Dieter to find arms and armor for himself, for Ferguson, for Michael and Keith, and for any other men on staff fit to handle weapons. He pulled his own gear from its place in his office, and armed himself with scrupulous care.
Royce was contacted, and told to steal the damned horses if he must, but to get back immediately. A messenger was dispatched to Atlantis, with orders to gate out all the contract work crews at once.
Tavington spent an anxious hour, before he got word from the Island. The crews were gone, but had been a few men short of the proper number. Some had hidden on the island, then. Bordon had caught some of the runners over the past few weeks, but these today were destined to be permanent residents. All we need are outlaws running loose up in the mountains. Those men must be tracked down and put to useful work. Perhaps I'll see to that myself. Royce was safe on the Island with some extra horses in addition to the ones he was sent to fetch. Perhaps he did steal them. Good man.
Keith and Michael called in from the lookout posts. There had been no sign of other intruders.
Tavington collected Dieter, and went down to check on the prisoners. They were alert and talking quietly and urgently with each other. They didn't appear particularly frightened. Rather they looked as if they were readying themselves for battle.
He opened the door and faced them. "Quite all right, I see."
They stared for a moment, and Tavington realized they might find his hairstyle, scarlet uniform jacket, and weaponry unusual. And Dieter was impressive in his superkevlar.
Markham smirked, "And who are you? Samurai King George and Conan the Barbarian?"
Tavington answered easily, "Actually, no. Colonel William Tavington, late of His Majesty's service. Yes, the katana is nice, isn't it? We'll be removing you from the laboratory shortly. You really should have come at the appointed time, and saved yourself this unpleasantness."
"Listen to him, Kelly, the bad guy is being smooth. How clichéd is that?"
"Easy, Markham," the woman warned her partner, her eyes fixed on Tavington.
"I believe I understand what you mean by the term 'bad guy,'" Tavington replied frostily. "And I absolutely reject its application to me. If there are any villains here, it would the two of you, representing your tyrannical government. At any rate, you won't be harmed. Within the hour we'll put you outside the compound, and be on our way."
"'On our way,'" Kelly echoed. "You're leaving? Tell me this—is Walford dead?"
Tavington considered. Well, the fellow went to the mid-nineteenth century. That would mean---"Yes, I believe I can safely say he is dead—in a way."
The two agents looked at each other, and seemed even more distrustful. Kelly said dryly, "I think you're in for more trouble than you can handle with a sword. The second you shot Markham, I activated an emergency signal. Our chief will be looking for us, and—"
A voice squawked on Dieter's communicator.
"They're here!" the German growled. A moment later, there was a tremendous bang that shook the ceiling.
"---And there's the cavalry to the rescue," Markham triumphantly completed his partner's sentence.
Tavington glared at them. "Wrong, Mr. Markham. I am the cavalry." He slammed the door in their faces and locked it. "If they try to escape, shoot them!" he shouted at Fellowes. To Dieter, he cried, "Come on!"
The two men raced upstairs and were met by Ferguson, coming from the hospital. Michael and Keith were running down the damaged entrance hall. The door had been blasted away.Outside, the familiar dusty yellow sky was veiled with thick black smoke. Keith yelled, "Government agents! They're in three helicopters, and they threw a pressure grenade through the entrance!"
An amplified voice was blaring. "Come out and surrender yourself to authorized agents of the Committee! If you do not come out in one minute, we will send in agents to seize the compound! Come out and surrender yourself—"
Tavington tuned out the irritating voice. He grabbed Keith by the shoulder. "Tell the gate crew to retrieve the rest of the wounded right now and then to move the compound immediately afterward!" There were dark shapes moving beyond the smoke at the end of the hall. Michael readied his state-of-the-art Takahashi-Uevler. Ferguson already had his own pistol out, a 9 mm. Beretta. Dieter unholstered his Uzi, and Tavington drew his Rugers. They moved to the sides of the hall, and found what cover they could.
"Wait," Tavington ordered in a soft, tense, voice. "Make them wait as long as possible. We don't want any more of them in here than necessary after the Laboratory moves."
Keith was muttering into his communicator and looked up to whisper. "We've got the wounded!"
The inhumanly loud voice was still roaring commands. "—to seize the compound! You now have thirty seconds! Come out—"
Keith raised his voice over the noise from outside. "No, now! Right now! They're just outside! Do it!" He clicked the device shut, and pulled his own weapon.
The wait was interminable. Dieter grunted, "They'll all be in armor, so aim under the helmet visor and under the arms."
"---ten seconds!"
Tavington swallowed. He glanced over at Ferguson. The Scotsman gave him a jaunty grin. He smiled back.
Men erupted through the blasted-out door frame, and began running in their direction.
"Fire!" Tavington snarled, and as one they unleashed a hail of bullets. The intruders paused, and began firing back. One of them retreated, evidently to report their resistance. Another fell, dead or wounded. A round cracked against the wall beside Tavington and plowed a long dent into the metal. He felt a blow like a fist to his chest, and heard the whine of a ricochet. His armor proved all he had hoped.
The agents paused again to confer, suddenly moved into a wedge-shaped formation, and began running down the hall again, pouring fire before them. Michael and Dieter's automatic weapons blazed in reply. Tavington shuddered. The rate of fire was shocking. He held tight, reloading, and waited for them to come nearer. He would have a better chance against their armor at close range—
A wave of unnaturally blue light swept through the building and engulfed them, surging on past them and down the hall, leaving black oblivion in its wake. The cold was worse than ever before, and the darkness impenetrable. It lasted frighteningly long, and Tavington tried to breathe in this no-man's land between times. Well, he told himself, we're moving the entire compound and the time gate apparatus as well. They told us it would be different. It can't last forever—it can't last forever—it can't forever—
And the light returned. The building settled, with the slightest of jolts. Nothing had changed, but they must have made it, for the sky at the end of the entrance hall was clear blue. Their attackers had paused in confusion, and Tavington seized the initiative.
"At them!" Without hesitation, he dashed forward, firing at the leader. His friends were right beside him, and there was a brief, shockingly violent conclusion to the fight within two minutes. His pistols clicked empty, and his katana slid from its sheath with voluptuous ease. He accounted for two agents himself, making certain he had killed them. The last thing he wanted to deal with were hostile, well-trained soldiers in this place. Nor did the agents give them much opportunity for quarter. Their bulky weapons were no match at close quarters for cold steel. The blade sliced effortlessly under the helmets: the point unerringly sought out the armor's gaps. It was over quite suddenly. Michael went to have a look at the man who had been wounded in the first assault, and was nearly stabbed as he leaned over him. Dieter shot the man reflexively.
The hall was filled with almost corporeal silence. They each took a deep breath. New Atlantis had been christened with a battle, and Tavington prayed there would never be another on this soil.
"Hello there!"
Tavington and the others stared at each other, and then looked down the hall to the outside.
"Hello there!" It was Doug Horn. "Are you all right? What was all that noise?"
"Our farewell party," Tavington answered. His friends laughed. "It was a lively affair."
-----
Agents Markham and Kelly, still in handcuffs, were brought upstairs by the guard, and down the main hall. Signs of a tremendous struggle were all around them. Kelly trod in a puddle of something dark and sticky as they were hurried toward the entrance. The door was gone, evidently blown off its hinges. They stepped outside, and both gasped.
Instead of the yellow dust of North Dakota, they were in clean air looking down a green hill toward the ocean. A brilliant blue sky, adorned with a few fluffy white clouds, stretched above them endlessly. Around the corner of the building, they were led toward what appeared to be an open square in the middle of a small town. A huge fountain was set at one side of it. They were heading toward the building facing across the square toward the sea. The guard gave them a push when they dawdled too long, staring, and they walked around the side of the building to the front entrance. They ascended a flight of stairs, and were pushed again, this time through the tall open doorway.
A crowd of people, buzzing with conversation, milled about inside the high-ceilinged room that ran down the center of the building. Here and there an excited laugh rose above the din. The two agents looked quickly around them. The floor was inlaid marble, the walls covered with paintings and gilt. There was an astonishing chandelier that even unlit refracted light around the room from its prisms. The crowd parted, looking them over with hostility or mere curiosity.
At the other end of the room stood the man who had introduced himself as Colonel Tavington. He had removed his helmet and armor, but had retained the old-fashioned, bright red uniform jacket . He was still heavily armed, with his katana slung over his back and a revolver on each hip. Next to him was an attractive woman with upswept, slightly curling hair, wearing a simple long dress of indigo blue that iridesced subtly with shades of purple. She wore a strand of pearls and antique gold earrings. Holding her hand was a little girl in white with hair so short she almost appeared to have a shaven head. Around them were other men in red jackets, and some men and women in white lab coats or work clothes, and some women in colorful dresses, and a few more children, and even a man in a clerical collar.
Everyone appeared to be in celebratory mood, and the Colonel was smiling, looking extremely handsome and happy until he caught sight of the two government agents. He gestured to their guard to bring them forward.
Clear and unmistakably English, his voice carried above all others. The room fell silent.
"Let us welcome Agents Markham and Kelly, our newest recruits!" The two agents stared back defiantly, and Tavington only looked amused.
"You can't keep us forever," Markham taunted him. "We'll find a way to escape, and then you'll regret kidnapping agents of the Central Committee." To his surprise, the room burst into laughter.
"Actually," Tavington contradicted him with a curl of his lip, "we must keep you here forever, for due to your untimely appearance, there is now no way ever to return you whence you came." He took a step forward, looking at them almost pityingly. "Surely you've noticed something different about your surroundings?"
"You have beachfront property. So what? It's not private enough to hide you forever." There was more laughter.
Tavington smiled with a hint of malice. "Ah, but it is. We have nothing but privacy in this year of Our Lord 146. We did not just take you a great distance in miles, but in years. And there is now no way to return to the future you knew—not that any of us care to try."
Obviously skeptical, Kelly declared, "Time travel is a scientific impossibility. It's been proven." People around her shook their heads.
Tavington approached her, and stood holding her gaze with unnervingly pale blue eyes. "I was born in 1746. I am thought to have died at the Battle of Cowpens in the American War of Independence. My wife over there met me when she came back in time to study that age. Her friends saved my life, and I stand before you, a man who has lived in three centuries—so far. You'll learn. And soon."
Kelly lifted her chin. "What are you going to do with us?"
Tavington admired her nerve. "Well, that is largely up to you. Your interference and the actions of your fellow agents would, if successful, have sentenced us all to death---even innocent children, sent to your ghastly work camps." He glanced at the little girl in white, and his expression softened. "But I believe we are willing to forgive and forget if you put your past behind you and contribute your share to the success of our settlement."
"We're not doing anything for you people," Markham shot back. There were mutters from the crowd, and a tall, sandy-haired man called out, "Fine. Drop them off on one of the desert islands."
"Or somewhere around 300 A.D. And in Japan," suggested an older woman.
A young woman said spitefully, "I wish we could just put them down in New Kowloon without any identity papers!"
Tavington acknowledged the speakers, and turned to the agents, "So you see, it is indeed up to you. Those who do not work shall not eat. But for those willing to participate, our new home, our New Atlantis, offers immeasurable hope and possibility—clean air, clean water, and the chance to give the world a fresh start. How can you say 'no' to that?"
Kelly and Markham were silent, their eyes glancing uneasily about the room.
"Tell me, Miss Kelly," Tavington inquired, addressing the young woman with cool courtesy, "What can you do that does not involve firing pistols at people?"
Kelly drew herself up. "I'm a doctor."
"Really—a medical doctor?"
The woman nodded warily. "A forensic pathologist."
Tavington looked blank and his wife whispered in his ear.
"Ah," he said. "Autopsies. Clever of you, finding a specialty that means you can never lose a patient! When we need an autopsy done, we shall certainly come to you. In the meantime," he said, his face growing hard, "we have living men who need medical assistance. You will be escorted to our hospital, and we shall see what kind of doctor you really are."
"I can take her with me," offered one of the men in lab coats.
"All right," Tavington agreed. His voice dropped to a threatening growl. "And Miss Kelly, do not dream of harming any of my people and escaping. If you raise a hand to people who are willing to trust you, you will not be marooned. I shall hang you. Never doubt it." He stepped back, again smiling. "Now off with you. There are good men who may die without your assistance!"
The young woman's handcuffs were removed, and she was led away. A few others left with them, to take a turn at clinic duty. Tavington fixed an intimidating regard on Agent Markham.
"And you, sir? What have you to offer us?"
The man took a breath, and let it out, thinking.
"What are you good at?" asked a big man in a plaid shirt.
Markham said slowly, "I'm good at finding out the truth about things." He saw his audience was unimpressed, and added, "I have a Master's Degree in Psychology from Oxford University."
A slight man in one of the red jackets, who seemed to have something wrong with his arm, said jocularly in a Scots accent, "Ah, a gentleman and a scholar! And he knows which end of a gun the bullet comes out!" He grinned at Markham. "Tell me this, Mr. Markham—can you ride a horse?"
"I rode a horse—once."
"Then you are the new lieutenant of the Atlantis Militia." The crowd started to laugh again, seeing Markham's expression, Tavington along with them.
The Scotsman stepped closer. "Come along with me, Mr. Markham, and we'll issue your commission today. Don't look so down-hearted, laddie! It's a new world—anything can happen! You may even find you like the Army!" He put his good hand on Markham's shoulder, and propelled him to a nearby office, accompanied by a number of other red-coated men.
Tavington called after him, "Don't forget, sir, my warning applies equally to you. Serve faithfully, and you shall reap great rewards. Otherwise---" he shrugged and turned away.
A moment later, Summer announced that she was serving cake in the next room, and the children were sent off to get their pieces right away. Most of the adults moved in that direction, if more deliberately, but Diana hung back to speak to her husband.
She murmured, "They'll need watching."
"Oh, no doubt," Tavington agreed. "And they shall be watched. As soon as time permits, Markham will be shown sufficient evidence of our journey."
"And Dr. Kelly?"
Tavington laughed harshly. "That young woman is about to get all the proof she needs in the form of a surgery full of wounded eighteenth-century soldiers! Perhaps she won't be so quick to discount the evidence of her own eyes."
"It was pretty high-handed of Major Ferguson to press Markham into service that way."
"He has my entire support. It would be a waste of his education to have the fellow digging ditches, and he would nurse his grievances and plot rebellion. This way he is given a position of authority—suitably supervised—and so has a stake in our venture."
"And I thought you were simply a man of action. You've really become quite the politician, Will--but not a very democratic one!"
Tavington pulled his wife close and kissed her hand, and then very softly, her mouth. He purred, lips brushing her ear. "My love, surely you remember that I am, after all, a monarchist?"
Michael Flynn came to look for them. "Get a room, you two!" he laughed. "But have some cake first. Summer's cracked open a case of champagne for us, and you'd better get it while it's cold!"
"No champagne for me," Diana told Tavington, with a playful air.
"Why not?" It took him a moment to understand her silent message, and then a moment of unparalleled happiness pierced his heart like an arrow. "Really?"
"Yes," she confirmed, turning quite pink, but looking entirely delighted, all the same.
"Well," he said. "Well. I'm certainly going to have some champagne!"
Tavington tucked Diana's hand firmly into the crook of his arm, and strode into the splendid chamber, filled with people he had not known six months before. Now they were his friends, his colleagues—his charges, some of them. He had a future full of limitless possibility, and the promise of supreme adventure. No king, ancient or modern, had ever wielded power like to that possessed by the inhabitants of this New Atlantis. Time was their servant, their weapon, and their inheritance. How they made use of Time would be their greatest challenge.
-----Note: My thanks to all who reviewed and/or enjoyed this mini-adventure. Yes, there are some crossover elements here. Not just S. M. Stirling's Island in the Sea of Time (highly recommended, and the obvious Star Trek, Jurassic Park, and X-files refs, but I'm also channeling Plato's mention of Atlantis in the unfinished dialogue Kritias. Just indulging myself. Perhaps I shall write a short sequel in the future. The next installment of the anthology will return us to the stand-alone stories. Episode 10: Mary Sue and the Ravages of Time.