One Thousand Years (26 page)

Looking
down at her side-panel, Dale pretended not to hear what he was
implying. “I'm transferring a flight plan to your system.
There isn't much time. We need to handle this as soon as we have Sam
back.”

“Back? You mean you are not killing him?” asked Vinson.

“Hell no!” she said adamantly.
“I don't see that we have to.”

Relieved,
Vinson left that issue aside and studied the chart. He shook his
head. “I don't understand. These are for the French province.
I thought the mission was to recover Sam, remove any traces of his
interactions, and then return to the
Göring
. What does
Europe have to do with that?”

He
studied her eyes, which revealed nothing.

“I
hope I am not stepping out of line.”

“It's
not that,” she said. “We don't yet know what changes he
made to the future. He may not have done anything yet of
consequence. But whatever he does to our future is insignificant.
We'll cover up his tracks if we have time, but we have something more
important to do as soon as we're done here.”

“Insignificant?
Compared to what? Saving our future is the top priority!”
Vinson kept his eyes on her, pleading.

“Okay,”
she said. “You need to know the truth. It's worse than most
crew members are aware.”

“What
could be worse than altering our timeline? It affects our home.”

She paused again. This time, Vinson remained quiet while she pondered,
peering up at the forward dome.

“I'm afraid that history has already changed,” she said.
Finally, she turned back to him.
“It was only fairly recently that we discovered this.
Nothing major — yet.
But I don't need to tell you, even a small change can become a major change
over the following centuries.”

He
was stunned.

“The
change was not by us,” she added.

“Changed
by the Grauen?”

She
nodded.

“So,
the Grauen have time travel,” he reflected, still distraught
but now also flustered. “How can that happen now? We're in
the past. They would have destroyed our own timeline before we were
even born.”

“It would have,
if they had changed history here in our own solar system.
But not if they changed their own history. It probably happened at
the Grauen homeworld eight-thousand light-years away.
Ships from their new timeline came into ours while we were here,
or perhaps while we were at the transit point
where we went back in time.”

Vinson
looked her blankly. She knew that he didn't understand.

“Changes in the timeline ripple back
at the speed of light,” she said.

“The
SS had to keep
that
a secret, too?” Vinson stammered.

“That's
not strictly an SS secret. The Luftwaffe is aware of this, but it's
out of your clearance. It was out of mine, too, until recently.”

“When
you were off flight status,” he concluded. “And that's
also why Otto Barr was quarantined.”

“Yes.
We suspected that the Grauen ship that Barr saw was from the other
timeline. We decided that should be kept secret for now.”

His
mind raced through the implications. Educated in astrophysics since
he was a child, and with the training of an
interstellar-flight-qualified Luftwaffe pilot, he was still
flummoxed. Faster-than-light starships would outrun timeline
changes, he realized, assuming one could know it was coming. “It
doesn't make sense,” he said. “The geometry doesn't work
out.”

He
remained deep in thought until the rechner alerted. He didn't even
think to ask how the SS could know where the Grauen homeworld was.

*

Carrying
two boxes, Donaldson approached the jeep and tossed one of the boxes
to McHenry.

“What's
this?”

“It's
your box lunch for the flight.” Donaldson grinned. “We're
in luck. That B-24 is going back to the States this morning.
They'll take two more passengers. A friend of mine is flying
co-pilot. He's quietly slipping us on the manifest as a favor to me
as long as we don't make any waves. They never check whether
passengers have orders.”

Feeling
more at ease at last, McHenry laughed, jumping out of the jeep. “He
doesn't think we're on the lam, does he? I don't want him calling
the M.P.'s.”

“I
did have to assure him we're not AWOL. I didn't have to lie. I do
have Blanding's authorization.”

They
made their way around the hangar,
and toward the distant aircraft on the tarmac. The mechanics were making their
way back inside, pulling a cart behind them. The sun hadn't risen
yet, but it was lighter now. It was a slightly foggy morning.

“We've
had mornings exactly like this in Italy.”

“I haven't seen fog like this since I was in the States,”
said Donaldson.

McHenry
stopped. “Hold on. I wonder if this is natural.”

“It's
unusual here on the island but I don't know that it's impossible.
You really think your Nazis can create fog?”

“You
know we can create fog right now. We're talking about people who can
manipulate gravity.”

“That
doesn't mean they brought a fog-making machine down with them.”

“Good
point. Just the same, it's suspicious.” McHenry remained
there, looking at the lights around the aircraft two hundred feet
ahead, and then to the hangar behind him, still visible, but
indistinct. There was an awful lot of fog.

Donaldson
looked to McHenry, seeing the concern on his face. “This
flight is still our only good option.”

“Ward,”
McHenry said, still hesitating. “It might be a good idea if we
split up here.”

“Why?
My best use to you is helping you get to Washington. I'm not
quitting now. I want to win this war.”

“I'm not asking you to quit.
My best use for
you
now is that you survive.”
He was speaking more quickly now, certain that he
was running out of time. “You're part of the plan. I need for
you to survive. This is a longer term strategy than just the next
few weeks. The war is much bigger than against Hitler. I need for
you to continue even if the President, or the next one, chooses to
give up.”

“What
are you saying? How am I supposed to do that?”

“I
don't mean by setting off bombs. Someone has to be able to pick up
the pieces, keep the country strong, hold back the waves of
defeatism, and resist the return to appeasement. If we do lose here,
which I think likely, the rest of the country is going to weaken, and
maybe turn on itself.”

“I'm
just a lieutenant, Sam. You need to tell this to people in
Washington.”

“You're
a lieutenant today. You'll be something else in ten years, and
something else again in twenty. You may have the rest of the century
to make a difference.
The
difference. Maybe you'll get into
politics, or maybe you'll invent or discover something that keeps
America on top. This is not only one war. It's this war, and the
one after that. Most of all, it's the wars the country is not going
to fight, but should, just like the way we didn't get into this one
until Hitler took half of Europe. Hitler could have lost everything
when he retook the Rhineland in ‘36 — if only the British and
French had threatened war right then. We could have avoided war in
Europe entirely, if only we'd been the strong ones. And now we're
going right back to appeasement again, here and in the rest of the world.
Fascist movements will rise on every continent until they all join the Reich.
You have to stop them every chance you get
or it's Führers all the way from here on in.”

McHenry
opened the emergency kit and pulled out a small cartridge. “I
know you're just one man, Ward. Maybe this will help.”

Donaldson
looked the device over. The legend was written in German.

“It's
advanced technology,” McHenry explained. “Translate the
label. You've got years, decades even, to figure out how it works.
Heck, you can probably learn something critical just by figuring out
what the container is made from.”

“Okay,
Sam,” Donaldson said. He put the device in with the box lunch
and held it tight. “But at least let me see you on board that
plane. I can't promise to fight the next war without continuing to
fight this one.” He held out his hand, and the two men shook.

“It's
a deal.”

They looked toward the B-24,
now very hazy in the morning fog, and then back to the hangar.
The fog was now so thick that the hangar was
no longer visible at all, but they could see two mechanics walking
in their direction. Then the B-24 fogged over, too.

“You're
right, something's wrong here,” said Donaldson.

A
form appeared above them out of the mist. McHenry recognized the
unterkarbon layers around a Tiger. Donaldson pulled his .45 and
fired at the craft.

“No!”
McHenry shouted. “It's too late. Get out of here!”

Donaldson
emptied the magazine of his pistol, but it was indeed too late. The
two mechanics reached them. One grabbed Donaldson's hand, deftly
removed the weapon, and then held him in place. The other grabbed
McHenry. Both now immobilized, Donaldson was shocked and angry at
these men, but McHenry understood what they were. He remembered the
name for them.

“You
two are
Fallschirmjäger
, aren't you?” he asked.
“Robots?”

They
said nothing. The Tiger's hatch opened suddenly and a figure stepped
out of the mist dressed in a black SS uniform, towering over all of
them. It was Dale. She smiled down at McHenry, then coolly to
Donaldson, seeming to enjoy the look of shock on his face.

“Whatever
he told you about us, you can now see that it's true,” she
taunted. Then turning to McHenry, she said, “you really
shouldn't have done this.”

“You
know that I had to,” McHenry responded.

“Yes,
I do. If there is one thing we all agree on, it is duty.”

“I
know that your future was shot before I left.”

“So,
you've figured that out,” she said, sadly. “But the
timeline will be repaired.” She stepped down the ladder but
was still much taller than either of them.
“Anyway, this is bigger than our one future.”

Donaldson
began struggling visibly. The robot held him tight. “Why does
she speak with an American accent?” he blurted out.

Dale
stepped beside him and looked down at his eyes. “Because I was
born in Chicago.” Her gleeful smile returned. “You look
like an Aryan version of Sam here. It's a pity we can't bring you
back with us. But you need to live your life. And, really, one
American soldier is more than enough trouble. Now you've seen too
much. Sleep.”

Before
Donaldson could utter another word, he was unconscious, slumped in
the robot's arms.

She
looked to McHenry, then to the robot holding him. “Him, too.”

*

McHenry
didn't recognize where he was when she and Vinson woke him. He
guessed correctly that he must be in the Tiger's storage rack.
Sensing gravity he guessed, correctly again, that they hadn't yet
left orbit.

“Welcome
back, my friend,” said Vinson.

“Thanks.”
McHenry tried to sit up but his hands and feet were bound.

“I'm
sorry, Sam,” said Dale. “You need to be restrained for
the procedure.”

He
nodded understanding. “That was a neat trick with the fog.”

“I
didn't know we had it,” said Dale. “Adolf thought of
it.”

Vinson
smiled proudly. “Vent heat in the right direction, and a Tiger
can even make it rain a little. Coordinate several Tigers underwater
and we can change the weather.”

“I
hadn't yet read that far in the Tiger's manuals.”

“You
have to be working with these engines for a while. Many things like
that are possible. When we return to Berlin, you will see the
weather is always perfectly controlled.”

“What's
happening to Donaldson?”

“It's
still morning,” said Dale. “He probably just woke up in
his bed. Same as his colonel. The memories of the men who were
already awake are harder to manage. We didn't have enough time but
we did the best we could.”

When
McHenry didn't react, Dale continued, “That's right. To some
extent, we can suppress their memories.”

“You
can make them forget this happened?”

“Not
completely. It's too late for that. The last few hours will be less
clear. They will remember but they won't be as certain about it. It
will be like memories that are decades old, the way you might
remember your early childhood.”

“What
happens when they compare stories?”

“We'll
have to hope it won't matter. We have to make compromises. Any more
than that, we damage their minds, and that changes their futures in
another way. This isn't perfect by a long shot but it may be enough.
We only need that they go on with their lives. You already have
people believing crazy things. The war's not even over, and there
are people saying that Roosevelt knew Pearl Harbor was going to be
attacked. And, naturally, the Jews will say America should have kept
fighting this senseless war. A few more Americans with a crazy
conspiracy theory won't defeat the Reich downstream.”

“
The Jews
again?” prodded McHenry.

“I'm sorry, Sam,” she said quietly.
It seemed to McHenry that she was reflecting for a moment, genuinely regretful.
“It's the way we're brought up.
And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She paused for only a moment longer, then shifted back, looked into his eyes and said, “This won't hurt.”

But
it did hurt. It hurt his pride.

His
eyes stopped seeing. His ears stopped hearing. His body stopped
feeling. He forgot that he ever had arms and legs. He only saw a
blank formless image, reminding him of the
Traumsehen
device in
Göring's
infirmary that found the image of the alien ship from his mind. He
was awake enough to fear the disclosures that would be ripped from
his mind. And he was awake enough to see the image changed by the
very fear that he felt.