Time Rovers 03 Madman's Dance (50 page)

“We would sip wine as we floated along,” he suggested. He wore a lazy expression, like they were already on the water. “I see white swans gliding by us in the brilliant sunshine, the trees in full leaf, and…” His enthusiasm dimmed. “That’s not going to happen, is it?”

His unusual pessimism was jarring. “Not right now,” Cynda responded gently. “But someday.”

He leaned in closer to her. “Someday.” She held her breath, anticipating what might follow.

Just then his interface lit up, vibrating across the top of the desk.

“Fulham has the worst sense of timing,” he grumbled. He returned to his work, but not before giving her a fond smile.

Cynda returned to bed and was finally trudging down that muzzy tunnel of sleep when she heard Theo talking to her. Something about the coin and going to 2058. When she forced her eyes open, he was already gone.

~••~••~••~

In the presence of mine enemies.
They were all around Keats, some thirty dockworkers, trying to keep out of the rain. Keats thought he recognized some of their faces from his time at the call-on shelter, back when he’d still been on the run. They’d all rubbed elbows together, trying to find a job when there were too few to go around. From what he could tell the majority of them were Irish, with a few Germans and Russians thrown in for good measure.

Rousting most of them out of their beds, Clancy had gathered the ones he trusted most. That still hadn’t made it easy. The argument had flowed back and forth between them ever since they’d gathered. Most of them would be happy to cut Keats’ throat and call it a day. It was only the big Irishman’s presence that held them in check.

Keats’ patience vanished. “Look lads, it’s this way—we find those explosives, or the docklands are going to burn. You know what’s in these warehouses. Tinder. One good flame, and it’s all a blast furnace.”

“Why should we help ya?” one of them called out. “Yer a bleedin’ rozzer!”

“Because you’re going to be the ones to suffer. There will be no work for
months
.” He let them cipher out the consequences on their own.

One of the men spat at his feet. “Don’t want nothin’ to do with this. Flaherty—”

“Didn’t set the bombs,” Keats retorted. “He knows better than to hurt his own.”

That registered. There was more mumbling.

Clancy chimed in, “Gents, this rozzer’s on the level. We all know there’s others out there that’ll do us harm. It’s plain and simple. We need yer help.”

More murmuring. “Ya pay us for our time?”

“Yes,” Keats replied. “More than going wages.” He’d sort that out with Fisher later.

“How da we get inside?” someone else called out. “They’re all locked. Ya could nick us for breakin’ in.”

“If we can’t find someone with a key, I’ll bust them open,” Keats assured them. “I’m a copper. I can do that sort of thing.” He sent a silent thank you to the chief inspector for insisting that he stay with the Yard.

An old man came forward. He had only one eye, the other hidden behind a dingy patch. “Yer not lyin’, are ya?”

Keats shook his head. “I wish to God I was.”

The old man crossed himself. “I were afraid of that, lad.”

As rain poured off his bowler, Keats waved the wary watchman forward and presented his card.

“I’m Detective-Sergeant Keats with Scotland Yard,
Special Branch
. I need you to open all of Hugo Effington’s warehouses. You do have the keys, don’t you?”

“You were in prison.”

“I was. Now I’m here. Do you have the keys?”

“I do, but I can’t—”

“My responsibility. There are explosives in those buildings. You wouldn’t want all of the docklands to become a fireball, would you?” Keats added, just to up the ante.

“Explosives?” The watchman’s eyes skimmed over the group standing behind Keats. “What about this lot?”

“They’re here to do their civic duty. Are you prepared to do yours?”

The man caved. “As you like, sir. I don’t need no trouble.”

With the swift application of a set of keys, the doors to the first warehouse opened.

“All right gents, listen up. We are looking for half-barrels with dynamite attached to the side of them. Call out if you find one. Just to be clear, if you think this a chance to nick a few goods for yourself, I’d not recommend it.”

“There’s only one of ya. Toss us in jail, will ya?” someone chided.

“No, I’ll not waste my time. I’ll strap you to one of those barrels and light the dynamite myself.”

“Ya can’t do that!” the man protested.

“And I’ll help him,” another voice called out as its owner bulldozed his way through the crowd.

Keats looked up at Inspector Ramsey’s broad face. “Good morning, sir.”

“Detective-Sergeant. Carry on.”

“Ten of you come with me,” Keats called out. “The others go with Clancy and the watchman. Start working through the other warehouses.” No one moved. “Hop to it lads, so you’ll all have a job come evening.”

~••~••~••~

“Ah, excellent,” Fulham announced after Theo staggered out of the time pod. Then he took a good look at his boss. “Sir? Are you all right?”

“Not really,” Theo replied, leaning heavily against the chronsole, his mind drenched in thick fog. His respect for the Rovers rose even further.

Ralph Hamilton quirked an eyebrow as he shoved a candy bar across the counter. Theo shook his head.

“They’re your brains,” the chron-op replied.

“I doubt I have that many left, anyway.” He gave his assistant a sidelong look. “What keeps TPB from knowing I’m here?”

“As far as they’re concerned, you’re Mr. Hopkins. At least, that’s what your interface is telling them.”

“Well done.”

Theo took a couple of steps, managed to find his balance, and then followed his assistant out of the chronsole room.

“Any sign of Harter?” Fulham shook head. “How about Alegria? How’s she holding up?”

“Your sister is doing just fine. Anytime TPB pulls another legal stunt, she just bats it back in their court.”

“Never play poker with her, Fulham. She’ll clean you out every time.”

“Thank you for the warning, sir. Might I suggest you visit Guv’s physician? You look awful.”

Theo rubbed his temples, trying to ease the constant headache. “It’s just lag. It’ll resolve.”

His assistant fixed him with a frown. “Oddly enough, I have heard that same comment from Miss Lassiter. You do remember what happened to her?”

Yes, I do.

Three serious Guv agents, all in their wormhole-black suits took over escort duties. He was herded to a small meeting room. Sitting in one of the ergo chairs, hands folded over her ample chest, was M.A. Fletcher, formerly a member of the Time Protocol Board. Her fiery red hair was highlighted by the glow of the recessed lights.

An acknowledged genius at miniaturization, it was joked that if you gave Fletcher a two hundred-story skyscraper, in an hour you’d have something that would fit in your pocket. In reality, her talents lay in nano technology, but it made a good story nonetheless.

Fletcher greeted him with a nod, which he returned. “Been awhile, Morrisey. You look like death warmed over.”

“Been traveling.” Gingerly, he settled into a chair. For some reason all his bones ached.

“So Klein said. What’s it like?”

“Tiring, exhilarating. Frightening.”

Fletcher gave a knowing nod. “Frankly, I’m surprised they got you out from behind your computer.”

“Blame it on the Restricted Force Warrant. I stay here I’m in jail, so I figured it was time to experience the monster I created.”

A wry chuckle. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to get myself shrunk to a nanobit just out of curiosity, that’s for sure.”

Klein arrived at that moment. “Fletcher. Morrisey.” The agent tapped his foot twice on the floor plate, and a table slowly rose into position between them. He took a seat. “How’s Lassiter?”

Theo shot Klein a questioning look.

“You can speak freely,” the agent assured him. “Fletcher’s in the loop.”

“Miss Lassiter is holding it together,” Theo replied. “I’ve not seen any signs that she’s out of control. If anything, she’s more subdued than usual.”

“Did she really bust TPB’s shrink in the jaw?” Fletcher asked.

Theo nodded. “Quite a scene,” he commented with a smirk.

“Wish I’d been there.”

The senior agent cocked his head. “I forwarded that coin to Fletcher. Figured she might be able to help us.”

“Cue miniaturization expert.” She tossed the disk on the table. “As you guessed, it’s not of 1888 origin. This critter contains a miniature amplifier. It receives a signal, pumps it up and passes it on.”

“What sort of signal?” Theo asked.

“We’re not sure. It’s not electromagnetic or a vid-rad frequency. Common waveforms do nothing to excite it; neither do temperature changes, humidity or atmospheric pressure.” Fletcher leaned forward. “Why is this thing so important?”

Theo frowned. “How open are we being here?”

“Her security clearance is equal to yours,” Klein replied.

Theo tapped on the table and a small keyboard projected itself onto the top. Another tap, and a port appeared into which he synced up his interface. A holographic display shimmered into being in the air above the keyboard, the electronic version of the maps he’d created while in the East End.

“9 November, 1888. Lord Mayor’s Day. Nineteen explosions ranging from Bethnal Green to Rotherhithe across the Thames.” He pressed a key. “On 12 November…”

By the time Theo finished his holographic destruction of London, Klein’s eyes were closed in thought. A vein throbbed near his temple.

“Damn, that’s ugly,” Fletcher said. “Will it ripple forward?”

“Very likely.” Theo gestured at the disk. “One of the Victorians found this near where they were storing the explosives. I began to wonder if it had something to do with the accuracy of the detonations.”

She grinned. “I think it does. What if a time pulse initiates a chain reaction, moving forward coin by coin?”

“How does that trigger the explosion?” Klein asked.

“If the coin heats up during the process, they just need to have it in contact with the gunpowder,” Theo explained.

Fletcher picked up the coin, studying it under the lights. “Which means your Victorians had a technological power assist.”

“TPB?” Klein pounced.

“Not their style,” Fletcher replied.

“Don’t be so sure. They kicked you off the Board right before this whole thing fell out,” Klein countered. “Seems like a move to keep you out of whatever they’re up to.”

“Davies isn’t that smart,” Fletcher maintained. “Trust me on this.”

Klein leaned back. “Who, then? Do you know anyone doing this sort of work?”

“We haven’t gone this far yet,” Fletcher replied, shaking her head. “Just basic products like the chrono-tint wall color that changes every couple of hours. Making a damned fortune off that stuff.” She picked up the coin. “I estimate this is at least ten years down the line. Actually, less now.”

She grinned, deftly rolling the disk over the knuckles of her right hand and then back again. “We’ll reverse engineer it. I love it when someone else does the R&D.”

Theo’s headache edged up another notch.

“Oh, come on, gentlemen,” Fletcher chided. “We all know this came from the future. Just admit it.”

“That’s the last damned thing I want to admit,” Klein said.

Fletcher spread her hands. “No other conclusion.” She looked over at Theo for support.

“Agreed,” he said reluctantly. “At present, we use pulses to determine the location of a Rover during Inbound and Outbound travel. There’s also some pulsing during side-hops.” He frowned. “Any Rover with an interface could trigger this sequence. They might not even know they’re doing it.”

“But you didn’t set them off,” Klein argued.

“Just luck, I guess.”

“What happens if you don’t stop this? How big of a ripple will there be?” the agent demanded.

Theo keyed the question into the computer, without bothering to input a security screening code. Guv’s computer system would be airtight.

Unlike his computer, this one didn’t generate a Renaissance or Baroque painting in the air above the keyboard while it cogitated. Instead it painstakingly constructed an image of a beehive. All the bees were drones.

Guv’s view of an ideal society.

“Task complete.” Even the computer voice was bland.

“Run task report,” he ordered. The hive melted away. “The truncated version,” he added.

“Destruction of 1888 London will substantially affect the power of the British Empire for a period of nine point three years. Other opportunistic governments will take advantage and capture British colonial outposts, including India, Burma, Singapore and Egypt. This disruption will significantly impact British capabilities in the First World War and delay Allied entry into the Second World War. With the rise of Russia in—”