Time's Chariot (24 page)

Unavoidably, that made the clone at least semiconscious,
certainly self aware . . . and that made
what Daiho had done murder.

Daiho just looked straight ahead, calm and
collected, as the story fed itself into each of their
minds. Finally, he turned his head again to meet
Marje's gaze and she felt that she was the only one
there whose opinion mattered to him.

'I've saved the Home Time,' he said simply. 'One
life for the sake of our civilization, Marje. Can't you
accept that?' He held her gaze for a moment, then
looked away, obviously thinking he had made his
irrefutable point.

But Marje surprised them both by saying:
'Maybe.' Daiho looked back at her, eyebrows raised.
He opened his mouth.

'But the choice should be informed and voluntary,'
Marje went on. 'No one has the right to
ordain who should make that sacrifice.'

The truth-gathering went on. From the two
youngsters, their experiences of being taken from
the plantation back to the Home Time. From Su
came her account of the meeting with Marje in
Daiho's villa; the stream of small details that weren't
quite right; her constantly suspicious, volatile
partner. And finally, from Marje herself, the flip side
of Su's testimony: the shock of the news of her
superior's death; encounters with Op Garron; a
similar sense that something, somewhere wasn't
right.

And more, of course, for which Marje had
already steeled herself. The approach by Yul Ario,
the not-so-subtle hints that she should drop the
case, the attempt to recall Garron. Marje shut her
eyes, knowing that not only were the others getting
the bald facts but her accompanying self-loathing
with it. She had been right, she had been on the
right trail, and yes, there had even been a murder
. . . and she had been prepared to throw it all away
for the convenience of the patricians.

But lurking behind it all was the small item of
knowledge – which surprised her, but for which she
was glad – that, like Daiho, she was prepared to pay
whatever penalties came her way. She still felt like
the world's vilest traitor but there was one crumb of
self-redemption in her testimony.

It stopped. The whole thing had taken only a few
seconds but everyone was looking at everyone else,
reassessing and re-evaluating their thoughts and
opinions of the people around them. Su in particular
met her eyes, held her gaze, nodded slightly
and then looked away. That counted for more than
anything else in Marje's opinion. Su wasn't holding
her weakness against her.

And the World Executive spoke.

'We have made our decision,' it said.

'Su,' said Marje. 'Hello. Come in, take a seat.'

Marje didn't sound very interested in Su's
presence. She stood with her back to the door,
gazing out across the white landscape beyond the
window. Su did as she was told.

'Commissioner Daiho . . . ?' she said.

'Some Security Ops came for him about ten
minutes ago. They took him away.'

'I've just come from the transference hall,' Su
said. 'The equipment's under guard by Security.
It'll be used by the College, not Daiho's friends.'

'Good.'

'And the Specifics are going to try and get Rico
back.'

'Good.' Marje still sounded numb, disinterested.

'I was just wondering . . .'

Marje finally turned round. 'Yes?'

'Will you stay on as Rico's sponsor? The thing is,
Marje, Holmberg-Chabani-Scott have filed suit
against him for Scott's death, they say he was
negligent, and they don't have a leg to stand on, but
they could make life very unpleasant for him, so—'

'No,' said Marje.

There was a silence.

'I'm sorry.' Su stood up again. 'I won't bother
you again, Commissioner.'

'Wrong,' Marje said. 'Sit down, please, Su.' And
while Su sat, slowly, and stayed still, something
seemed to snap inside Marje at long last and she
paced about the office. 'I'm not a Commissioner
any more,' she said. 'I've just symbed in my resignation.
No Commissioner, so no patrician
membership, so no sponsorship for Op Garron. I'm
sorry.'

'Marje, if it's about—'

'Su, I've been used from my very first day on this
job! I've been lied to, I've been blackmailed, and
the worst of it is, it came damn close to working. I
wanted to be a patrician so I could help others but
all that happened was I got caught up in the whole
sick powerplay at the top. Oh yes, it's everywhere!
They were all in on it. Yul Ario, for a start—'

Who just happens to be Commissioner for Fieldwork.
Rico's boss
. Su's heart hit bottom and started to dig.

'—and I suspect the rest. And will any of it come
out? Will any heads roll? Of course not. Everyone
involved was a patrician and they should all be
above reproach. The people can't be allowed to see
their failings. No, Su, I haven't been impressed by
what I found out about them and I don't care too
much for what I found out about myself. I'm not
going to take that any more.

'And that is why I can't help.' She looked at Su
and sighed, her energy expended for the time
being. 'I'll be glad to offer what testimony I can, but
I can't give Rico patronage. He'll have to defend
himself against Hoon with the facts.'

'Marje,' said Su, 'we all know they don't need
facts to make his life very unpleasant.'

One corner of Marje's mouth smiled. 'Op
Garron has worked his way up from the orphan's
crèche to this place, and he's done it on his own. I
have a feeling he'll get through this too.'

Su quietly took her leave.

After Su was gone, Marje took a couple of deep
breaths and looked again around the office. The
old fashioned bookcases and panelling; the
furniture and carpet; the clash of styles she had
never got round to changing.

And the hourglass on the wall, with its
prominent '27'.

All someone else's problem. No more politics
for her. No more manipulation. No more
correspondents.

Or, in other words, no more playing God with
the lives of people who couldn't make it in the
Home Time. Now, she would
help
them make it in
the Home Time. Her work had given her enough
insight into the problems of people in the lower
social levels. People who didn't have patrician
power or patronage to ease their way in the system.
She could set up a practice, she could help these
people instead of consigning them on a one-way
ticket to the past, to satisfy the needs – no, the
wants
, there was a big difference – of the present.

There were almost tears in Marje Orendal's eyes
when she left the office, but also a spring in her
step.

The sadly familiar feel of a hypo on his skin.
Hands lifting him up. Rico seemed to float in
the chemical smog around his brain.

'Wha—?' he said.

'I'm not a murderer,' said a voice. Whose? He
knew it, and he knew there was something
he wanted to do to its owner, like kick its butt.

'Bully for you,' he mumbled.

'All that about timestreams, and what will
happen if I try and stop the Home Time
happening?'

'All true.'

'I know. You convinced me. Wait here.' The
hands released him, and his knees buckled. He
floated gracefully down to the floor and bounced
slowly. The impact of his head against the tiles
tickled and he giggled.

Another touch of metal against his arm; yet
another blast of pharmaceuticals into his system to
do battle with the cocktail already coursing through
his veins.

'This should help,' said the voice.

Alan, Rico remembered. Its owner was called
Alan – or rather, chose to be called Alan nowadays.

He was a correspondent.

He had handed Rico over to the interrogators.

Rico's mind told his body to lunge up and hit the
man, hard. Rico's body preferred to imitate a
jellyfish.

But Alan was holding a hand out to him.

'You and Asaldra both said exactly the same
thing,' he said. 'You couldn't have lied with what
you went through and I'm sorry I doubted you. But
I've got two more questions for you.'

Rico glared at him, but took the hand and let
himself be hauled up. Alan set him down into a
chair. Rico looked around. He was back in what
Alan had euphemistically called a guest apartment.
Then Rico saw the two unconscious figures of his
guards.

'They'll live,' Alan said, following his gaze. 'Just
two further questions, Mr Garron, and then we get
out of here.'

Rico looked from the interrogators, to Alan, to
the interrogators, then back to Alan again. He
shrugged.

'Shoot,' he said.

'You said there were two kinds of correspondents.
Psychopaths and misfits. Which kind am
I?'

'Dunno. I don't know when you came from.'
Rico lifted his hands up cautiously and held them
in front of him, wiggling his fingers. Then he held
his arms out to either side – he was strong enough
to do that, now – shut his eyes and touched his nose
with both hands. Yes, it was all coming back. 'Still,
you've been here a good thousand years. How
many people have you killed?'

'One hundred and seventy-two,' Alan said at
once. 'All in self defence.'

Rico laughed weakly. 'Not even two a decade.
You're the second kind. Does that make you feel
better?'

'Not really. A bit, maybe.' Alan leaned closer.
'Second question. When is Recall Day?'

'I haven't already told you that?' Rico said,
surprised.

'I didn't believe in it, so I didn't include it in the
list of questions for the interrogators,' Alan said.
'When is it?'

'No,' said Rico.

'I beg your pardon?'

'If you want to know that, put me back under
and ask, but I'm not telling you that of my own free
will. I'm a Field Op and I have obligations.'

Alan was quiet for a moment. 'Well, one out of
two isn't bad and I've lived through worse odds. But
it must be close, or Daiho wouldn't have been
counting on it, would he?' Rico just looked at him
and said nothing. Alan sighed. 'All right, all right.
Can you stand?'

Rico cautiously pushed himself up out of his
chair. He was unsteady on his feet but he could
walk.

'Good enough,' said Alan. He checked one of
the unconscious guards, then the other. 'This one's
about your size. Give me a hand.'

Alan was undoing the man's jacket; Rico knelt
down and started on the boots.

'Where are we going, out of interest?' he said.

'You, that's up to you. Me, I'll think of something.'
Alan lifted the man's torso up and began to
tug the jacket off. 'A holiday. A binge at Monte
Carlo. A Caribbean cruise. A golf-and-fishing
holiday in Scotland. Anything to while away the
time until Recall Day, when I go home.' He looked
up at Rico. 'You could come with me, if you like.'

'Me?' Rico exclaimed.

'You've missed your boat back home, haven't
you, thanks to me? And I want to make amends,
and I got the idea from the interrogation that you
don't like the Home Time that much. You'd need
an identity, but I've got a few stacked up that go
back for years. You can have one of them.'

'Stay here,' Rico mused. It had honestly not
occurred to him and he fantasized briefly. If he
stayed here until Recall Day, his savings back in the
Home Time would have been growing uninterrupted
for 27 years while he was away. When
he returned, still much the same physical age as
now, then based on the date of his birth he would
be that much closer to retirement. He would get off
Earth, out into space, still young, and start his life
all over again. It was a tempting prospect.

But . . .

'No,' he said. 'Thanks, but no. For a start, I've
got to contact the Home Time and tell them what's
happened here.'

Alan stopped. 'Why?' he exclaimed. 'No, don't
tell me. Obligations.'

'I can't leave the situation as it is,' Rico said.
'Carradine knows about the Home Time, and so do
these two, and I expect a lot of other BioCarr
people, and by now that information will be stored
on servers and mainframes all over the planet. I
have to let the Specifics know.'

'Who are they? The time police?'

'Something like that.'

'And they take you back?'

'And they take me back,' Rico agreed, still with a
tinge of regret. 'Look, life in the eleventh century
was a lot simpler, but which period would you
rather be living in, then or now?'

'Now,' Alan said without hesitation. 'They know
about hygiene and no one tries to kill you very often.'

'Same argument,' Rico said. 'I belong in the
Home Time. I'm sorry.'

'Well, it was just a thought.' Alan held Rico's gaze
for a moment. 'But I am sorry for what I did to you.'

'No hard feelings. Oh, and I'm taking Asaldra
with me.'

Alan seemed to deflate as the last traces of his
once great plan evaporated. 'Ah, you're welcome to
him. So, how do you contact your people?'

'I don't,' Rico said. He couldn't help a grin. 'You
do.'

The road looped around the edge of the landscaped
bowl in which the hall stood. The car drew
to a halt at a point overlooking the grounds. The
headlamps flicked off, its hydrogen-powered
turbine whispered to a standstill and the doors gullwinged
open with a quiet hiss. Two passengers got
out and one of them turned to give a hand to the
third, who staggered on rubbery legs and had to
lean against the side of the car.

Alan had raged. '
Call the Home Time? Me? You're
mad! They'll just reprogramme, or
—'

'
Simmer down, simmer down
,' Rico had said. '
You
don't have to be here when they arrive
. . .'

'You have to admit, it's attractive,' Alan said now.
He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking
down at the hall, ablaze with light. 'Wouldn't you
agree, Mr Asaldra?'

'Get on with it, for God's sake,' Asaldra
muttered. Rico remembered how he had felt on his
post-interrogation wakening and for the first time
ever he felt a measure of sympathy for the man. He
had the world's worst hangover and the only cures
for it were back in the hall or in the Home Time.

Rico was looking at the sky.

'You can see more stars on a night like this
than you could fifty years ago,' he said. 'BioCarr
had its faults but it did help clean the world up.' He
added: 'And, if you've missed it, the moon's up
there.'

'I know, I know.' Alan looked up. A couple of
seconds later: 'it's done.' He squinted at the hall
again. 'It doesn't look that different.'

'Trust me,' said Rico. 'They'll have edited it into
a separate stream, cleaned up, changed memories,
wiped records, and then spliced the stream back
into the alpha stream again. The bygoners will have
a brief moment of déjà vu when the streams merge,
but that will be it, and to outside observers it'll seem
that no time passed at all.'

'So much for not fiddling with time.'

'They won't have caused any new people to exist,
or deleted any existing ones. The Code allows that.

And just in case they miss out on any records, if
there's still something left, they'll implant engrams
that prevent the person who sees them from
making any sense of them. Or even being
interested in them. It works.'

'You've done it yourself, haven't you?'

'Once or twice.'

'Freeze!' A man's voice behind them. They froze.
'Put your hands on your heads. Turn round.'

Alan, Rico and Asaldra obeyed the orders in
succession, Asaldra stumbling and almost falling
over. Two figures had come out of the trees behind
them and were standing on the other side of the
road. Their feet were apart and their hands raised,
covering them.

'Stay right there,' said a woman's voice.

'Hi, Su,' Rico called. 'What kept you?'

'Rico!' A grinning Su came forward out of the
darkness, tucking her synjammer into her belt. A
man followed close behind. 'Well, you truly
buggered up, didn't you?' He held his arms out and
she fell into a hug.

'At last,' Asaldra said. His strength seemed to be
returning. 'What kept you?'

'Shut up, you're being rescued,' Rico said. 'This
is Mr Asaldra, if you hadn't gathered.'

'I'll just deal with the other one,' said the man,
and he took a step forward. Alan moved in a
blur, and then the synjammer was lying in the grass
ten feet away and the man was on his front, hands
pinned behind him and face pushed into the
ground by Alan crouching on top of him.

'No one,' Alan said, '
deals
with me.'

'You understood me?' the man wheezed. 'But
how . . .'

Rico and Su stood watching the little tableau,
Rico with his arm round Su's waist. 'Brains are still
a priority in recruiting Specifics, I see,' Rico said
cheerfully

'He's the correspondent you were briefed on,'
Su said, and it was obvious she was trying not to
laugh. 'You are RC/1029, I take it?'

'At your service.' Alan stood up and let the
Specific pick himself up in his own time.

'Op Bera was about to do a quick edit on
you.'

'That's happened once too often for my liking,'
said Alan.

'Correspondent?' Asaldra said. Alan gave him a
look of pity and contempt.

'You still don't get it, do you, Herbert?'

'Who?' said Rico.

It took a moment to sink in. 'You?' Asaldra said.
The sheer horror in his tone suggested he had
gone pale in the moonlight.

'Don't worry, I think I've had my revenge.'

'Can I interrupt?' Bera was climbing to his feet.
He glowered at Alan, but when he picked up the
synjammer he simply put it away in his fieldsuit.
'Op Garron, Mr Asaldra, you've been identified
and now we have to get to the recall field. As for
you
. . . our orders don't cover you.' Rico stepped in
front of Alan, just in case Bera still intended to take
the initiative in dealing with a rogue correspondent.
Bera snorted. 'But there's no way you
come with us,' he said.

Alan shrugged. 'As I understand it, if I go back
with you, I'm still a criminal or a misfit. If I go
back on Recall Day I've done my sentence. I'll hang
around a bit longer.'

'Well . . .' said Rico, and stopped. He and Alan
hadn't had the best of relationships but he had
found himself liking the correspondent, and if they
ever saw each other again, to Rico it would be
twenty-seven years in the future. 'Goodbye, then.
Some of it was a pleasure.' They reached out to
shake hands.

A thin, high-pitched gnat's whine drifted
through the quiet night air from the direction of
the hall. Rico recognized the noise – a helicopter's
engine starting up.

Alan was glancing back at the hall. 'No one was
scheduled . . .'

Another whine, and another. Rico remembered
the three helicopters parked on the lawn
outside the hall.

'There's an alarm going!' Alan exclaimed.

'I don't hear anything,' Bera said, straining his
ears.

'Of course you don't, but trust me.' He swung on
Rico. 'I thought you said your people would fix
everything!'

'They'll have left everything as it was, minus the
Home Time element,' Bera said.

'Everything?'

The whine turned into a throaty mechanical roar
as the first helicopter lifted off and its searchlight
impaled the darkness.

'Well, yes.'

'Including Matthew Carradine lying unconscious
in his study,' Alan snapped. 'Brilliant work!'

'But they won't be looking for us,' said Su.

'No, they'll be looking for Matthew's PA who
drugged him.'

The Home Timers turned for a final look back at
the hall. The three helicopters were in the air, each
spiralling out from the hall in a different direction.
One of them was turning towards them.

'Then let's get to the recall field now,' Bera said.
He set off into the trees at a light trot. Rico, Su and
Asaldra turned to follow him.

As did Alan.

'I said you couldn't come!' Bera snapped as the
leaf canopy blocked out the sky.

'I won't get out of the estate in my car,' said Alan.
'I'm taking the long way. And by the way, those
choppers all have infra-red detection equipment.'

'We've got fieldsuits. We can block that out,'
Bera said.

Su nodded at Rico and Asaldra. 'These two
can't.'

They glanced back. Like a squadron of metallic
valkyries, the three helicopters were now flying
towards them in line abreast, searchlights like
lances through the dark.