“I am sorry, mister, but I can’t talk to you about that. You should avoid it too if you don’t want trouble.”
“I only want to make sure that her name is not soiled by a few jealous assholes, Major. I promise you complete confidentiality. You have my word on that.”
Bertrand hesitated for a moment before sitting back. Peter immediately ordered two more beers from a passing waitress, then spoke again in a low voice.
“Major, I received two months ago an anonymous letter that contradicted totally the officially accepted story on the death of Nancy Laplante. While the writer seemed to hate Laplante with a passion, he said in his letter that she had not been killed by the Gestapo and that she had been sent to Colditz Castle after her capture. That same 540
writer pretended that Nancy Laplante had turned into a collaborator for the Germans and that she should be shot as a traitor instead of having a statue of her placed in Trafalgar Square.”
Bertrand shook his head in angry denial as he raised his pint.
“Was that writer British?”
“Yes, he wrote like one. Why?”
“Lieutenant Colonel Robertson. He’s one first class asshole alright. When Laplante arrived in Colditz at the end of June in a wheelchair and covered with hideous wounds, Robertson took less than a day to declare her a collaborator and to order the other prisoners to shun her.”
“Why?” Asked Peter, frankly shocked and angered.
“Because she didn’t act like a person who hated Germans and because the Germans treated her very correctly in Colditz. I myself was skeptical about her conduct, but a few events quickly convinced me that she was something entirely different.”
“Like
what?”
“Don’t laugh, but I think that she is an angel.”
Peter smiled at that.
“A lot of men have said that of her before, Major.”
“No! I mean a real angel, one that can fly, heal wounds with her mind and make miracles.”
Peter’s smile faded abruptly at those words.
“You…you can’t be serious, Major.”
“I am very serious, mister. Here are a few of the things she did…”
Bertrand spoke for a good ten minutes, with the flabbergasted Peter taking notes as fast as he could. At the end of it, the reporter couldn’t help shake his head in disbelief.
“And you say that she is alive and well now, probably in the future.”
“With the kind of uniform she was wearing? You bet!”
“Well, that certainly was helpful, Major. Thank you very much!”
The Frenchman shook his hand while getting up.
“Hey, if it can protect that woman’s reputation from the slanders of idiots like Robertson, then it was well worth it.”
Peter waited a few minutes after Bertrand’s departure, then left a tip for the waitress and left. The night air outside was fresh and damp and made him shiver in his old trench coat as he walked home to his little apartment on Bedford Avenue. The long walk let 541
him plenty of time to think about what Bertrand had told him. One thing was for sure now: if he published what he now knew, he would get into big trouble with the government. He was not sure either that many people would believe him, so fantastic was Bertrand’s story. He needed more before he could publish anything.
Peter sighed with delight at the warmth of his apartment, taking off his trench coat and hanging it in the small closet by the door. The next thing he did was to carefully hide his precious notepad behind a loose plank in his bedroom closet. He was heating up some water for a cup of tea when someone knocked on his door. Opening it cautiously while leaving the safety chain on, he found himself facing three big men in civilian suits. One of them flashed an identity card.
“Mister Peter O’Neal? We are from the M.I.5 18. We would like to speak to you.”
“Uh, sure! One moment, please.”
His heart accelerating, he undid the door safety chain and opened the door wide. The three men walked in as if they owned the place, then faced Peter, their expression stern.
“Mister O’Neal, did you receive an anonymous letter concerning the late Brigadier Laplante a few weeks ago?”
Now as tense as a loaded spring, Peter hesitated slightly before answering.
“I am a reporter, sir. I often receive anonymous letters. I did get such a letter, but its content didn’t make sense, so I threw it away.”
The senior agent, who had noticed his nervousness and hesitation, frowned.
“You threw it away? Mister O’Neal, all your colleagues say that you had a nearly obsessive interest in Nancy Laplante. You also have been asking a lot of questions around lately concerning Laplante. Where were you tonight, by the way?”
“I was simply having a beer at a pub in Soho.” Replied Peter, getting testy. “Is that a crime?”
“No, but divulging state secrets is. I will have to ask you to follow us to M.I.5
headquarters. We will also have to search your apartment.”
“But that’s preposterous! Where is your search warrant?”
“We are at war, sir! We don’t need a warrant.” Said brusquely the senior agent before looking at his two partners. “Search the place but don’t make a mess of it.”
18 M.I.5: British counter-intelligence service
542
Peter, a mix of anger and fear rising in him, could do nothing but watch as the two M.I.5
men searched his apartment carefully. After fifteen minutes, the two men came back to their leader.
“Nothing,
sir.”
“Alright, let’s go back to headquarters with Mister O’Neal.”
Thankfully, they did not handcuff Peter before going down to their car, a big black Bentley, where another agent was waiting behind the steering wheel. Peter ended up sandwiched between two men on the rear bench for the short drive to M.I.5
headquarters. Once there, Peter was brought to a basement section closed off by a steel door, then to a bare room with a small table and two chairs. A large mirror covered part of a wall. Peter understood quickly that it had to be a false mirror, with people watching him from behind it. A newcomer came in the room as soon as Peter sat down at the table. A tall but lean man with short black hair and a cold expression, he took time to stare at Peter before speaking.
“Mister O’Neal, I am told that you have been asking a lot of questions about Nancy Laplante lately.”
“So? I am a reporter and she was one of my prime sources of stories.”
“But she is dead now. Why do you persist in asking questions about her?”
“Because, as I told these men, I received about two months ago an anonymous letter with a wild story about Laplante in it. So I made a few inquiries about those allegations but found nothing to substantiate them.”
Peter then spoke for a few minutes, telling nearly everything that he had done so that he would sound truthful, but not all and certainly nothing about his encounter with Major Bertrand. His listener seemed to believe him when he concluded, nodding his head once.
“That corresponds pretty much with what others have told us. We found the author of that anonymous letter, by the way: he made the mistake of sending quite a few of them around. He really seemed peeved about Nancy Laplante.”
“The idiot! Another one who couldn’t stomach the fact that a woman could do great things.”
Peter’s deliberate slip got him a strange look from his interlocutor.
“Maybe. We will still need to check a few things. In the meantime, I am afraid that you will have to stay here for a day or two.”
543
“A day or two?” Exclaimed Peter. “What about my work? I have to warn my editor about this.”
“No!” Replied firmly the M.I.5 man. “We will call your editor in your place. This investigation is too sensitive at this stage to let you call anybody.”
“What about a lawyer, dammit? I am entitled to one under British law, after all.”
“Not in this case, mister. We are at war and the security of the state is at risk.
Count yourself lucky not to find yourself locked up in the Tower of London under charges of spying or treason.”
“I don’t believe this! All this fuss for a dead woman? What is it about Laplante that scares you so much?”
“We are not afraid of that trait…” started to reply angrily the agent before he held his tongue. Now furious at his own slip, he pointed a menacing finger at Peter, who was smiling in triumph. “You are becoming too smart for your own good, mister. Since you like that bitch so much, you will end up where she should have been sent. Jack, have him locked up in the Tower on charges of breaking the Official Secrets Act.”
Peter glared at the agent, understanding finally what this was all about as two agents took hold of him by his arms.
“I should have known. You bastards really tried to kill her in Colditz Castle, then tried to silence her to cover your own treacherous ways. I bet that you are after the secret of time travel and that she stopped you from getting it, isn’t it?”
The sudden fury on the face of the senior agent was enough of an answer for Peter before they dragged him out of the room. His hands were roughly handcuffed in his back, then he was pushed along the basement hallway, ending up exiting the building through a rear door. The black Bentley was waiting for them there. Peter was pushed inside and, with two agents sandwiching him on the backbench seat, the car drove off in the night. Nobody spoke up during the short trip, which gave time to Peter to seriously think over everything that had happened today. He was now sure that the British government had something very embarrassing to hide from public knowledge, something that involved both Nancy Laplante and time travel. If what Major Bertrand had told him about Nancy was true, then those M.I.5 idiots probably got hammered by her in whatever encounter they had with her after the bombing of Colditz. That would explain the senior agent’s characterization of Nancy as a ‘bitch’. Peter then realized something that made him smile: since he was going to be in the Tower of London, he was going to be able to meet at least some of the German women held there, who 544
happened to have spent quite a lot of time with Nancy if his sources in the Army were correct. The idea of trying to get information on Nancy out of German prisoners of war felt bizarre to him, but those women were supposedly a pretty decent lot, particularly in the case of a teenager named Ingrid Weiss. In fact, his Army sources had often mentioned a sort of special relationship that had been apparent between that young Ingrid and Nancy.
Peter got back to reality when the car stopped in front of the gate tower of the old fortress. Two agents pulled him out and escorted him to the gate, where an officer and two soldiers were waiting for them. One of the agents showed his identification card to the officer.
“Agent Jones, M.I.5. This man is to be kept in strict isolation until further notice.
Sensitive government secrets are involved.”
“You bet there are. You tried to kill Brigadier Laplante.”
A mean hook to the stomach silenced him, making Peter bend in two. The officer however interposed himself immediately.
“Easy there, mister! We will take it from here.”
The two agents backed off reluctantly after taking the cuffs off Peter, then returned to their car, which drove off shortly thereafter. The officer, a captain, helped Peter straighten up.
“Are you alright, mister?”
“I will be.” Said Peter with difficulty, still getting his breath back.
“What is your name, mister?”
“Peter O’Neal, reporter at the DAILY TELEGRAPH.”
If he was curious about all this, the officer didn’t let it show, ordering his soldiers to escort Peter inside the fortress. They passed through the gate towers of both the outer and inner walls before entering a guardroom set up in the Bloody Tower, where Peter was thoroughly searched and his possessions save for his clothes taken away. The captain then led him, still escorted by the two soldiers, to the Beauchamp Tower, where they climbed the steep stone stairs to the second floor. Peter was pushed inside a small, cold and damp cell, with the iron bar door closed behind him. The officer then dismissed the two soldiers. The captain waited until the soldiers were out of sight before approaching the bars and speaking in a low voice.
“What you said earlier about Brigadier Laplante, did you mean it?”
545
Peter nodded gravely, also answering in a low voice.
“Yes, I did!. As far as I can figure out, Nancy Laplante was tortured by the Gestapo but wasn’t killed by them. She was sent to Colditz Castle as a prisoner of war, but our own air force bombed the place to rubbles shortly afterwards, probably to avoid the possibility that she would divulge secrets to the Germans. She apparently survived the raid and escaped but, for some reason, our government is trying to hide the whole thing. I personally believe that Laplante may have returned to England after her escape and that the M.I.5 tried to get the secrets of time travel from her, but got nowhere. As for where she is now, I frankly don’t have a clue.”
“The bloody lying bastards!” Said the captain through his clenched teeth. He then looked straight into Peter’s eyes. “What you just told me cleared up a lot of questions I had in my mind for a few months. It is only just that I give you something in return. In early July, all the German women prisoners of war held here vanished without a trace overnight, including three of them being held in this tower. One of the girls told one of my soldiers just before vanishing that she was going to the future. My soldier was then knocked out from behind and couldn’t see what happened next. Please don’t tell anybody where you got that information, though.”
“Don’t worry, Captain: I will be mum on that. Thanks for the information.”
“The best way to thank me will be to publish your findings on Brigadier Laplante one day, Mister O’Neal. She is too good a soldier to let government bureaucrats and politicians fuck around with her name.”
“I will gladly do that, Captain.”
“Then, good night! If you need anything, just shout: a soldier will be posted downstairs.”
The captain then left Peter alone in his cell. The reporter looked around his small cell, which was illuminated by the light from a single ceiling lamp in the narrow passage that separated the two rows of cells on the second floor. Apart of a steel-framed bed, there was only a covered chamber pot in it. A barred window gave a view of the inner courtyard of the fortress. Resigning himself to a possibly long and uncomfortable stay in this cell, Peter took off his jacket, tie and shoes and slipped under the rough wool blanket of the bed. Tired by his rough evening, he quickly fell asleep.
546
10:02 (North America Central Time)
Monday, June 18, 3386 ‘A’
Surveillance center, Time Patrol headquarters
New Lake City University campus
American Great Lakes area
“DANA, I HAVE AN UNIDENTIFIED SPACETIME EMERGENCE OVER
LONDON IN THE YEAR 1941 OF TIMELINE ‘B’!”
The excited shout from the young sensors technician watching the spacetime surveillance system’s twin giant screens attracted at a run his supervisor, while the two other technicians on duty in the surveillance center abruptly turned their heads around to look at the screens. This was the first time ever that such an emergence had been detected in either of the timelines. Dana Mulano looked at the spacetime coordinates of the emergence.
“The early morning of October 28, just over the Tower of London. The detected signature was very weak: it must be a small craft, maybe a type of time scooter.”
Looking at the data pad she carried around, she then went to the nearest videophone and activated it, connecting with the readiness lounge two floors up.
“Alert level Orange! Man the standby scoutship! We have a single, weak unidentified emergence over London on October 28 of 1941 ‘B’. More data will be sent directly to the LATIN STING.”
“We are on our way.” Replied after a short delay Carmen Sanchez, the pilot of the scoutship LATIN STING. She, her copilot Samuel Goldman, her sensors operator Ilsa Bauman and the assault trooper on duty, Jean Bigras, then quickly grabbed their equipment and weapons and slid down to the scooter hall using an old-fashioned fireman’s sliding pole. Once there, they took place on the duty time scooter parked in a reserved spot and jumped spacetime directly to the cargo bay of their scoutship, which was sitting on the tarmac of the New Lake City astroport, twenty kilometers away.
Letting a robotic arm controlled by the ship’s computer do the job of securing the time scooter in a proper parking spot, Sanchez, Goldman and Bauman ran upstairs to the crew sphere while Bigras stayed in the cargo bay to activate the ten combat robots kept there in special alcoves. In the meantime, back in the surveillance center, Dana Mulano 547
contacted Farah Tolkonen, who was in her office, and explained the situation to her.
Farah couldn’t help swear in frustration.
“Damn! This has to happen when Nancy is back in 2014 ‘A’, playing the war correspondent and actress. Alright, Dana, inform Mike Crawford of this and tell him to send a second assault trooper to the LATIN STING. Make sure that Carmen Sanchez does not depart without that second trooper.”
“Got
that.”
Two minutes later, Jack Crawford was rushing out of the cafeteria, where he had been having a coffee with other Time Patrol members. The crew of the scoutship ANGEL OF
MERCY was close behind him.
01:36 (GMT)
Tuesday, October 28, 1941 ‘B’
Peter O’Neal’s cell, Beauchamp Tower
Tower of London
A hand firmly applying itself over his mouth awakened Peter O’Neal. He opened his eyes at once, startled, to see with panic a huge silhouette kneeling besides his bed.
The stranger, a real giant, wore a sort of bulky suit and helmet that reminded him vaguely of the diving suits used by the navy, with their globular helmets and air hoses.
The poor light didn’t let him detail the face of the person, though. He was then surprised to hear a female voice.
“Don’t be afraid, Mister O’Neal: I have no wish to harm you. I am now going to withdraw my hand. Please do not scream or I will have to disappear.”
Peter kept quiet as the hand covering his mouth was lifted. With his eyes now getting accustomed to the low light level, he could see that the giant was a pretty woman wearing a fantastic suit worthy of the best Flash Gordon comics.
“Who…who
are
you?”
“My name is not important, Mister O’Neal. I came here to ask you about a certain Nancy Laplante.”
“You too?” Replied Peter, unable to hide some irritation. “Everybody around here wants to know about her, starting with me. Why do you want to talk about her? To find her in order to kill her?”
“Nothing of the sort, mister. I simply want to find her.”
548
“Then you are out of luck: she probably is somewhere in the future.”
Farah Tolkonen frowned at that answer: how could Laplante be in the future, considering the fact that a nuclear war was going to erase most of Humanity in 45 years? Farah didn’t have time to ask another question before a stun beam struck O’Neal, knocking him unconscious. Her heart accelerating madly, she turned around quickly while going for the machine pistol in her belly pack. Two ancestor men stood in the hallway, holding stun pistols pointed at her. Contrary to what one would expect of ancestors, these two wore advanced uniforms and equipment, including multi-function helmets and molded body armor. The taller of the ancestors firmed his grip on his pistol.
“One more move and I will have to stun you. Identify yourself, including your spacetime of origin.”
Farah was tempted to simply jump spacetime and disappear, which she could do with a single word. That would however not help her in her quest for Nancy Laplante. Besides, given their equipment and appearances, those men may very well be the link she had been looking for. She slowly raised her hands up and got on her feet while answering the ancestor with as calm a voice as she could muster.
“I am Senior Scientist First Class Farah Tolkonen, from the Imperium Ministry of Science. I departed the Imperium on June 18 of the year 3386 of the Common Era.”
As soon as she had said her name, the two men lowered their pistols, intense surprise on their faces. The taller one then approached her slowly, stopping one pace in front of her and raising a hand to caress her face.
“Farah, my God! Do you come from this timeline?”
The stunning truth then descended on Farah.
“Don’t tell me that this crazy notion of parallel, multiple timelines is actually a reality?”
“It is, Doctor Tolkonen. Our own Farah Tolkonen will be dying to meet you, I bet.
By the way, why did you travel to the past like this, with the risks of changing history?”
Farah took a deep breath before answering.
“Because life was becoming untenable in the Imperium and because the head of the Imperium Ministry of Security has plans to use time travel for his personal benefit, something which I refused to help in. Where do you come from?”
Jack Crawford, still digesting what the new Farah had said, pointed at his uniform’s shoulder patch.
549
“We are from the Time Patrol, an organization dedicated to protect history from irresponsible time travel. We are based in the 34th century of a parallel timeline we call timeline ‘A’. We call this timeline you are in now timeline ‘B’.”
“Wait! Isn’t this the main timeline?”
Jack shook his head gravely, understanding the magnitude of the shock this piece of news would cause to Farah ‘B’.
“No, Doctor Tolkonen. Timeline ‘B’ was involuntarily created out of timeline ‘A’ by Nancy Laplante in 1940, when two scientists from the Global Council of the 34th century kidnapped her and dropped her in the past.”
Farah was silent for a moment, stunned by this. Finally regaining some composure, she looked down into the eyes of Jack.
“Mister, I formally request political asylum and the protection of your Time Patrol.”
“You will have our protection, Doctor. As for asylum, the High Council will have to decide on that.”
“Then I am ready to follow you, gentlemen.”
10:17 (North America Central Time)
Monday, June 18, 3386 ‘A’
Scooter hall, Time Patrol headquarters
New Lake City University campus
Farah ‘B’ looked around the scooter hall with intense curiosity once the time scooter transporting her, Jack Crawford and Jean Bigras had landed on the polished stone floor of the big room. Once they had stepped off the machine, Jack showed her a series of alcoves that contained spacesuits quite similar to Farah’s own suit. Five of the alcoves were empty.
“If you may take your suit off and get more comfortable, Doctor.”
Farah complied readily enough, going to one alcove and making it lean forward against the support braces of the alcove. She then opened the rear exit hatch and deftly pulled herself out of the spacesuit. Jack, who was watching her every move, noticed immediately the physical differences between this Farah and Farah ‘A’. While Farah ‘A’
was a slender woman with a graceful but nearly frail body, Farah ‘B’ had the body of a strong athlete, with well-developed biceps and muscular legs. Farah ‘B’ wore a skintight 550
royal blue uniform with red and white trimmings and a pair of black short boots. She also wore a leather equipment belt with a stun pistol holstered in place.
“I will have to ask you to leave your weapon inside your spacesuit, Doctor, until someone can clear you for weapon carrying here.”
“As you wish. What will we do next?”
Jack gave her a big grin.
“We go see Farah Tolkonen ‘A’. She still doesn’t know about you. We only announced by radio that we were bringing in one time traveler from timeline ‘B’.”
Farah ‘B’ smiled herself, imagining the scene to come.
“Then
lead
on.”
Farah ‘B’ followed the two men, who had holstered their pistols, out of the scooter hall and up a staircase. The few persons they met on their way, a mix of ancestors and of what Farah considered normal people, all stared at her with unmitigated surprise and curiosity. Farah ‘B’ was nearly enjoying herself when they arrived in front of a polished wood sliding door and Jack pressed the door buzzer. A female voice answered through an intercom.
“Come
in!”
Jack opened the door, then signaled Farah ‘B’ to step in first. The Imperium scientist gingerly walked in and stopped in front of a big work desk, looking down at the stunned woman sitting behind it.
“Hello
me!”
13:03 (Central Europe Time)
Friday, June 22, 3386 ‘A’
High Council chamber, Gl