As Johnston made transit into the hands of the Feds, William Lutzger was already laughing. It was such a rare occurrence that it made Cliff Henrys uneasy.
"Well that worked out just fine," Lutzger said rubbing his hands together.
"Just like the plan," Cliff agreed nervously.
Lutzger looked around the bedroom amazed. "So this is a parallel universe. It does seem- parallel."
"It's very different outside and there's no power," Cliff mumbled.
"You seem to have managed for a few days just fine."
"I've had to scavenge the nearby houses for food and water, and I haven't found an EV or anything else with batteries that work," Cliff said.
Lutzger looked out the room's window at the over-grown back yard and shrugged his shoulders.
"I've seen a couple of military helicopters in the distance, too," Cliff said. "What's going on Billy?"
Lutzger, still holding Plus Henrys' backup TR set, entered the living room. He knew the house's plan well. There was no furniture except a cot and few folding lawn chairs.
He peered out a window facing the street. The house next door appeared completely burned out, abandoned EVs littered the street, and scattered skeletal remains lay in the overgrown lawn and on the front sidewalk.
Lutzger didn't see any further reason to keep what he had known for some time from Cliff.
"Johnston was a terrorist, a cell commander," he said.
"What group is, ah, was she with?" Cliff asked.
"She was the one backing us in the fifties, until Zaman screwed us.
Look around. Their group did all this. They've brought the United States to its knees."
Cliff didn't understand. "And they can travel through time?"
Lutzger knew it was quite a shock to Cliff when his twin showed up in '57, but his doppelganger refused to talk about any details of his upline origin.
"They travel from one universe to another," Lutzger explained. "The next universe is always about ten years in the past, or downline and that depends a bit on where you use these," he added patting the TR set's case.
He saw an all too familiar puzzled look on Cliff's face. "Don't worry about it. We'll stay here for now until I get a feel for the place. Let's see what you've been able to find."
Cliff showed him the stockpile of weapons, canned goods and bottled water he had scrounged as well as what was left of the food he had brought with him. It was an ample supply and would last weeks if necessary. Lutzger was satisfied they could soon start to bring more members of the Order to Plus and begin to infiltrate their former allies new domain.
"So you haven't seen anyone or heard anything since you've been here?" Lutzger asked wondering just how extensive the devastation around them might be.
"Just the helicopters and I thought I heard coyotes a few nights ago, but I've not gone far as you said."
It just occurred to Lutzger, they could not risk using the transfer devices here. The downline Feds probably would be watching the other house. They would have to find another location. But where? And when would they return if they changed location? He needed time to think it all through. They would need to spend the night in the house.
"You need to find another bed," Lutzger said. "But wait until it gets dark. It doesn't look like we'll have to wait too long," he added looking out the window.
"What's the date?" he asked Cliff.
"I don't know. The latest newspaper I've seen was from 2070, but that looked old."
"That fucking bitch." Johnston began ranting to Aashif when he arrived at her Miami command post. "What the fuck is she doing? I knew the fat cow couldn't be trusted."
She glared at him. "It took you long enough to get here."
"I only arrived back from delivering the keys to your sister a few hours ago," he explained, but knew she knew that already. The Leadership monitored key transfer sets, knowing exactly when and where transits occurred into or out of this universe.
"I've told you never to call that cow that," Johnston said through clinched teeth.
Several hours ago, they had received notice that Johnston's twin had made transit only to leave for downline a few seconds later. It was the second time in less than two weeks and now they were in the middle of the weapon's dispersal operation.
"We need to find out what the fuck is going on at her safe house,"
she said. "The keys are the priority. Understand?"
"Completely Commander," he replied.
Aashif never understood why the Leadership had let her downline twin live, bonuses for being ahead of schedule was not everything. More to the point, downline had transfer tech and her twin's citations on the possibility were less than satisfactory. Of course, he knew that reflected on the commander standing in front of him as well.
He believed the Prophesy was hardly ever in agreement with her downline twin's command decisions. There had been several inquiries
from the Leadership over the years, but no action. Determined not to let this latest incident go unnoticed, he would make a formal complaint and express his worst fears: that their enemy, the Time Corps, may be intruding against their own rigid regulations. Obviously, Johnston's twin downline must be involved, too. How else could downline have transfer tech so early? It was just too big of a coincidence that had put them all at great risk.
He knew it was a key strategy of the Leadership not to let the gap between fronts close. As it was, several generations enjoyed the spoils of the chosen worlds. If the Time Corps managed to invade and overrun them, they simply moved downline, leaving the enslaved survivors from the intervening, desolate and pillaged worlds to fight a rearguard action.
But the Synth could only ensure their loyalty to a point; the downline chase was a fact of war.
Now downline had an alliance with this universe even before the global infrastructure attack. It was unprecedented and the Leadership loathed new precedents.
Aashif knew this latest incident at this critical time would be the end for Johnston's grotesque twin, and it would mean a bigger cut for him.
His pad alerted him with a specific tone indicating an incoming communication from the Leadership. Johnston's pad activated as well.
"Well, see what that's about," Johnston ordered him as she poured herself a glass of distilled water.
His face paled as he read the report.
"What the fuck is it now," Johnston demanded.
"The transfer hub has been captured."
"How is this possible?" Johnston shrieked.
The capture of a Leadership commander was unthinkable. And now the sole downline hub was gone after decades of planning.
"Fuck," she said softly, trying to regain her composure.
Aashif studied her, remembering her opposition to the dead commander who tried to convince the Leadership to construct multiple hubs based on several Prophesy citations favoring her position. This twin argued fervently for just one hub because downline was significantly ahead of schedule and any possible delays by building multiple hubs have would put their windfall bonus at risk.
He should have removed these two irrational women early on when he had the chance. Now, with formal action lodged against the Johnston in front of him, he would have to wait. He wondered if she realized her fate would be the same as her twin. At least, the grotesque downline problem seemed solved.
"We have to repair this damage," she said quickly.
Aashif heard desperation in her voice. "What do you suggest?" He knew the capture of the nano weapon and programmers would halt the rest of the global deployment for years. The Leadership was infuriated.
The gap would close. He was afraid to consider what she would do in such a dire situation in which her disgusting twin had thrust her.
"What's the status of the nukes and launch platforms?" she asked as sweat beaded on her forehead.
"There are fifty-three warheads with fission-trigger assemblies, only a few await refinements to the secondary. The MIRVs are all under construction."
She looked eastward over the rhythmic, gentle breakers lapping upon Miami's South Beach and took a deep breath. "We will launch an aerial nuke strike on downline. We will transfer the warheads from aircraft in skies here over the United States. We have enough of the new increased separation transfer devices."
"You're proposing we launch a nuclear strike against downline before the large-scale infrastructure attacks?" he asked in disbelief. Had she gone mad? This was against all Prophesy citations.
"It will buy us time," she said franticly. "Let us reformulate a bio-attack; they'll be ready for nanos now and are probably already stockpiling EMPs. Over fifty nukes should leave them helpless for decades. The US economy and food supply will collapse and cause the world to follow. We'll eventually be back on schedule."
He had not told her about the historical accounts predicting a massive solar flare downline or the intelligence indicating their downline enemy knew the Earth's magnetic field could disrupt transfers. He would inform the Leadership that she had ignored these Sojourn elements. The Leadership would have no choice but give her command to him to stop this madness. The possibility of the enemy actually creating a Sojourn was negligible, but he had insurance against even that remote possibility: their agent in the STS headquarters.
"Commander, this is most irregular," Aashif said, trying to remain calm. "The Leadership must be advised of such a digression from the Prophesy."
Johnston moved close to him. Her breasts nearly touching his chin, she forced him to look up at her.
"Are you with me on this or not," she demanded.
"Ah—"
"Pity," she said cruelly while looking down on him.
He felt sharp pressure on his left side, and reaching up, he felt the barrel of a phased pistol in his ribs as his mind exploded in brilliant whiteness.
Lutzger felt a gun barrel pressed to his forehead or was he dreaming? His mind raced to the 357 under his pillow.
"Wake the fuck up," a distant voice echoed in his throbbing head.
His body was shaking as he managed to open an eye then the other.
"Finally," Johnston said releasing his grip from Lutzger's shoulder and pulling the phased pistol from his forehead.
Lutzger was instantly aware of his bindings and tested them with all his strength.
"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded of the tall woman now with her back to him.
"Just relax," she said then turned and looked at Lutzger. "I don't think we've met, well, not you and me anyway." She smiled sadistically.
It took him a moment to recognize her as Johnston, but this one lacked the all grotesqueness of her twin. He saw Cliff was unconscious, bound on the floor next to his cot. "I did you a favor giving your double to the Feds. You should thank me." Lutzger said.
"Maybe I should," Johnston replied. "So the bitch has what she deserved," she said rolling the bound and unconscious Henrys on his side, so he faced Lutzger.
She took two contact syringes from a nearby table and pressed one to Lutzger's thigh then pressing the other to her arm, told him flatly,
"Can't be too sure these days."
Lutzger felt his jeans tighten; it was the last thing on his mind.
Johnston was emotionless as she undressed.
Lutzger tested his bindings again. "You fucking bitch," he said.
Cliff regained consciousness and opened his eyes only to close them when Johnston turned and laughed at him, helpless on the floor.
"Don't worry Mr. Henrys, I've got something else planned for you,"
she said.
He kept his eyes shut, but could still hear Billy's curses while straining against his bonds. Who was this and how could she be doing this to Billy? It was incomprehensible.
Cliff finally opened his eyes again to see the Johnston nearly finish dressing.
"Now Mr. Henrys, the other Cliff and I got along very well." She smiled. "I hope you and I can have a similar relationship."
"Yes, ma'am," Cliff said weakly staring at her stunning breasts as she buttoned her shirt.
Johnston picked up the TRs Billy had brought with him. "I have a mission for you. If you do a good job, I'll be good to you. Do you understand?"
Cliff nodded. He could see tears on Billy's cheeks.
"Good," she said as she released Cliff's bindings.
Lutzger's eyes remained shut.
"Let's talk," Johnston told Cliff as they entered the derelict kitchen where a man in a black uniform was holding a TR set.
Recalling her twin's reports, she asked Cliff, "You remember the professor in Michigan, Watkins' friend?"
"Yes," he said staring at the kitchen's floor tiles. "Mackinac."
"I want you to go downline and kill him. Simple enough?" she said stroking his cheek lightly.
"Yes," he said.
She knew eliminating the downline professor would be a first step in appeasing the Leadership by removing the threat of transfer tech development farther downline.
Johnston checked on Lutzger in his new cell. "Not enjoying the view?" she asked him as she pointed to the Atlantic Ocean from her Miami outpost's window.
Lutzger ignored her.
Still brooding, she thought as she watched him stare blankly at the wall opposite his cot.
She unlocked the storeroom door next to his cell and removed a slightly charred transfer set from a wooden crate. They still worked. She had tested them extensively after their discovery in a downline French museum over ten years ago. Her interrogation of the curator indicated the set's discovery on the Caribbean island of Martinique back in the '30s fell
into obscurity along with hundreds of other objects stored after a fire in the museum.
They allowed long transfers, so she had kept them a secret, as any advantage was invaluable to a Leadership commander.
She had lots of time to reflect on the strange transfer devices. The fact they were on Martinique in the first place had perplexed her and then turned into an obsession.
There were only two points of historical interest on the island in the devices' two hundred year transfer range. The downline discovery of the artifact called the TIA that her dead twin had used to fabricate net rumors in order to recruit martyrs and a massive volcanic eruption in 1902.
The Leadership now knew the TIA contributed to the enemy developing transfer tech early. They even tried to find it again in the next downline fractime, all of which she considered a huge waste of recourses.
Manipulating the unusual sleeves around the temporal resonators, she wondered if they were secret Leadership tech or a new Time Corps weapon. Whatever it was, a set of transfer devices with a range longer than the average eleven years was an immeasurably valuable discovery.
They would redeem her status in the eyes of the Leadership, but first she had to know the full story behind the devices' origins.
It was not inconceivable that the objects were part of a trap set by another in the Leadership or even her other selves. She would have to keep the Leadership in the dark until she knew more about them, and that would take resources.
To accomplish this, she would use the real power of the Prophesy: its trans-universal nature. The rest of the Leadership could never define a time reference in which a citation originated. Consequently, citations were so numerous even the most sophisticated search engines employed by the Prophesy's keepers had become virtually ineffective. As a result, she could hide the citation until it suited her.
She made sure her new citation was anonymous, not an easy task.
Cloaked in a false scientific veil, it also referred to alien tech; that was the key. The Leadership made special allowances for rare, category one, alien tech. It would be the justification she would need later to explain resource expenditure.
Knowing Martinique was the origin of the TRs, she attached the coordinates near the TIA's discovery location in hopes of implicating her downline twin in the ruse, if the need arose.
She knew such manipulation of the Prophesy was punishable by horrific death. So it was an incredibly bold move for her to attach the citation to one of the most powerful offices in the Leadership, one that literally held the key to her life around their neck.
The risk such an anonymous citation eventually would corrupt that part of the Prophesy was high, but now she needed answers. The distant past would be her starting point.