The Shield of Time (12 page)

Everard returned to ground level.
I’d better steal away while I can. Too bad that “away” is all I’m managing to steal. However, a gun or a communicator lying loose was more than I had a right to expect. I’ve learned the layout here, which is pretty good booty.

Not that such embryonic plans as he had involved it. But you never knew.

From the courtyard he climbed back onto the roof. At the cornice he drew his knife. With his light to see by, he carefully cut the noose until only a few fibers remained. Then he cast the rope’s end to the street, took hold, and slid earthward.

If the line parted when he was halfway down, he shouldn’t land too noisily. As was, it held, and he must give several fierce tugs before it broke. There had better be no trace of his visit. He withdrew to an alley, where he put sandals and cloak back on, recoiled the rope and again made a lariat of it.

Okay. Now to skip town. That may be less easy.
The gates were barred and manned, the sentinels posted thickly on walls and turrets.

During the day he had marked the likeliest place. It was at the river, of course, the side that could not be attacked by surprise, therefore lightly held. Still, those men were nervous too, wide awake, suspicious of everything that moved, and well armed. What he had going for him was size, strength, combat skills undreamed of here, and desperation.

Plus bullheadedness. One reason I could do my caper at Raor’s was that she never looked for anything so unsubtle.

Near the target site he chose a lane opening on the pomoerium, in the murk of which he could stand and wait for an opportunity. That was a long wait. The moon
rose and climbed. Twice he almost acted when somebody passed by, but assessed the situation and decided against it. He didn’t mind too much, or seethe. The patience of the tiger was upon him.

His chance arrived at last, a soldier walking along the pavement, alone, on his way to report for his watch, and nobody else in sight. Doubtless he’d sneaked from barracks to be with a girl or whomever till a clepsydra, or the stars, or an innate time sense that clockless folk sometimes developed, told him he’d better get going. His hobnails rang on the flags. Moonlight tinged helmet and mail. Everard surged forth after him.

The boy never saw or heard. From behind, great hands closed on his neck and fingers bore down on his carotids. For a moment he struggled, unable to cry out. His heels drummed. He slumped, and Everard dragged him back to the alley.

The Patrolman poised, tense for escape. Nobody came running, nobody shouted. He’d pulled it off. The boy stirred, moaned, sucked in air, groped back toward consciousness.

The sensible thing was to stick the knife in him. But moonlight fell on his face, and he was quite young, and whatever his age, Everard bore him no grudge. The blade gleamed before his eyes. “Behave yourself and you’ll live,” he heard.

Luckily for him and for Everard’s conscience, he did. In the morning he’d be discovered, lying bound with pieces of rope and gagged with pieces of his kilt. He might be whipped, or might be given pack drill—no matter. As for the robbery, that was an incident his superiors would not want publicized.

Without its coif, his helmet went onto the robber’s head, just barely. His mail would never fit, but Everard didn’t intend getting near enough to anyone else for that to be noticed. If it happened anyway, come worst to worst, a sword was now at his hip.

In the event, he went unchallenged up the stairs to the top of the wall and along it till he reached a suitable
spot. Others saw him glimpsewise by poor light, and he stepped briskly, a man on some special errand who should not be hindered. The point at which he stopped lay between two sentry posts, both sufficiently far off that he was a shadow which, maybe, neither guard observed. A patrol on its rounds was farther yet.

The lariat had been around his shoulder. In a single swift movement he secured it to a merlon and cast the end free. Plenty remained to reach the strip of ground between wall and wharf. Immediately he swung himself over the edge and went down. They’d find the rope and wonder whether it was a spy or a hunted criminal who’d exited, but the news was unlikely to reach Theonis.

On the way, he cast his glance about. Dwellings and countryside reached into night-gray that became black, save where houses that had been torched still smoldered red. Elsewhere were brighter points of light, enemy campfires. From the opposite side of the city he would have seen many, many, hemming Bactra in against its river.

His feet struck turf. It was steeply slanted, he nearly lost his balance. Somewhere a dog howled. He made haste, around the rampart, forth into the hinterland.

First let’s find a haystack or something and grab a few hours’ sleep. Christ, I’m tired! Tomorrow morning the order of business will be water, food if possible, and
—
whatever seems indicated. We know the song we want, but we’re singing strictly by ear, and one sour note could get us booed off the stage.
California of the late twentieth century seemed more distant than the stars.

Why the devil am I remembering California?

When the phone rang in his New York apartment, he muttered a curse and was tempted to let his answering machine handle it. The music was bearing him upward and up on its tide. But the matter could be important. He didn’t unthinkingly give out his unlisted number. He left the armchair, put receiver to ear, and grunted, “Manse Everard speaking.”

“Hello,” said the slightly burred contralto, “this is Wanda Tamberly,” and he was glad he had responded. “I, I hope I haven’t … interrupted you.”

“No, no,” he told her, “a quiet evening at home alone. What can I do for you?”

Her words stumbled. “Manse, I feel awful about this, but—that date of ours—could we possibly change it?”

“Why, sure. What’s the problem, may I ask?”

“It’s, oh, my parents, they want to take me and my sister on a weekend excursion … a family farewell party, before I go off to m-my new job—Bad enough, lying to them,” she blurted, “w-without hurting them.
They wouldn’t blame me or anything, but, but it would seem like I didn’t care much. Wouldn’t it?”

“Of course, of course. No difficulty at all.” Everard laughed. “For a minute there, I was afraid you were going to stand me up.”

“Huh? Me, turn you down, after everything you’ve done and—” She attempted humor. “A new recruitie, on the eve of entering the Academy of the Time Patrol, cancels her date with an Unattached agent who wants to give her a jolly send-off. It might earn me a certain amount of awe, but that kind I can do without.” The jauntiness broke down. “Sir, you—Manse—you’ve been so kind. Could I ask one thing more? I don’t want to be grabby or, or a wimp, but—could we talk when you get here, just talk, a couple of hours, maybe? Instead of going to dinner, if you’re short on time or, well, growing bored. I can understand if you are, though you’re too nice ever to say it. But I do need … advice, and I’ll try real hard not to cry on your shoulder.”

“You’re welcome to. I’m sorry you’re having trouble. I’ll bring an extra big handkerchief. And I assure you, I am not bored. On the contrary, I insist we have dinner afterward.”

“Oh, gosh, Manse, you—Well, it needn’t be anything F and E. I mean, you’ve taken me to a couple of great places, but I don’t
have
to drink Dom Perignon w-with my beluga caviar.”

He chuckled. “Tell you what, you pick the spot. You’re the San Franciscan. Surprise me.”

“Why, I—”

“Which, makes no difference to me,” he said. “I suspect, though, you’d prefer something small and relaxed this time. You see, I’ve got a notion of what your problem is. Anyway, I’m mostly a beer and clam chowder type myself. Or whatever you feel like.”

“Manse, the truth is, uh.—”

“No, please, the phone’s no damn good for what I think you have on your mind. Which is normal and innocent and does you credit. I can meet you whenever you
want. Perk of being a time traveler, you know. When suits? Meanwhile, cheer up.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” He appreciated the dignity of that, and the way she went straight on to consider arrangements.
A swell kid. An extremely swell kid, in the process of becoming one hell of a woman.
When they said goodnight, he found that the interruption had not broken his enjoyment of the music, complex though the counterpoint was in this section. Rather, he was borne into its majesty as never before. His dreams afterward were happy.

Next day, impatient, he checked out a vehicle and skipped directly to San Francisco on the date agreed, a few hours early. “I expect I’ll return home tonight, but late, maybe well into the middle-sized hours,” he informed the agent. “Don’t worry if my hopper’s gone when you come in in the morning.” He obtained an alarm-nullifying key, which he would leave in a certain drawer, and caught a city bus to the nearest car rental open twenty-four hours. Then he went to Golden Gate Park and walked off some restlessness.

The early January dusk was falling when he called for Wanda at her parents’ home. She met him at the door and continued out, a “’Bye” flung over her shoulder. Streetlight glowed on the blond hair. Her garb was sweater, jacket, tweed skirt, low shoes; evidently he had guessed right about the sort of restaurant she preferred this evening. She smiled, her handclasp was firm, but what he saw in her eyes made him escort her directly to the car. “Good to see you,” he said.

He barely heard: “Oh, you don’t know how good it is to see you.”

Nevertheless, as they climbed in, he remarked, “I feel a little rude, not saying hello to your folks.”

She bit her lip. “I rushed you. It’s okay. They’re glad to have me staying with them again, before I leave, but they wouldn’t want to keep me waiting when I’m on a heavy date.”

He started the motor. “I’d only have swapped a few words, in my old-fashioned way.”

“I know, but—Well, I wasn’t sure I could’ve stood it. They don’t pry, but they are interested in this, uh, somewhat mysterious man I’ve met, even though they’ve only seen him twice before. I’d’ve had to … pretend—”

“Uh-huh. As a liar, you have neither talent, experience, nor desire.”

“Right.” Briefly, she touched his arm. “And I’m doing it to
them,”

“The price we pay. I should have put you in touch with your uncle Steve. He could make you feel better about it.”

“I thought of that, but you—well—”

He smiled ruefully. “Father figure?”

“I don’t know. I truly don’t. I mean, well, yes, you’re high in the Patrol and you rescued me and you’ve sponsored me and, and everything, but I—It’s hard getting in touch with my feelings—Psychobabble! I think I want to think of you as a friend but don’t quite dare.”

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he suggested, calmer on the outside than the inside.
Damn, but she’s attractive.

She looked around her. “Where are you headed?”

“I thought we could park on Twin Peaks and talk. The sky’s clear, the view’s superb, and nobody else who happens to be there will pay any attention to us.”

She hesitated an instant. “Okay.”

Could be preliminary to a seduction. Which’ d be fine under different circumstances. However, as is
—“When we’re finished, I look forward to the beanery you’ve picked. Then, if you aren’t too tired, I know an Irish pub off lower Clement Street where they blarney and sing and two or three middle-aged, gentlemanly working stiffs will doubtless ask you to dance.”

He could hear that she understood what he was saying. “Sounds great. I never heard of it. You do get around, don’t you?”

“In random fashion.” He kept conversation easy while he drove, and sensed that already her spirits were lifting.

Magnificence spread below the mountain, city like a galaxy of million-hued stars, bridges a-soar over shimmering waters toward heights where homes gleamed beyond counting. Wind boomed, full of sea. It was too cold to stand in for long. While they did, her hand sought his. When they took shelter in the car, soon she leaned against him and he put an arm about her shoulder; and at last, gently, once, they kissed.

What she had to say was what he had awaited. Demons needed exorcising. Her guilt toward her family was genuine, yet also the mask of a hundred fears. The first excitement, that she—she!—could join the Time Patrol, had inevitably waned. Nobody was able to sustain such joy. There followed the interviews, tests, preliminary study material, and the thinking, the thinking.

All is flux. Reality eddies changeful upon ultimate quantum chaos. Not only is your life forever in danger, the fact of your ever having lived is, with the whole world and its history that you know.

You will be denied foreknowledge of your triumphs, because that would make more likely your disasters. As nearly as may be, you shall work from cause to effect, without turn or twist, like any other mortal. Paradox is the enemy.

You will have the capability of going back and visiting again your beloved dead, but you shall not, for you might feel temptation to fend off death from them, and you would surely feel your heart torn asunder.

Over and over, helpless to help, you will dwell amidst sorrow and horror.

We guard what is. We may not ask whether it should be. We had best not ask what “is” means.

“I don’t know, Manse, I just don’t know. Do I have the strength? The wisdom, the discipline, the … the hardness? Should I quit while I can, take silence condi
tioning, go back to the life … my folks hoped I’d have?”

“Aw, now, things aren’t that bad, they just seem that way. And ought to, at this stage. If you didn’t have the intelligence and sensitivity to wonder, worry, yes, fear—why, you wouldn’t belong in the corps.

“—doing science, studying prehistoric life. I more’n half envy you. Earth was a planet fit for gods, unbelievable, before civilization mucked it up.

“—no harm to your parents or anybody. Just a secret you keep from them. Don’t tell me you were always absolutely frank at home! And in fact, there’ll be undercover helps you can give them that’d be impossible otherwise.