The return was not easy: the agents suffered from nausea and vertigo when they emerged from their capsules… Apparently, the side effects of tachyonic transfer were worse when time travel was combined with space travel.
They barely had time to take a shower before they had to face Bob’s wrath in the austere debriefing room.
“Does the expression ‘bull in a china shop’ mean anything to you?”
James pleaded the team’s cause. After all, it was “his” team, his responsibility. “We were successful, in the end!”
“But at what cost? A mission isn’t a way for you to let off some personal steam! You committed real carnage on that train. Luckily, the damage to the timeline turned out to be minor, but just imagine if one of the soldiers you shot dead had been the grandfather of a future German chancellor or some other important figure!”
Once the official debriefing was over, however, the master instructor had nuanced his verdict with some grudging compliments. The mission had been delicate. Complex. Its success (even after three attempts) had demonstrated that the group did in fact have some effective skills.
Laura, the mysterious AI who had manifested herself just before the first run, returned at the end of the session to congratulate the rookies. This time, she appeared in the form of a holographic face, that of a young, smiling woman in her thirties with long straight hair and regular features.
“Emil Kuhn tried to redraw the plans of his time machine from memory, but was unable to do so,” she declared. “From that point of view, your mission was a complete success. We have no qualms about sending your team out on another mission, very soon.”
That evening, in her cabin, Tess reviewed the tumultuous events that had marked their baptism of fire.
She stared at the white clearplast ceiling, her eyes wide open. In her head, she replayed the film of the second run, the sequence when that strange parenthesis had opened. Who exactly was this man who insisted on throwing her off balance with his strange revelations? Did his stasis bubble really work? Tess supposed that it did. If not, she would have been cowering right now in one of the Special Security Unit’s interrogation cells. The attributes of the SSU, a kind of internal affairs department for temporal agents, were not well defined. Its members had violet clearance, meaning they could circulate anywhere on the station. They had their own uniform and their own hierarchy (their chief, Commander Sand, had all the personal warmth of a snowdrift). Rr’naal, who had done some research, claimed they were independent of the agency’s direction and accountable only to the consortium. The SSU seemed a lot like the KGB or the Gestapo… Such a high level of secrecy couldn’t be a good sign, could it?
Tess sat up in her berth and ordered a coffee vocally. According to James and Dominika, coffee in the future was terrible. To be honest, Tess couldn’t taste much difference from the American coffee of her own period. She got up to collect the steaming cup in the dark kitchenette. She took a first sip and then went to sit at her desk, next to the bed. She turned on the computer (by vocal command again) placed on the plastec surface. She ran a search on the Infosphere. Rr’naal had given her a few tips on how to penetrate beyond the restricted local network. All she had to do was type in a code and – boom! – the twenty-fourth century Infosphere opened up for her, infinite and teeming with data…
What had happened to the receptacles used during the “Hitler’s Train” mission (soon to be an item on the cocktails menu at the Red Light)?
A few seconds went by… Tess finished her coffee in a couple of sips… Several sites devoted to history were displayed. Tess consulted one of them, detailing the various assassination attempts against the Führer. The incident on 23 June 1941 was listed. But there was no mention of an old manuscript or a historian named Emil Kuhn. The alleged assassination attempt was only sketchily described. Four members of the staff aboard the train had plotted to kill the Nazi leader but had failed to come near him. The receptacles of Rr’naal and Dominika (the barber and the soldier) had died during the shootout, but those occupied by James and Tess had apparently been captured alive. Tortured for more than a week, they had not given up the names of the plot’s masterminds (and for good reason!). According to the website’s summary, the poor wretches had pleaded temporary insanity; they said they had no recollection of their seditious acts. They were sentenced to death and guillotined, just like the members of the White Rose, a dissident cell composed of young students at the University of Munich.
Tess’s heart squeezed painfully. She thought again about Ernst Persicke, who had been so terrified of his sexuality being discovered.
The poor man… He didn’t deserve to die like that…
The receptacles were mere pawns, as Bob had repeated several times, and Tess suspected that the temporal agents themselves weren’t worth much more in the eyes of the agency… Indeed, one only needed to see what became of the recruits who refused to carry out missions: they were now receptacles reserved for training novices, puppets condemned to remain prisoners aboard the station.
Tess launched another search, this one concerning Laura Quartes. Could she find out anything more, surfing on the quantum Web? Were the AI and Deirdre Quartes’s daughter one and the same person?
An image appeared. The team of scientists who invented tachyonic transfer, posing for posterity: Professor Ronn, the ingenious physicist, wearing a white lab coat and sporting a Sigmund Freud-style goatee, not as long as the one he had now… Deirdre Quartes, the blonde woman Tess had glimpsed with Ronn, just before the mission earlier that day; and next to her, her daughter Laura, twenty years old…
The spitting image of the hologram!
Tess zoomed in on the photo, blowing it up to maximum. The pixels became as big as ping-pong balls, but there was no room for doubt: Laura Quartes was the AI responsible for… what was it again? Quantum forecasting? Yeah, something like. In any case, she certainly looked identical: the same fine features, the same long black hair, as straight as could be.
Tess typed in a query, mumbling each syllable of the keywords: “Lau-ra Quar-tes… Bio-gra-phy…”
A brief note came up on the screen.
Young Laura had been a brilliant mathematician (PhD from the University of Meyrin in 2452). And she had indeed been part of the Tachyon Insertion project along with her mother and Professor Ronn, during the initial research that had been carried out in Switzerland. She had died in 2458, drowned in a lake at a nature reserve, on Earth.
How did one go from being a body in a morgue to head of quantum forecasting?
One more mystery…
Tess went back a few virtual pages and halted on the group photo. A link was indicated: “The pioneers of temporal exploration.” This led to another page, with another photo. Tess’s heart skipped a beat. She recognized Bob in the snapshot. Bob in his twenties… with hair – an Afro, no less! He stood close to another young man with the physique of a street brawler, also in his twenties.
Tess’s throat tightened in shock.
She also recognized this person: it was the same man who had approached her in the Red Light (and hence, logically, on the Führer’s train).
He was much younger, obviously, but it was definitely him.
She read the caption beneath the photo: “Robert Calavicci and Pete F. Razovski, the first two men to travel in time.”
Tess chewed the inside of her cheek.
Pete Razovski… Pete Razovski…
She typed in a new search. Tess’s brain tried to connect the dots, waiting for a coherent picture to emerge.
Razovski’s official biography… Not much to go on. A career in the military. Back when the experiments on time travel started, he was responsible for security at the Meyrin laboratory. One thing lead to another: he grew close with the scientists working at the site, to the point that he became one of their regular “temporal guinea pigs.” Apparently, he was good friends with Bob and Laura. Supposedly he had gone into retirement a few years previously. His biographical note didn’t say where…
Lots of shadowy areas. And few answers. Tess was navigating in the dark.
And then there was this nebulous business of mission NT-19-92, in the archives room.
What does that have to do with me?
She recalled the words of the fake German cook, during the second run: “Have you discovered why you were recruited?”
Tess exhaled a long stream of air. She thought she’d been selected for her intelligence and ability to solve problems…
Now she needed to make sure of that.
The days passed and training sessions continued. These were extremely varied: fencing, horseback riding (on a sort of robotic steed), simulated piloting of all kinds of vehicles… Even though the acquired knowledge of their receptacles was supposed to get them out of any trouble in the course of a mission, it was useful to be able to count on one’s own skills.
Tess was looking for the slightest opportunity that would allow her to speak confidentially to her teammates. But how could they be sure that the climbing wall, the Red Light, or the changing rooms weren’t full of microphones and cameras? It was imperative that what she had to say remained secret. The young woman bided her time, waiting for the right opening. Private moments were rare. The agents were almost always in earshot of Bob or another instructor.
The opportunity she had anxiously been seeking came ten days later, when Tess’s team was urgently summoned, early in the morning.
“You’re returning to the twentieth century,” Bob announced loudly, as soon as the foursome set foot in the transfer room.
They only had five receptacles to choose from, this time. All men. Fishermen.
“A temporal anomaly has been detected off the coast of Newfoundland, on 13 October 1993,” Bob informed them.
The year I was born, thought Tess.
Laura’s voice took over: “You are going to become part of the crew of a trawler that is fishing in the Grand Banks, a zone particularly rich in fish and exploited intensively by the boats in this region.”
“An anomaly? What kind of anomaly?” asked Dominika.
“We’re not really sure. But one thing is certain: it’s radiating quantum energy.”
A map of the Great Banks appeared in the middle of the room. To the north lay the island of Newfoundland. To the west was the peninsula of Nova Scotia. To the east they saw the Flemish Cap, a zone of shallow waters, dreaded by sailors due to its frequent storms. A half-dozen luminous dots were scattered across the map.
“The anomaly appears and disappears at random, but it always remains within this zone,” Laura continued.
“Sounds like the ‘Bermuda Triangle’, this thing of yours,” commented Tess.
Bob gave her a puzzled look.
“It’s an old Earth legend,” the young woman explained. “Boats that disappeared in a kind of… cursed zone. Planes too. A supposedly supernatural phenomenon.”
“There’s nothing supernatural about the present case,” Bob told her. “I’m betting it’s a type B vortex.”
“And what exactly is a type B vortex?”
The master instructor shrugged, and simply said, “It’s bigger than a type A vortex.”
Tess chuckled wryly. “Right… And once we’re facing this type B thing, what do we do?”
“You will suture the rift. Exceptionally, we’re transferring some special equipment with you to help you in this mission. It’s sort of a… temporal soldering iron. It’s very simple to use, don’t worry about that… The device is about this size.” Bob extended his arms as wide as he could.
“We’ve hidden it in the boat’s hold, with the fishing gear,” Laura informed them. “Once the rift has been sutured, get rid of the device. We don’t want twentieth century Terrans getting their hands on this technology.”
“All right, no more dawdling, let’s move!” Bob interrupted, in his usual brusque manner.
Tess chose the portrait of the fisherman that floated in front of her. It didn’t matter to her which one she picked. They all seemed the same: rough-looking men with weather-beaten faces, stubbled cheeks, and woollen caps on their heads. James headed toward the vessel’s captain (of course), a handsome man in his forties, with regular features and small eyes, almost narrowed to slits. Dominika and Rr’naal chose two young men with unkempt hair. They resembled one another closely. And for good reason: they were brothers.
“Ah, one last thing,” Bob added. “We’re changing captains for this mission. Tess, you’re in charge.”
James reacted immediately, as if he’d received a slap in the face. “What? But why?”
Tess did not say anything, but she was as surprised as the Englishman.
“We’ve analysed the data from your last mission and decided accordingly,” the disembodied voice of Laura explained.
“Why weren’t we informed before now?” seethed James.
“We are your superiors,” Bob scolded him. “We don’t have to justify our choices to you. You’ve served in the army; you should understand that better than anyone.”
James shut up, but he was clearly finding it hard to absorb the affront to his dignity. Tess felt awkward. A ball of nerves grew in the pit of her stomach.
“I don’t know if I–” she started to say.
“End of discussion!” Bob proclaimed impatiently. “Now, let’s go!”
The four agents entered their respective capsules. James had time to give Tess a look full of reproach, to which she answered in thought, “Hey, calm down! This had nothing to do with me,” even though she knew they would have to wait until they woke in their new bodies before they could make use of telepathy.
The temporal agents settled themselves as comfortably as they could in the space allotted to them. The whole procedure, including the sensors and the safety, had by now become routine.
Clang! The capsules’ heavy clearsteel lids lowered into place.
Tess looked at Bob. He was speaking… into thin air. No doubt he was addressing Laura.
A hissing filled the capsule. The air was cold and smelled of ozone.
Tess closed her eyes, held her breath, and began a countdown in her head…
She still hadn’t reached zero when–