“My thanks? For what? For playing God with my life?” Lucas snorted. “Christ, Darkness, your arrogance is simply unbelievable!”
“Arrogance?” said Darkness. “Mine is the greatest scientific mind in the history of temporal physics. That isn’t arrogance, it simply happens to be the truth. And there have been many times when I’ve wished it were not so. It’s an awesome burden. I must find a way to overcome the confluence phenomenon because. indirectly, it was my work that brought it about. In the meantime, it’s imperative to prevent the occurrence of a timestream split, because that could bring about a chain reaction of temporal disasters that nothing could overcome. The telempathic transponder is a vital element to maintaining the integrity of the timeline and you’re the key to its success. Your personal concerns are insignificant compared to that responsibility. I can’t afford to be concerned with individual sensitivities, Priest. There’s far too much at stake. The instability in the timestream is increasing because of the confluence phenomenon. We must
try to buy some time… before we literally run out of it.”
Lucas sighed. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
“Let go.” said Darkness. “Stop fighting it. You won’t be able to keep it up anyway. Sooner or later, you’re bound to succumb to the strain. The transponder is designed to function on conscious thought. You have to become adapted to it just as an infant must learn how to walk. Eventually, you should be able to control it as easily as you control your appendages. But you have to give yourself a chance to become accustomed to it. In order to learn how to exercise proper control, you must first take the risk of losing it.”
“And what happens if I lose it and translocate to some other time period right in the middle of a crisis, when my partners need me?” Lucas said.
“It’s a risk you’ll simply have to take.” Darkness replied. “If you can keep your head about you and refrain from panic, you should be able to return just as quickly. That’s the advantage of the telempathic transponder. You don’t have to waste time programming transition coordinates. It’s all designed into its particle-level chronicircuitry. Your thought triggers the process and the desired transition coordinates are automatically computed and selected. Don’t be afra
id of it, Priest. Give it a chance to serve you.”
“And what if it induces molecular instability?” asked Lucas.
“Highly unlikely.” Darkness said. “I believe I’ve solved that flaw in the process.”
“You beleive?” said Lucas. You mean you don’t know for sure?”
“I’m a scientist. Priest. I can never know anything for sure. What do you want, guarantees? There aren’t any in life.”
“Or in death, it seems,” said Lucas.
“I would strongly suggest that you stop agonizing over the metaphysical implications of your existence.” Darkness said. “Concentrate on what you know and leave eschatological questions to philosophers. Otherwise you’ll only give yourself an ulcer. My regards to Miss Crass.”
He disappeared.
“That man is a stone lunatic.” said Lucas. “Maybe.” said Delaney. “But like it or not, he also happens to be right. He does have the greatest scientific mind in the history of temporal physics. If I was in his shoes. I’d probably be a bit around the bend myself.”
“A bit around the bend?” said Lucas. “Hell, he is the bend.”
“Don’t think about Hell.” said Delaney, with a grin. “If you do, the transponder just might send you there.”
“Somehow I doubt that even Dr. Robert Darkness could have programmed those transition coordinates.” said Lucas, with a wry smile. “Although on the other hand. I’m not all that sum I’d be surprised.”
Andre had spotted her tail within four blocks. And she knew right away that it wasn’t Paul Revere. Whoever he was, he was very good. Revere had been clumsy in his shadowing attempts, but this man moved with a quick and silent grace, like a cat, keeping a careful distance and taking full advantage of the darkness. Several times, she had almost thought she lost him, but he was always there, dogging her heels persistently. She was almost to Hunter’s place on Long Lane when she decided to make her move.
It was time, she thought, to demonstrate to Samuel Adams that the Sons of Liberty were not the only ones adept at skulking in the night. She turned a corner into Milk Street, ducked into an alleyway, and waited. She reached behind her neck and drew her knife. The shadower was on top of her almost before she knew it. He moved through the dark streets without a sound. As he passed the mouth of the alleyway, she quickly stepped out behind him, brought her arm around his neck, yanked him close, and held the knife up to his face. He gasped.
“If you resist. I’ll cut your throat from ear to ear,” she said, though she had no intention of making good on the threat.
“Don’t!” he said. “Please!”
She swung him around and pressed him up against a wall, holding the knife point to his throat. He stared at her with fear. She quickly patted him down and relieved him of a large hunting knife in a beaded sheath at his belt.
She was surprised to see that he was just a boy, no more than sixteen or seventeen year old, slim and slightly shorter than she was, with light brown hair, dark eyes, and smooth, regular features. He probably hadn’t even started to shave yet.
“You’ve been following me ever since I left the inn.” she said. “Who are you?” For added emphasis, she pressed the knife point against his throat, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to frighten him. “J-Jonathan Small.” he stammered “I–I meant no harm, I swear.”
“Who sent you’?”
He swallowed hard. “M-Mr. Revere. I–I am his apprentice. He-he said that I should follow you and your friends, see where you went and-and whom you met with.”
“So.” she said, taking away the knife. “It seems Sam Adams doesn’t trust us. You’re a Son of Liberty, then? Show me your medallion.”
Jonathan looked down at the ground. “I–I haven’t got one.” he said. “Mr. Revere said that if I performed my task well, I would be accepted. But it seems that I have failed. They will not want me now.”