he himself would not have been born for hundreds of years. An impossibility, you say. Yet, here I am. A man who should not exist, brought into being by Fate to bring about an end to that which cannot exist, but does. There is an order to the universe and in the time from which these three soldiers came, mankind has disturbed that order. It has taken me a great many years, Mr. Verne, for I am far older than you think I am, to understand the purpose behind my existence. I was born to set things right, to restore order to the universe. And you, Mr. Verne, shall see it done. You shall be my Boswell. I could not have asked for a better man. But there is still much remaining to be done, many preparations needing to be made, before I can undertake the task Fate has set before me. You will learn things you have not dreamed of, see wonders beyond even your not inconsiderable imagination. My fate will forever alter yours. You have, indeed, a voyage extraordinaire ahead of you. And now, if you good people will excuse me, I will take leave of your company. I have matters to attend to.”
Drakov rose, followed by Shiro, and left the wardroom.
Verne gulped down some wine. “My head is swimming,” he said. “A power that could level Paris! Rays, particles, unheard of elements, I must see this library he spoke of!”
“I would be pleased to show it to you, Mr. Verne,” Count Grigori said in French. “Come.”
They left together, the author dwarfed by the gargantuan von Kampf.
“How does he fit through the hatchways?” Andre said.
“With a certain amount of difficulty,” Benedetto said, smiling a vulpine grin.
“We know why the others are in this with him,” Finn said to Martingale. “What’s in it for you?”
“I thought he made that clear,” drawled Martingale. “Money.”
“Just money?” Lucas said, wryly.
“There are easier ways of making money than being a soldier,” Martingale said. “I’m sure you know that. But it’s all I know. It’s what I do best. Besides, how many mercenaries can claim to have served in action across the boundaries of time? I wouldn’t trade this for the world, Priest. It’s one hell of a kick. See you round.”
He got up and sauntered out of the wardroom, carrying a whiskey bottle with him.
“A kick,” said Lucas. He glanced at Benedetto, who sat sipping wine and smoking a cigarette. “You know Drakov’s insane, don’t you?”
Benedetto shrugged. “I am not a judgmental individual. Who is to say what is sanity and what is not? I prefer to deal in the hard sciences and leave metaphysics to besotted Irish philosophers such as Finn Delaney.” He glanced at Finn and raised his wineglass in a toast.
“You haven’t changed at all, Santos,” said Delaney. “You’re still a pretentious asshole.”
“My, my, such invective,” Benedetto said. “And here I am trying so hard to be civil.”
“Where did all this come from?” Lucas said, indicating the tapestries around them. “The jewelry some of these men are wearing looks almost priceless. You and Drakov indulging in some temporal piracy?”
“Only in a manner of speaking,” Benedetto said. “Any military or even quasi-military unit requires funding. We have been amassing a treasury. A little from this time period, a little from that, it gradually multiplies. The sea is quite munificent. We have the richest shipwrecks of history at our disposal.”
“You’re equipped for salvage?” Finn said.
“Not in the manner you suggest,” said Benedetto. “We have individual diving apparatus on board, suits equipped with hemosponges which act as gills, deriving oxygen from seawater. A bit of future technology that quite impresses our crew. I never go out, myself. It unsettles me. But the Russians rather enjoy it. They compete fiercely for the privilege. They are allowed to keep a portion of what is discovered for themselves and they often bring back a few delicacies to dress up the table. We have lobsters aboard the size of German Shepherds. Crabs that could easily crush a femur in their pincers. They find it great sport to collect such things.”
“Where do we fit in?” said Andre.
“Your status, it would appear, is that of uninvited guests,” said Benedetto. “You are not entirely unwelcome, however. Martingale does not like anyone, but I am happy for your presence. It gives me stimulating company. I find these Russians tiresome. Very boring fellows. No brio whatsoever. Especially our Count Grigori. A very moody fellow. I much prefer your companionship.”
“You can joke, Santos, but we’re going to stop you somehow,” Finn said.
“What?” said Benedetto, with a feigned look of outrage. “After you gave your word to the good captain?”
“Don’t be a fool.”
Benedetto chuckled. “Finn, I bear you no hard feelings. No ill will whatsoever. We have always been upon opposing sides. I respect you for your accomplishments and for who you are. It was no easy feat to overcome the Timekeepers. I suspect, also, that you bear me a certain grudging respect, as well. Because of this, I would advise you strongly not to attempt anything against Nikolai Drakov. Your chances for success this time are quite small. I would hate to see you fall into the clutches of that little Oriental savage, Shiro. He frightens even me. Martingale and von Kampf are no less deadly, in their way, but Shiro is fanatically devoted to Nikolai and he is utterly ruthless. Look closely into that young boy’s eyes and you will see snakes writhing.”
“What’s Drakov up to, Santos?” Lucas said.
“I do not know.”
“Come on.”
“Honestly,” said Benedetto. “Look, I make no bones about what I am. I may have once been an idealist, such as Nikolai, but there is little that separates me from someone such as Martingale nowadays. I am, by profession, a terrorist. When I started with the Timekeepers, I was just an underpaid researcher, a re-education specialist. A somewhat glorified psychotherapist. I was embittered, vulnerable to seduction. Falcon convinced me to join in the grand cause against the war machine and I enlisted, burning with the fires of enlightenment. But Falcon is no more and I have seen far too much, done far too much to allow myself to remain deluded. What ever ethics I may once have had, I lost along the way. The trouble with my former profession, you see, is one knows far too much, especially about oneself. Self-analysis becomes a disease. I know at heart, I am sociopathic. I know I have precious little in the way of scruples. I am an unprincipled blackguard, a killer, a morally bankrupt human being. Does that concern me? Not overmuch. I have managed to achieve a level of comfort in my acceptance of what I have become. It makes life easier that way, prevents one from getting ulcers.
“When you and your compatriots in Temporal Intelligence broke the organization of the Timekeepers, I fled for my life. I became separated from the others, to which I doubtless owe my survival, and I spent my days constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting to be caught. It was not much fun. Being with the Timekeepers had been stimulating. It was like a game. You against us. We kept telling ourselves that right was on our side and so we would prevail. Utter nonsense, of course. For a time, we did not know each other. Then, gradually, you learned a little about us, we learned more about you, we each compiled our dossiers and it was almost like a friendly rivalry.”
“I don’t think I would go that far,” said Andre.
“Yes, well, it is all a matter of perception, isn’t it? By then, I had long since stopped taking the whole thing very seriously. But when it ended, I was left, for a time, alone. I was surprised to discover I did not function well alone. The comforting mechanisms of the Timekeepers were denied me. There were no longer any plots to hatch, no longer any confused, idealistic, radical young women to divert one’s attention in delightful ways. There was no money. I was, in short, out of a job. I was immeasurably relieved when Drakov found me and told me he was going to begin again, with a new, more vital organization. It was something familiar. And I had nothing else to do.”
“You expect us to believe Drakov doesn’t even tell his own second-in-command what his plans are?” Andre said.
“I do not expect you to believe anything,” said Benedetto. “I have given you answers to your questions to the best of my ability. Believe them or not, as you choose. For myself, I am content to go along for the adventure. I live comfortably, eat well, enjoy my liberties in ports of call through all of time-though we do not actually make port, of course-and upon occasion my particular talents are found useful. I ask for nothing more.”
“I misjudged you, Santos,” Lucas said. “I thought you were a fanatic, but you’re just a decadent fool. Martingale may not be any better, but at least he’s a professional. You’re not even that. You’re just going through the motions.”
“I will tell you a secret, Priest,” said Benedetto. “That is all life is, going through the motions. I prefer to go through the motions with at least a modicum of style. Nikolai is certain to cause some sort of cataclysm and when he does, life will be more interesting. I have no doubt you will do your utmost to prevent whatever he has planned
