It was over. The remainder of Drakov’s force had surrendered and they were being gathered together to be clocked back to Plus Time for conditioning and return to their own time periods. The stolen warp discs were found in one of the supply rooms in the main building.
Forrester landed on the beach by Andre, after taking to the air briefly to survey the scene. Finn was kneeling in the sand beside Martingale, his hands badly burned from putting out the flames. Martingale was unrecognizable. His entire body had been severely burned and he lay on his back in the sand, a charred lump of flesh, barely breathing.
“He’s had it,” said Forrester.
Finn shook his head. “No. No, he’s in a real bad way, but we’ve got to try to pull him through. We have to.”
“Who is he?” said Forrester.
“The guy who saved our asses,” Finn said.
Forrester nodded, grimly. “Then I guess we’d best try to save his.” He beckoned one of the other men forward, then he unstrapped his warp disc, quickly reprogrammed it, then bent down and gently put it around Martingale’s wrist. Martingale’s own warp disc was burned into uselessness, melded into the crisped flesh of his hand. “Hardesty, give me your disc,” said Forrester.
The soldier quickly unstrapped his disc and tossed it to the colonel. Forrester programmed it and gave it to Finn. Delaney tried to put it on, but couldn’t manage it and Hardesty had to help him.
“They’re set for TAMAC,” said Forrester, referring to the Temporal Army Medical Complex in Colorado Springs. “Get yourself taken care of and you tell ‘em if they don’t pull this guy through, I’ll be down there to kick some ass.”
“You got it,” Finn said. A moment later, they clocked out.”Verne!” Andre shouted.
“What?” said Forrester.
She was looking up at Drakov’s house, perched high up on the wall above the lake. It had caught several pulser blasts and was in flames.
“We have to get up there,” Andre said. “Now! Get me up there! We’ve got to get him out!”
“Hardesty!” said Forrester. He turned on his jets and picked Andre up in his arms. Hardesty flew up alongside them as they rose to the burning house. Verne was out on the veranda, trying to shield his face from the smoke and flames. “Get him!” Forrester shouted to Hardesty.
Hardesty swooped up and grabbed Verne under the arms, lifting him off the veranda floor. Verne shut his eyes tightly and let loose with a rapid torrent of French. Hardesty understood French. He grinned as he heard The Lord’s Prayer. They quickly descended to safety and watched from the beach as the house fell down the side of the sheer wall and crashed onto the rocks below. Lucas and Bryant came up to join them and together they watched the Nautilus sink below the surface of the lake, into the depths of the volcano.
EPILOGUE
Verne sat at a table in the First Division lounge, looking incongruous in his black base fatigues as he signed autographs for the commandos who clustered around him. Lucas sat across from him, drinking Irish whiskey and Andre sat on his right, sipping a Scotch.
“You have no idea what this means to me,” said Verne, who was completely overcome by the experience. “I must be the only writer in history to know for certain that his work shall live on after he has died! To think that after so much time has passed, people will still read and enjoy my books. I could not have received a finer, more wonderful gift! Thank you. Thank you.”
“All right, people, give it a rest. Let the man breathe for a minute,” said Forrester, coming up to their table. “He’ll be able to stay for a little while yet, so give us a few minutes, okay?”
The crowd reluctantly dispersed as they all went back to the bar and to their tables. Forrester pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Col. Forrester, I must tell you how grateful I am for this incredible experience,” said Verne. “To have seen the future! And what wonders it holds in store!”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Verne,” said Forrester. He signaled for a drink. “You can appreciate, I think, why it would be dangerous for someone from another time to have knowledge of what will occur in the future. Temporal inertia is a strange thing. It takes a great deal to overcome it, which is very fortunate for us. Our occasional interferences in history don’t always cause disruptions in the timestream and, when they do, unless they are tremendously disruptive, they can usually be fixed. That’s our main job in the First Division.”
“Yes, I think I understand,” said Verne. “That was how this entire episode began.”
“Well, the people Drakov took from their own time periods and recruited into his group have all gone through a conditioning process and been returned to their own times,” said Forrester. “Those of them who had not been killed, of course. Fortunately, none of those people were significant, historically speaking, so chances are their deaths won’t cause any major problems, though we’ll be on the watch for that. The point is, they have now been returned to where they belong and none of them will remember anything of what has occurred.”
Verne’s face took on an expression of profound chagrin. “I see,” he said. “I understand. Naturally, I cannot be permitted to recall any of this. Of course. I will have to submit to this conditioning process of yours and have all these priceless memories erased.”
Andre reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry, Jules,” she said. “I wish there were another way.”
“No, no, do not apologize,” said Verne. “It is perfectly understandable. I would not wish to cause any problems. if I must forget, then I must forget. C’est tout dire.”
“I admire your attitude, Mr. Verne,” said Forrester. “However, that isn’t quite the case here. We have a particular problem with you.”
“What do you mean, sir?” said Lucas, frowning.
“I mean I’ve just come from a conference with the Referees,” said Forrester. “Your case, Mr. Verne, has given them some mighty vicious headaches. You see, historically speaking, you are an important person. You are an important writer. And, at the time this entire thing began, you had still to write some of your greatest books. The Referees, who are very highly educated people and understand these things much better than I do, tell me the creative process is extremely delicate. Evidently, the least little thing can disturb it.”
“Ah, yes,” said Verne. “Cela va sans dire. How well I know!”
“And there we have our problem,” Forrester continued. “The Referees are afraid to risk doing anything that might affect your delicate creative faculties. Which means, Mr. Verne, that they have decided it would be too risky to have you conditioned.”
“Son of a bitch!” said Lucas.
“There seems to be only one thing we can do about you, Mr. Verne,” said Forrester. “A great deal will depend on your cooperation, of course. We don’t really need your cooperation, but it would make things very much easier, both for you and for everyone else concerned. I think you’re perfectly capable of understanding the situation and the necessity for it; that’s what I told the Referee Corps. So, they propose to do the following: to return you to your own time and allow you to continue with your life as you would have otherwise. You must never reveal, in any way whatsoever, anything you have seen here or any of the technology or information you have had access to in any manner that might affect the course of history. You understand? It will be necessary to keep you under observation, which will be done as discreetly and unobtrusively as humanly possible, although it will be imperative for one of our Observers to… read through your manuscripts before you submit them, just to make sure there is not any potentially damaging information in them. Now, I understand how an author might feel about something like this, but it need not be censorship, Mr. Verne, if you will exercise caution and restraint in what you write, strictly in terms of technical matters. That’s the way it’s going to have to be.”
“Then… then I am going to be allowed to remember all of this?” said Verne, brightening.
“That’s right,” said Forrester.
“But I cannot use any of my experiences in my writing,” Verne said, the brightness fading into gloom abruptly.
