Dinosaur Beach

28

It was a nasty little village, poverty-stricken, ugly, hostile, much like little towns in all times and climes.

“You forgot to mention where we are,” I said.

“Wales; near Llandudno. 1723.”

“You can sure pick’em, ma’am—if you like ‘em dreary, that is.”

I found a tavern under a sign with a crude pictorial representation of a pregnant woman in tears, and letters which spelled, more or less, Ye Weepinge Bride.

“Suits the mood exactly,” I said, and switched off the I-field. A drizzling rain spattered us as we ducked under the low lintel. It was a dark little room, lit by a small coal fire on the hearth and a lantern hanging at one end of the plank bar. The floor was stone, damp, and uneven.

There were no other customers. A gnarly old man no more than four and a half feet tall watched us take chairs at a long oak table by one wall, under the lone window, all of a foot square and almost opaque with dirt, set just under the rafters. He came shuffling across, looking us over with an expression in which any approval he may have felt was well concealed. He muttered something. I gave him a glare and barked, “What’s that? Speak up, gaffer!”

“Y’be English, I doubt not,” he growled.

“Then ye be a bigger fool than ye need be. Bring ale, stout ale, mind, and bread and meat. Hot meat—and fresh bread and white!”

He mumbled again. I scowled and reached for an imaginary dirk.

“More of ye’r insolence and I’ll cut out ye’r heart and buy off the bailiff after,” I snarled.

“Have you lost your mind?” Miss Gayl started to say, in the twentieth-century English we used together, but I cut her off short:

“Shut ye’r jaw, Miss.”

She started to complain but I trampled that under too. She tried tears then; they worked. But I didn’t let her know.

The old man came back with stone mugs of the watery brown swill that passed for ale in those parts. My feet were cold. Voices snarled and crockery clattered in the back room; I smelled meat burning. Mellia sniffled and I resisted the urge to put an arm around her. A lean old woman as ugly as a stunted swamp tree came out of her hole and slammed big pewter plates in front of us: gristly slabs of rank mutton, floating in congealed grease. I put the back of my fingers against mine; stone cold in the middle, corpse warm at the edge. As Mellia picked up her knife—the only utensil provided with the feast—I scooped up both platters and threw them across the room. The old woman screeched and threw her apron over her head and the old man appeared just in time to get the full force of my roar.

“Who d’ye think honors ye’r sty with a visit, rascal? Bring food fit for gentlefolk, villain, or I’ll have ye’r guts for garters!”

“That’s an anachronism,” Mellia whispered and dabbed at her eyes; but our genial host and his beldame were in full flight.

“You’re right,” I said. “Who knows? Maybe I originated it—just now.”

She looked at me with big wet eyes.

“Feel better?” I said.

She hesitated, then nodded a half-inch nod.

“Good. Now maybe I can relax and tell you how glad I am to see you.”

She looked at me, searching from one eye to the other, perplexed.

“I don’t understand you, Ravel. You… change. One day you’re one man, another—you’re a stranger. Who are you—really? What are you?”

“I told you: I’m a Timesweeper, just like you.”

“Yes, but… you have capabilities I’ve never heard of. That invisibility screen—and the other—the paralysis thing. And—”

“Don’t let it worry you; all line of duty, ma’am. Fact is, I’ve got gadgets even I don’t know about until I need them. Confusing at times, but good for the self-confidence—which is another word for the kind of bull-headedness that makes you butt your way through any obstacle that has the effrontery to jump up in your path.”

She almost smiled. “But—you seemed so helpless at first. And later—in the A-P station—”

“It worked,” I said. “It got us here—together.” She looked at me as if I’d just told her there was a Santa, after all.

“You mean—all this—was part of some prearranged scheme?”

“I’m counting on it,” I said.

“Please explain, Ravel.”

I let my thoughts rove back, looking for words to make her understand how it was with me; to understand enough but not too much…

“Back in Buffalo,” I said, “I was just Jim Kelly; I had a job, a room in a boardinghouse. I spent my off-hours mooching around town like the rest of the young males, sitting in movies and bars, watching the girls go by. And sometimes watching other things. I never really questioned it when I’d find myself pacing back and forth across the street from an empty warehouse at 3:00 A.M. I just figured I couldn’t sleep. But I watched; and I recorded what I saw. And after a while the things made a pattern, and it was as if a light went on and said, ‘Advance to phase B.’ I don’t remember just when it was I remembered I was a Timecast agent. The knowledge was just there one day, waiting to be used. And I knew what to do—and did it.”

“That’s when you left your Lisa.”

I nodded. “After I’d taken out the Karg, I taped my data and reported back to base. When the attack came, I reacted automatically. One thing led to another. All those things led us, here, now.”

“But—what comes next?”

“I don’t know. There are a lot of unanswered questions. Such as why you’re here.”

“You said a Karg sent me here.”

I nodded. “I don’t know what his objective was, but it doesn’t coincide with anything you or I would like to see come to pass.”

“I… see,” she murmured.

“What was the program you were embarked on here?”

“I was trying to set up a school.”

“Teaching what?”

“Freud, Darwin, Kant. Sanitation, birth control, political philosophy, biology—”

“Plus free love and atheism, if not Popery?” I wagged my head at her. “No wonder you ended up on a tar-and-feathers party. Or was it the ducking stool?”

“Just—a public whipping. I thought—”

“Sure; the Karg planted the idea you were carrying out a noble trust, bringing enlightenment to the heathen, rewards to the underprivileged, and truth to the benighted.”

“Is that bad? If these people could be educated to think straightforwardly about matters that affect their lives—”

“The program couldn’t have been better designed to get you hanged if it had been planned for the purpose…” I was listening to footsteps; ones I had heard before.

“Possibly I can clear up the mystery, Mr. Ravel,” a familiar unctuous voice said from the kitchen door. The Karg stood there, garbed in drab local woolens, gazing placidly at us. He came across to the table, seated himself opposite me as he had done once before.

“You’ve got a habit of barging in without waiting for an invitation,” I said.

“Ah, but why should I not, Mr. Ravel? After all—it’s my party.” He smiled blandly at Mellia. She looked back at him coldly.

“Are you the one who sent me here?” she asked.

“It’s as Agent Ravel surmised. In order for you to involve yourself in a predicament from which it would be necessary for Mr. Ravel to extricate you.”

“Why?”

He raised his plump hands and let them fall. “It’s a complex matter, Miss Gayl. I think Mr. Ravel might understand, since he fancies his own expertise in such matters.”

“We were being manipulated,” I said, sounding disgusted. “There are forces at work that have to be considered when you start reweaving the Timestem. There has to be a causal chain behind any action to give it entropic stability: It wouldn’t do to just dump the two of us here—with a little help from our friendly neighborhood Karg.”

“Why didn’t he just appear when we were together at Dinosaur Beach—the night we met?”

“Simple,” I said. “He didn’t know where we were.”

“I searched,” the Karg said. “Over ten years of effort; but you eluded me—for a time. But time, Mr. Ravel, is a commodity of which I have an ample supply.”

“You came close at the deserted station—the one where we found the old lady,” I said.

The Karg nodded. “Yes. I waited over half a century—and missed you by moments. But no matter. We’re all here now, together—just as I planned.”

“As you planned—” Mellia started, and fell silent. The Karg looked slightly amused. Maybe he felt amused; they’re subtle machines, Kargs.

“Of course. Randomness plays little part in my activities, Miss Gayl. Oh, it’s true at times I’m forced to rely on statistical methods—scattering a thousand seeds that one may survive—but in the end the result is predictable. I tricked Mr. Ravel into searching you out. I followed.”

“So—now that you have us here—what do you want?” I asked him.

“There is a task which you will carry out for me, Mr. Ravel. Both of you.”

“Back to that again.”

“I require two agents—human—to perform a delicate function in connection with the calibration of certain apparatus. Not any two humans—but two humans bound by an affinity necessary to the task at hand. You and Miss Gayl fulfill that requirement very nicely.”

“You’ve made a mistake,” Mellia said sharply. “Agent Ravel and I are professional colleagues—nothing more.”

“Indeed? May I point out that the affinity to which I refer drew him—and you—into the trap I set. A trap baited, Miss Gayl, with yourself.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Easy,” I said. “The old lady. He built that dead end and tricked you into it. You were stuck for half a century, waiting for me to come along. He swooped—a little too late.”

She looked at the Karg as if he’d just crawled out of her apple.

“Before that,” I said, “when you caught me in your animal trap: I wondered why I happened to select just that spot to land, with all eternity to choose from. It was you, love—drawing me like a magnet. The same way it drew me here, now. To the moment when you needed me.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, but some of the conviction had gone out of her voice. “You don’t love me,” she said. “You love—”

“Enough.” The Karg held up his hand. He was in command now, in full control of the situation. “The rationale of my actions is not important. What is important is the duty you’ll perform for the Final Authority—”

“Not me.” Mellia stood up. “I’ve had enough of you—both of you. I won’t carry out your orders.”

“Sit down, Miss Gayl,” the Karg said coldly. When she started to turn away, he caught her wrist, twisted it until she sank into her chair.

She looked at me with wide, scared eyes.

“If you’re wondering why Mr. Ravel fails to leap to your defense,” the Karg said, “I might explain that his considerable armory of implanted neuronic weaponry is quite powerless in this particular locus—which is why I selected it, of course.”

“Powerless—” she started.

“Sorry, doll,” I cut her off. “He played it cute. The nearest power tap is just out of range. He picked the only dead spot in a couple of thousand centuries to decoy us to.”

“Isn’t it a pity that it’s all wasted?” she said in a voice that was trying not to tremble.

“As to that, I’m sure that you will soon prove to me—” said the Karg, “and to yourselves—that I have made no error. We will now proceed to the scene where you will make your contribution to the Final Authority.” He stood.

“We haven’t had our dinner yet,” I said.

“Come, Mr. Ravel—this is no time for facetiousness.”

“I never liked cold mutton anyway,” I said, and stood. Mellia got to her feet slowly, her eyes on me.

“You’re simply going to surrender—without a struggle?”

I lifted my shoulders and smiled a self-forgiving smile. Her face went pale and her mouth came as close to sneering as such a mouth can come.

“Careful,” I said. “You’ll louse up our affinity.”

The Karg had taken a small cube from his pocket. He did things to it. I caught just a glimpse of the gnome-like landlord peeking from the kitchen before it all spun away in a whirlwind like the one that carried Dorothy to the Land of Oz.