TW10 The Hellfire Rebellion NEW (7 page)

"Deacon Adams was the director of the Land Bank. which he and some of his associates founded in an attempt to give some stability to colonial paper currency. Thomas Hutchinson was against it from the start, He fought the idea of the colonies printing up their own paper money and he petitioned Parliament to outlaw the Land Bank. which they readily agreed to. A lot of people were ruined as a result and Adams himself lost everything. Sam was reduced to waiting tables in the student commons, serving the very boys he'd been too good to eat with. He never got over it. His hate for the Hutchinsons is pathological.

"Even in his student days. he was already a fervent follower of John Locke. Recently he wrote in the
Gazette
. 'It is the right of the people to withdraw their support from that government which fails to fulfill its trust. If this does not persuade government to live up to its obligation, it is the right of the people to overthrow it.' That's a direct quote from Locke. Sam was always more interested in politics than anything else. He has failed at absolutely everything he has ever tried.' After he took his masters from Harvard. he accepted a position in a counting house under Thomas Cushing. He didn't last long. He then tried his hand at business and wound up in debt within six months. The Deacon bailed him out, though he could hardly afford it. Sam then went into the family brewery business and proceeded to run that into the ground. as well. It's still struggling along after a fashion. but I suspect it's only because Hancock keeps him afloat. His political career seems to have started purely out of spite. The governor had apparently promised the Deacon a place on the Council, but when a vacancy occurred, he gave it to Andrew Oliver, instead. Sam remembers things like that. First chance he got, he ran for the Assembly, just so he could work against the governor.

"He then started up a small newspaper he called the
Public Advertiser
. Wrote most of it himself. That's where he learned the fine art of propaganda. He would write inflammatory editorials and then, under different names. he would write 'letters to the editor in support of the editorials he'd written. He still does that sort of thing, only now he's doing it in the
Gazette
. After he started publishing the Advertiser, all of his old classmates started to avoid him. He is considered something of a lunatic. dangerous and disrespectable. Sam doesn't care. He prefers the company of his lower-class friends down on the waterfront.

"He's been married twice," Moffat continued. "both wives named Elizabeth. The first one died of fever, leaving him with two children. He didn't know the first thing about raising them alone. The Deacon died and Sam inherited his debts. The brewery was going to hell in a handbasket and Sam was constantly in court, losing one suit after another for slow payment to the Crown. As I said, he remembers things like that.

"A few years ago, they made him a tax collector. God only knows why, he was constantly in arrears. The sheriff. Stephen Greenleaf, was finally ordered to put Sam's estate up for auction—the brewery, the house on Purchase Street, the wharf, everything. Incredibly. Adams intimidated Greenleaf by threatening him with a lawsuit. The auction was postponed twice and finally it never did take place. Greenleaf's been a little frightened of him ever since. Then Hutchinson charged Adams with malfeasance in his duties as a tax collector. Quite honestly. I don't think Sam ever actually embezzled anything. he was just incredibly inept. And softhearted. too. He couldn't find it in himself to bring charges against people who couldn't afford to pay, so he wound up paying the difference himself. But he never could catch up. They finally just gave up and kicked him out, appointed a new man to the job, and decided to forget the whole thing. He simply wore them out.

"He recently got married a second time, to a sweet girl named Elizabeth Wells, some twenty years his junior. She's the best thing that ever happened to him. She's bright, extremely lovely, takes good care of his children, and manages the money. what there is of it. So far as anybody knows, Sam is absolutely faithful to her, though he does enjoy the company of women. They must have a peculiar homelife. Beth has to be the most patient woman in the world. His cousin John came down to visit him from Braintree not long ago and he said that the moment the dinner conversation strayed from politics, Sam got disgusted and left the table to go down to The Bunch of Grapes and spent the night plotting with his friends. He's got some sort of nervous disorder. Sometimes he can't keep his hands from trembling, but it comes and goes. Aside from that. he has a healthy constitution.

“Still. he's not the sort of man you'd think capable of being a leader. I'm really not sure what it is about him, but he does have a certain charisma. Hutchinson calls him 'The Great Incendiary.' He'd like nothing better than to arrest him, but he can't get anything on him. His friends are absolutely loyal to him. Hancock in particular. You should see the two of them together. Sam looking his usual slovenly self, half the time forgetting to go out with his coat and wig on, that ridiculous red suit looking like he slept in it, and Hancock in his exquisitely tailored lavender suits and yellow carriage. They make quite a pair. I don't personally know Hancock very well, though I've tried to get close to him, as you wanted me to do. 'King' Hancock is very particular in his choice of friends, though what he sees in Adams is beyond me. But I know Sam quite well. He dearly loves to argue with me. I've often had him in for dinner. He'll come, so long as the food is good and the conversation sticks to politics. And he is very vulnerable, by the way. He never takes a carriage or a coach, except when he rides with Hancock. Walks everywhere, usually alone. often late at night. And he's usually off in his own world somewhere. He'll make a very easy target."

"Excellent." Drakov said. "You have done very well.indeed, Jared. You have lived up to all my expectations. I'm very proud of you. Very proud. indeed."

Moffat's eyes shone as he basked in the praise. "I can't tell you what that means to me.” he said, his voice choked with emotion. "Ever since you sent me here. I've sought to prove my worth. And Sally—Sally has been a great help. too." he added, glancing at her. She looked down at the floor demurely.

“You've both done extremely well." said Drakov. "My confidence in you has been fully justified."

"Does—does that mean . .” Moffat swallowed hard. struggling to get the words out. "Does that mean you will . . . perhaps . . . give us a child?"

Sally stood absolutely motionless, watching Drakov as if he held her very life in his hands. Which, in fact, he did. It was almost touching. It was so often the same with them. Because they were mules, they could not reproduce and they desperately longed to be allowed to raise a child. They so wanted to be human.

"When we are finished here." said Drakov, "if you continue to do so well. I will find a more suitable time and place for you where you can raise a child."

Sally fell on her knees, took his hand, and kissed it. "Oh. thank you! Thank you!"

Moffat's eyes were moist. "I—I had not dared to hope for such an honor." he said softly.

You have earned it." Drakov said. "But first, we still have work to do. And now I'm tired. If my room has been prepared. I would like to get some rest."

He climbed the stairs to the bedroom they'd prepared for him, where his bags had already been unpacked for him. He went over to the window and opened it to let in the breeze. He looked out over the streets of Boston and smiled. He would be forever grateful to Dr. Moreau for teaching him the secrets of his special brand of genetic engineering. He had no need of the Timekeepers anymore. With the hominoids, he could create his own organization, seeded throughout time. And they were unquestioningly loyal. fanatically devoted to him, perfect parents for his replications of himself,

As he undressed, Drakov wondered, not for the first time, about the curious curse of his existence. He wondered if he, himself, was one of the replications he'd created. It was a fascinating idea. He knew himself to be the original Nikolai Drakov, but he had created the replications of himself as his crowning achievement, to be given to hominoid parents and carefully raised according to a detailed plan. Each of them, up to a certain point, would have their own individual memories of their existence. but past that point, their subliminal genetic programming would become activated and they would forget their past lives and remember only the life of the original Drakov. his memories and his experiences. his personality engrams down to the last detail. They would even scar themselves with a knife slash across the face. Each one of them would come to believe that he was the original, as he did. And each one would always puzzle over the same metaphysical riddle—did I create myself?

He got into bed and lay staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. He almost didn't hear it when the door to his bedroom opened softly and Sally entered. He turned when he heard the rustle of her dress falling to the floor. She stood there, completely naked, exquisitely formed and trembling slightly.

"What are you doing'?" he asked.

She bit her lower lip. "I—I thought . ."

"Get out,"

She flinched, as if he'd slapped her. "Please, forgive me," she said, quickly stooping to pick up her dress and cover herself with it awkwardly. "I—I only hoped to please you . . . I—I only thought . . . I never meant to. . . “ Her lips began to tremble and she was on the verge of tears. She quickly turned and bolted from the room. Drakov leaned back and sighed.

They so wanted to be human . . .

They clocked in at Reese Hunter's Boston residence in Long Lane, a small rented two-story home just off Milk Street. Prior to leaving the 27th century, they had gone in for a refresher implant briefing and then drawn weapons and period clothing from Ordnance Section. Lucas. Finn, and Andre immediately started to search the house. Steiger had remained behind to coordinate the mission.

"What's the matter, don't you trust me?" Hunter said.

"No, not really." said Delaney. holding up a laser pistol he'd just taken from a drawer in Hunter's desk.

"There's a .45 semiauto under the pillow on my bed and a commando knife taped to the back of the headboard." Hunter said. "You'll find spare ammo and clips hidden in the breadbox in the kitchen and a brace of flintlock dueling pistols tucked under the cushion of the reading chair in the study.” They quickly appropriated the weapons.

"Sure you don't have a spare warp disc tucked away somewhere?" asked Andre.

"Even if I had, it still wouldn't get me home, would it?" Hunter said. "You people are the only game in town. You know about all the confluence points we've used before and your people are patrolling them. If any new ones have been discovered, it's happened since I got separated from my unit. Besides, if I knew of any others, do you really think I'd still be here?"

"You don't mind if we look just the same?" said Lucas.

Hunter shrugged. "Help yourselves. Just try not to make a mess. The maid doesn't come in until Tuesday."

Delaney glanced at him.

"Just kidding, pilgrim," Hunter said. "Nobody comes to these digs but me. While you're tearing apart the house, I'll go and make some tea. We still drink tea in Boston. For a while, anyway."

He left the room and went into the kitchen.

"What do you think?" said Andre.

"I don't know," Delaney said. "He played straight with us before, when we went up against the Network in New York. Besides, like the man said, he's been here for a while and he's got connections. If he wanted to, he could've hidden ordnance all over Boston."

"He probably has." said Lucas. "Wouldn't you? Remember
our
Reese Hunter?" he said, referring to Hunter's twin from their own universe, who had deserted from the Temporal Corps to join the Underground and who'd been murdered by the Timekeepers in 17th-century France. "First time I met him in 12th-century England, he had an entire arsenal at his disposal, plus all the comforts of home, Sound system, classical recordings, books, microwave oven, generator . . . had himself a modem bachelor pad all set up in a cabin in the middle of Sherwood Forest. Genetically, this Reese Hunter is identical. I wouldn't put anything past him."

“The question is, how far can we trust him?" said Delaney.

“About as far as his own self-interest is concerned," said Lucas as they continued their search. "But he did turn himself in voluntarily. He didn't have to. He could have chosen any time period he wished, set himself up comfortably, and retired. Or he could have gone underground and worked on his own to disrupt our history. Maybe he's playing straight with us."

"If he's not bluffing about those subliminal triggers," said Andre, "then he took an awful chance by coming in."

"It could be a bluff." admitted Lucas. "But on the other hand, put yourself in his place. If you were trapped in his universe, what would you do? Especially if you saw a chance to get back home and, at the same time, get even with an old enemy?"

"I might do the same." said Andre. "But it's an interesting coincidence that he happened to wind up in colonial Boston at the same time as Drakov did, assuming that Drakov's really here."

"Maybe it's not a coincidence." Delaney said. "You start getting into some serious temporal metaphysics when you try to figure out the Fate Factor. When Mensinger first formulated that theory, he was convinced that it was a sort of nebulous temporal principle, a Zen physics version of for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. But toward the end of his life, he started getting almost spiritual about it."

"You mean he thought it was God?" said Andre.

"He never actually came out and said that," Delaney replied. "He always skirted the issue, as if he was afraid of it. He probably was. But when I was studying his work in R.C.S.. I became convinced that toward the end. Mensinger developed a strong belief in predestination, although he never came out and actually called it that. He kept speaking of 'an order to the universe,' that sort of thing. The closest he ever came to admitting the possibility of a guiding intelligence was when he once quoted Einstein as saying that God didn't play dice with the universe, that there was order to all things. Everyone always assumed that he was speaking metaphorically, but what if he was being literal?"