TS01 Time Station London Read Free Page B

him inquisitively.
    Brian waved a friendly hand and backed out of the room. “Sorry, wrong office. I was looking for Brigadier Collings.” He produced an embarrassed smile while she gave him directions.
    Brian made his hasty way to the waiting room and found the canteen directly beyond. He ordered a cup of tea, which was served in a huge, thick-walled, handleless mug. The obsidian contents steamed vigorously. He returned to a vantage point where he could watch until the female clerk left the records section.
    Brian waited through two cups of the powerful tea, which gave him a terrific jolt from the unaccustomed caffeine. At last he perked up when the young WAFC woman exited. Brian remained in place until she disappeared around a corner in the corridor. Then he went directly to the files section and inserted his invented file in the proper place under M. That accomplished, he left the hospital through a side entrance.

    Time: 0710, GMT, February 25, 1938
    Place: Train to London,
    Near Dunstable, Buckinghamshire, England

    Brian journeyed to London by rail, on the Morning Mail. He had always liked travel by train, especially steam locomotives. This day, however, he soon found he had made a poor choice in trains. The big Birmingham Locomotive Works 2-6-64 barely had time to reach running speed before slowing again, to stop at every jerkwater town to take on and leave off mail. He sighed as he felt the deceleration once again and the conductor walked the cars, braying the station they approached.
    “Dunsteble! DUN—steble, next stop. Mind your parcels. Ladies, mind your brollies.”
    Brian wondered what a brolly was until he saw that nearly every woman who detrained immediately opened a brightly colored parasol. Which reminded him to pay extremely close attention to what people said. In spite of his Cultural Implant, he still had a whole new set of colloquial expressions to learn.

    Time: 1416, GMT, February 25, 1938
    Place: Time Station London,
    Thameside, London, England

    He reached London in mid-afternoon. The streets swarmed with people, and he had twice to stop for directions to the Thames Quay and the address of the Time Station. When he entered the dusty travel agency, he made a covert gesture to the shirtsleeved “reservations clerk” behind the counter and was waved on.
    Down in the cellar, he was confronted by a very Italian-looking young man with curly black hair, obsidian eyes, full, generous lips, and a Bust-of-Caesar nose. This individual rose with fluid grace and extended a hand.
    “You must be Brian Moore. Here to set up shop, I suppose, from what Arkady sent me,” he declared. “I’m Vito Alberdi.”
    Brian took the offered hand. “Glad to meet you. Actually, I have a little job needs taking care of before I settle in. Right now, I need to look at your history log.”
    Alberdi blinked. “I know this takes some getting used to, but I suppose it’s old hat to you. What happens when you do show up next month? Will I know you’ve been here before?”
    Brian smiled to soften what could be a harsh comment. “Did you sleep through your Timeline lectures? Interventions are self-eliminating. You won’t remember it, and neither will I. Because, once I complete my mission, correct the glitch in Time, and the wave of correction reaches the now of the future, the time mission itself will no longer exist. Then, I’ll show up next month, take charge, and that’s it. That’s the gist of it. Actually, Vito, the temporal mechanics of it are too complex for me to recall in detail. Now, let me at that log.”
    Brian’s reference to mechanics pertained to the theories in physics and the new science of temporal mechanics that allowed the Beamers and Personal Time Travel Devices to work. Beamers were power-gluttons, large, sophisticated, semi-permanent devices. Although they could be modified to many different forms, the usual application came in the form of a “booth,” surrounded by a containment field. The time