Doppelganger (40 page)

Tovey raised his eyebrows. “A duplicate? The same man alive twice in the same world? I thought you said this couldn’t happen. You clearly didn’t think we would end up with two ships here.”

“Yes, that’s a great deal of mass to duplicate, even for a Dual Heisenberg Wave. I’m not saying it isn’t possible, but just not likely. It would mean Time would have hundreds of personal time meridians unresolved, one for each crew member on the two ships. That’s a lot of work, very untidy, so time resists that with Paradox, and the power of annihilation that can accompany such an event. You see, I believe that ship you were last sailing with has vanished for good, Admiral, as much as that may pain you to hear it. I believe it was completely removed from the meridians of possibility, as long as the first arrival occurred, and it seems it has. The presence of this man Karpov aboard argues strongly to that. Yet this other Karpov, the Siberian, well he should have also been annihilated. Paradox should have removed him from the continuum here. If Mister Morgan’s report is correct, and he is at that meeting in Moscow with Sergei Kirov, then something happened to prevent that, and it is a very rare and unusual event.”

“What could have done that?” asked Elena.

“I can’t say at this moment, assuming this is all true. There were, however, several factors that could have contributed to this outcome. The man was obviously a significant player in this history—at both ends of this twisted time loop. He becomes a Free Radical soon after arriving in the past, and in time, he becomes a Prime Mover on key events, as we all are here. That gives him some clout, in a manner of speaking, and some measure of protection from Paradox, though a Prime is not entirely immune. Most of that protection might derive from the fact that Primes tend to move in a Nexus Bubble, and Primes that travel in time have an even greater layer of protection that way. Yet if there was something else, perhaps some physical anomaly involved, then that nexus field around a Prime might have been strongly reinforced.”

“You mean he might survive, just like this bloody radio set?”

“There you have it, Admiral. Something protected this radio set from annihilation, possibly the same energy in the Nexus Point that surrounds and protects you. It could have been something as simple as your personal proximity to the equipment at the time of the event. We’ve learned these things have a given range relating to the intensity of the nexus. Who knows, perhaps this man’s personal nexus was so strong that he was spared the ravages of Paradox, but I tend to think there must have been something else involved, though I can’t say what that might be at the moment.”

“Yet how could there be two instances of the same man?” asked Elena, not understanding how this could be possible.

“Time has that same question on her lips,” said Dorland. “She undoubtedly worked very hard to prevent such a thing from ever happening, but like the marvel of DNA, she makes mistakes, and that makes all the difference. There’s been an error here, a blip in time, a mistake, yet those same errors when made by DNA give rise to all life. So something has been born from this little blunder, and it is very dangerous—a Doppelganger. I never thought I would see that possibility proved true in my theory, but we may be looking at exactly that.”

“Yet how? Are you saying the man mutated and split in two, like a cell dividing?”

“Not at all,” said Paul. “This is difficult to explain, but nothing really moves in time, only information moves. Once it is sent here, that information reassembles the moving person or thing from particles present in the local environment. At least this is how the device I use to travel in time works. We take a pattern signature, right down to the quantum level, and have just enough computing power to store that information. Then we open the continuum with a spinning singularity and send it on through. Once it gets here, it does what nature does effortlessly enough when it spins out trees and birds and all the rest. Everything around you is just information, just particles assembled in a unique order for a given interval, always changing, always a dance—order from chaos, if you will. You vanish into Elsewhere, and then reassemble at another point on the continuum. It’s just a transfer of information from one time to another. When there is a dual Heisenberg Wave like this, that information can be… copied.”

“Copied?”

“Yes, think about saving a file on your computer. You have two options. The first is save with replace—that’s what Paradox does, or what it should have done here. This Karpov in Siberia should not have survived Paradox Hour. He should have been removed from the continuum, erased, annihilated to allow for first arrival to occur, which was an imperative. If he did survive, as your intelligence chief here believes, then it was like a save as a separate file. It’s like two versions of the same novel residing on your hard drive, even though one may have revisions and material added that the other lacks. They’re both the same story, but slightly different, and they both exist. I believe all the legends concerning the existence of Doppelgangers may have arisen from this, and it appears we’ve got a case like this on our hands now, and a very dangerous one.”

“Astounding,” said Tovey. “A Doppelganger. Lord knows that man Karpov was more than enough trouble here the first time through the tube. Now he’s riding the train again! Why, he would have no knowledge of the delicate alliance we made with the Russians. In fact, the first time around he went to war with the Royal Navy. Could that happen again?”

“That’s quite possible. This situation is very perilous. It must be handled very carefully.”

“Good Lord,” said Tovey. “I’ve got ships up there teeing up the Dervish Convoy operation to Murmansk. It’s very likely that Russian ship will soon spot them with their advanced radars. I should get word out to all fleet units about this.”

“Well,” said Elena. “This Captain Karpov is standing by this very moment. Shall we have a chat with him?”

As if in an eerie response to Elena’s suggestion, the radio speaker crackled and the voice of Nikolin was heard again.
“BCG Kirov standing by. Do you still copy HMS Invincible. Read Back for Check. Over.”

“Be very cautious,” said Dorland, looking at the Admiral. “It’s likely that this man does not yet know what has happened to his ship. Things are riding on the razor’s edge just now, and they could easily tip one way or another.”

Chapter 35

Far
away, in the tumult of the storm as
Tunguska
approached Moscow, Professor Dorland’s theory had been put to a most exacting test, for another Prime Mover in all these events, Vladimir Karpov, lay on the floor of his stateroom aboard the airship
Tunguska
. There came a bump and a shudder, the glowing energy striking the ship and sending that luminescent glow through its bones, as if an X-Ray had been taken. Yet, within that metal skeleton, the exotic particles mined from the river valley the ship was named for stood as that one missing factor in Dorland’s equation.

Yes, Karpov was a Prime Mover, a Free Radical, and a key initiator of so many of these deep variations that had so violated the continuum. Time did not look kindly on the man, and the stabbing pain he had felt in his chest was the cold, steely grasp of her jealous and spiteful hand, clawing at his soul and wanting it crushed to oblivion. But like the radio sets that had been spared from annihilation when the hour of Paradox finally transpired, Karpov was there aboard
Tunguska
as it skipped out of the here and now, into the ethereal realm of Elsewhere, if only for the barest moment. Then the ship shuddered with the roll of deep thunder, lightning rippling through the dark clouds, and returned, just as it was, impervious, immune, unbowed by time and the tumultuous tides of wind and sky.

It was the very same effect that had also served to preserve the unique life and mind of one Anton Fedorov, for at that moment, when the Admiral and crew of
Kirov
finally faced the advent of Paradox, Fedorov held a strange artifact in his pocket, the key that had been deliberately left on that nightstand for him to find by Director Kamenski. It had served to keep the Director safe through many similar riptides of fate, preserving his memories over the years, though the world had changed around him many, many times.

And old man at the end of a long and very full life, Kamenski had finally grown tired of his days as a Keyholder, and he had found in Fedorov the perfect young protégé, a man with a keen and curious mind, and a penchant for sorting through the confounding mystery of time. He left no note, and said no farewell, but after that long conversation they had shared together, Kamenski had quietly finished his last pipe, and then reached into his pocket for the key, hefting it in his hand for a moment with a smile.

“Let us see what you can unlock with it, Mister Fedorov,” he had said aloud to himself, and he set it quietly on the nightstand as he slipped into his bunk, turning out the light there for the last time. He would never be seen again.

There was something in that key that opened hidden doors, not only in the physical world but in time itself, and the presence of the key in Fedorov’s pocket when
Kirov
made that last shift had everything to do with his survival. In like manner, there was something in the bones of
Tunguska
that had a similar effect, and the metal skeleton that now surrounded Karpov’s stateroom at the heart of the ship acted like a shield. Paradox had reached for him, wanting him gone, wanting him dead and vanished, but it could not take hold.

And so he survived.

He awoke, bleary eyed, as though emerging from a deep unsettling sleep, where nightmare dreams haunted him, the images of the faces of men he had doomed, the ships and planes he had destroyed. Struggling up onto his hands and knees, he felt an enervating sense of fatigue, a weariness, as though the very particles of his being had fallen into an apathetic stupor. The lethargy lay heavily upon him, his arms and legs leaden, and only slowly recovering.

He managed to pull himself up onto the chair by his desk, reaching for the oxygen mask again. He slipped it on, breathing deeply, and feeling his mind and thoughts clearing as he did so. As he slowly came to his senses, he realized where he was again, saw the uniform, his Admiral’s cap there on the desk, and heard the thrumming of
Tunguska’s
engines.

Karpov… Vladimir Karpov, Admiral of the Air Fleet, and Viceroy of the Western Oblasts of the Free Siberian State. He stared in the mirror again, remembering the shadow he had seen behind his own reflection, and the deeply unsettling feelings it had spawned in him. That feeling he had, that he was being watched, stalked, hunted by some unseen evil, had finally passed, yet in its place there was a strange sensation of absence.

He found himself involuntarily searching his pockets, as if something had been taken from him, stolen from him while he lay in a daze on the carpeted stateroom floor. I must have passed out from the altitude, he thought. Better men than me have done the same, and I’ve been under a great deal of stress lately.

Yes, there was something wrong still, something missing, something stolen from him, but he could not see what it was. Then he realized that this damnable storm could have sent
Tunguska
careening through time again, and he looked to find the telephone on his desk, cranking the handle and ringing up the bridge. Bogrov’s voice was the first reassurance that there was life beyond the four walls of this stateroom, and he passed a moment of relief, though he did not know why he should feel that way.

“Bogrov? Is the ship alright?”

“Aye sir, just a little rough weather, but I’ve made a turn and we’re steering to avoid the next thunderhead. Things should settle down soon. We’ll be mooring over Moscow within the hour.”

“Good,” said Karpov, again with a sense of relief. Though he realized he must have been unconscious on the floor for a very long time. The ship was already at Moscow… but in what year? We could be anywhere, he thought. We might have shifted somewhere else.

“Bogrov… send Tyrenkov to my stateroom, and ring the galley. I’m famished.”

“Right away, sir. Will that be all?”

“Yes, I just need food and information. Tell Tyrenkov I need him immediately.”

“Aye sir, Bogrov out.”

Karpov had never been a drinking man, but now he sought out the good bottle of Vodka that is never very far from a true Russian, opening the drawer to his desk and taking out two glasses. He started to pour the first glass, his hand quivering, and then stopped, staring at the glasses, a strange feeling overtaking him. Slowly he set the bottle down, his eyes staring at the scene, one glass empty, the other half full, and he did not know why he was so transfixed by that.

There sat one glass, empty, waiting, yearning, all potential, nothing realized. There sat the other, the heady liquor glistening in the light of the desk lamp like the fruits of long experience, the laurels of battles fought and victories won, and yet still not full, wanting more, a fulfillment that was as yet just beyond its reach. Strange, he thought. Just drink the damn vodka, you fool, and stop gawking at it. But instead he decided to wait for Tyrenkov, heartened to hear the knock on his stateroom door.

“Come,” he said, the sound of his own voice seeming hoarse and hollow.

“You needed me sir?” said Tyrenkov coming in with a salute.

“Sit,” said Karpov. “Drink with me…”

Tyrenkov removed his hat, striding to the desk, his uniform immaculate, and took the seat offered. The Admiral had been locked away in his stateroom for two days as
Tunguska
navigated to the meeting with Sergei Kirov at Moscow. The summer heat had given rise to a ripening storm, and he first thought that the ship might end up someplace quite unexpected, but they had arrived at Moscow safe and sound, and apparently with no strange occurrences, except that one moment when the lightning came, rippling through the ship’s skeleton when it struck the forward lightning rod.