Burton froze in his tracks. “Bismillah! He wants his freedom.”
“Precisely. He can never truly be free until he is rid of me.”
“But he can’t kill you,” said Burton. “He can’t kill you. He would cease to exist as well. Good God!”
The Time Traveler grinned. Exactly. He wants to use the Wold-Newton stones to split us off.”
They stopped near the White Sphinx, Herbert looking up at Burton in the shadow of the great statue. “He wants our schism to be permanent, but to do that he must bifurcate the timeline so that there will be two of us. One, here in this dead future, with only the docile Eloi for company, and one free to rove about all of Time and Space, seeding Morlocks everywhere. And who has the Wold-Newton stones?”
“Mycroft Holmes,” Burton murmured.
“Exactly. And what better way to get hold of them, or at least find out where they are so he can steal them, than to offer Mycroft a gift that arrogant, manipulative sot could not possibly refuse?”
“Bismillah!” said Burton. “Can Nebogipfel even do such a thing?”
Herbert shrugged. “Perhaps. You told me of the stones’ power to make contact with other realities, in which you met alternative versions of yourself. He may seek to enter one of these realities. Who knows? All I know is that, given what you have told me, that is what I would do if I were him. He cannot risk anything happening to me, or he will cease to exist. I’m too far away from the turbulence he is causing to be that much affected.”
“What do you mean?” said Burton. “Every alteration of an event causes ripple effects that can be felt years, decades, centuries hence.”
Herbert put his arm around Burton’s shoulder. “Look around you, Captain. This is a dead world, save for the Eloi and whatever Morlocks might be left, of course. But everything our kind created is gone. There are only our degenerate children, living in the shadow of what we built. Everything we accomplished, every piece of knowledge we acquired, has long since turned to dust. But gone too is every sign of our wars, our saber-rattling, our ignorance. Whatever we make of ourselves, for good or ill, this shall be the end result. Man had his time in the sun.”
He began walking again, and Burton followed. “And even should a race of creatures with some semblance of ourselves reach out to toil among the stars, those same stars shall eventually grow dim and die, either by exploding violently or collapsing in upon themselves, until the entire Universe follows suit. Every last possible chemical reaction will have long since occurred, and all will be nothingness. Neither our greatest triumphs nor our worst mistakes will change that. I know this all sounds morbid and dour, but I find it strangely comforting. Everything, you see, works out exactly as it is supposed to in the end.”
“I think I understand what you mean,” said Burton. “In the grand scheme of things, one paltry human life doesn’t seem like much. But when that paltry human life is your own, you want to do your utmost to protect it.”
“And protect it we shall,” said Herbert. “We are going to put an end to Nebogipfel’s foolishness once and for all. I will help you.”
“Thank you, old friend,” Burton said, craning his neck to stare up at the White Sphinx. “Say, has your Sphinx always looked like that?”
“What do you mean?” asked Herbert, following the explorer’s gaze up the base of the statue to the stern countenance staring out across the Thames valley. “Yes. It’s exactly how I remember it.”
“Bismillah!” said Burton. “That’s Mycroft Holmes. He made his mark on history after all.”
“I don’t remember it looking any other way,” said Herbert. “Perhaps the White Sphinx was destined to wear his countenance.”
“Perhaps,” Burton mused, stroking his beard. “Do you know of the people who built it?”
“No,” said the Time Traveler. “Only that they were more advanced than the Eloi and Morlocks. I thought about moving my Time Machine next to it and going back through Time to watch its dismantling and then construction, find out who built it, but I knew I’d be tempted to stop and meet them, and that would cause further paradoxes for me in this time.”
Burton nodded. “It’s of no matter. We must get the Map away from Holmes.”
“Agreed,” said Herbert. “All we need is a plan.”
Burton shook his head. “I don’t have one. Your doppelganger can foresee every contingency. Or, failing that, go back in Time and undo it.”
“Perhaps not,” said Herbert. “Let’s go and have a talk with the fellow. He won’t be expecting me. It might throw him off his game enough for us to gain the upper hand.”
Burton shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”
The two men walked back up the hill toward the hut-like structure the Time Traveler shared with Weena. Burton was sweating. “I’ll say one thing, your London has better weather.”
“Yes, this region, perhaps even the entire planet, has warmed greatly since our time. A shame our kind are no longer here to enjoy it.”
Herbert took Burton’s wrist, reading the tiny dial on the miniature Time Machine, then went to his own machine and set the destination dial accordingly. “I’m glad I added slots for the hours and minutes,” he said, patting the dial. Burton inspected it, noticing the difference.
“An alteration I made in this latest incarnation of my Time Machine,” he said with a grin. He went to Weena. “I must go, my dear. But I will return soon, in mere moments from your perspective.”
“Oh, all right,” she cooed and went back to making a crown from a handful of freshly picked flowers.
Herbert mounted the machine. “When you’re ready, Captain. When we arrive at the appointed day and time, we shall be in my back garden. I do hope my Time Machine doesn’t flatten the hydrangeas.”
“That will be satisfactory,” Burton said. He flicked the tiny lever, feeling a spinning vibration from somewhere inside the minute device. Herbert jerked at his levers, and the two of them were gone, careening through Time in concert.
12. Invasion of the Morlocks
Mycroft Holmes sat by the window in the Stranger’s Room, reading that morning’s edition of The London Mail. He wasn’t surprised as he looked up to see Dr. Moses Nebogipfel standing there, his hands clasped in front of him.
“I trust you found the Map’s first prediction satisfactory,” said Nebogipfel.
Mycroft Holmes arched an eyebrow. “More than satisfactory. It was accurate in every detail. And the event was so mundane. A horse frightened by a policeman’s whistle and overturning its master’s apple cart at precisely half past seven, and that I would see this occur as I was returning home.”
“Good,” said Nebogipfel. “Then I assume you are confident about the accuracy of the rest of the events in this timeline.”
Mycroft Holmes nodded.
“Then I expect my payment. The remaining Wold-Newton stones, as we agreed.”
“I appreciate this glimpse into the future you have afforded me,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Though I will not live to see all of them, I am already setting into motion procedures that will allow us to weather the coming storms, and even benefit and profit from them. I am also looking into ways to prolong my life, so that I may witness these future events firsthand and can guide them to this nation’s benefit personally.”
“You are as resourceful as legend says,” replied Nebogipfel with a smile.