Rockets and Ray Guns - An Anthology of Sci-fi short stories

Part 3

"Are you ready, Mister Tempest?" Hobbes asked. Dressed as a mountaineer, a common profession in Munich, Morgan nodded from where he stood in the center of the domed enclosure. It was indeed a tent as he had thought, having witnessed a ground team assembling it in short order after they landed.

Now he stood under the largest of a cluster of similar domes, one the crew called Transition One.

"Now remember, the locals won't be able to tell that you're not one of them," Hobbes said as he began to work on a large tablet in his hands. Morgan could feel a strange energy field build around him as he did.

"But any enemy agents you run into, will, as they carry technology that will register your out of synch chrono-field."

"Out of synch?" Morgan repeated with a confused look.

"We had to put the atoms of your body in temporal flux so you would disassociate from your original time stream," Hobbes said as a low throbbing sound began to permeate the dome. "That way you won't vanish when the reset erases your time stream."

"What??"

Ignoring Morgan's blurted question, Hobbes blithely continued.

"You have a stabilizer in your pocket that will anchor you in the target stream. Lose it and we won't be able to pull you back. You also have a handgun that shoots energized particles. That's your only defense against any enemy agents you come across. Now brace yourself; the first part of the transition back in time can be a bit jarring."

Morgan grunted as the throbbing abruptly climbed to a crescendo and his stomach began climbing up his esophagus to try and make an escape from the waves of discomfort now washing over him. Head swimming, he tried to look over at Hobbes to ask him what was happening. Only to find the coordinator gone.

In fact, everything in the camp was gone. The domed tents, the transport, the scurrying workers in their white jumpsuits; it had completely vanished. In its place, slowly coming into focus, was a typical European city in the 1920's, complete with street cars, old fashioned automobiles, cobblestone streets and brick buildings.

Frowning as his vision finally cleared, Morgan took a quick look for a street sign to give himself a place to start. There it was, on a corner, dusted with snow.

According to the map, Hitler had an apartment a couple blocks from here. But, at this time of day on November 8, 1923, he wouldn't be there.

Instead, he would be gathered with his supporters preparing to storm a local beer hall where a number of prominent politicians had gathered to begin a coup against the local government. 'Also one of the better opportunities to eliminate him,' Morgan grimly mused as he began walking further into town.

It took the determined Morgan nearly an hour to make his way through the crowded streets, unusually busy despite the crisp mountain air and snow. Finally he spotted the street sign that marked the location of Hitler's meeting. Even as he turned and quickly strode along the street, he could hear several loud voices coming from a storehouse halfway down. Each step closer made the voices clearer until he could hear words like 'change', 'false treaty',and 'new order'.

"We will march on von Kahr and his sycophants," a hard voice snarled in Bavarian accented German. "We'll force the weaklings to give up power. We will take it, cast off the shackles Versailles bound us with, and together we will forge a new Germany, stronger than before, cleansed of the backstabbers that betrayed our Fatherland!"

Morgan paused there, listening for a moment as a small crowd cheered at the inflammatory words. That sounded like Hitler, if his implanted memories were correct. Now, all he had to do was figure a way in without being seen, ...

"So, this is the best Hobbes could muster," a grating voice hissed from close by, each word twisted into a sneer of derision.

Clawing out his weapon, Morgan twisted and fired by instinct. Thankfully those instincts, honed by years spent fighting the Soviets, were true and he heard a grunt of pain as his weapon's energy pulse struck the speaker. Then he was dodging the agent's return fire. Morgan managed to get behind a corner just as a pair of shots buzzed in to strike the wall he now hid behind.

"Even though you can transition through time, it's deliciously ironic that you're already too late, human," the agent shouted from where it too had taken cover. Despite the bold words, Morgan could hear pain in the agent's voice. Good; that'll slow it down some. Then he frowned.

How could the agent sound so confident regardless of being wounded? That one was out of the picture. The enemy had failed, ... unless there was another agent in play!

Stifling a curse, he sprinted for the back of the storehouse. Hopefully there was a door that he could access to get in without being seen by the crowd.

There! A rectangle of wood in the shadows. But it was already ajar a couple inches. Gritting his teeth, he pushed it aside and darted in. And immediately his reflexes were making him duck as several energy pulses slashed through the space he had occupied.

As he rolled back to his feet, Morgan could hear another door scrape open.

"What's going on in here?" the voice that was speaking to the crowd, demanded. Then he was grunting as the still hidden agent fired.

"No!" Morgan cried, turning in time to see Hitler, his face familiar from Hobbes' implanted memories, hitting the ground, two holes burned into his chest. Then a throb of energy announced the agent being pulled out of the time stream, leaving the stunned human staring at his failure.

"Herr Hitler?" a voice speaking German called from the other room. "We are ready. Are you coming?"

Hearing that, Morgan's churned chaotically. He had failed. The prime was dead. So why wasn't Hobbes pulling him back out?

By themselves, his eyes were drawn to Hitler's corpse. He quickly noticed the man was wearing mountaineering garb. That, and he looked so much like Morgan, they could've been twins.

Could it be coincidence? Or was this the real reason Hobbes had picked him? 'The multiverse must be preserved!' Hobbes' voice echoed for a moment in his mind. Then realization hit him like a runaway train.

To save the multiverse he needed to become Adolf Hitler.

Thanks to the memories Hobbes gave him, it would nearly be flawless. For a sickening moment, he thought of all the horrors this man had perpetrated on the world. Horrors that he would now need to replicate. Then he roughly pushed that aside as resolution filled him. 'Fine, Hobbes. I'll become the monster you need me to be. But damn you to hell for putting me here!'

A hand lifted to his bearded face. It'd take a little work to reduce it to the brush Hitler had under his nose, but doable. Not to mention disposing of the body could be tricky.

"Herr Hitler?" the voice asked, coming closer.

"I'm coming," Morgan called out in German even as he fished free the time anchor and crushed it in his hand. "The door was left open. I'll close it and be right there!"

Hobbes smiled thinly as a monitor light on his instrument board winked green.

"Crisis averted," he said, looking up at the others in the temporary control room. "The time stream from Hitler's prime point, has been restored."

"What about Mister Tempest, sir?" A tech asked. "We've lost the connection to his anchor."

"Mister Tempest is now in play, protecting our interests on the ground, Mister Benson," Hobbes replied pragmatically. "Now, I need a report on how our other assets are faring."