Prologue
Reese Hunter had never seen a nation being born before, though he had seen more than his share of nations die. He had seen Rome sacked by Visigoths and he rode with Alexander as the Macedonian had carved his way across the ancient world. He was with Cortez when the Spanish conquistadores had descended on the unsuspecting Incas and he had watched from the cockpit of a bomber while Dresden was reduced to rubble and the Third Reich burned. He had seen governments fall and empires crumble, but he had never before witnessed a nation being born.
The English colonies in North America were about to be reborn as a new nation, and in a sense. Hunter was about to be reborn, as well. He was about to start a new life in a new universe, one that was almost a mirror image of his own. In his own universe, he had been a captain in the CIS., the elite Counter Insurgency Section of the Special Operations Group. Agents of the T.I.A. had captured him and brought him through a confluence point into their timeline. anxious to question him about the operations of his unit and, in particular, to find out how the C.I.S. had broken into their top secret Archives Section data banks. But the T.I.A. never had a chance to question him, because Hunter had stolen one of their warp discs and escaped into their past. Now there was no way back.
In many ways, this universe was a familiar one. His cerebral Implant programming gave him a detailed knowledge of this timeline’s history. He knew, for example, that in this universe, unlike his own, the Americans would win their war for independence, not lose and later have it granted to them by the British in the middle of the 19th century. However, his detailed knowledge of this timeline’s history would not enable him to get back home. He had been unconscious when the temporal agents brought him through the confluence, a point where their two timelines intersected, and he had no way of knowing how to find it once again. He was trapped here now and he would simply have to make the best of it.
He had carefully considered all his options. Though he would now be on his own, without any logistical support, he could continue to function as a covert agent of the C.I.S. and work to disrupt this timeline’s continuity. Or he could simply quit, leave the war behind and start a brand-new life. A simpler life, uncomplicated by the Time Wars. It was a very tempting option. Hunter had grown tired of fighting. The temporal physicists back home believed that the way to overcome the confluence phenomenon was to create temporal disruptions in the opposing universe. They believed that a timestream split would separate the two congruent timelines, but that was no more than a theory. It was also possible that a timestream split in either universe would only make the situation worse, creating still more parallel timelines that would intersect with one another, a temporal disaster that could ultimately lead to entropy. Hunter did not want that on his conscience.
He did not know what the answer was. No one in his timeline had even suspected that a parallel universe existed until that parallel universe attacked. The agents of the T.I.A. had claimed that it was all a terrible mistake. Their explanation had sounded very plausible, but Hunter wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore. He had been told that in this universe, a scientist named Dr. Robert Darkness had perfected a devastating weapon known as the warp grenade, a combination nuclear device and time machine. It operated on the same principle as warp discs. The device was hellish, a nuclear weapon capable of pinpoint adjustability, designed to use all of its terribly destructive energy or only a small fraction of it. It could be set to destroy a city, or a block within that city, or a building on that block, or just a room within that building. At the instant of the detonation, the surplus energy of the explosion would be transported by the weapon’s chronocircuitry through an Einstein-Rosen Bridge-a warp in spacetime to a point in outer space where it could do no harm. Or so the scientists had believed.
In practice, what had happened was that such incredible amounts of energy being clocked through warps in spacetime had brought about a shift in the chronophysical alignment of the universe. Instead of dissipating harmlessly in outer space the nuclear explosions had been clocked through space warps directly into Hunter’s timeline, where they had caused untold destruction. Hunter’s universe and this one had been forced into congruence, so that a confluence phenomenon was brought about. The timespace continuum was rippling and two parallel timelines were intertwining like a double helix strand of DNA. At various points in space and time, they briefly flowed together, so that it was possible to cross over from one universe into another. The two timelines were at war and Hunter now believed it was a war no one could win. Nor was he the only one who felt that way.
In his own universe, as in this one, there were people who had fatalistically accepted the inevitability of an irreversible temporal disaster, so they had chosen to escape into the past. They had opted out of their society and gone over to the Underground, a loosely organized confederation of temporal deserters, fugitives from the far future. And Hunter had encountered yet another group at work throughout the past. It was called the Network, an offshoot of the T.I.A.-a secret agency within a secret agency. Only this group had its own agenda, independent of any government. These were renegade temporal agents, profiteers conducting the complex business of an underground. trans-temporal economy. And for all Hunter knew, there could be a similar organization in his own universe, as well. It was insanity. There was no way of knowing how many people in the past were really from the Future, no way to measure how fragile the timestream had become-in either universe.
In such a chaotic situation, the actions of one man seemed very small indeed. But Hunter knew that the actions of one man could often make all the difference in the world. And on the day that he arrived in Boston, the actions of one man, a man named Samuel Adams, were about to ignite a conflagration that would burn like hellfire as it spread throughout the thirteen English colonies.
Hunter had arrived in Boston unsuitably attired. He had hidden in an alley by the waterfront until an inebriated seaman of a convenient size had stumbled by. whereupon Hunter had rolled him and stolen all his money and his clothes. He then found a tavern called the Harp and Crown, where he had an inexpensive meal called an “ordinary.” a set meal served at a fixed price, and picked up a copy of the Boston Gazette. The date was August 14. 1765, and according to the paper, it was the birthday of the Prince of Wales. But the most newsworthy event of the day had occurred too recently to make the paper and it was the topic on the lips of everybody in the tavern.
That morning, the citizens of Boston awoke to see two figures hanging from the elm trees in the Common. One was shaped like a boot, with a devil peeking out of it, a play on the name of King George’s favorite advisor. the Earl of Bute. The other was an effigy of Andrew Oliver. a local man, identified by his initials and a sign that read. “What greater joy did New England see than a stampman hanging from a tree?” Beneath the figure was a placard with the warning. “He that takes this down is an enemy to his country!”
It wasn’t difficult for Hunter to get into a conversation with a group or citizens engaged in a spirited discussion about the day’s events. He approached their table and politely inquired what the fuss was all about. They stared at him with disbelief.
“Why, where’ve you been, man?” one of the men asked him.
“I’ve been at sea,” said Hunter. his stolen clothing lending credence to the lie. “Ten long years before the mast. I grew tired of seeing other men grow rich upon the spice trade while I worked like a dog without a whit to show for it. I heard tell that a man could make a good life for himself in the American colonies, but I have only just arrived in Boston and I
must confess that I know nothing of these matters you’re discussing. What has this man Oliver done that his image should be strung up from a tree? And what exactly is a stampman, anyway?”
“A stampman, sir, is a plague upon our liberty,” one of the men said, “and if you plan to settle down in Boston, he shall be a plague on yours. as well Sit down, sir, and it will be our pleasure to enlighten you.”
They made room for Hunter and he joined them at the table
“What is your name, sailor?”
“I’m called Reese Hunter.”
The man offered his hand. “Ben Edes is my name,” he said, “and I am the editor of that newspaper you’ve been reading. These gentlemen are Jared Moffat. Thomas Brown, John Hewitt, and Grant Channing. And as you might have heard. not all of us are in complete agreement.” He scowled at Moffat. Brown. and Hewitt.
“Some of us possess a bit more sense than others.” Moffat said wryly. “And a bit more loyalty, it seems.”
“I’ll hear no more talk of that!” said rides, sharply. “My loyalty is not for you to question, fared Moffat! Besides, our friend has asked a question and we owe him the courtesy of a reply.” He turned to Hunter. “The matter concerns taxes, sir. Unjust and ruinous taxes imposed upon us by greedy and unscrupulous men-”
“You call the king greedy and unscrupulous?” said Brown.
“I’ve not said a word against the king!” snapped Edes. “It is the king’s ministers who are to blame for this! That has been my stand from the beginning, so kindly do not go putting words into my mouth, sir!”
“He has no need for that, Ben,” said Moffat. dryly. “You have a surfeit of your own.”