After all, Hunter was the one who believed that almost any small action could change all of human history in the future. That sounded crazy to her, at least in this case. Suppose she spent the rest of her life in Jamaica. All she would have to do was be careful and stay out of Port Royal in 1692, when the big earthquake would drown the town forever. That would happen in twenty-four years. Certainly she wouldn’t ever do anything that would change history.
“Here we are,” Roland said cheerily, gesturing at a crowded open-air stall. “Buns, sweet cakes, meat pastries, dried fish, fresh fish, and fresh fruit. What is your pleasure?”
“Uh…I’m not sure. You know this place. Get me the best they have.”
“As you wish, of course. Are you a little hungry, or very hungry, or somewhere in between?”
“I’m very hungry.”
“Ah! I’m glad.”
Roland ordered two of nearly everything and carried it all on a couple of wide, green leaves to a plank table and bench. As Rita sat down, he went back to the proprietor and returned with two mugs of some kind of herbal tea. She bit carefully into one of the buns and found it quite good.
Rita ate quickly, being too hungry to indulge in conversation. Roland watched her with interest, pushing one item after another toward her. The dried fish was very salty, of course, as was the meat in the meat pastry. On the other hand, the bananas were exactly the same as in her own time, though a little more bruised.
“I have a bit of business,” Roland said after a while. “You will sit and wait for me here?”
“I’d like to see the sights,” said Rita. “I’ll hurry if you can wait.”
“Oh, I dare not take you with me this time.” Roland grinned and rested one hand on his sword hilt.
“Uh-oh.” She looked up at him in surprise. “You mean, uh, you might-”
“It’s probably nothing,” said Roland. “But I would not take you into such danger. Will you wait for me here, even after you’ve finished your breakfast?”
“Of course I will,” she said, flattered by his concern. “I’ll wait right here. Besides, this stuff is good. Um-am I safe here?”
“Aye, you’ve been seen with me.” With another quick grin, he rose from his seat and slipped away through the growing crowd.
She watched him go, admiring his lithe, energetic walk. He looked as though he would be a good fencer, quick and agile. She wondered if he would get into a duel with some other buccaneer. They could be fighting over money, of course, or something more complicated. She also wondered if he would live. From the viewpoint of her own time, of course, he was long dead of one cause or another. He just didn’t know what would kill him or when it would happen.
Dr. Wayne Nystrom sat in the shade of an awning which extended over the front of a tavern. It was a more expensive spot than most of the waterfront dives, catering to the wealthier customers, sometimes even nobility, who passed through Port Royal. He sipped a mug of herbal tea, waiting patiently.
Wayne had arrived two days before, estimating that MC 2 would return to his normal size about then. Since he wanted to maximize his chance of finding the fugitive robot, he did not just rely on his own personal search. He had struck up a conversation with a friendly young buccaneer and hired him to look for several individuals.
When Roland came into sight, Wayne waved to him. They had arranged to rendezvous at the tavern this morning. Roland grinned and sat down.
“I bid you good morning,” said Roland, glancing at the comfortable surroundings. “I don’t doubt your wealth, Wayne, after you paid me in hard coin a few days ago instead of bartering with me, as most buccaneers would. But you certainly don’t dress like a rich man.”
“I’m wealthy enough to dress as I please.” Wayne took another drink of his herbal tea, hiding behind the cup. “Order as you wish, as my guest.”
Wayne was still wearing the casual clothes of his own time that he had been wearing when he had arrived in Mojave Center. His journey into the past had been rushed and unplanned, leaving him no chance to prepare ahead of time. He had arrived with a backpack containing a change of clothes and some personal items. Selling a brightly colored machine-knit sweater to a drunken buccaneer had brought enough money to pay Roland and eat at a cheap booth, with some coins left over. He had only come to the tavern to drink tea in order to make an impression on Roland.
“No need,” said Roland. “I’ve found that group you hired me to look for.”
“Already? Good.” Wayne raised his eyebrows. “Describe them to me.”
“Big fellow named Hunter, gigantic. Strong enough to throw two men around at the same time, one in each hand, but he doesn’t really like to fight. Avoided it, I think.”
“Go on.”
“Steve. He’s a young man, dark like a Spaniard or a Moor, but not exactly.”
“You ever hear of Cathay?” Wayne was amused. He had only glimpsed Steve Chang, but he knew that he was of Chinese descent. Even in this age of sail, the Chinese and Europeans had not mixed much except for a few sailors and traders.
“Of course. Maybe I’ll sail there someday.” Roland shrugged offhandedly.
“Maybe you will. Who else?”
“They have two women with them. One is named Jane, the other Rita.”
“Yes, that’s them.” Wayne had not known about Rita, but he said nothing about her. He did not want Roland to know he was surprised. Obviously, Hunter had changed his team a little to fit their particular destination.
“You promised me extra pay if I disrupted Hunter’s party somehow.”
“That’s right. What are you going to do?”
“It’s what I’ve already done.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“The lady Rita seems to enjoy my company. She sneaked off with me last night and I put her up alone in a room. We are breakfasting together and, even now, she is waiting for me to hurry back.”
“Excellent!” Wayne smiled. “Yes, yes. Very well done.” He knew that Rita’s separation from Hunter would trigger the robot’s First Law imperative to find her. That would interfere with his search for MC 2 and give Wayne and Roland a better chance of finding MC 2 first.
“I rather enjoy her company myself.”
“Good. Keep her away from Hunter as long as you can. And she likes you. Even better.”
“I can do that. But, uh…” Roland grinned and held out his hand.
Wayne nodded and pulled a few more coins out of his pocket. He did not have much left, but could not afford to admit that, or even look reluctant. Before he saw Roland again, he would have to find some more money. For the moment, he tossed the coins to Roland casually, as though they meant nothing to him.
“So,” said Wayne. “Have you seen anyone who fits my other friend’s description?”
“The man you call by his initials, MC 2.” Roland took a careful glance at the coins before slipping them into a pocket. “I haven’t seen him, but I’ve put the word out among my friends and shipmates. They don’t know why I want him, but they’ll tell me if they see him. A short, slight fellow, you say, likely to be poorly dressed and a bit confused?”
“Yes,” said Wayne. “For all I know, he may be desperately searching for a pair of pants.”
Roland laughed. “That poor, eh? What happened to him? Press-gang grab him in England and let him escape here?”
“Something like that,” said Wayne. “He’ll try to blend in. He won’t know right away that anyone is here looking for him, but he’ll run if he finds out I want to speak to him.”
“He knows Hunter as well, I presume?”
“Not personally, no.”
“Even better. Well, I must be off. Rita may not wait for me forever.”