“Exactly. Because if they didn’t, what might materialize would be a blob. He was also worried about the reassembly process itself, since there wouldn’t be a receiver. He solved this by incorporating a timing mechanism into the tachyon conversion, which reassembled him at the moment of arrival based on time coordinates of transition. He focused the beam by means of gravitational lenses scattered throughout the galaxy. But while the uncertainty principle didn’t trip the Doctor up, it didn’t turn out as he imagined, that he had invented the ultimate form of transportation. Mensinger did that. Darkness discovered instead that the taching process was ultimately restrained by a little known law of physics, called the law of baryon conservation. While he arrived “in corpus,” he was unable to move. He appeared much like a holographic projection or a distant ghost seen underwater. A figure frozen in time and trapped by the laws of the universe.”
“You mean he’s insubstantial?” Andre said.
“Well, no, though he can be, if he wants to. He can project an image of himself or actually tach himself, but he can’t move from one spot. He’s trying to work on a way to do more than talk and wave his arms and stare at people, but he hasn’t got that one licked yet.”
“Why can’t he simply use a warp disc or even a chronoplate?” said Andre.
“Because his body has been tachyonized,” said Martingale. “Something about the way the process has altered his subatomic structure won’t let him clock. He can transmit objects, but he can’t clock himself. It makes him angry as hell. Mensinger perfected the device that would allow him to do exactly what he wanted all along, only he can’t use it. He said once that after twenty years of scientific research, consulting thousands of libraries on hundreds of worlds, he still can’t duplicate the beaming process envisioned over one thousand years ago by some television writer. He hates that writer.”
“Now let me get this straight,” said Finn. “He can teleport, much the same way we can, only he does it through an Einstein-Rosen Bridge via tachyon beam and he can’t move once he gets there?”
“He can move some, but he can’t leave the spot he materializes on,” said Martingale. “Sort of like a hologram with substance. I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you. He may be a genius, but he’s unbalanced, sort of. He just might grab you.”
“And this guy is supposed to help us?” Andre said.
“That graft you gave me,” Lucas said, “it’s a device for him to home in on?”
“Essentially. I’ve got one, too. Don’t ask me how it works, though. I haven’t got the faintest notion. The Doctor comes up with stuff most scientists don’t even understand. Like the warp grenade. He had a brainstorm one day and designed the thing, then didn’t know what the hell to do with it. So he tached over to the Temporal Army Ordnance Chiefs and laid the plans on them. Just like that.”
“Well, if it’s all the same with you,” said Lucas, “you can keep your little tachyon homing device or whatever, but I think I’d feel better getting rid of mine. Long as we have the medical kit here, we’ll do a bit of minor surgery. Finn, give me a hand with the local.”
“Don’t waste your time,” said Martingale. “You can’t remove it.”
“What do you mean, I can’t?”
“You remember feeling a sort of burning, tingling sensation when you put it on?” said Martingale.
“Yes?”
“That was the device bonding itself to you.”
“What?”
“It’s fused with your atoms, chum. Become a part of your chemical essence. Unless you can figure out some way to get a body transplant, you’re stuck with it, permanently.”
“You mean anytime this spaced-out scientist wants to find me-”
“He finds you and pops in for a visit.”
“You son of a bitch! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you wouldn’t have done it if I had,” said Martingale. “The Doctor told me to make sure one of you guys got terminaled. That’s what he calls it. When Darkness says to do something, you do it. You don’t argue with a guy who’s liable to materialize a warp grenade between your legs and make it go boom.”
“That’s just great,” said Lucas. “I should have just let Gambi’s men cut you to ribbons.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have received any answers.”
“Well, the answers stink.”
“Sorry. You should’ve thought up better questions. Look, the Doctor might be a little weird, but he knows what he’s doing. Your superiors knew what they were up against and what the odds were. That’s why they asked his help.”
“The Referees are in contact with him?” Finn said.
“More like the other way around,” said Martingale. “Nobody can contact the Doctor. Nobody knows where he is. It’s how he likes it.” Martingale put his shirt back on, being careful of his bandaged shoulder. “He does things his own way. I guess he decided to mobilize the Underground. He put the word out for us to try to infiltrate Drakov’s group. Of course, we didn’t know who they were then. It’s sort of funny; Darkness makes your people so nervous, they’ve classified his existence, but we’ve known about him for years.”
“So you’re the only one who’s managed to get close to Drakov?” Lucas said.
“There were several of us,” said Martingale, “but I’m the only one who made it.”
“How often do you see Dr. Darkness?” Andre said.
“He just shows up sometimes,” said Martingale. “It’s pretty spooky. He can move faster than light, but he can’t move when he arrives. So he can sort of arrive without materializing completely. You can’t see him. That’s how he knows if I’m alone. It’s an eerie feeling.”
“If he can do all that, you’d think he’d be more involved in what’s going on. Why hasn’t he been?” said Andre.
“Why don’t you ask him? Better yet, let Priest or Delaney ask him,” Martingale said.
“Why?”
“The Doctor doesn’t much like people,” Martingale said, “but he doesn’t like women, in particular. Now, unless there are any more important questions, I think we’d best be getting back. Drakov’s going to want to know about what happened, if he hasn’t heard already. I feel sorry for any of Gambi’s crew left alive. If they have any sense, they’ve left Barataria. I sure as hell would, rather than face Lafitte.”
The men stood lined up on the beach in the early morning sunshine. The survivors of Captain Gambi’s crew, and Gambi, himself, had been quickly rounded up. Lafitte’s men had moved fast. Gambi’s ship had been boarded soon after the fight and those aboard were taken. There had been no time for them to reorganize, no time to make good their escape. They stood uneasily on the sand, covered by the guns of Lafitte’s men. Lafitte, still dressed in his black trousers, only without his vest and jacket, paced back and forth on the sand, his hair and white shirt ruffling in the breeze.
“Vincent, Vincent, Vincent,” he said, approaching Gambi and shaking his head. He looked the swarthy Italian in the face and Gambi looked away. “You have been very troublesome to me. Very troublesome, indeed.”
Gambi said nothing. Drakov stood to one side with the others, watching.
“I cannot afford to be lenient with you, Vincent,” said Lafitte. “Do you know why? Because you are a stupid man and you would not understand. You would mistake lenience for weakness and that would only lead you to act foolishly again. I cannot have that. I cannot allow you to attack my guests with impunity. I cannot allow you to set yourself above my authority. You see that, don’t you?”
“I have never acknowledged your authority,” said Gambi, defiantly. “You have no right-”
“My strength gives me the right,” Lafitte said, curtly. “You never should have come here, Vincent. You should have gone your own way instead of trying to challenge me. Now you have lost. It is not enough for me to confiscate your ship. I must confiscate your life, as well.”
“So kill me, then,” said Gambi, contemptuously. “You can be brave now, with all these guns at your back.”
“Dominique,” Lafitte said. “Give him your sword.” Youx stepped up to Gambi and gave his sword to him.