Asher's Dilemma (6 page)

“Some, yes, but it was fleeting.”

“And you have all your senses? You can taste food, smell odors?”

“Everything. I experience hunger, tiredness, pain. I sleep, dream, remember. Everything functions.”

Asher nodded, excitement mounting in his expression. “And how did you arrive at the correct voltages to calibrate the chronometrical conveyance?”

Asher of the future sighed. “By my own calculations, of course.”

“What about Klaus Schick?”

“I had to consult him on one or two algorithms, of course. He’s an expert in Riemannian space.”

“But his analytical machine?”

“I didn’t use it.”

“But it would have taken you months to complete and verify the figures.”

“I didn’t want to fraternize with Schick more than was necessary, and besides, I saw no reason to rush. Without correctly calibrating the machine I risked a great unknown.”

“Precisely! You could have been out by hundreds or thousands of years.” Asher’s face flushed, and his eyes glittered. “Tell me the figures, Quigley. Tell me what electrical voltages I need to calibrate the conveyance.”

Quigley stepped back. “No.”

“No?” The other man gaped at him. “You’re not going to tell me?” His voice rose in utter disbelief.

“No. And I will never tell you because it’s too dangerous. Asher, listen to me. You must destroy this monstrosity. You must destroy it and all your blueprints and notes, and you must promise never to rebuild it or even speak of it to anyone. This machine can only bring ruin. You must believe me and act.”

His conviction appeared to make an impression on Asher. Frowning, the other man contemplated the apparatus he’d labored over so much, but when he turned back his jaw was set in stubborn lines.

“Why must I believe you? What terrible thing will happen if I refuse your request?”

“History will be altered, lives will be destroyed.” He paused, knowing he could not go further, not with Minerva just behind him. “I am you, Asher. Surely you trust yourself?”

But doubt still lurked in the other man as he shifted away towards his precious invention. He brushed his hand slowly over the promethium magnets dotting the outer shell now correctly aligned, and the expression on his face made Quigley’s heart sink.

“What if I took one journey in it, just one, and then destroyed it?”

“No, you cannot do that.”

“Why not? What’s the harm in one journey?”

Asher of the future sighed. “Because it would be a one-way journey,” he said wearily.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple really. Your—
our
—invention is not quite complete. Rather than a chronometrical conveyance, it should be called a chronometrical
catapult
.”

Comprehension quickly flooded Asher’s face. “Ah, I see.”

From behind him, Minerva spoke up, “By a catapult, do you mean…?”

Slowly Quigley turned to face her. “Yes, it means I have been lobbed back into the past with no means of returning to the future. Otherwise, there would have been two contraptions here instead of just one.”

Dismay clouded her eyes. “But that means you’re trapped here, unless…unless you use this machine here to catapult you back to the future.”

“No, never. It doesn’t matter what happens to me. All I care about is making sure this infernal device is forever destroyed.”

A rough hand grabbed at Quigley’s arm. He turned to find Asher’s eyes spitting at him. “You! It was you.
You
set the fire in here and tried to burn down my machine.”

There was no point denying it. “Yes, and I don’t know how I failed. I poured gallons of whale oil all over the damned thing, stuffed it with wood and kindling, and set it ablaze, yet look at it. Barely a scratch on it.”

“You almost burned down the entire workshop, you bloody vandal.” Fury raised the veins in Asher’s temples. “Have you no shame?”

“None at all. I did what I had to do.”

“Does that include the ruin of all my calculations?” Asher’s wrath mounted. “Because of you I had to ask for Schick’s help in the use of his analytical machine. And because of that I’ve been forced to deal with…” He ground to a halt, his gaze flicking across to where Minerva stood.

Quigley followed his line of sight to Minerva’s tense figure. A trickle of sweat stung his eyes. He wiped it away, but Minerva continued to blur, that unnatural fog blotting out parts of her body. She was starting to fade once more.

“Look,” he hissed at the other man. “Look at her. Can’t you see what’s happening?”

“What the deuce are you talking about?”

“How can you be so blind?” He rubbed his eyes furiously, but still the insidious mist continued to wrap itself around Minerva. “You must destroy the machine before it destroys Minerva.”

Complete silence greeted his words. Asher stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. He opened his mouth to rail at him again, but the futility of arguing made him shut it. Words were of no use now; only action could win. He would annihilate the machine himself.

Quigley spun on his heel, searching for a suitable implement. A gleam of metal on a nearby shelf caught his eye. He darted forward, and his hopes rose. His Viper Ray. Why his ray gun should be on a shelf in the workshop he didn’t pause to ponder. Snatching it up, he hurried towards the chronometrical device.

“Stand back,” he bellowed.

Minerva cried out, “Asher, no.”

“What the devil are you doing?” the present Asher shouted.

“Since you refuse to listen I’m taking matters into my own hands. Stand aside, I’m about to blow up this diabolical invention once and for all.” Heart pumping wildly, Quigley approached the machine. The copper shell gleamed. With the black promethium magnets studded upon it, it looked like a giant tortoise. He twisted the dial of the ray gun to maximum power. One shot would melt half the promethium magnets. Another would blast the console to bits. And then he would turn his attention to the network of cables snaking out of it.

“Stop.” Asher gesticulated in agitation. “Don’t do this, I beg of you. There must be some other way.”

His hand clenched around the ray gun grew moist. He felt his doppelganger’s pain as his own. Perhaps there was another solution, but time was running out. “I’m sorry,” he gulped. “I have no other choice.”

He squeezed the trigger. A hot blue beam of light shot out of the barrel and struck the copper shell. Sparks exploded. The beam of light ricocheted off the copper, bent right and hit Asher. With a single cry, the man fell back, a burning black hole the size of a dinner plate in the center of his chest.

Chapter Six

No.

Minerva felt the cry tearing at her throat, but no sound came out. She rushed towards Asher, fell to her knees. The smell of scorched flesh filled her nostrils. Her eyes ached, her body shook, her heart protested, but she forced herself to examine Asher’s injuries.

“No,” she moaned, taking in the charred mess, the singed edges of his white shirt, the gaping black gash in the middle of his chest from which wisps of smoke still rose. “No…” Her stomach heaved, revolting against the undeniable signs of death. Footsteps approached. She glanced up, but all she saw was a blurry shadow through her tear-choked vision.

“Oh God, what have I done?” The man’s voice quavered.

Rage gave her strength. Rising to her feet, she battered her fists against Quigley’s chest. “You’ve killed him. You’ve killed him. You beast…you fiend…”

He took her blows without resistance. “I’m s-sorry,” he stuttered. “Minerva, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Trembling, he dropped the ray gun onto a nearby table and pressed his forearm across his eyes.

She punched him once more. The buttons of his jacket scraped her knuckles but she felt nothing except the shrieking inside her.
I love him. I love him
. Over and over she repeated the words in her mind like a prayer, calling him back, desperate for one last chance to tell him how she felt. But there could be no last chance, because she’d seen the blue ray slice right through Asher’s chest. He’d died in an instant, and now he would never know how much he truly meant to her.

“Minerva, please.” Quigley, the other Asher, the Asher who’d pulled the blasted trigger, regarded her with horror and mute pleading in his eyes. “I didn’t know the shot would bounce off like that. I—I’ve never seen it do that before.”

“Murderer! You never gave him a chance.”

“I did it for you.”

With a venomous glare, she hurled at him, “I hate you. I hate you for what you’ve done.”

The ghastliness of his expression caused her stomach to clench. Dear God, she surely didn’t hate him? He was the same man as the one lying on the floor. How could she hate one and love the other when they were both Asher Quigley?

A faint groan drifted up from the floor. She twisted, gasped. “Asher?”

Oh merciful heavens, it couldn’t be. She dropped to her knees beside the prone figure, Quigley following suit. The man she’d sworn was dead groaned again and shifted a foot, his eyes screwed shut. “My chest…hurts like the dickens,” he sputtered.

“Asher, oh Asher, oh my gracious, you’re alive. Alive!” She glanced at the other man hunkered across from her. “Asher—Quigley—he’s alive.”

Quigley nodded, stunned into silence.

“Water,” the man on the ground croaked.

“Yes, of course.” Whirling to her feet, she dashed about the workshop in search of water. Tiny black spots danced in front of her vision. This had been occurring intermittently all day and had intensified during the past few minutes, but she put it all down to shock. Who wouldn’t become light-headed at seeing the love of her life gunned down only to have him rise from the dead seconds later?

Finding a pitcher of clean water, she poured out a glass and returned to the two men, the receptacle wobbling in her unsteady hands. She stopped in shock when she saw Quigley probing at the black mess of the fallen man’s chest.

“What are you doing?” She rushed over, spilling water in her haste. “Stop, you’re hurting him.”

The Asher on the ground muttered, “No, it’s feeling much better.”

“But that’s impossible,” she protested. “I saw it happen. I saw the ray pass right through your chest where your heart is.”

“I know. I felt it too. But look—” He tugged apart the frayed rent in his singed shirt and brushed away a few remnants of ash. “Look, Minerva.”

Fearful, she squinted at his chest and saw sound, healthy flesh, all intact and unmarked by any violence. She stretched out a hand and touched his skin. It was warm, alive, the hairs springing beneath her fingers. Impossible. Magical. She skated her shaky fingers over him, tracing the line of his pectorals, marveling at his sculpted beauty, her caress frank and filled with wonder. A moment later she caught the gleam in Asher’s eyes and pulled her hand away. Embarrassment flooded her. How inopportune for desire to flourish at such a moment.

“I saw you die,” she said. “How can you still be alive?”

Instead of answering, he looked past her at the man who had fired the fatal shot. From above her, Quigley spoke. “So the theory holds true then.”

Asher nodded. “It would appear so, much to my infinite relief.”

“Mine too. You must know I would never try to harm you.”

“You can’t anyway, but remember there’s nothing to stop me from harming you.”

“Touché.”

Minerva had been following this exchange with growing impatience. “What are you two babbling about?” she interrupted. “What theory?”

Asher held out a hand. Quigley helped him to his feet. The two men stood side by side, two pairs of identical green eyes studying Minerva.

“The theory of temporal paradox,” Quigley said to her. “It means I cannot go back in time and kill myself—” he pointed at his double beside him, “—because then I could not exist in the future. Such a paradox cannot be allowed according to the laws of the universe.”

“And similarly,” Asher said, plucking at the ruin of his white shirt, “he cannot destroy the very machine with which he was transported to the past in the first place.”

Minerva rubbed her temples. “So that is why the Viper Ray left your machine undamaged, and also why his earlier attempt to burn it failed too.”

“Correct.” He flicked at the charred bits crumbling from his shirt before glancing up at the man beside him. His expression altered. “I say, Quigley, you’re wearing my clothes. That’s my favorite suit, you devil.”

Quigley lifted his shoulders. “Of course. It’s my favorite too. That’s why I took it.”

“You brazen thief!
You’re
the one who’s been stealing from the house. Poor Cheeves. No wonder he couldn’t work out what was happening. You must have walked in right under his unsuspecting nose each time.”

“Can we return to more serious matters?” Quigley jerked his head at the chronometrical device. “Since I cannot accomplish the task, it’s up to you to do it.”

Asher narrowed his eyes. “You still haven’t told me why it’s so imperative to do so, and I won’t lift a finger until you’ve convinced me.” To emphasize his point he folded his arms across his chest.

Quigley uttered a growl of sheer frustration. “Dammit, man, this is a tricky situation.” His gaze flickered towards Minerva.

She knew him too well to misinterpret that glance. She scowled at him. “You wish to discuss the matter in private? I’m not to be trusted with your great secret? Very well, I shall leave you two gentlemen alone, if that’s what you want.”

“No, stay, Minerva.” Asher stepped forward and blocked her path. “Whatever he has to say, he can say it to both of us.”

The other man glowered at him. “Devil take it,” he growled almost to himself. “I don’t want to—”

A tentative tapping at the door cut him off. As one, they all swiveled and stared at the shut door.

“Mr. Quigley? Are you in there, sir?” Cheeves’s voice penetrated faintly through the stout iron.

Asher strode across the room and cracked open the door. Perforce he had to grip the door hard as the gathering windstorm outside threatened to burst in. “What is it, Cheeves?”

“I heard some cries coming from here. I thought I should check on—” He broke off to draw in a gasp. “Sir, your shirt!”

“Just a little experiment that went awry. I’m fine, Cheeves.” He had to raise his voice as a violent squall rattled the roof and swirled through the open doorway into the workshop.

“Oh, but you’ll catch your death of cold in that rag. Come into the house and I’ll lay out a fresh shirt for you, sir.”

“I’m far too busy.”

“But, sir, it will only take a few minutes.”

Asher sighed, cast a resigned glance at Minerva and Quigley. “Very well, but let’s be quick about it.” He disappeared, shutting the door firmly behind him.

As soon as they were alone, Quigley drew Minerva to the nearest chair and sat her down. She found herself grateful for the support. After all the shocks of the past few minutes, an uncontrollable trembling had taken hold of her body, and despite the lingering warmth of the workshop she felt chilled to the bone.

Having seen her safely seated, Quigley moved to a workbench and began to toy with the paraphernalia littered upon it, studiously avoiding looking at her. In the silence the rising windstorm grew louder, baying like a wolf pack as it battered the outer walls and hurled flying debris against the windows.

His withdrawal pained her. Even more so when she knew she was the cause. She cleared her throat. “You must know I didn’t mean it, Asher…that is, Quigley. I don’t hate you. I spoke out of turn because I was upset.”

“I know you don’t hate me.” He twisted a piece of metal pipe, still avoiding her eye.

“Well?” she eventually prompted.

Dropping the pipe, he lifted his head. “I saw the look on your face when Asher fell.” Melancholy darkened his eyes. “I heard what you said to him. You love him.”

The shock of his expression ran through her like a lance. “But I love you, and you
are
him, so doesn’t it follow that I should love him equally?”

“Does it? I’m not so convinced of that. He and I are not the same because our experiences are different.”

“But fundamentally you are the same man.”

“No. I have learned one sobering lesson, but he will learn a different lesson. We can never be the same man.”

His somberness made her throat constrict. She thought of the tender love letters he’d written to her and realized he was right. The Asher of the present couldn’t have expressed those emotions to her, only this man could. He
was
a different man, but still achingly familiar, a man she
did
love with all her heart.

“I never knew this could be possible,” she whispered, “but I love you too.”

He stared at her without speaking, but the sudden fire in his eyes told her all she needed to know. The enormity of what she’d just admitted engulfed her. Lowering her head, she covered her face with her hands.

“How can this be happening? How can I be in love with both of you?”

He moved swiftly, bending down to curve his arm around her. “Sweetling, I beg you not to distress yourself. It will all work out in the end, you’ll see.”

“Oh, Asher…Quigley.” She rested her head on his shoulder and found ease in his strength. “I don’t see how. Even after all this business with the chronometrical machine is sorted out, what will become of you? How will you return to your correct time in history?”

“
That
will never happen.” He sounded quite convinced.

“But how can you remain here? You would have to lead a circumscribed life, perhaps move abroad and assume another identity.” She worried her lip at the thought of him wandering the earth on his own. “I cannot allow you to shoulder such a burden alone.” She took a quick breath and declared, “I will marry you.”

His mouth unhinged in disbelief. “But what of the present Asher?
He
is the man you’re meant for.”

“I thought so too, but his behavior lately indicates otherwise.” A lump in her throat threatened to choke her. It didn’t seem possible, but she loved the present Asher too, desperately, despite the way he’d walked out of her life. Recalling how she’d caressed his bare chest just minutes ago, hunger for him swelled in her once more. She wanted both these men to be part of her life, and felt not the slightest shame in this. “Oh mercies,” she sighed. “What a conundrum this is!”

Quigley squeezed her shoulder. “All will work out,” he repeated enigmatically.

She ought to have been annoyed by his vague words, but oddly she was comforted. Thus far he hadn’t let her down, so perhaps it would all work out in the end. He remained crouched beside her, but as soon as the door handle rattled, he sprang away, and by the time Asher had re-entered the workshop, he was once more positioned by the workbench.

Freshly clothed and washed, Asher glanced between the two of them, his countenance uncertain. “Shall we proceed then?” He drew two more chairs towards Minerva, arranged them into a semi-circle, then gestured towards the other man. “Quigley? Perhaps you would care to be seated?”

“No, I prefer to remain standing.” Quigley waited until his double was seated next to Minerva. Still, he appeared to have difficulty finding the right words. He dallied with the bits and bobs on the workbench, his fingers roving restlessly over the items.

“Well, I can’t put it off any longer,” he declared, but then proceeded to strip off his jacket and hang it on a hook. He paced the scarred floor, cracking his knuckles. “First of all, I’ll tell you how I got here.” Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he fished out a small round object. “You both know what this is.” Minerva saw it was the locating compass of the stalking device which Asher had used to find her some weeks back in the Manchester slums. She listened with growing wonder as he related how the compass had led him to the chronometrical conveyance.