I knocked firmly on the door to room 3B, waited a long minute, then knocked again in a way that conveyed I’d keep knocking all day if I had to do so. I heard sounds on the other side of the door, then it opened and the jumper looked cautiously out at me. “Yes?”
“Hi.” I shoved my way into the room, using some subtle unarmed fighting techniques that pushed my opponent off balance until I was inside. I shut the door and held it closed. “We need to talk.”
The jumper staggered back and held up his hands as if to ward me off. Seeing the extremities for the first time close-up, I could easily spot the swollen joints and twisted digits that marked severe arthritis. Was there anything this guy didn’t suffer from?
I stood still, spreading my own hands out at waist level, palms out. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Then why are you here?” His voice was raspy and weak. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. Asthma, too?
“I’m collecting seeds,” I informed him.
“What?”
“Really. But I’m not from here. Just like I know you’re not. And I’m not from now. Just like I know you’re not.”
It took a few moments for my statements to sink in. The man’s eyes grew bigger, then started watering heavily. He sneezed, staring at me. “You’ve been to the grain elevator?”
“Seed suppliers.”
“Uhhhh.” He staggered back again like I’d threatened him. “Wheat dust.”
Of course. “You’re allergic to wheat.” That could explain the malnutrition and anemia. The jumper stopped backing up when he reached the window, where the ever-present breeze blowing in would keep any grain dust I’d picked up from reaching him. “Do you mind telling me your name?”
“Call me John Smith.”
“Very funny.”
“That’s the only name you’re going to get.”
“Fine. Mr. Smith, I don’t know exactly when you’re from, but I have reason to believe you’ve brought a disease back to here and now.” Smith’s expression had closed down, revealing nothing. “On the Fort, Mr. Smith. I know you’re aware of it.” Smith nodded. “Why’d you make a jump from March to July? Did you think the epidemic would be over by then?” Smith didn’t answer, didn’t move. “Do they remember germ theory when you’re from?”
His face finally shifted expression, twisting into some sort of disbelief at my question. “We’re not primitive.”
“You’ve obviously suffered some . . . uh . . . problems.”
Smith grinned widely, as if I’d said something funny. “You’ve noticed that?” he rasped in that feeble voice.
“You need to go away. If you’re the vector causing this epidemic you need to isolate yourself. That’s not that hard around here. Stay there, until you’re sure you’re not a carrier.”
He nodded again. “Certainly.”
Liar. I didn’t need Jeannie’s analysis of his breathing and other external signs to know that. The answer, the agreement, had come too easily. “Why are you here? I want the truth.”
“I’m . . . seeking refuge.”
Another lie, I was certain. “A man allergic to wheat seeking refuge in twentieth century Kansas? A man with a lot of medical problems seeking refuge in a time when medicine was still very primitive?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Share them with me. Please. Or else.” I’d long ago learned that keeping threats vague allowed the recipients to imagine the worse thing they could envisage, which could easily be worse than anything I’d really do. But, if this deceitful idiot really was spreading what would become known as the Spanish Influenza, I had to bring him to his senses.
Smith took a step to one side, reaching out to grasp the handle of his valise. “Sorry,” he whispered, just about the time I remembered that the valise probably contained his jump mechanism. I hadn’t taken half a step toward him before Smith popped out of existence.
“He has jumped out of the temporal period,” Jeannie announced.
“Really?” I tamped down my irritation. “Which way did he go?”
“Uptime.”
“Can you estimate the length of the jump?”
“My calculations are very tentative, but based on the strength of the temporal pulse I would estimate the jump involved a chronological period of less than one month.”
One month. This was July. Next month was August. When three different locations would simultaneously or nearly-simultaneously experience outbreaks of a much more virulent strain of the Spanish Influenza. I remembered Smith’s unhappy reaction after he’d heard the epidemic appeared to be subsiding here and now. Maybe he hadn’t been depressed for the reasons I thought he had been. “He’s doing it on purpose. Whatever he introduced here in March isn’t doing the trick, so he’s going to set loose something a lot worse.”
Jeannie managed to follow my logic trail without having it spelled out for her. “There is a significant probability that you are correct.”
“Why would anyone do something like that?”
“Insufficient -.”
“Yeah. I know.” Smith didn’t look like a mass murderer, but I’d personally seen people as diverse as Caligula, Genghis Khan, and Adolph Hitler. None of them had ‘looked’ like mass murderers, either. I still don’t know what a mass-murderer looks like, and I’ve seen some of the worst. “Where were those three locations again? The one’s where the much more virulent strains of Spanish Influenza will pop up in August?” Jeannie recited them and I thought over my options. Boston was (for this now) a big city, filled with humans who had the same general ethnic appearance as Smith. My chances of finding Smith there were damned close to zero. Same for the city of Brest, in France.
But Freetown was another story. A much smaller town, and Smith would be a Caucasian in an African country. A Caucasian who’d be particularly easy to track down given his appearance and ailments. All I could do was hope Freetown was his first planned stop. “Jeannie, is my bank balance good enough to afford a jump to Freetown?”
“No.”
“Is my credit good enough -.”
“No.”
“Can I mortgage -.”
“No.”
“Are there -.”
“No.”
Jeannie didn’t have to read my mind. We’d had this sort of conversation before, on other jumps, and her learning subroutines were well up to the task of figuring out this was another case of my wishing for more than I could afford. I sighed and pulled out the small device that would manufacture as much local currency as I needed. Too bad the now I came from could detect the counterfeit stuff in a heartbeat. “Can here and now transportation get me to Freetown, Sierra Leone within three weeks?”
“Possibly.”
“Let’s get going.”
I bid adieu to the Kansas prairie, using plentiful amounts of local currency to bribe my way onto the next train east despite wartime travel restrictions. American east coast ports were full of ships, and a lot of those ships would be stopping at Sierra Leone. I’d wondered why it might be a good place to feed an epidemic, if that’s what Smith was doing, but it was in fact a very good place, indeed. Or a very bad place from a different perspective. Freetown was, now, the primary re-coaling site for ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean as well as those enroute other parts of the world. Just about every ship stopped there. If Smith intended having those ships take on a nasty new variant of the Spanish Influenza, it’d spread worldwide as fast as now transportation could possibly manage it.
Not that those coal-fired ships were as swift as I would’ve liked. Even while thanking providence that I didn’t have to worry about a wind-dependent sailing ship for this crossing of the Atlantic, I still had entirely too much time to think on my trip to Freetown. “Jeannie, how many people died in the Spanish Influenza epidemic?”
“Exact figures are not known.”
“What’s the estimate?”
“Twenty million dead is the low end. The high end is generally set at around forty milli
on dead.”
Twenty million. At least. “What’s the now world population?”
“Of humans?”
“Yes.” What else? Artificial intelligence, again.
“Approximately 1.8 billion.”
I did some math in my head. One or two percent of the world’s population dead in the course of less than a year. Amazing, in a very bad way. “You told me we don’t have a vaccine for it. Why not?”
“The Spanish Influenza vanished after the epidemic. Attempts to analyze the disease from fragmentary samples in partially preserved victims were undertaken in the early twenty-first century, but were inconclusive.”
“Jeannie, diseases don’t just vanish. They may be driven to extinction by proper medical actions, like small-pox was, or go underground for a while like bubonic plague before they pop up again, but even I know diseases don’t simply vanish without a trace and never resurface.”
“The Spanish Influenza has never resurfaced.”
Every new thing I learned about the disease made it a greater anomaly. “Is there anything else unusual about it?”
“Clarify?”
“Anything else that made the Spanish Influenza different from other outbreaks of influenza?”
“Yes. Influenza viruses normally posed the greatest mortality risk to humans who were very young or very old.”
“The weakest, in other words.”
“Correct. However, the vast majority of those killed by the Spanish Influenza were in the age range of fifteen to forty chronological years.”
“Adults? Were they predisposed somehow?”
“Insufficient data. The only conclusions medical researchers have been able to affirm are that those who should’ve had the strongest immune systems were those who were most likely to be killed by the illness.”
I leaned on the rail of the ship, looking out across bright blue waves capped by spurts of white foam. Clouds of sooty ash from the ship’s smokestacks drifted slowly down into the water astern of us, disappearing without apparent trace. Little wonder now-humanity still believed the ocean was a limitless sink for pollution. “I guess in this case strong immune systems were a bad thi -.”
Jeannie waited a moment. “Clarify?”
“Jeannie. Auto-immune diseases. Like that Smith guy has. Those were caused by immune systems attacking their own bodies, right?”
“That is essentially correct.”
“So, asthma and arthritis and wheat allergies, they’re all signs of an, uh . . . ”
“Overactive immune system.”
“But the Spanish Influenza wasn’t an auto-immune disease?”
“The Spanish Influenza was very definitely a type of influenza.”
A type of influenza that seemed to have uncharacteristically targeted the strongest human immune systems. I had a lot of pieces, but none of them fit into a reasonable picture. I needed Smith. And the next time I had him cornered I’d wrap my hands around his scrawny neck to keep him from jumping away from me again.
I prowled Freetown for a good week after arriving, spreading around more bribes and descriptions of ‘John Smith,’ with promises of bigger pay-offs for anyone who found him for me. Eventually, somebody did.
I waited until I knew he was in the room he’d taken at a transients’ boarding house, then broke the door open and had one hand on his neck before he could move. “Hi. We have a conversation we need to finish.”
Smith stole a glance toward the valise he had no chance of reaching, then glared at me, his eyes very wide in that very pale face. “You have no idea what’s at stake.”
“So tell me.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Maybe I’ll break your neck, then take that bag of yours and drop it into the hottest boiler I can find so that anything inside it is totally incinerated.” Smith’s eyes widened even more and he trembled. Then his eyes swung all the way to one side and stuck there, while his body went limp except for his hands, which twitched over and over again.
“He is suffering a seizure,” Jeannie advised me.
“I figured that out.” I kept my hand on his neck. “Could he be faking?”
“It cannot be ruled out, but a seizure disorder such as he apparently suffers from can result in seizures being triggered by stress.”
Stress like someone breaking into his room and threatening to break his neck. I sighed, made sure Smith’s seizure didn’t seem life threatening, transferred my grip to his wrist, and waited.
Three minutes later Smith’s eyes regained their focus. He stared at me for a long moment before recognition entered them. “Happy?” he whispered.
“Knock it off. I have no sympathy for you.”
“Really?” He held up his free hand, the arthritic joints almost painful to even look at. “Do you see this? I can barely grasp my bag with it. Even then it hurts. It always hurts. Do you know what’s it like to always hurt?” Smith’s weak voice broke on the last word, as if he’d run out of air.
I kept my eyes away from the twisted ruin of Smith’s hand. “No. How does that justify what I think you’re doing?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Right. I don’t. So why don’t you and I take a paired-jump to my uptime where some people in authority can listen to you explain it all in detail?”
His eyes showed fear. “You can’t.”
“Yes, I can. And I’m about to.”
“No!” Smith tried to twist out of my grip, then started gasping for breath.
“Asthma attack,” Jeannie informed me. Smith’s free hand fumbled desperately in one pocket. I watched, trying to remain dispassionate, as he tried to bring out a small device and dropped it on the bed. “Aerosol medication delivery device,” Jeannie added.
I picked up the thing and offered it to Smith. He grasped it as carefully as his warped hand and labored breathing allowed, then sprayed something from it into his mouth. A few minutes after this labor his breathing was back to normal. For him. He stared at me, then nodded his chin to indicate the device. “Thank you.”
“I assume I may’ve just saved your life.”
“Yes. You may have.”
“Why did I do that?” I asked even though I knew the answer; because I still wasn’t certain of Smith’s guilt, and even if I were I didn’t have it in me to watch someone die if I could prevent it.
But Smith looked away as if embarrassed. “That’s a reasonable question, isn’t it? You’ve guessed what I’m doing.”
“Am I right?”
I couldn’t look directly into his eyes, but Smith’s face twisted with some emotion I couldn’t read. “Yes.”
“You’re deliberately spreading what will be known as the Spanish Influenza. You dropped off the first batch in Kansas in March, then checked on its progress in June and figured out it wasn’t lethal enough. So you’re here and now to spread a much more lethal variant.”
“That’s right.”
“I assume you’re doing this for a reason.”
He kept his face averted from me. “I need to change the future.”
I couldn’t help sighing. “A temporal intervention. That’s what the Spanish Influenza is/was?”
“Of course.” His raspy voice had sunk to a whisper, but I could still hear it clearly enough. “What else?”
“I’d wondered what natural disease would appear in three places at the same time, and then disappear without a trace.”
“Yes. It’ll disappear. We designed it that way. A genetically-engineered suicide instruction. What you call the Spanish Influenza virus will die out after one year.”
“Gee, that’s really humanitarian of you.”
My sarcasm got a reaction. Smith swung his head back and glared at me. “What the hell do you know about it? Humanitarian? You smug bastard! Have you ever heard of the auto-immune plagues?” I shook my head slowly and Smith trembled. “It works. You’re from . . . when?”
“None of your business.”
“After the twentieth centur
y? After the twenty-first?”
I decided to tell him that much. “Yes.”
“God help me.” Smith let his gaze wander, staring straight up as if he could see through the roof. “We stopped it.”
“Stopped what?”
“The auto-immune plagues.” Smith held up his hand again, his eyes still staring up toward the heavens he couldn’t see. “We didn’t know what was happening. Sudden surges in the incidence of diseases and ailments. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred percent increases annually. Asthma. Hypothyroidism. Hyperthyroidism. Arthritis. Many other things. We didn’t understand, for the longest time. Too long. Finally, we knew. Evolution and science had failed us. Given us better and better immune systems as we survived the assaults of everything Earth could throw at us, while we developed vaccines to keep many natural ailments away from our ever-stronger, ever more vigilant immune systems.” He fell silent, breathing heavily.
“And?” I prompted.
“And? You fool. Don’t you see? Our immune systems were so strong, so vigilant. They didn’t have enough to do. They attacked us. More and more. Our digestive systems, our nervous systems, our joints, our cardiovascular systems. Everything. And we didn’t realize what was happening until literally millions were afflicted and more coming down by the day.”
“Millions?” I prompted.
“At first. By now it’s billions. Crippled and dying by the very immune systems which are supposed to protect them.” He looked back at me at last, his eyes wild. “Billions. Society is collapsing. Worldwide. Too many people sick in the most fundamental ways with no means of correcting their conditions. They just linger on, dying very slowly, needing more and more medical care. The only ‘cure’ we have is to suppress the immune system with some crude methods available to us. Do you know what happens when you do that? The auto-immune diseases go into remission but then you die from any number of ‘normal’ illnesses. We can’t win.” He gestured down his own body. “The medications I have to take to keep my immune system from causing me further agony themselves make me prone to seizures. How’s that for a bargain with the devil?”