life, he must deal with the consequences himself. When he makes a mistake in the time stream, all of humanity must suffer for it. No one knew that better than Alfredo and he was not going to allow this type of behavior.
Alfredo rose to his feet with the hint of a sardonic smile and addressed the accused. “Alexander Ryckoff, you have been found guilty as charged. In calculating your sentence, the Council has considered your history of abuse toward women, your premeditation of the offense, and the possible ramifications of an offspring sired by a temporal traveler. You have been sentenced to death.”
Ryckoff recoiled in shock, his mouth gaping in confused horror. Alfredo found his reaction typical of rapists; they truly believed all other men shared their twisted views about women. But as Ryckoff felt strong arms pull him back toward the door, he would know he had misjudged these men.
“No, wait!” Ryckoff shouted as he struggled against the Agency guards. “No one saw me! She was a whore; I didn’t do anything wrong!” He continued to scream as he was dragged toward the door.
From the corner of his eye, Alfredo saw his Vice President, Gabriel Ruiz, turn his head away from Ryckoff, seeming not entirely comfortable with the sentence Alfredo had so ferociously endorsed. But Alfredo himself watched the prisoner go, amused by his struggle against the guards and his terrified protests.
When the rapist was out of the room and his screams were sufficiently muffled by the closed door, the old priest turned his gaze on Alfredo with an air of resignation.
“What did the Agents do about the girl?”
“Fuentes dealt with her. He staged a mugging on the street, causing abdominal trauma to induce a miscarriage. It was nothing that would have been out of place in Stalingrad at that time.”
The priest looked down angrily, but he said nothing, just nodded.
“Abdominal trauma?” Gabriel’s low volume did not disguise his anger. “Do you think euphemisms will change the ugliness of what you just said? Do you think it will disguise the sin?”
Alfredo slid his eyes over to the younger man, letting his gaze linger on his face to ensure Gabriel took his meaning.
“When you took your oath of office, as Councilman and then as Vice President, you swore to uphold the timeline above all things, even your conscience.”
Gabriel’s only response was a shaky intake of breath.
Alfredo recited at him, “The timeline must be preserved.”
Whenever a time tourist acted improperly, no matter how small the offense, he was immediately taken into custody. A form letter was sent to the next of kin informing them of the arrest. The family would not see the offender until after the sentence was carried out, nor would they know at which facility he was imprisoned. Most of the time, offenders were given a fine, a few weeks in jail, and prohibited from traveling again. In cases like this, however, that form letter was the last Ryckoff’s mother would ever hear of her son. Information about offenders was confined solely to the council. They had no oversight, not even from the Vatican. The Holy Father had no need to be appraised of the ugliness that sometimes occurred.
The men sat silently for a moment. Padre Lopez-Castaneda uttered the beginning of a suggestion to pray for the soul of the aborted child when a loud boom erupted above their heads. The room shook and an overhead lamp crashed to the floor. Alfredo knew every bit of machinery in this building and knew what that sound meant. It only took two seconds for him to react. He flew out of his chair and ran over to the console on the far side of the room. He tapped on the screen and the operator’s panicked face came up.
“What the hell just happened?”
The woman peered down and tapped her own screen, quickly scanning to look for the source of the explosion. “The halon dispensers in Launch Station 4 were activated at 1200… there was a significant
Alfredo rose to his feet with the hint of a sardonic smile and addressed the accused. “Alexander Ryckoff, you have been found guilty as charged. In calculating your sentence, the Council has considered your history of abuse toward women, your premeditation of the offense, and the possible ramifications of an offspring sired by a temporal traveler. You have been sentenced to death.”
Ryckoff recoiled in shock, his mouth gaping in confused horror. Alfredo found his reaction typical of rapists; they truly believed all other men shared their twisted views about women. But as Ryckoff felt strong arms pull him back toward the door, he would know he had misjudged these men.
“No, wait!” Ryckoff shouted as he struggled against the Agency guards. “No one saw me! She was a whore; I didn’t do anything wrong!” He continued to scream as he was dragged toward the door.
From the corner of his eye, Alfredo saw his Vice President, Gabriel Ruiz, turn his head away from Ryckoff, seeming not entirely comfortable with the sentence Alfredo had so ferociously endorsed. But Alfredo himself watched the prisoner go, amused by his struggle against the guards and his terrified protests.
When the rapist was out of the room and his screams were sufficiently muffled by the closed door, the old priest turned his gaze on Alfredo with an air of resignation.
“What did the Agents do about the girl?”
“Fuentes dealt with her. He staged a mugging on the street, causing abdominal trauma to induce a miscarriage. It was nothing that would have been out of place in Stalingrad at that time.”
The priest looked down angrily, but he said nothing, just nodded.
“Abdominal trauma?” Gabriel’s low volume did not disguise his anger. “Do you think euphemisms will change the ugliness of what you just said? Do you think it will disguise the sin?”
Alfredo slid his eyes over to the younger man, letting his gaze linger on his face to ensure Gabriel took his meaning.
“When you took your oath of office, as Councilman and then as Vice President, you swore to uphold the timeline above all things, even your conscience.”
Gabriel’s only response was a shaky intake of breath.
Alfredo recited at him, “The timeline must be preserved.”
Whenever a time tourist acted improperly, no matter how small the offense, he was immediately taken into custody. A form letter was sent to the next of kin informing them of the arrest. The family would not see the offender until after the sentence was carried out, nor would they know at which facility he was imprisoned. Most of the time, offenders were given a fine, a few weeks in jail, and prohibited from traveling again. In cases like this, however, that form letter was the last Ryckoff’s mother would ever hear of her son. Information about offenders was confined solely to the council. They had no oversight, not even from the Vatican. The Holy Father had no need to be appraised of the ugliness that sometimes occurred.
The men sat silently for a moment. Padre Lopez-Castaneda uttered the beginning of a suggestion to pray for the soul of the aborted child when a loud boom erupted above their heads. The room shook and an overhead lamp crashed to the floor. Alfredo knew every bit of machinery in this building and knew what that sound meant. It only took two seconds for him to react. He flew out of his chair and ran over to the console on the far side of the room. He tapped on the screen and the operator’s panicked face came up.
“What the hell just happened?”
The woman peered down and tapped her own screen, quickly scanning to look for the source of the explosion. “The halon dispensers in Launch Station 4 were activated at 1200… there was a significant
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