TIMEWYRM: EXODUS.

by Terrance d.i.c.ks.

PROLOGUE: 25000 B.C.

She whirled through the s.p.a.ce-time vortex in a cyclone of frustration and hatred, her ego seared by the burning pain of failure. For all her parting hatred, her ego seared by the burning pain of failure. For all her parting boasts she had been defeated, forced to retreat. It was outrageous, boasts she had been defeated, forced to retreat. It was outrageous, unbelievable. Was she not a G.o.ddess - and more than a G.o.ddess? unbelievable. Was she not a G.o.ddess - and more than a G.o.ddess?

Rationalization came swiftly. She had not retreated, she had withdrawn by choice, fallen back to plan a terrible revenge. She examined the newness choice, fallen back to plan a terrible revenge. She examined the newness of her mind, that part of her which had once been, and in a sense still was, of her mind, that part of her which had once been, and in a sense still was, her enemy. She considered his strengths, his weak points. She would her enemy. She considered his strengths, his weak points. She would attack him by striking at the world he loved. She would destroy this planet - attack him by striking at the world he loved. She would destroy this planet - better still, she would ensure that it destroyed itself.

There was death and destruction enough in the age in which she had come into being. But bows and spears and swords killed far too slowly, left the into being. But bows and spears and swords killed far too slowly, left the planet itself unharmed. More devastating weapons were called for - and planet itself unharmed. More devastating weapons were called for - and mankind would surely develop them. mankind would surely develop them.

Free now to move through s.p.a.ce and time she began scanning the planet's future probabilities... future probabilities...

She saw warrior hordes sweeping across the plains; severed heads piled high in barbarian encampments. She saw men-at-arms falling beneath a high in barbarian encampments. She saw men-at-arms falling beneath a storm of arrows, regiments mown down by a deadly hail of musketfire. But storm of arrows, regiments mown down by a deadly hail of musketfire. But still the slaughter was too slow... still the slaughter was too slow...

She sped forwards through time and saw weary men stumbling across war-torn terrain, caught in b.l.o.o.d.y tangles of barbed wire, dying under the withering fire of machine guns. Death came with satisfactory swiftness now, withering fire of machine guns. Death came with satisfactory swiftness now, but the threat to the planet was still missing. But soon, very soon... but the threat to the planet was still missing. But soon, very soon...

She chose a time of ferment and change when the powers of destruction she sought were still newly discovered. she sought were still newly discovered.

She chose a country, defeated, humiliated, yet with an awesome potential for strength and unity and power. for strength and unity and power.

She chose one man, bitter, neurotic, a failure in all he had attempted but with forces of hatred and resentment inside him that matched her own. One with forces of hatred and resentment inside him that matched her own. One single atom in all the seething ma.s.ses of humanity. How amusing to use single atom in all the seething ma.s.ses of humanity. How amusing to use that atom to destroy the planet! It was easy to enter his mind, slipping that atom to destroy the planet! It was easy to enter his mind, slipping between the synapses of the brain like layers of micro-circuitry slotting between the synapses of the brain like layers of micro-circuitry slotting between the valves of a primitive wireless. It was easy to enter, but once between the valves of a primitive wireless. It was easy to enter, but once inside... inside...

As she explored the mind's potential, she found that although primitive it was unbelievably powerful. She felt her energy levels being dammed, her was unbelievably powerful. She felt her energy levels being dammed, her circuits inhibited, her powers fragmented. In sudden panic she tried to circuits inhibited, her powers fragmented. In sudden panic she tried to wrench free and found herself held fast. wrench free and found herself held fast.

She was trapped in the mind of a madman.

PART ONE

1951 OCCUPATION.

A fitting culmination to the swift succession of glorious victories that became known as the Blitzkrieg was the successful execution of Operation became known as the Blitzkrieg was the successful execution of Operation Sealion. With almost supernatural good timing, the forces of the Reich Sealion. With almost supernatural good timing, the forces of the Reich took full advantage of the period of calm which followed the freak storms took full advantage of the period of calm which followed the freak storms that had decimated the British Navy. that had decimated the British Navy.

General Strauss's 19th army landed in force on the south coast, establishing a beach-head between Folkestone and Worthing. Thanks to establishing a beach-head between Folkestone and Worthing. Thanks to the previous defeat of the British Air Force by the invincible Luftwaffe, air the previous defeat of the British Air Force by the invincible Luftwaffe, air supremacy was maintained at all times. Despite the boastings of the arch-criminal Churchill, later executed for war crimes, British resistance was supremacy was maintained at all times. Despite the boastings of the arch-criminal Churchill, later executed for war crimes, British resistance was minimal and the operation was completed in six days... minimal and the operation was completed in six days...

The Thousand Year Reich - The Glorious Beginning by Joseph Goebbels.

Published New Berlin, 1947.

1: TIMEWARP.

Beside a broad and sluggish river, a group of concrete pavilions huddled together under a fine drizzling rain. A tall, slender tower soared gracefully into the mists towards a grey and cloudy sky. A soggy flag hung limply from the flagstaff at the top. At the edge of the site, in a still unfinished area, a blue police box materialized amidst a clutter of building materials. A flimsy stake-fence cordoned off a section of river bank, littered with stacks of timber, concrete breeze blocks and general builders" litter, beyond which a concrete embankment sloped steeply down to the river.

A smallish dark-haired man popped out of the police box. He wore shabby brown checked trousers, a brown sports jacket with a garish fair-isle pullover beneath, and a jaunty straw hat. He clutched a red-handled umbrella and peered around him with keen grey eyes.

A brown-haired, round-faced girl in a badge-covered bomber jacket followed him from the police box, closing the door behind her. She too looked around, though with considerably less enthusiasm.

"I don't suppose you know where we are, Professor - or when?"

The little man, who was more usually known as the Doctor, gave her a reproachful glance. "As it happens, I do, Ace. We've arrived in London. The Festival of Britain, 1951!"

"How can you be so sure?"

He pointed with his umbrella. "I recognized the Skylon at once. So magnificently frivolous! So un-British! A tower with no other purpose than to be a tower! A symbol to mark the end of post-war austerity, and the hope of future prosperity."

"You what?"

"England's just recovering from the battering she had in the war."

"We won, didn't we? Our finest hour and all that? People never stop going on about it."

"You won, but only just. The whole country was exhausted. Now they're getting over it, so they've decided to kick up their heels a bit and have a Festival."

The girl called Ace surveyed the wide expanse of rain lashed concrete.

"Some Festival!"

"Remember you're British, Ace. You're supposed to like taking your pleasures sadly."

Ace sniffed and a raindrop ran down her nose. She studied the slender tower and saw a sudden gust of wind unfurl the flag. "Professor?"

"What?"

"If this is England and we won the war, why's there a swastika flag on that tower?"

The Doctor looked. There it was, the black crooked cross in the white circle against a blood-red background.

"There was one just like it in Commander Millington's office in the Naval Base," Ace said helpfully. "You remember, he'd turned the place into a replica of the cipher room in Berlin..."

"Yes, yes," said the Doctor impatiently. He glared at the flag. "Let's take a look around."

"Hang on, Professor!"

"What?"

"Is she here, then?"

"Who?"

"Ishtar, the Timewyrm, whatever she calls herself."

The Doctor took a small device from his pocket. It was completely inert, no sound, no flashing lights. He shook it, tapped it, and then put it away.

"Apparently not."

"We're supposed to be chasing her."

"Well, maybe we overshot, or undershot, or something. It's easily done, n.o.body's perfect."

They walked along the muddy riverside path, looking for a way on to the Festival site. Eventually they reached a place where a section of the fence had been trodden down to provide a makeshift entrance. Probably kids, thought Ace. They'd sooner play on the building site than visit the Festival. Come to think of it, so would I.

The Doctor led her through the gap, out of the building-site area and into one of the pavilions. It held a photo exhibition, a series of events pinned down in black and white photographs. The photographs were on stands which wound round the pavilion in a trail that was obviously meant to be followed. But there was no one to follow it - the pavilion was empty.

Ace looked casually at the first picture. It showed a group of men in grey and black uniforms on a stand outside Buckingham Palace. They were grouped around a slender fair-haired man and a small dark woman with a high forehead and tightly drawn-back hair. The woman wore an enormous jewelled crown.

The caption read: RESTORED TO HIS RIGHTFUL THRONE, HIS MAJESTY KING.

EDWARD THE EIGHTH,.

ACCOMPANIED.

BY HER ROYAL HIGHNESS QUEEN WALLIS, SIGNS THE TREATY OF.

ACCORD,.

FORMALLY.

ESTABLISHING GREAT BRITAIN AS A PROTECTORATE OF THE.

GERMAN EMPIRE.

The Doctor's face was grave. "This is all wrong, Ace. There's been temporal interference on a ma.s.sive scale."

"The Timewyrm?"

The Doctor scowled at the photograph. "I never trusted those Windsors!"

Ace peered at the photographs with mild interest, faint memories stirring of some magazine re-hash of scandals of the past. "Isn't that the Duke of Windsor? Gave up his throne because they wouldn't let him marry some American bird? "The King who Gave All for Love!" "

"He was a vain and silly man," said the Doctor crossly. "And he was a German sympathizer from his early youth. Gave poor old Winston no end of trouble".

Ace shrugged. "So now he's got his throne back. Does it matter? Who cares who's King?"

"A king is a very important symbol - and what matters is what he symbolizes."

The Doctor followed the photo trail, staring hard at every picture, every caption. A photograph of a tall black-shirted man with a thin moustache was captioned: PRIME MINISTER MOSLEY ADDRESSES OCCUPIED BRITAIN'S FIRST.

NATIONAL.

SOCIALIST.

PARLIAMENT.

There were lots more pictures, meetings, ceremonies, public occasions.

Mosley was prominent in all of them.

"This bloke Mosley's doing well," said Ace.

"Sir Oswald Mosley," said the Doctor over his shoulder. "Founder of the British Union of Fascists. They interned him when the war started, let him go when it was over. After that he just sort of fizzled out."

"Not here he didn't. He seems to be top of the heap."

The Doctor was looking at a big photo of a miserable-looking gang of men digging an enormous trench.

MEMBERS OF THE BRITISH LABOUR VOLUNTARY FORCE AT WORK.

ON THE NEW.

COASTAL.

FORTIFICATIONS IN CALAIS.

Ace got bored, and went and stood by the door of the pavilion, looking out.

Everything seemed normal enough. The Festival wasn't drawing much of a crowd, but that was hardly surprising considering the filthy weather. Here and there umbrella-carrying visitors, women and children mostly, scurried from one pavilion to another.

The Doctor finished his tour and came over and stood beside her, staring grimly at the swastika on the Skylon. "It's all wrong," he muttered.

"Maybe it's a joke," said Ace, attempting to cheer him up. "Medical students or something. You know, like chamber pots on church spires."

The Doctor jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "And all this?"

"Another joke?" suggested Ace, without much hope. "You know, "If Hitler had Won". People write books. . . "

The Doctor shook his head. "Nice try, Ace. But it's all too horribly real, I'm afraid."

"But it can't be! The n.a.z.is lost World War Two. We had something to do with it ourselves, remember? Is it the Timewyrm?"