changed abruptly. Evidently he hadn’t thought through the implications.
“Anyway,” Jason prompted him, “what about Morgan’s current plans? What are we getting ourselves into?”
“Oh, yes. Remember what he said about the Oxford ? She’s a thirty-four gun frigate which the English government recently sent to Governor Modyford with tongue-in-cheek instructions that she was to be used to suppress piracy. Naturally, she’s ended up as Morgan’s flagship. He’s going to assemble his fleet off Cow Island, just southwest of Hispaniola, and talk the captains into taking advantage of the Oxford ’s firepower to attack Cartagena, in what was later to become Colombia, the greatest port in the Spanish empire. But then a somewhat mysterious event will occur.” Grenfell frowned. “As they’re drinking toasts—lots of toasts—to the success of their venture, the Oxford will blow up with a loss of about two hundred men. There’ll be only ten survivors, including Morgan.”
“It doesn’t sound so mysterious to me,” Mondrago opined. “A bunch of armed drunks running around on a ship made out of flammable materials and loaded with black powder . . .”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it? But nobody will be sure afterwards. There will be a lot of theories—including sabotage by malcontents, which doesn’t seem too plausible, since they would have gone down with the ship. Maybe that’s something else we can clear up.”
“But let’s try to not be aboard the Oxford when she’s due to go up,” Mondrago cautioned anxiously.
Grenfell looked sheepish. “Yes, intellectual curiosity does have its limits. At any rate, after that Morgan will—”
“That’s fine for now, Roderick,” Jason cut in. “I think you’ve given us an idea of what’s coming next. Now let’s talk about that woman, Zenobia.”
Boyer looked troubled. “You’ve told us she’s a Transhumanist, Commander. But how can you be sure? Yes, I know, you said she has bionics of some kind. But couldn’t she be one of our own, from further in the future than ourselves?”
“I can’t believe that. The Authority will know, from its own records, of our presence here. Even if they violate their own rules by sending someone else back to the same time and place, she wouldn’t be trying to avoid us. No, she’s got to be a Transhumanist—with other Transhumanists chasing her.”
Da Cunha looked grim. “Are those the only possibilities? What if, at some point in our future, there’s a third group practicing time travel?”
For an instant, silence held them. Nesbit had awakened to bleary, head-splitting consciousness, but he was as silent as the rest of them in the face of Da Cunha’s highly unwelcome thought.
“For the present,” said Jason firmly, “I refuse to speculate about that. We’ve got enough problems already. Let’s try to deduce as much as we can from what little we know of her. I heard Morgan say something about her having a crew of ‘Maroons.’” He turned to Grenfell and Boyer. “Does anyone know what those would be?”
“My field,” said Boyer. “When the English conquered this island in 1655, the black slaves of the Spaniards, having no wish to be re-enslaved, fought an unsuccessful guerilla campaign against them and then fled into the mountainous interior of the island, where they amalgamated with the few remaining native Taino people to form the population known as the Jamaican Maroons. They were subsequently reinforced by escaped slaves of the English, mostly of the Akan people of Ghana, who would eventually become the predominant cultural element, a process which I imagine has begun even now. Much later, they will maintain their independence through a series of wars in the eighteenth century, despite mass deportations to Sierra Leone and—of all places—Nova Scotia.”
“Br-r-r-r!” said Mondrago with a mock shiver.
“Finally, they will sign treaties with the British—confirmed later by the
“Anyway,” Jason prompted him, “what about Morgan’s current plans? What are we getting ourselves into?”
“Oh, yes. Remember what he said about the Oxford ? She’s a thirty-four gun frigate which the English government recently sent to Governor Modyford with tongue-in-cheek instructions that she was to be used to suppress piracy. Naturally, she’s ended up as Morgan’s flagship. He’s going to assemble his fleet off Cow Island, just southwest of Hispaniola, and talk the captains into taking advantage of the Oxford ’s firepower to attack Cartagena, in what was later to become Colombia, the greatest port in the Spanish empire. But then a somewhat mysterious event will occur.” Grenfell frowned. “As they’re drinking toasts—lots of toasts—to the success of their venture, the Oxford will blow up with a loss of about two hundred men. There’ll be only ten survivors, including Morgan.”
“It doesn’t sound so mysterious to me,” Mondrago opined. “A bunch of armed drunks running around on a ship made out of flammable materials and loaded with black powder . . .”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it? But nobody will be sure afterwards. There will be a lot of theories—including sabotage by malcontents, which doesn’t seem too plausible, since they would have gone down with the ship. Maybe that’s something else we can clear up.”
“But let’s try to not be aboard the Oxford when she’s due to go up,” Mondrago cautioned anxiously.
Grenfell looked sheepish. “Yes, intellectual curiosity does have its limits. At any rate, after that Morgan will—”
“That’s fine for now, Roderick,” Jason cut in. “I think you’ve given us an idea of what’s coming next. Now let’s talk about that woman, Zenobia.”
Boyer looked troubled. “You’ve told us she’s a Transhumanist, Commander. But how can you be sure? Yes, I know, you said she has bionics of some kind. But couldn’t she be one of our own, from further in the future than ourselves?”
“I can’t believe that. The Authority will know, from its own records, of our presence here. Even if they violate their own rules by sending someone else back to the same time and place, she wouldn’t be trying to avoid us. No, she’s got to be a Transhumanist—with other Transhumanists chasing her.”
Da Cunha looked grim. “Are those the only possibilities? What if, at some point in our future, there’s a third group practicing time travel?”
For an instant, silence held them. Nesbit had awakened to bleary, head-splitting consciousness, but he was as silent as the rest of them in the face of Da Cunha’s highly unwelcome thought.
“For the present,” said Jason firmly, “I refuse to speculate about that. We’ve got enough problems already. Let’s try to deduce as much as we can from what little we know of her. I heard Morgan say something about her having a crew of ‘Maroons.’” He turned to Grenfell and Boyer. “Does anyone know what those would be?”
“My field,” said Boyer. “When the English conquered this island in 1655, the black slaves of the Spaniards, having no wish to be re-enslaved, fought an unsuccessful guerilla campaign against them and then fled into the mountainous interior of the island, where they amalgamated with the few remaining native Taino people to form the population known as the Jamaican Maroons. They were subsequently reinforced by escaped slaves of the English, mostly of the Akan people of Ghana, who would eventually become the predominant cultural element, a process which I imagine has begun even now. Much later, they will maintain their independence through a series of wars in the eighteenth century, despite mass deportations to Sierra Leone and—of all places—Nova Scotia.”
“Br-r-r-r!” said Mondrago with a mock shiver.
“Finally, they will sign treaties with the British—confirmed later by the
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