Borrowed Time Read Online Free PDF

shipyard as a whole. It also had lamps hung at more-or-less regular intervals and entirely too many sentries in gray cloaks pacing around, each huddled against the weather but obviously still alert for intruders.
    "Jeannie, do you have a map of this place in 1862 on file?"
    Nano-implants are beautiful things. Help's never far away. My Personal Assistant considered the question for a long moment before replying on her internal link: Sorry. That's not available.
    "Blast." In a history replete with lost and destroyed records, even close-at-hand help could be of limited use. Okay, so I'd have do it the hard way. Picking the nearest brick building, I eased close, eyeballing the doors and windows for possible access and the presence of any more guards. Entry proved easy by prying open a wooden-framed window. I prowled down the halls, checking offices for signs of construction information and keeping my eyes and ears peeled for roving sentries.
    The fourth office I tried held the jackpot. They weren't plans as such, but they were a whole list of requisitioned materials. From that list, it was pretty obvious what the Confederates were doing to that burned-out ship. It was also obvious that I had my work cut out for me. My opponents were well along to achieving a very effective Intervention that might well swing events decisively in the South's favor.
    Fortunately for the North and my client, Confederate guards wore heavy shoes. I heard the tramp of footsteps coming down the hall outside. I'd been carrying my muddy boots since entering the building, but they'd dripped some on the way down the hall, leaving a scattered but incriminating trail. If the sentry happened to be careless or tired that wouldn't matter, but this one was neither. The steps halted near my door, then came again, much softer and slower.
    The door swung slightly open, prodded by a sharp steel point at the end of a long three-sided bayonet stuck on the business end of a .69 caliber Enfield rifle. Very crude weapons by my standards, but at close range sophisticated technology isn’t a requirement for deadliness. Eventually, a middle-aged guy in a gray uniform stuck his nose in the room, swinging his rifle barrel from side-to-side as he surveyed the office. Shrugging, he brought the barrel up to a ready position and walked out, closing the door carefully behind him.
    I relaxed, lowering my arms where they’d been poised to slam the door into the sentry if he’d tried to enter the room any further. It’s funny how often the old standing-behind-the-door trick works, but then maybe it wasn’t old in the here-and-now. I took another long look at the papers in the office, sizing up the opposition, while the footfalls headed away. Once they'd faded out, I eased back through the door, aiming for the window I'd jimmied on the way in.
    "Haaalt!" The accent was very broad but the meaning unmistakable. I fixed an expression meant to convey confusion and fear on my face, then turned slowly, hands and arms dangling loosely. The guy with the rifle stood there, looking determined. He'd been smarter than I’d expected, faking a walk-away and then watching for anybody to show up. "Who're you?"
    "Me? One of the builders. I'm working on the ship."
    His face worked as the words soaked in, then lit with a sudden realization. "Hey! You're a Yankee!"
    "No. Not at all. I was born on Io."
    "Huh?" While he was still digesting that, I threw my left hand wide, drawing both his attention and rifle barrel that way, then pointed my right hand and fired the stun charge implanted along the bottom of the first digit. The crystal hit him low on the torso, drawing a surprised jerk as the sentry focused back on me, then the chemical hit and his eyes rolled up, his knees collapsed, and the rest of his body went limp as a Beta Cetian without an exoskeleton. I caught both falling man and falling weapon, not just because I needed the Karma but because I didn't need any loud crashes drawing anybody else's