Jude woke to the smell of death—the bodies were still being collected from the fields, wagon after wagon heading to the makeshift graves being dug beyond the ridge.
He tried to focus on the machine parts.
Clara and Flynn had spread them across the hayloft floor in careful arrangement but the view was not encouraging: of the thirty-seven pieces they’d recovered, only eighteen seemed functional.
“Can we make it work?” Clara asked.
“Maybe.” Jude turned the caesium oscillator in his hands, studying the crack in its housing. “If I can repair this, and if the stabilizer functions, and if we can improvise a power source… we might be able to build a beacon – It’s not a time machine but it could signal Papa. We’d have to keep it running for days though.”
“We might not have that long,” Flynn warned.
“I know.”
General Chamberlain arrived at midmorning, his face drawn but his eyes alert. He’d been up all night, he explained, coordinating the aftermath of the battle—organizing burial details, securing prisoners, preparing for Lee’s expected retreat.
“I have a letter,” he said. “This was found on a Confederate courier killed during yesterday’s fighting. The courier was trying to reach Richmond—probably with reports of the battle’s outcome. “
He handed the envelope to Jude. Inside was a single sheet of paper, covered in the same angular handwriting as the previous message:
The assault has failed. The window for Operation Independence is closing. The visitors must be eliminated before July 4th. Use the asset.
—M
“The asset,” Flynn repeated. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But there’s more.” Chamberlain’s voice dropped. “I made inquiries through my intelligence contacts. ‘M’ appears in several intercepted Confederate communications—always as an initial, always connected to unusual references. Mentions of ‘temporal events.’ References to ‘visitors from beyond.’ Whoever this person is, they’ve been coordinating something for months.”
“A spy network?”
“Something larger. Something that reaches high into the Confederate command structure.” Chamberlain met their eyes. “I believe we’re dealing with someone who has knowledge similar to yours. Someone who understands time travel.”
Clara felt a chill run down her spine. “Another traveler. Someone working with the Confederacy.”
“But why?” Jude asked. “If they’re from the future, they know the South is going to lose. Why would they—”
“If you could alter history,” Chamberlain said slowly, “if you could prevent the Union victory at Gettysburg, or assassinate President Lincoln, or somehow tip the balance of this war… the consequences would be unimaginable.
“And M is trying to make that happen,” Flynn said.
“It appears so.”
Jude was quiet for a long moment, his mind racing. Then: “But what about the letter Clara found. The forged assassination warning.”
“It was meant to distract us.
Clara’s eyes widened. “Lincoln. Tomorrow. July 4th. He’s coming to commemorate the victory.” Clara’s voice was urgent. “What if the assassination warning isn’t fake? What if M wants us to think it’s a distraction so we’ll ignore it—and then they’ll actually kill Lincoln?”
“A double-bluff,” Jude breathed. “Make us believe the threat is fake…”
“So we won’t stop the real one.”
Chamberlain’s face had gone pale. “I need to alert General Meade. If there’s even a chance—”
“Wait.” Jude grabbed his arm. “If we alert everyone, M will know. They’ll change their plan, go underground. We need to find M first. Tonight. Before Lincoln arrives.” Jude’s jaw was set. “The letter mentions an ‘asset.’ Someone M is counting on to do the actual killing. If we can find the asset, we find M.”
“That’s an enormous risk… You have until dawn. If you haven’t found anything by then, I’m alerting the full command structure.” He pulled a pistol from his belt and handed it to Jude. “I hope to God you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I,” Jude said quietly. “We can start with the confederate prisoners… but there’s five thousand of them”
Flynn had a different idea.
“The drummer boy,” he said. “Charlie. The one who carried my message to Clara and Jude. He’s Confederate. He moves between the lines. If anyone knows about secret operations…”
“He’s a child,” Clara objected. “He can’t be more than twelve.”
“So are we. Practically.” Flynn met her eyes. “And he’s already helped us once.”
After two hours of searching, they finally located him in a small barn on the outskirts of town.
“I remember you,” Charlie said when Flynn approached. “The future boy. Your message got through okay?”
“It did. Thank you.”
“I need to ask you something else,” Flynn said. “Something important. Have you ever heard of someone called M? In the Confederate command?”
Charlie’s face went carefully blank.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do… and we need your help. Someone is planning something bad. Something that could hurt a lot of people. We’re trying to stop it, but we need information.”
“And why should I help Yankees?”
“Because we’re not Yankees. We’re not from either side.” Flynn hesitated, then made a decision. “We’re from the future. 2025. We got sent back in time by accident, and now we’re stuck here, trying to fix things and get home.”
Charlie stared at him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, he laughed.
“I know.”
“You… what?”
“I know you’re from the future. M told us.” Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “M said strangers would come, dressed strangely, speaking strangely, carrying strange devices. Said they’d try to interfere with the plan. Said we should report any sightings immediately.”
Flynn’s heart was pounding. “Who is M, Charlie? Where can we find them?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Please—”
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know.” Charlie’s voice dropped. “Nobody sees M directly. Just messages, orders passed through couriers. But there’s someone who might know more.” He hesitated. “There’s a woman. Confederate sympathizer. She lives on a farm about two miles south, near the Round Tops. She handles communications for local operations.”
“Her name?”
“Mrs. Thornton.”
Clara, who had been listening silently, suddenly grabbed her brother’s arm. “Jude. The paradox. In Papa’s notes.”
Jude’s eyes went wide. “The Thornton Paradox. Papa named it after—”
“After someone who studied time travel.” Clara turned to Charlie. “This Mrs. Thornton. Does she have a first name?”
Charlie nodded slowly. “Margaret. Margaret Thornton.”
Clara, Flynn, and Jude looked at each other.
“M isn’t just a letter,” Clara breathed. “It’s her initial. Margaret Thornton. M. She’s M.”
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