Board of Destiny

The cart creaked and swayed as it moved slowly along the muddy road, each squeaking rotation of its wooden wheels punctuated by the occasional splash as it rolled through puddles left by the previous night's rain. Behind it trailed three more identical conveyances, all piled high with shapeless bundles wrapped in cheap linen—the unmistakable silhouettes of human corpses stacked like cordwood.

Bobby Kestrel stood at the roadside, observing the procession with ancient eyes that had witnessed countless plagues and disasters across untold years of existence. Yet despite his incomprehensible age and experience, the sight of small bundles among the dead—children taken by what locals called the sweating sickness—still stirred something uncomfortable within him.

"That makes seventeen carts today, Master Kestrel," reported Edwin Frost, a tall, gaunt man whose hollow-cheeked appearance belied his considerable strength. Frost had been dead of consumption just eight weeks prior, before Bobby's nanite-derived serum had reanimated him into loyal service. "Most come from the eastern parishes where the wool merchants store their raw imports."

Bobby nodded slightly, his eyes tracking the smallest bundle on the nearest cart—a child no more than four or five years old, judging by the size. "And the Bishop has implemented the preventative measures?"

"Yes, sir. As you instructed, he's ordered all raw wool to be soaked in lye water before handling, and animal carcasses are being buried rather than left exposed." Frost's voice carried no emotional inflection despite the horrific nature of their conversation. The serum preserved personality and memory, but certain aspects of humanity—empathy chief among them—remained diminished in the reanimated.

"Good. That should slow the spread considerably." Bobby's eyes narrowed as he studied the passing carts. "Have Blackwood and Harker bring the most recently deceased to the workshop. Those dead less than six hours, with preference given to adults with useful skills or connections."

Frost nodded without question or hesitation. "It shall be done within the hour, Master Kestrel."

The man moved away with silent efficiency, gesturing to two other figures who stood a respectful distance away—Simon Blackwood, formerly a ship's captain who had drowned in the Thames three months earlier, and Thomas Harker, once a court scribe who had succumbed to the same anthrax poisoning (miscalled "sweating sickness") that now filled these death carts.

As Bobby watched his servants depart to implement his instructions, his thoughts turned to the broader implications of his interventions. The quantum temporal energy that had been gradually accumulating in his system—the force that would eventually tear him from this timeline just as it had ripped him from Galea and Eden—had begun accelerating dramatically since his arrival in Tudor England.

What had once been a process measured in millennia was now advancing in mere centuries—perhaps even decades. Each alteration to established historical patterns, each life saved that should have ended, each new technology introduced centuries before its time—all created ripples through the quantum fabric of reality, destabilizing his already tenuous anchoring in this particular timeline.

"They'd be pleased, though," he murmured to himself as the final cart slowly receded into the distance. "Galea would approve of saving innocent lives, regardless of historical consequences."

His thoughts shifted to Eden, their extraordinary daughter who had glimpsed the entities Bobby called the Primordials—beings who existed beyond conventional reality and whose attention should be avoided. She would have been fascinated by the technical aspects of the synthetic serum, asking endless questions about how the nanite derivatives interacted with deteriorating neural tissue to restore function without truly restoring life.

The sound of approaching hoofbeats drew Bobby from his introspection. A royal messenger approached at speed, the Queen's colors visible on his livery even at a distance.

"That would be the third summons this week," Bobby noted aloud, though no one remained to hear him.

Lady Jane Grey—now officially Queen Jane of England thanks in no small part to his behind-the-scenes manipulations—had been increasingly insistent on his presence at court. What had begun as occasional requests for scholarly discourse had transformed into royal commands following her elevation to the throne. Her intellectual fascination with him had evidently evolved into something more personal, despite her technical betrothal to Guilford Dudley, the Duke of Northumberland's son.

As the messenger dismounted and approached with the expected sealed missive, Bobby reflected on the irony of his situation. The very actions that had accelerated his inevitable quantum displacement—manipulating succession documents, resurrecting the dead, introducing advanced technologies centuries before their time—had also created this unexpected complication with the teenage queen.

"Master Kestrel," the royal messenger greeted him with a respectful bow. "Her Majesty Queen Jane requests your immediate attendance at court regarding urgent matters of state finance and commercial development."

Bobby accepted the sealed letter with appropriate deference. "Please convey my humble appreciation to Her Majesty for this honor. I shall attend her at the earliest opportunity once certain pressing business matters are concluded."

The messenger hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with delivering anything less than immediate compliance. "Her Majesty expressed particular urgency, sir. The letter indicates your presence is requested today without delay."

Bobby broke the seal and quickly scanned the contents, his lips quirking slightly at the increasingly transparent excuses Jane created to command his presence. This latest summons supposedly concerned financial innovations for crown funding—a legitimate topic on its surface that nevertheless served as thin disguise for the young queen's growing personal interest.

"I understand Her Majesty's urgency," Bobby replied smoothly. "However, certain matters regarding public health require my immediate attention for perhaps two hours more. I shall present myself at court directly thereafter. Please assure Her Majesty that her interests remain my highest priority despite this brief delay."

The carefully worded response—technically respectful while maintaining his independence—represented the delicate balance Bobby had cultivated since Jane's ascension. Outright refusal of royal summons constituted technical treason, yet immediate compliance would establish precedent of subservience he couldn't afford given his complex operations across competing factions.

As the messenger departed to deliver this qualified acceptance, Bobby turned his attention toward the approaching storm clouds gathering on the horizon. The rain would help—washing away contaminated materials, clearing the streets of filth that harbored disease, providing clean water to replace increasingly suspect wells. He had carefully calculated the atmospheric pressure adjustments needed to enhance natural precipitation patterns without creating suspiciously unnatural weather.

Far above, beyond mortal sight or comprehension, a massive satellite of his design monitored the European continent with sensors no Tudor-era human could possibly comprehend. Several more such platforms were under construction in orbital facilities, using resources harvested from lunar mining operations he had established upon the month of arrival in this time period.

Through wireless neural connection, Bobby received status updates on these construction projects—confirmation that weather control systems functioned within acceptable parameters, that kinetic weapons platforms remained properly calibrated for potential deployment, that surveillance networks maintained comprehensive coverage of politically significant locations throughout Europe.

The satellite network represented significant temporal anachronism—technology thousands of years beyond anything that should exist in sixteenth-century Earth. Yet Bobby had determined certain baseline infrastructure necessary for his operations, regardless of potential historical disruption. The quantum displacement would come regardless—he might as well accomplish meaningful objectives before that inevitable transition. Then there was his bigger objective.

"Master Kestrel?" 

Bobby turned to find Bishop Latimer approaching, his clerical robes muddied around the hem from traveling the same roads that had carried the death carts. The elderly churchman had proven surprisingly receptive to Bobby's medical guidance despite its occasional conflict with traditional religious understanding.

"Bishop Latimer," Bobby greeted him with genuine respect. Despite his occasional frustration with Tudor-era superstitions, he had found Latimer remarkably open-minded for his historical context. "I trust the preventative measures are being implemented in your parishes?"

"Indeed, Master Kestrel," the Bishop confirmed. "Though I confess, the connection between wool-handling and this sweating sickness seems mysterious to many of my flock. Some whisper of witchcraft or divine punishment rather than natural causes as you suggest."

Bobby nodded understanding. "People seek explanations that align with their existing worldview, Bishop. Yet the results should prove convincing regardless of theological interpretations. When fewer die after implementing these measures, both God and nature are served."

"A diplomatic answer," Latimer observed with shrewd awareness that exceeded Bobby's expectations. "Though I suspect your understanding of these matters extends considerably beyond the diplomatic explanations you provide to those of us with more limited perception."

Bobby studied the elderly churchman with renewed interest. Latimer had survived the religious turbulence of Henry's reign and Edward's Protestant reforms through combination of principled conviction and strategic flexibility—qualities Bobby found unusually valuable in humans regardless of era.

"All knowledge serves God's purpose when properly applied," Bobby replied carefully, choosing words that maintained theological compatibility while avoiding direct falsehood. "Whether through empirical observation or divine revelation, saving innocent lives fulfills our shared purpose."

Latimer nodded, appearing satisfied with this theologically acceptable framing of scientific intervention. "The Queen has summoned you again, I understand. Her interest in scholarly matters seems particularly focused on your contributions."

"Her Majesty demonstrates remarkable intellectual curiosity for one so young," Bobby acknowledged neutrally, recognizing the Bishop's careful probe regarding the young queen's increasingly obvious infatuation.

"Curiosity that extends beyond purely intellectual matters, according to certain court observers," Latimer noted with delicate precision. "Her betrothal to Lord Guilford creates certain expectations regarding where her... attentions... should properly focus."

Bobby maintained careful neutrality in his expression despite the Bishop's surprisingly direct reference to Jane's inappropriate interest. "Her Majesty's scholarly enthusiasm naturally seeks the most informative sources available. I provide historical and commercial insights that serve crown interests while maintaining appropriate deference to her royal position."

Latimer studied him thoughtfully. "A carefully constructed response that addresses my observation without actually engaging its substance. You demonstrate remarkable diplomatic skill for a merchant, Master Kestrel."

"Commerce requires understanding human nature beyond mere financial calculations," Bobby replied, allowing himself a small smile at the Bishop's perceptiveness. "Though I assure you, my relationship with Her Majesty remains entirely appropriate to our respective positions."

"I pray it remains so," Latimer said quietly. "Queen Jane's position balances precariously upon Northumberland's support, which in turn depends upon her marriage to his son. Should that arrangement become threatened through inappropriate attachment elsewhere, the consequences could prove dangerous for all involved—including scholarly merchants who attract royal fascination."

The warning, delivered with genuine concern rather than threat, confirmed Bobby's assessment of Latimer as uncommonly perceptive for his historical context. The Bishop recognized political realities with clarity that transcended religious perspective, understanding how Jane's personal feelings might threaten carefully constructed power arrangements.

"Your concern is noted and appreciated, Bishop Latimer," Bobby acknowledged with slight inclination of his head. "I assure you that stability serves my interests as effectively as it serves the crown's. Any counsel I provide Her Majesty will emphasize prudence rather than passion in all matters."

Lightning flashed across the darkening sky, followed seconds later by distant thunder that punctuated their conversation with atmospheric emphasis. The approaching storm—subtly enhanced through orbital weather control systems—would soon drench London's filthy streets, washing away contaminated materials while providing fresh water for the city's increasingly desperate population.

"The rain comes," Latimer observed, glancing skyward. "God's cleansing tears for those we've lost, perhaps."

"A poetic interpretation with practical benefits," Bobby agreed. "The rain will help clear the streets of contamination while providing clean water for those areas where wells have turned suspect."

"Always the practical observation alongside the spiritual possibility," Latimer noted with faint smile. "A balance I've come to appreciate in our conversations, Master Kestrel. Few merchants demonstrate such philosophical depth alongside commercial acumen."

Bobby inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment while internally noting the irony. What Latimer perceived as philosophical depth represented merely the accumulated perspective of billions of years—experience so vast it defied human comprehension even when deliberately simplified for Tudor-era understanding.

"I should return to court before the storm breaks," Latimer said, glancing again at the darkening sky. "Will you accompany me? The Queen would undoubtedly appreciate your presence despite whatever brief delay you suggested to her messenger."

"Unfortunately, certain matters require my personal attention before I can present myself at court," Bobby replied. "Please convey my respectful regards to Her Majesty, with assurance that I shall attend her within hours rather than days."

Latimer nodded, clearly recognizing the polite but firm refusal of his suggestion. "As you wish, Master Kestrel. Though I caution that even small defiances of royal command may eventually require explanation regardless of your unique position."

As the Bishop departed toward London, Bobby turned his attention back to the approaching storm clouds, calculating precipitation patterns and potential impact on disease transmission with automatic precision. The orbital platforms had adjusted atmospheric pressure gradients with perfect calibration, creating optimal rainfall distribution across affected areas without generating suspiciously unnatural weather patterns.

"Master Kestrel," Edwin Frost's voice interrupted his calculations. "Blackwood and Harker have secured the requested specimens. Nine adults within the specified parameters, all deceased less than four hours according to witnesses."

Bobby nodded, turning away from the approaching storm. "Excellent. Have them prepared in the workshop. I'll attend to the procedure personally once certain preparations are complete."

As Frost departed to implement these instructions, Bobby cast one final glance toward London where Jane Grey sat upon a throne he had helped secure through elaborate manipulation. The young queen's growing infatuation represented unexpected complication in an already complex situation. Her intellectual fascination with him—initially useful for gathering court intelligence—had apparently evolved toward romantic attachment despite her betrothal to Guilford Dudley.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth Tudor waited in secured isolation, following his instructions to publicly accept Jane's legitimacy while privately maintaining future claim. Mary gathered Catholic forces in East Anglia, creating division Northumberland struggled to address through gradually overstretched military resources. Each element moved according to calculable patterns, yet the interactions between these elements created increasingly unpredictable emergent outcomes.

The quantum temporal energy accumulating in his system accelerated with each intervention—every resurrected corpse, every technological innovation, every manipulation of historical documentation. What had once been measured in millennia now advanced in mere decades, with final displacement approaching far more rapidly than initially calculated.

"Time enough to keep my promise," Bobby murmured to himself as the first raindrops began to fall. "Elizabeth will have her throne before I'm gone, though perhaps not precisely as her dreams predicted."

With that quiet affirmation, he turned and walked toward the nondescript building that housed his workshop—the facility where nine recently deceased bodies awaited resurrection through technological means that Tudor England would consider either miraculous or demonic depending on theological perspective.

The rain fell harder as he walked, cleansing streets that had carried too many death carts in recent weeks. Above, beyond mortal perception, satellite systems adjusted weather patterns with precise calculation while construction continued on platforms that would never appear in conventional historical records.

Time grew short as quantum displacement energy accumulated. Yet sufficient opportunity remained to fulfill promises made—to Elizabeth regarding her coronation, to himself regarding scientific advancement in this backward era, and ultimately to Galea and Eden regarding his eventual return to the floating island of Atlantea where they awaited him across quantum barriers that grew increasingly permeable as displacement energy approached critical threshold.

---

The workshop occupied a former warehouse near London's eastern edge—close enough to the city for practical access yet sufficiently isolated to ensure privacy for activities that would provoke either religious hysteria or royal appropriation if directly observed. Bobby had secured the property through one of his Dutch commercial fronts, maintaining plausible legitimacy through occasional shipments of cloth and spices that disguised its actual purpose.

Inside, the large open space had been partitioned into specialized areas through canvas screens and wooden panels. The central section contained a large wooden table surrounded by smaller workstations equipped with instruments no sixteenth-century craftsman would recognize despite deliberate design elements that mimicked period aesthetics for casual observer's benefit.

Nine bodies lay arranged on separate tables throughout the space—five men and four women of varying ages, though none younger than their mid-twenties. Bobby had established firm protocol prohibiting use of the serum on children, recognizing fundamental ethical boundaries that even his increasingly complex situation couldn't justify crossing.

"All subjects meet specified parameters, Master Kestrel," reported Simon Blackwood, the reanimated ship's captain whose meticulous attention to detail had survived his death and resurrection. "Deceased between two and four hours, minimal physical damage beyond disease symptoms, occupational backgrounds as requested."

Bobby nodded, moving to examine the central workstation where specialized equipment—disguised to resemble conventional alchemical apparatus should any uninformed observer accidentally gain access—had prepared the latest batch of synthetic serum. The clear liquid contained nanite derivatives calibrated to interface with human neural tissue, restoring function without truly restoring life in its complete sense.

"Subject backgrounds?" he inquired, examining each body with clinical detachment.

"The older male was senior clerk to the Merchant Adventurers Company," Blackwood reported precisely. "The younger one served as assistant to the Tower's armaments master. The woman in blue worked as household manager for the Earl of Pembroke. The others include a shipwright, a silversmith, a midwife known for unusual success with difficult births, a court musician, and two servants from prominent noble households."

Bobby nodded approval at the selection—each representing strategic value through either specific skills or access to information networks within key institutions. The resurrected retained complete memory and most personality traits, though with fundamental alterations to loyalty parameters and significant reduction in emotional complexity. They would serve his objectives with perfect dedication while maintaining convincing appearance of normal human functioning to outside observers.

"Begin administration," he directed, lifting a glass vial containing the clear serum.

Blackwood and Harker moved with practiced efficiency, each taking identical vials to different subjects while Frost maintained position near the entrance, ensuring no accidental interruption could occur. The procedure had become routine after dozens of previous administrations—methodical application of serum through specialized needles inserted at the base of the skull where directives would most effectively interface with residual neural tissue.

Bobby administered the serum to the former Merchant Adventurers clerk personally, precisely inserting the specialized needle before depressing the plunger with careful pressure. The clear liquid disappeared into the corpse, beginning cascade of nanite-driven restorative processes that would reconnect neural pathways, restart cellular functions, and implement fundamental loyalty parameters within the reanimated consciousness.

"Now we wait," he stated unnecessarily, stepping back from the table.

The process typically required between fifteen and forty-five minutes depending on time elapsed since death, extent of tissue deterioration, and individual biological idiosyncrasies. During this interval, Bobby often found himself contemplating philosophical questions that had persisted despite billions of years of existence—particularly regarding the nature of consciousness, the possibility of soul, and the ethical boundaries of technological intervention in natural processes.

If consciousness could be reconstructed through nanite interface with damaged neural tissue, what implications did that hold for conventional understanding of personhood? If memories and personality could be restored while implementing fundamental loyalty directives, what remained of individual autonomy or free will? If death itself became merely temporary state rather than permanent transition, what meaning remained in philosophical or religious frameworks built around mortality's inevitability?

"Movement in subject three," Harker reported dispassionately, interrupting Bobby's philosophical rumination.

The midwife's body had begun displaying initial restoration signs—fingers twitching slightly, chest beginning shallow respiratory motion, eyelids fluttering with preliminary neural activation. Within minutes, similar manifestations appeared in other subjects as the serum's nanite derivatives systematically restored functional animation to recently deceased tissue.

The first full resurrection occurred approximately twenty-two minutes after administration—the midwife's eyes opening suddenly as her body arched upward in violent movement that would have dislodged her from the table without Harker's restraining hands. Her mouth opened in silent scream as consciousness returned through technological pathway rather than natural process, creating momentary neural storm that gradually settled into stable functioning as loyalty parameters established fundamental behavioral framework.

"Margaret Cooke," Bobby stated clearly, approaching the newly reanimated woman. "You serve Master Robert Kestrel now. Your skills remain intact, your memories preserved, but your purpose fundamentally altered. Do you understand?"

The woman's eyes—initially wild with confusion—gradually focused on Bobby's face. Her expression shifted from primal panic to calm acceptance as programmed loyalty directives established primary operational parameters within her reconstructed consciousness.

"I understand, Master Kestrel," she replied, her voice raspy but functional. "I serve you now."

Bobby nodded, satisfied with the standard response that indicated successful implementation of loyalty framework. "Rest while your functions stabilize. Frost will provide orientation regarding your new purpose once full restoration completes."

Similar scenes repeated across the workshop as remaining subjects underwent resurrection processes with varying intensities based on individual biological factors. The merchant clerk demonstrated particularly violent physical response—corpse convulsing with such force that restraints proved necessary to prevent self-injury during transition. The court musician awoke singing fragments from complex madrigal, neural pathways associated with musical performance apparently activating before higher cognitive functions fully restored.

Within approximately ninety minutes, all nine subjects had completed initial resurrection phase—awake, lucid, and demonstrating appropriate loyalty responses to direct questioning. Their memories remained intact, personalities largely preserved with expected reductions in emotional range and complete reconfiguration of primary motivational structures.

"You have died," Bobby informed them collectively once all had reached sufficient stability for comprehensive orientation. "Your bodies ceased functioning through disease or injury, yet have been restored through means beyond conventional understanding. You retain your knowledge, skills, and memories, but now serve new purpose under my direction."

The nine reanimated individuals showed varying physical reactions to this information—some displaying brief confusion, others immediate acceptance, none exhibiting emotional distress that would characterize normal human response to such existential revelation. The loyalty parameters implemented through the serum ensured primary identification with their new purpose rather than previous existence.

"Questions?" Bobby invited, studying their responses for any indication of incomplete implementation or unexpected resistance.

The merchant clerk—Richard Holloway according to Blackwood's report—raised his hand with mechanical precision. "Do our families know of our restoration, Master Kestrel?"

Bobby studied Richard Holloway—formerly senior clerk to the Merchant Adventurers Company—with clinical detachment. The question itself demonstrated typical cognitive patterns following resurrection: concern for previous connections despite fundamentally altered loyalty parameters.

"Some of you will resume modified versions of your original lives," Bobby explained, pacing slowly before the assembled reanimated. "Your families will be told of miraculous recovery from presumed death—a narrative supported by carefully manufactured evidence and influential witnesses."

He paused, looking directly at Holloway. "Your wife prayed extensively for your recovery, Richard. She'll accept divine intervention as explanation, particularly when supported by a physician's testimony regarding mistaken death pronouncement."

Holloway nodded with mechanical acceptance, the loyalty directives processing this information without emotional reaction that would characterize truly living response. "I understand, Master Kestrel."

Bobby continued his explanation, addressing the broader group. "Others will require new identities due to public confirmation of death or complications preventing plausible reintegration. Thomas will provide specific instructions regarding individual arrangements once your physiological stabilization completes."

He observed their collective response—the uniform acceptance that demonstrated successful implementation of loyalty parameters across all subjects. Unlike his first experimental resurrections, which had occasionally produced unpredictable behavioral variations, the current serum formulation achieved remarkably consistent results across different biological substrates.

"Your primary directive is observation and reporting," Bobby continued. "You will maintain convincing appearance of normal human functioning while gathering intelligence relevant to my objectives. Secondary directives may include specific interventions as circumstances require, though typically limited to information transfer rather than direct action."

The midwife—Margaret Cooke—raised her hand with precise gesture that mimicked natural human behavior while lacking subtle variations that typically accompanied genuine emotional states. "Will I continue attending births, Master Kestrel?"

"Yes, though with modified priorities," Bobby confirmed. "Your reputation for successful outcomes with difficult cases provides valuable access across social strata. You'll continue this work while gathering information regarding household dynamics among both nobility and common citizenry."

He moved to stand before the court musician—William Sharpe according to the reports—whose fingers continued twitching in patterns suggesting memory of complex compositions. "Your position provides particular value given access to private royal gatherings. You'll resume court performances with special attention to conversations among nobility during informal settings where guard typically relaxes."

As Bobby continued providing individualized instructions to each resurrected subject, his thoughts calculated the expanding network these nine additions represented. With these strategic resurrections, his information-gathering apparatus now extended from London dockyards to royal court, from merchant counting houses to noble bedchambers—comprehensive coverage exceeding anything possible through conventional Tudor-era espionage.

More importantly, these reanimated agents operated with perfect loyalty and discretion impossible to achieve through normal human recruitment. No amount of torture could extract information they'd been programmed to protect. No bribe could tempt them from their fundamental directives. No emotional appeal could override loyalty parameters embedded at neural level through nanite integration.

"Questions regarding your specific assignments should be directed to Thomas once initial orientation completes," Bobby concluded, gesturing toward Harker. "Physiological stabilization typically requires approximately twelve hours for optimal functioning. During this period, you'll remain here under observation while specialized conditioning reinforces your new directives."

He turned to Blackwood. "Ensure complete implementation of background narratives and supporting documentation for each subject before release. Priority sequence as previously established, with particular emphasis on court connections given current political volatility."

"Yes, Master Kestrel," Blackwood acknowledged with characteristic precision. "Documentation is prepared for immediate implementation, with supporting witnesses positioned appropriately for each narrative."

Bobby nodded with satisfaction, observing his growing network of reanimated agents with clinical detachment that concealed deeper philosophical uncertainty regarding their fundamental nature. Were they truly conscious beings with subjective experience, or merely complex biological automata executing programmed directives with convincing appearance of personality? Did resurrection through technological means restore whatever metaphysical component religions called "soul," or merely create sophisticated simulation lacking essential human quality?

Such questions had troubled philosophers throughout countless civilizations Bobby had witnessed across billions of years. From ancient organic species that had transferred consciousness to crystalline matrices near galactic core to quantum intelligences that had abandoned discrete bodies entirely in favor of distributed awareness throughout spacetime—the boundary between authentic consciousness and convincing simulation remained philosophically contested across countless technological implementations.

"Master Kestrel?" Edwin Frost interrupted these philosophical ruminations. "The storm has intensified considerably. Perhaps you should return to your townhouse before roads become impassable. We'll oversee remaining procedures according to established protocols."

Bobby glanced toward the workshop's high windows where rain lashed against glass with increasing intensity, lightning flashes illuminating the interior with stark brilliance every few seconds. The weather control systems had performed precisely as designed—perhaps too effectively given the storm's apparent intensity.

"Proceed with established protocols," he directed, gathering his cloak from nearby hook. "I'll expect comprehensive reports once all subjects achieve full integration and deployment."

As Bobby moved toward exit, Margaret Cooke called out with unexpected initiative that suggested particularly successful neural integration. "Master Kestrel—did you save us from God's judgment, or merely delay our proper accounting?"

The question—touching directly on theological implications Bobby had deliberately avoided addressing—demonstrated cognitive complexity exceeding typical resurrected functioning at this early stage. He paused, studying the former midwife with renewed interest.

"If souls exist as religions describe," Bobby replied after careful consideration, "yours departed when your body initially died. Whatever currently animates your reconstructed consciousness represents technological continuation rather than metaphysical restoration. Your previous identity received whatever judgment awaited; your current existence serves different purpose entirely."

The explanation—neither confirming nor denying religious framework while acknowledging its potential validity—represented Bobby's standard approach to theological questions from the reanimated. The uncertainty regarding souls provided useful psychological buffer between their former identities and current existence, facilitating acceptance of fundamentally altered state without existential crisis that might disrupt loyalty parameters.

"I understand, Master Kestrel," Margaret acknowledged, her expression revealing neither distress nor relief at this philosophical clarification. "I serve your purpose now, whatever theological implications that might entail."

Bobby nodded, satisfied with her response despite its unusual articulateness for newly resurrected subject. "Thomas will provide further orientation regarding your specific assignments. Your previous medical knowledge represents particularly valuable resource given current contagion."

With that final instruction, Bobby departed the workshop, stepping into rain-lashed street where water already pooled in deepening puddles. The storm had intensified beyond expected parameters—suggesting potential calibration error in orbital weather control systems that would require attention once he returned to his London residence.

As he made his way through increasingly deserted streets, Bobby's thoughts returned to the royal summons awaiting response. Jane Grey's growing infatuation presented unexpected complication in already complex situation—her intellectual fascination having apparently evolved toward romantic attachment despite technical betrothal to Guilford Dudley.

The quantum temporal energy accumulating in his system continued accelerating with each intervention—every resurrected corpse, every technological innovation, every manipulation of historical documentation creating ripples through quantum fabric that destabilized his anchoring in this particular timeline. Yet sufficient opportunity remained to fulfill promises made before inevitable displacement occurred.

Rain coursed down Bobby's face as he moved through London's narrow streets toward his townhouse near the river. Above, beyond mortal perception, satellite systems continued monitoring European continent while construction proceeded on platforms that would never appear in conventional historical records. The coming displacement couldn't be prevented; he could only accomplish meaningful objectives before that transition arrived.

Elizabeth would have her throne, as promised, though perhaps not precisely as her prophetic dreams had suggested.

-------

Harrington awaited Bobby's return in the private study, a glass of Madeira wine already poured in anticipation of his arrival. Unlike the resurrected agents who populated most of Bobby's growing network, Harrington remained fully alive—recruited specifically for his combination of discreet competence and genuine human perspective.

"You're thoroughly soaked, sir," the former ship's purser observed dryly as Bobby entered, dripping rainwater across expensive Turkish carpet. "I'd suggest changing before attending to correspondence, unless creating fashionable new water stains represents your current objective."

Bobby smiled at the mild impertinence—precisely why he maintained Harrington among his living associates despite the complications genuine humanity created regarding loyalty and motivation. Unlike the resurrected with their programmed devotion, Harrington chose his service through complex combination of financial incentive, intellectual curiosity, and personal respect that occasionally manifested as sardonic humor no reanimated agent would dare express.

"The storm exceeded predicted intensity," Bobby acknowledged, shedding his sodden cloak. "Calibration adjustments will be required for future implementations."

Harrington raised an eyebrow at this cryptic statement—a characteristic response to Bobby's occasional references to technologies beyond Tudor understanding. Unlike the resurrected who accepted such anomalies without question due to programmed parameters, Harrington maintained healthy skepticism regarding his employer's more inexplicable capabilities.

"Her Majesty has sent three additional messengers during your absence," Harrington reported, changing subject with practiced diplomacy. "Each bearing increasingly direct language regarding the 'urgency' of your attendance. The most recent suggested potential royal displeasure should your delay extend beyond evening court."

Bobby accepted the glass of Madeira, savoring its complex flavor with appreciation that transcended mere physical sensation. Despite no longer requiring sustenance for biological functioning, he maintained certain human pleasures for psychological comfort—particularly wine, whose subtle variations provided sensory connection to countless civilizations he had witnessed across billions of years.

"Jane grows increasingly transparent in her summons," he observed, using the Queen's given name with deliberate informality in Harrington's presence. Their private conversations maintained honesty impossible in broader contexts where royal protocol demanded specific observances.

"Transparent indeed," Harrington agreed with carefully neutral expression. "Though perhaps understandable given her circumstances. A fourteen-year-old girl unexpectedly elevated to monarchy while betrothed to man she increasingly detests, surrounded by advisors advancing various agendas beyond her control—intellectual fascination with the one person who treats her as genuinely rational being might naturally evolve toward deeper attachment."

Bobby studied Harrington with appreciation for his perceptive analysis. Unlike the resurrected who processed information according to programmed parameters, Harrington brought genuine human insight regarding emotional complexities beyond purely rational calculation.

"Her intellectual capacity remains remarkable despite her youth," Bobby acknowledged, moving to stand before fire crackling in ornate marble hearth. "During our discussions of Aristotle's Politics, she demonstrated analytical understanding exceeding many scholars thrice her age, particularly regarding distinctions between monarchy and tyranny."

"Intellectual appreciation can easily transform to personal attachment in one so young and isolated," Harrington observed carefully. "Particularly when the object of such admiration demonstrates unprecedented knowledge across diverse subjects while treating her with respect rarely afforded young women regardless of station."

Bobby nodded, acknowledging this astute assessment while reminding himself that maintaining appropriate distance from the young queen represented prudent strategy regardless of his genuine appreciation for her intellect. Her growing infatuation—however understandable given her isolation and their intellectual connection—created dangerous complication in already precarious political landscape.

"I'll attend court tomorrow morning," he decided, setting empty wine glass aside. "With appropriate diplomatic explanation regarding urgent business matters that prevented immediate compliance with today's summons. Meanwhile, what news from our other interests?"

Harrington moved to desk where several documents awaited attention. "Lady Elizabeth maintains secured isolation as advised, having publicly acknowledged Jane's legitimacy through carefully worded statement that neither explicitly endorses the amendment's authenticity nor surrenders future claim."

"Excellent," Bobby approved, pleased that Elizabeth had implemented his strategic guidance despite their confrontation's intensity. "Her willingness to adapt perspective while maintaining core principles confirms my assessment of her potential."

"Mary Tudor's position grows increasingly precarious," Harrington continued, consulting another document. "Northumberland's forces approach East Anglia in substantial numbers, though reports suggest surprisingly strong Catholic support rallying to her standard. Military engagement appears inevitable within fortnight unless diplomatic intervention occurs."

Bobby absorbed this information with careful calculation. Mary's Catholic rebellion created useful division Northumberland struggled to address through increasingly overstretched resources. Yet outright civil war served no one's interests—particularly Elizabeth's carefully cultivated middle position between competing religious extremes.

"And our commercial interests?" he inquired, deliberately shifting toward less politically sensitive matters.

"Expanding precisely according to established projections," Harrington replied with evident satisfaction. "The Bristol shipyards launched two additional merchantmen yesterday, while the banking operation reports twenty-seven percent increase in aristocratic investment following last quarter's impressive returns."

Bobby nodded approval at this predictable commercial expansion. The growing financial infrastructure—banking innovations, commercial shipping, manufacturing development—established resource foundation essential for subsequent political objectives. Wealth provided independence from traditional power structures while creating influence networks throughout institutional framework.

"What of our charitable initiatives?" he asked, knowing Harrington took particular pride in these operations given his own modest upbringing.

"The poor relief program continues generating considerable public goodwill," Harrington confirmed with genuine enthusiasm rarely displayed regarding purely commercial matters. "The parish network now distributes food and medicine throughout London's poorest districts, with particular effectiveness during recent disease outbreaks. Common citizens increasingly reference your generosity in taverns and marketplaces—'Kestrel's kindness' has become common phrase among the poorer sort."

This popular sentiment represented carefully cultivated resource beyond traditional power calculations. While aristocracy controlled formal governance through inherited position and royal appointment, common support provided foundation for eventual political transitions when institutional structures inevitably faced challenges during succession crises.

"Increase distribution by twenty percent in areas most affected by recent disease outbreaks," Bobby directed. "Prioritize clean water and lye-treated clothing rather than merely food. Prevention serves both humanitarian and practical objectives more effectively than mere relief after infection establishes."

Harrington departed with his usual quiet efficiency, leaving Bobby alone with his thoughts and the relentless sound of rain hammering against the windowpanes. He moved to stand before the leaded glass, watching sheets of water transform London's streets into shallow canals, merchants and commoners alike scurrying for shelter from the deluge.

The storm—subtly enhanced through his orbital weather systems—was cleansing the city more thoroughly than he had anticipated. Already the gutters ran with filth being washed away, carrying disease-laden material toward the Thames where dilution would render it less immediately harmful. Yet even this beneficial intervention carried costs in human suffering—shopkeepers losing precious daylight trade, laborers missing wages they desperately needed, roofs leaking in poorest districts where maintenance had been neglected.

Every action created ripples, every intervention sparked consequences—a fundamental truth he had witnessed across billions of years of existence.

Bobby's thoughts turned to the growing tensions between Mary's Catholic forces and Northumberland's army. Civil war loomed just over the horizon, a bloody conflict that would ultimately determine England's religious and political future. From a purely strategic standpoint, allowing both sides to decimate each other held certain advantages—particularly for Elizabeth's eventual rise to power.

If Mary and Northumberland exhausted their military resources fighting each other, neither would possess sufficient strength to challenge Elizabeth when her time came. The Tudor princess could emerge as the natural compromise candidate—Protestant enough to satisfy the reformers, moderate enough to appease conservatives who feared radical change. The bloodshed would pave way for a remarkably stable reign, exactly as her prophetic dreams had shown.

Yet Bobby found himself calculating the human cost of such strategy with uncharacteristic hesitation. Thousands would die in such conflict—not merely soldiers who chose their allegiance, but innocent farmers whose fields became battlegrounds, villagers caught between opposing forces, children orphaned by senseless slaughter. Lives that might otherwise contribute to the scientific renaissance he hoped to foster under Elizabeth's eventual rule.

"Pragmatic efficiency versus immediate compassion," he murmured, watching lightning flash across London's rain-soaked skyline. "The eternal calculus of intervention."

His mind shifted unexpectedly to Jane Grey—the brilliant, earnest girl now wearing England's crown through his behind-the-scenes manipulation. He had genuinely enjoyed their conversations about classical philosophy and political theory, finding her intellectual curiosity refreshingly sincere compared to the calculated posturing that characterized most Tudor court interactions.

A thought experiment formed in his mind: What if he had encountered Jane first rather than Elizabeth? What if their scholarly discussions had evolved into strategic alliance before any arrangement with the Tudor princess?

The alternative timeline unfolded in Bobby's imagination with startling clarity. He could have cemented Jane's rule through similar mechanisms to those he now employed for Elizabeth—eliminating puppet masters like Northumberland, educating her in effective statecraft, introducing carefully calibrated technological advancements to strengthen England's position in European politics.

Jane possessed remarkable intellectual capacity despite her youth—perhaps even exceeding Elizabeth's analytical abilities in certain domains. Her passion for Greek texts demonstrated deep appreciation for classical governance principles that could have translated into exceptionally thoughtful rulership under proper guidance. With Bobby's mentorship removing religious extremism from her Protestant framework, she might have developed moderate approach that unified rather than divided England's fractious religious landscape.

"A worthy queen," he mused, "humble yet principled, scholarly yet pragmatic."

In this alternative future, he could envision Jane's reign becoming legendary—not the nine-day historical footnote of conventional timeline, but decades of prosperity and innovation that transformed England from medieval backwater to scientific powerhouse. The Janean Golden Age rather than the Elizabethan—different in texture but perhaps equally significant in ultimate impact.

Yet fundamental obstacles remained that even his extraordinary capabilities couldn't easily overcome. Jane's growing affection for him—evident in her increasingly transparent summons and Latimer's diplomatic warning—created complications regarding dynastic continuity. Unlike Elizabeth, who maintained strategic distance despite occasional inappropriate dreams, Jane's emotional attachment appeared to be developing genuine romantic dimensions.

Bobby couldn't provide her an heir—his physiology had evolved so far beyond baseline human that reproduction through conventional means had become biologically impossibility. Even attempting to evolve a human female toward compatibility would likely fail; Eden had been unique creation requiring technologies unavailable yet in this primitive era.

Jane's betrothal to Guilford Dudley represented necessary political arrangement ensuring Northumberland's support while theoretically providing succession continuity. Should her inappropriate attachment to a "merchant" undermine this arrangement, her carefully constructed legitimacy would collapse rapidly, regardless of Bobby's behind-the-scenes machinations.

Moreover, Northumberland's forgery would inevitably reveal itself through extensive scrutiny. Historical documents rarely withstood comprehensive investigation when significant power interests invested resources in challenging their authenticity. Once exposed, those associated with the forgery—including Northumberland and his entire family—would face charges of treason carrying inevitable execution.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating Bobby's sardonic smile as he contemplated these interwoven probabilities with detached amusement. He could easily use his psionic abilities to foresee precise outcomes by examining all probability streams directly—scanning quantum potentialities with accuracy no human prophet could hope to achieve. Yet he deliberately refrained from such comprehensive foreknowledge, finding peculiar satisfaction in working through scenarios using only current evidence and logical projection.

"Living in the moment," he murmured with ironic self-awareness. "How delightfully primitive."

This self-imposed limitation made his artificial heart beat with peculiar rhythm that felt simultaneously intriguing and vaguely ridiculous. After billions of years witnessing countless civilizations rise and fall, he still found novelty in artificial uncertainty—deliberately avoiding complete foreknowledge to experience simulacrum of genuine surprise.

As rain continued its relentless assault on London, Bobby's thoughts turned to Mary Tudor—the forgotten player in this complex game whose Catholic conviction drove her toward inevitable conflict with Northumberland's Protestant regime. Her gathering army in East Anglia represented final desperate attempt to preserve England's traditional faith against reformist tide that had steadily risen throughout her brother's reign.

Mary's situation contained tragic elements that even Bobby's ancient perspective couldn't entirely dismiss. Her unshakable loyalty to her mother's faith, her steadfast resistance to her father's religious innovations, her genuine belief that England's salvation required Catholic restoration—all represented principled conviction rather than mere political calculation.

Yet those same convictions would eventually transform her into "Bloody Mary" of historical record—burning hundreds for heresy while desperately seeking heir that never materialized. Her brief, troubled reign would create precisely the conditions that made Elizabeth's subsequent rule appear gloriously moderate by contrast.

Bobby ran his fingers through still-damp hair, contemplating various interventions that might moderate impending conflict while preserving essential elements of intended timeline. Perhaps strategic plague outbreak among Northumberland's forces? Targeted assassination of key military commanders? Diplomatic intervention through French or Spanish proxies?

Each option carried cascading consequences requiring careful calculation. The quantum temporal energy accumulating in his system accelerated with each significant alteration to historical patterns—pushing forward his inevitable displacement from this timeline. Yet sufficient opportunity remained to fulfill his promise regarding Elizabeth's coronation before that displacement occurred.

"Sufficient opportunity," he repeated softly, watching rainwater transform London into glistening landscape of reflective surfaces and flowing channels. "And perhaps something more."

The storm had become metaphor for his own intervention—cleansing certain elements while creating temporary chaos that would eventually resolve into more beneficial patterns. Like rainwater washing away disease-laden filth from London's streets, his manipulations would eventually clear path for Elizabeth's reign while removing obstacles that historical record showed had caused unnecessary suffering.

Bobby smiled at his own uncharacteristically poetic thoughts. Perhaps prolonged exposure to Tudor sensibilities had affected his usually practical perspective. These humans with their brief, emotionally-charged existence occasionally influenced even his ancient outlook in unexpected ways. Their passion, their determination to extract meaning from cosmically insignificant lives, their capacity for both astonishing cruelty and extraordinary compassion—all continued to fascinate him despite countless similar species he had encountered across billions of years.

As night deepened outside his window, Bobby made no firm decision regarding Mary and Northumberland's impending conflict. The strategic advantages of allowing civil war must be weighed against immediate human cost and potential disruption to scientific advancement. Like chess master contemplating multiple potential moves, he would maintain flexibility while monitoring developing situation through his expanding network of resurrected agents.

Elizabeth would have her throne, as promised. The path to that outcome remained flexible.

Tomorrow would bring Royal Court and Jane's increasingly transparent attempts to secure his affection. He would navigate that complexity with diplomatic precision while continuing preparations for whatever intervention eventually proved necessary regarding impending civil conflict.

The storm continued through the night, water streaming down windowpanes like tears across a face—nature's cleansing mechanism washing away accumulated filth just as his own interventions would eventually clear path for England's transformation from medieval kingdom to scientific powerhouse.

Everything in its proper time. Even for being who had witnessed billions of years unfold, patience remained essential virtue.