Simon Hawke - Timewars 3 - The Pimpernel Plot

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The Times Wars Series by Simon Hawke

Time Wars #1: The Ivanhoe Gambit

Time Wars #2: The Timekeeper Conspiracy

Time Wars #3: The Pimpernel Plot

Time Wars #4: The Zenda Vendetta (Coming August, 1999)

Time Wars #5: The Nautilus Sanction (Coming September, 1999)

Time Wars #6: The Khyber Connection (Coming October, 1999)

Time Wars #7: The Argonaut Affair (Coming November, 1999)

Time Wars #8: The Dracula Caper (Coming December, 1999)

Time Wars #9: The Lilliput Legion (Coming January, 2000)

Time Wars #10: The Hellfire Rebellion (Coming February, 2000)

Time Wars #11: The Cleopatra Crisis (Coming March, 2000)

Time Wars #12: The Six-Gun Solution (Coming April, 2000)

Time Wars #3:

The

Pimpernel

Plot

by Simon Hawke

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the author. Printed in the United States of America.

The rights to all previously published materials

by Simon Hawke are owned by the author, and

are claimed both under existing copyright laws

and natural logorights. All other materials taken

from published sources without specific permission

are either in the public domain or are quoted

and/or excerpted under the Fair Use Doctrine.

Except for attributed quotations embedded in critical

articles or reviews, no part of this book may be

reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and

retrieval

system, without written permission from the publisher.

This novel is fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are

products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance

to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

First Pulpless.Com™, Inc. Edition July, 1999.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-61057

Trade Paperback ISBN: 1-58445-069-X

Acrobat/PDF Digital Edition ISBN: 1-58445-070-3

HTML Digital Edition ISBN: 1-58445-071-1

Book and Cover designed by CaliPer, Inc.

Cover Illustration by David Mattingly

For Rob, Pete and Debbie Siegel,

with friendship and gratitude

Table of Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

An End to War

................................................................... 11

Prologue

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.......... 29

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.......... 47

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.......... 65

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.......... 79

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.......... 95

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........ 113

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........ 133

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........ 149

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........ 165

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........ 183

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........ 205

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........ 221

Epilogue

.......................................................................... 247

An End to War…

On April 1, 2425, Dr. Wolfgang Amadeus Mensinger, professor

emeritus at Heinlein University on Dyson One, discovered

time travel. Already hailed as the greatest scientist of his time

for his formulation of the Unified Field Theory at the age of

eighty-five, Mensinger had been in disfavor with the scientific

community for thirty years as a result of steadfastly maintaining

that time travel or, as he preferred to call it, temporal translocation,

was theoretically possible. When he made the announcement

on his one hundred and fifteenth birthday, he

promptly became the darling of the media. Had anyone else

come forth with such a theory, he would have been just another

mild and amusing curiosity, but when the man who had

relegated Einstein to the league of the also-rans made such a

pronouncement, people listened.

Access to the media had never been a problem for Dr.

Mensinger. He was a garrulous, highly articulate, and charming

man with an empathy for the nonscientific mind, which

resulted in his being able to explain complex ideas in a manner

that the layman could easily understand. He also understood

what, traditionally, most scientists did not, that scientific

research was to a large degree a game of politics.

Initially, his theory was received with great excitement by

the media and the masses, while his colleagues in the scientific

community reacted with a degree of skepticism that bordered

on derision. Most of them felt that the venerable Dr.

Mensinger had already done his best work and that in reaching

for a still greater achievement, he had overextended himself

and irresponsibly turned to cheap sensationalism. The

media, always anxious for an entertaining confrontation, provided

countless opportunities for his critics to attack him, which

Time Wars #3

attacks were made more feasible by the simple expedient of

Dr. Mensinger’s lacking any proof to back up his assertions.

Furious at the treatment accorded him by the media and his

peers, Mensinger went into semiseclusion at the university on

Dyson, where the administration was more than happy to provide

some limited funding for his research in exchange for

having the famous Dr. Mensinger as a lecturer on its faculty.

Professor Mensinger married the daughter of the dean and

settled into the academic life, all the while driving himself with

superhuman energy to complete his research. As time wore

on and results failed to appear, his budget was steadily whittled

away and his health began to decline. He began to grow derelict

in his academic responsibilities and the only reason he

was kept on was the value of his name and his relationship to

the dean. His fellow professors liked him, but they looked on

him with pity as a tragic case of burnout. Then, in his hundred

and fifty-second year, he developed the first working model of

the chronoplate.

When Mensinger died, fifteen years after he made time travel

a reality, his work was continued by his son, Albrecht. Unfortunately,

by this time, Albrecht was only able to refine his

father’s work. He no longer had control of the discovery. The

politicians had stepped in.

On June 15, 2460, the Committee for Temporal Intelligence

was formed. Agents of the committee, after careful training

and conditioning, began to travel back through time for the

purpose of conducting further research and testing of the apparatus.

In the beginning, many of these agents were lost in

transit trapped forever in a temporal limbo some government

official had nicknamed “the dead zone,” but those who returned

came back with often startling information. Historical

records had to be revised. Some legends turned out to have

been fact. Some facts turned out to have been legends. His

The Pimpernel Plot

torical events that previously lacked documentation were verified.

Other events were brought to light. The Theory of Genesis

was refuted and there followed a revolution in the Church,

which culminated in a radical proposal made by Cardinal

Consorti that agents be sent back through time to determine if

Christ actually arose after his crucifixion. A restraining order

was placed on the Committee for Temporal Intelligence to

prevent them from attempting such a thing and Cardinal

Consorti was excommunicated

On January 25, 2492, in a historic meeting which became

known as the Council of Nations, taking place in the capital of

the United Socialist States of South America, a proposal for an

“end to war in our time” was put forth by the chairman of the

Nippon Conglomerate Empire. Though Dr. Albrecht

Mensinger, invited to the council as a guest of honor, argued

passionately against the resolution, it was passed by an overwhelming

majority when he was unable to offer conclusive

proof that the past could be affected by actions taken by time

travelers from the present. The past, argued the members of

the scientific community invited to the conference, cannot be

changed. It had already happened. It was absolute.

On December 24, 2492, the Referee Corps was formed,

brought into existence by the Council of Nations as an

extranational arbitrating body with all power to stage and resolve

the proposed temporal conflicts. On the recommendation

of the newly created Referee Corps, a subordinate body

named the Observer Corps was created, taking over many of

the functions of the Committee for Temporal Intelligence,

which became the Temporal Intelligence Agency. The TIA

absorbed the intelligence agencies of most of the world’s governments

and was made directly responsible to the Referee

Corps. Within the next ten years, temporal confrontation actions,

presided over by the Referee Corps, began to be staged.

The media dubbed them the “Time Wars.”

Time Wars #3

In September of 2514, Albrecht Mensinger published the

work that was to establish him as an even greater genius than

his father. The conclusions he had reached were also to result

in his eventual total nervous collapse a few years later. These

conclusions, which resulted in the hastily reconvened Council

of Nations and the Temporal SALT Talks of 2515, were published

as “Mensinger’s Theories of Temporal Relativity.” They

were as follows:

The Theory of Temporal Inertia. The “current” of the

timestream tends to resist the disruptive influence of temporal

discontinuities. The degree of this resistance is dependent

upon the coefficient of the magnitude of the disruption and

the Uncertainty Principle.

The Principle of Temporal Uncertainty. The element of uncertainty

expressed as a coefficient of temporal inertia represents

the “X factor” in temporal continuity. Absolute determination

of the degree of deviation from the original, undisrupted

scenario is rendered impossible by the lack of total accuracy

in historical documentation and research (see Heisenberg’s

Principle of Uncertainty) and by the presence of historical

anomalies as a result either of temporal discontinuities or adjustments

thereof.

The Fate Factor. In the event of a disruption of a magnitude

sufficient to affect temporal inertia and create a discontinuity,

the Fate Factor, working as a coefficient of temporal inertia,

and the element of uncertainty both already present and

brought about by the disruption, determine the degree of relative

continuity to which the timestream can be restored, contingent

upon the effects of the disruption and its adjustment.

The Timestream Split. In the event of a disruption of a magnitude

sufficient to overcome temporal inertia, the effects of

the Fate Factor would be canceled out by the overwhelming

influence of the resulting discontinuity. The displaced energy

of temporal inertia would create a parallel timeline in which

The Pimpernel Plot

the Uncertainty Principle would be the chief governing factor.

Mensinger appeared once again before the Council of Nations

and he formally submitted his publication, along with its

supporting research and conclusions, to the world leaders.

Once again he argued passionately, this time for the immediate

cessation of the Time Wars. This time, they listened. Resolutions

were made, voted on, and passed. However, the one

resolution Mensinger most wanted to see passed was tabled

due to the lack of agreement among the members of the council.

Mensinger left the meeting in despair, a broken man. The

Time Wars continued.

Time Wars #3

The Pimpernel Plot

Prologue

The city square was utterly silent as the crowd waited in

tense, almost reverential anticipation. The only sounds that

broke the stillness were the praying of the man atop the wooden

platform, the sobbing of his wife at the bottom of the steps,

and the squeaking of the pulley as the blade was slowly raised.

The man’s prayer was rudely interrupted as he was seized and

forced down to his knees, his head jammed into position. The

lever was tripped, there was a brief scraping sound as the blade

descended swiftly and then a duller sound, not unlike that of

an axe sinking into wood. The man’s head fell into the wicker

basket and the crowd roared its approval.

Joseph Ignace Guillotin’s device, proposed in the Assembly

by the venerable physician as a “merciful” method of execution,

had not been in use for more than a few months, but its

blade had already been thoroughly tempered in the blood of

the victims of the Revolution. The mob had stormed the

Tuileries and the Swiss Guards, who had been ordered to cease

firing by the king, were massacred. Louis XVI was held prisoner

with his family in the old house of the Knights Templars

and the provisional government was in the hands of Georges

Jacques Danton of the Cordeliers. Marie Joseph Paul Yves Roch

Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette, whose Declaration

of the Rights of Man had been hailed and accepted by the

National Assembly as the embodiment of the principles of

[[“Liberte, Fraternite, Egalite,”]] had been branded a traitor

and had fled for his life to Austria. The bloody September Massacres,

in which over one thousand aristocrats would be sacrificed

on the altar of the new regime, were underway. The

rest of Europe would be deeply shocked at the events in Paris,

at Versailles, in Lyons, Rheims, Meaux, and Orleans; however,

they were just a prelude to the excesses of the Jacobins under

Time Wars #3

Robespierre’s Reign of Terror.

With glazed eyes, Alex Corderro watched the man’s decapitated

body being dragged off the guillotine. The executioner

paused only long enough to give the blade a quick wipe with a

red-stained rag before he motioned for the next victim to be

brought up. The dead man’s wife was frogmarched up the steps.

She was incapable of standing and had to be held up for the

crowd’s inspection. Once again, the mob fell into an eerie silence.

A hungry silence. The woman swayed unsteadily and,

for a moment, her eyes came into focus. She saw her husband’s

head being dumped out of the wicker basket and she doubled

over, vomiting upon the wooden platform. It was all Alex could

do to keep himself from doing likewise. He had thought that

he would be prepared for this, but it was nothing like what he

had imagined. This was a far cry from Sidney Carton’s romantic

last hurrah in Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities. This was wholesale

slaughter and Alex Corderro could not bear to watch it

any longer. The squeaking of the pulley was like fingernails

scraping on a blackboard and it made him shiver. It would

have been, he thought, a far, far better thing had he stayed

home where he belonged, in the 27th century, where such

things were only to be read about in books and gleaned from

information retrieval systems, where their graphic reality did

not intrude upon the senses with all the power of a butcher’s

maul.

Alex was a private in the Temporal Corps. This was his first

hitch to be served in Minus Time. France’s army, the most efficient

and progressive fighting force in all of Europe at the

Revolution’s start, was in a sad state of decay. The purchase of

commissions had been abolished and most of the officers,

members of the now-despised aristocratic class, had fled the

country. The Assembly was anxious to rebuild the army, since

war seemed imminent, and a nationwide call for volunteers

went out, which call would soon be replaced by an order for

The Pimpernel Plot

the conscription of all single men between the ages of 18 and

40. This order was to provide, in a few short years, a mightyarmy for

Napoleon. Alex was a double volunteer. He had volunteered

for enlistment in the 27th century and, after training

and implant education, he had been clocked out to the late

1700s, to volunteer again for service in the Revolutionary Army.

It had been determined by the Referee Corps that this would

be the most effective way to infiltrate soldiers of the Temporal

Corps into the French Army, for service in the War of the First

Coalition.

Alex didn’t know why he was going to be fighting, why he

was about to be placed into the front ranks of the war against

Austria and Prussia. Soldiers were never told such things. He

knew only that two major powers in the 27th century had submitted

yet another grievance to the extranational Referee Corps

for arbitration and that temporal units from both sides had

been clocked out to the past to fight a “war on paper” on a

battleground of history. To those who determined the outcome,

it would be a “war on paper.” To the Referees, Alex would be

just another factor in the point spread. For Alex, it would be a

very real war; a war in which the odds of his survival would be

very, very low. It was something he had considered when he

had enlisted, but at the time he had dismissed the possibility

of his being killed as quite unlikely. After all, he was a modern

man, demonstrably superior to these primitives. He had

thought that it would be a grand adventure. Now he found

that he no longer felt that way.

Paris was not the romantic place he had imagined it to be.

He had seen the violence in the streets; he had watched aristocrats

being wheeled to the guillotine in parades of tumbrels

as the citoyens and citoyennes ran alongside the carts, jeering

at the condemned and pelting them with refuse. He had seen

the blade descend over and over and he had watched the old

knitting women, the tricotteuses, trying to clamber up onto the

Time Wars #3

platform to get locks of hair from the decapitated heads as

souvenirs. He had seen the children jump up and down and

clap their hands with glee as the wicker baskets reaped their

grisly harvest. He had seen too much.

Feeling numb, he turned away and began to push through

the mob, receiving not a few shoves in return as people angrily

repulsed him for blocking their view of the proceedings.

Alex heard the dull sound of the blade severing the woman’s

head and cringed, redoubling his efforts to fight his way free

of the crowd. He fought his way clear, stumbling away from

the Place de la Révolution to wander aimlessly through the

city streets in a state of shock. War was something he could

handle. This callous, systematic killing, on the other hand, this

chopping off of heads methodically, like the slicing of so many

stalks of celery, was more than he could take. It brought back

an image from his survival training, a graphic image of his

drill instructor showing the boots how to kill a chicken by biting

down upon its neck and giving a slight twist, the head coming

off the chicken and still being held in the drill instructor’s

teeth as he tossed the wildly flapping, thrashing body of the

bird into their midst, spattering them with blood and causing

several of the boots to faint. As he swayed through the streets

of Paris like a drunkard, Corderro imagined the executioner

biting off the heads of the aristocrats and dumping their bodies

off the platform and into the crowd until the streets were

choked with headless corpses lurching wildly about, knocking

into walls and splashing citizens with blood.

He lost track of time. It was growing late and only the increasing

flow of people past him told him that the gory festivities

had ended for the day and that the mass exodus from the

square had begun. The entertainment was not yet finished for

the day however. There was still more sport ahead, perhaps

not as dramatic, but equally significant for the participants.

He was caught up in the current of the crowd and carried to

The Pimpernel Plot

the West Barricade, like a paper ship floating in a river. There,

the portly Sergeant Bibot of the Revolutionary Army conducted

the evening’s entertainment.

Each afternoon and evening, just before the gates closed for

the night, a parade of market carts lined up to leave the city,

bound for farms in the outlying districts. Each afternoon and

evening, desperate aristocrats who had fled their homes to go

into hiding in some corner of the city tried to steal out of Paris

in order to escape the wrath of the Republic. Seeking to evade

the clutches of the Committee of Public Safety and the bloodthirsty

public prosecutor, Citoyen Fouquier-Tinville, they tried

to sneak out past alert soldiers such as Sergeant Bibot and flee

the country to find safe haven in England, Austria, or Prussia.

Their pathetic ruses seldom worked. Though they tried to disguise

themselves as beggars, merchants, farmers, men dressing

up as women and women dressing up as men, their lack of

experience in such subterfuges invariably resulted in their

apprehension. They were arrested and marched off to confinement,

to await their appearance before the public prosecutor,

which without exception was followed by a humiliating

ride through the streets of Paris in the two-wheeled tumbrels

and a short walk up a flight of wooden steps into the

waiting arms of Madame la Guillotine. To the once-proud aristocrats

who tried to sneak out through the city gates, it was a

final, desperate gamble. To the citizens of the Republic who

thronged to the barricades to watch their efforts, it was a delightful

game.

Sergeant Bibot was a favorite of the crowd. He had a macabre

sense of theatre, which he applied with great panache to

his duties at the city gate. Keenly observant and well familiar

with the faces of many aristocrats, Bibot was proud of the fact

that he had personally sent over fifty Royalists to the guillotine.

He basked in the attention of the onlookers, playing to

his audience as he conducted his inspections prior to passing

Time Wars #3

people through the gate. He was a showman with a sadistic

sense of humor. If he spotted a disguised aristo, he would draw

the process out, teasing his victim, allowing him to think that

he would be passed through before dashing all his hopes in a

flamboyant unmasking. The crowd loved every bit of it Sometimes,

if he was in an especially playful mood, Sergeant Bibot

would actually pass an aristo through the gate, giving him a

short head start before sending some of his men to catch him

and bring him back, dragged kicking and screaming through

the city gate and to his doom. On such occasions, the crowd

would always cheer him and he could climb up on his

ever-present empty cask of wine, remove his hat, and take a

bow.

Each night, after the gates were closed, Sergeant Bibot would

remain to smoke his clay pipe and drink the wine that his admirers

brought him as he regaled them with anecdotes concerning

his illustrious career. He was particularly fond of telling

them the story of the day that Citizen Danton had personally

come to watch him discharge his duties. He had unmasked

six ci-devant aristocrats that day and the Minister of Justice

had personally commended him for the zeal with which he

served the people.

Corderro found himself propelled along by the crowd until

he was standing by the West Barricade, where a sizable throng

had already gathered to watch Sergeant Bibot put on his show.

A large and heavy man with a florid face and bristling moustaches,

Bibot was squeezed into his ill-fitting uniform like ten

pounds of flour packed into a five-pound sack. A long line of

carts and pedestrians was already cued up, held back by Bibot’s

men until such time as the audience was built up to a suitable

size. There was a great feeling of camaraderie and anticipation

in the air as Sergeant Bibot strutted to his post taking time

to pause so that he could exchange pleasantries with some of

his regular observers, be slapped upon the back and, he hoped,

The Pimpernel Plot

admired by the young women m the crowd, whom he greeted

with exaggerated winks and blown kisses. Corderro thought

that he was going to be sick. He felt all wound up inside and

his skin was clammy. He looked down at his hands and saw

that they were shaking.

Sergeant Bibot began to have the people brought up, one at

a time, so that he could examine them and pass them through.

The people in the crowd called out encouragement and suggestions.

“There, that one! That beard looks false! Give it a good, hard

yank, Sergeant Bibot!”

“Why don’t you come here and yank it, you miserable son of

a Royalist bootlicker!” shouted the owner of the beard, a burly

farmer.

“I’ll do more than yank your phony beard, you bastard!”

yelled the first man as he ran forward and tried to climb up on

the cart, only to be pulled away at the last minute by Bibot’s

soldiers.

“Peace, Citizen!” cried Sergeant Bibot, melodramatically

holding up his hand. “All will be settled momentarily!” Turning

to the farmer, Sergeant Bibot smiled pleasantly, wished

him a good day and asked him to excuse the zeal of the good

citizen who was only anxious that ci-devant aristocrats be

brought to justice. “Purely as a matter of form,” said Sergeant

Bibot, “would you consent to showing me your hands?”

The farmer grunted and held out his hands, turning them

from palms down to palms up.

“Merci,” said Sergeant Bibot. “These are the roughened, calloused

hands of a working man,” he said to the crowd. “No

aristo would have hands such as these. And the beard appears

to be quite genuine,” he added for good measure. “A fine, luxuriant

growth it is, to boot!”

He clapped the grinning farmer on the back and passed him

through as the crowd applauded. The process continued as

Time Wars #3

Bibot intently examined everyone who sought egress through

the gate, making a show of it and striving to entertain those he

examined as well as the people in the crowd.

A large and-heavy wagon filled with wine casks came up

next and Bibot made a great show of opening each cask and

checking to see if anyone was concealed inside. His examination

revealed no concealed aristocrats and Bibot passed the

wagon through. Several others he allowed to pass with only

the most cursory inspection, as the drivers were known to him

having regularly passed through his gate twice a day on their

way to and from the city. An undercurrent of hostility swept

through the crowd as an elegant coach drew up and stopped

at Sergeant Bibot’s post.

Surely, no aristocrat would be so great a fool as to attempt

leaving Paris so conspicuously. Several of the people in the

crowd, close enough to see inside the coach, recognized one

of its occupants and word soon spread throughout the mob

that this was no person worthy of derision, but the very beautiful

and famous Marguerite St. Just, that celebrated actress of

the Comedie Francaise, whose brother, Armand St. Just, was a

leading figure of the Revolution and a member of the Committee

of Public Safety.

Citoyenne St. Just had recently caused a bit of a scandal when

she married that wealthy English baronet, Sir Percy Blakeney,

thus becoming Lady Blakeney, but no one could accuse her of

being an aristocrat, much less a Royalist. The popular actress

was well known as an ardent Republican and a believer in

equality of birth. “Inequality of fortune,” she was fond of saying,

“is merely an untoward accident. The only inequality I

recognize and will admit to is inequality of talent.” As a result

of this belief, her charming salon in the Rue Richelieu had

been reserved for originality and intellect, for wit and brilliance.

She had entertained members of the theatrical profession,

well-known writers and famous philosophes, and the oc

The Pimpernel Plot

casional foreign dignitary, which was how she had met Sir

Percy Blakeney.

It came as quite a shock to those within her circle when she

married Blakeney. They all thought that he was quite beneath

her, intellectually speaking. A prominent figure in fashionable

European society, he was the son of the late Sir Algernon

Blakeney, whose wife had succumbed to imbecility. The elder

Blakeney took his stricken wife abroad and there his son was

raised and educated. When Algernon Blakeney died, shortly

following the death of his wife, Percy inherited a considerable

fortune, which allowed him to travel abroad extensively before

returning to his native England. He had cultivated his

tastes for fashion and the finer, more expensive things in life.

A pleasant fellow with a sophomoric sense of humor, Blakeney

was a fashion plate and a bon vivant, but he made no pretense

to being an intellectual. It would have been ludicrous, since

he was hopelessly dull and generally thought to be a fool. He

was totally enraptured with his wife and seemed perfectly content

with remaining in the background and basking in her glow.

Marguerite’s friends were all at a loss to understand why she

had married him, unless his slavish devotion pleased her.

However, though Marguerite St. Just might have been found

wanting in her abilities to select a fitting husband, she could

not be faulted for her politics. While the sight of Blakeney at

the window of the coach provoked some unfavorable comments

and some jeers, the appearance of his wife beside him

was greeted with a scattering of applause.

“I say there,” Blakeney said in perfect, if accented, French,

“what seems to be the difficulty, Sergeant? Why this tedious

delay?”

Bibot appraised him with obvious distaste. The man was both

rich and English, which were two counts against him from

the start, but when he saw the well-known actress, his manner

changed and he removed his hat and gave a little bow.

Time Wars #3

“Your pardon, Citoyenne,” said Bibot, totally ignoring

Blakeney, “but everyone must be passed through one at a time,

so that I may prevent the escape of any aristocratic enemies of

the Republic.”

“Aristocratic enemies?” said Blakeney. “Good Lord! Does this

mean that we are to be detained?”

Bibot glanced at Blakeney the way a fastidious cook might

look upon a cockroach discovered in her kitchen. “Your wife,

monsieur, is a well-known friend of the Republic and you,

though an aristocrat, are obviously English, which assures your

safety, at least for the time being.”

“Oh, well, thank the Lord for that,” said Blakeney, fluttering

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TheTimesWarsSeriesbySimonHawkeTimeWars#1:TheIvanhoeGambitTimeWars#2:TheTimekeeperConspiracyTimeWars#3:ThePimpernelPlotTimeWars#4:TheZendaVendetta(ComingAugust,1999)TimeWars#5:TheNautilusSanction(ComingSeptember,1999)TimeWars#6:TheKhyberConnection(ComingOctober,1999)TimeWars#7:TheArgonautAffair(Comin...

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Simon Hawke - Timewars 3 - The Pimpernel Plot

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