The medic opened the sealed bottle, tipping it upside-down so a small amount of the testing fluid gently dripped onto the anti-virus.
The panel doctor said, “The anti-virus is now being tested for authenticity. You will note that the fluid has turned light blue, indicating that it has not been tampered with, and is safe. Thank you Mr. Sutton, I will take it from here.”
Chris Sutton took a step back, turning to face the camera for the first time, smiled, then left the set.
I did a double take as I realised the medic’s true identity.
“I have to make a call.” I said, trying to mask the urgency in my voice, “Sorry, gota go outside, the signal’s bad in here.”
George called after me, “Can’t it wait? You’ll miss the injection.”
Ignoring him, I ran through the front door pressing C’s personal speed dial number.
He answered almost immediately.
“That medic was Graham Turner,” I said in alarm. “You have to stop the vaccination.”
“Yes I saw him. Zee’s already on it, she’s putting an emergency call through to the Prime Minister’s set right now.”
“Let’s hope she gets through in time. There’s no doubt: Turner wanted us to see him,” I said.
“Definitely. Well he won’t get far. The area is sealed.”
“Unless he uses a vortex Commander.”
I returned to the living room to watch the unfolding events. The doctor was already standing next to the Jeffery Ash with the vaccination in his hand.
“Go ahead Doc,” The Prime Minister said bravely.
The Doctor plunged the hypodermic needle into Jeffery’s arm, emptied the contents of the syringe, withdrew it, and wiped the injection site with a sterile pad before covering it with a plaster.
Jeffery looked a little surprised but still managed a smile, “That burns a little,” he said as the smile left his face. Alarmed, the doctor ripped off the plaster and examined the injection site.
Fighting to keep his eyes open the Prime Minister breathed heavily, as beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead. His eyes rolled back in his head and he seemed to loose coherence.
“Someone’s swapped the …” was all he managed before slumping forward in the chair.
A voice in the background called, “Security. Seize that medic.”
The broadcast was cut and a presenter said, “We apologise for the loss of transmission. We are having technical difficulties, and will return to the programme as soon as they are eliminated.”
My tab-phone rang; it was Gemma and she was panicking, “What’s happening? I saw Graham on there and haven’t been able to get through to Section. The line’s blocked.”
“I just spoke to them,” I said, as I made my way back through the front door, out of earshot of George and David. “C saw it too. Zee was trying to warn everyone, but evidently didn’t get through in time.”
“Earthsong probably put a block on the phone lines. Graham could have sent someone else to do that job. He meant us to see him.”
“I know, I should have shot him that day I saw him in your flat.”
The television studios and the whole area were sealed off and searched but there was no sign of Graham Turner. The police said he appeared to have vanished into thin air, which, although they couldn’t have known it, was nearer to the truth than anyone but Section knew.
Jeffery Ash was admitted to hospital but died less than twelve hours later leaving the nation and the world in shock.
The rebels had gained another victory; their aim, of course, had been to totally discredit the anti-virus and so leave mankind helpless when the super-virus arrived.
As predicted, and to the rebel Jumpers’ delight, no one trusted the vaccinations. The first day they were offered to the public no one came forward to receive their shot.
Dad reminded me that all Jumpers had a tag implanted in their left heal shortly after birth. This enabled the vortex technology to place a lock on them at any time, allowing Section to know their location and send the Jumper back and forth through time. Graham Turner, a medical doctor and genius, had removed his tagging devise, and had implanted it into his brother’s heal. Consequently, Section believed Graham had been captured and was being held along with the other rebels.
James Turner was very similar in appearance to his younger brother, Graham, and although James wasn’t a Jumper, his genetic code was similar enough to the rebel leader’s for his body not to reject the unique implant. By this action the Earthsong leader was effectively committing suicide by jumping neglect, because without the tag he could never be drawn through time on another jump. In less than two months the degenerative aging process would totally incapacitate him and death would soon follow.
Over the next few weeks Section intelligence discovered that Turner had joined forces with Martin Haliday. Turner encouraged him to lead a revolt against the government and to track down and kill all members of Section, whom, he told Haliday, belonged to the government department responsible for the 6:8 Tragedy.
Re-energized with hate and the desire to avenge the deaths of his wife and daughters, Haliday continued rallying people to his cause and stirring up civil unrest. He amassed quite a gathering and although his websites were continually blocked, he always found a way to get around the system and set up other sites. He was receiving in excess of ten million hits on the World Wide Web every day.
__________
Once more summoned to Section Headquarters, the other Primary Jumpers and I stood around waiting for Vanessa to finish programming the temporal interface for our next jump.
C entered the vortex room and addressed us, his happy, relaxed manner a welcome contrast to the look of worry and exhaustion that had weighed him down him for the past several weeks.
“You’ll be pleased to know that the rebel Jumpers have been sent to another time where there is little chance of them banding together and causing trouble,” he said. “Due to new technology Section has managed to break through the zero hour barrier and has sent them into the past on a one-way trip.” We looked around at each other in amazement, each wanting to ask so many questions about the zero hour crossover and the rebels destination time. I haven’t time to explain now,” C added, noting our intrigued expressions, “but it is very unlikely that travelling past Zero hour will be possible again during our lifetimes.”
In closing C said, “Good luck with today’s jump everyone; you won’t have to worry about Earthsong members anymore, they have all been dead for eons, most of them probably eaten by dinosaurs.”
Alison spoke up, “With respect Commander, couldn’t that have changed the timeline? Humans and dinosaurs never co-existed. There were separated by millions of years.”
“My dear, if you study the subject more closely you’ll find the earth is much younger than we once thought.”
As Gemma and I stepped though our vortex into a sunny day nine hundred and eighty years after natural time she said, “I wonder if the rebel faction changed the timeline. It’s weird, but if C’s right about the earth being relatively young, some of their members could have survived and might even be our ancestors.”
“What a lovely thought, my great, great, great, great, great, etcetera, etcetera, grandparent, or however many generations, might have been an Earthsong member, and if Graham had gone back with them you might in effect have slept with your great, great … you know, grandfather.”
Gemma quickly replied, “Let’s not go there,” then paused a moment before continuing. “Anyway, so this is New York. I’ve always wanted to visit the Big Apple.”
“Well you’re too late, you missed it. It’s gone.” I smiled, continuing, “It’s somewhere under all this vegetation and topsoil. And the hills, like the one we’re standing on, are the remains of skyscrapers and office blocks … Wait at minute,” I said, realising what Gemma had just said. “They never tell us our jump destinations. How do you know this was New York? … And how did you know we were in Blackpool
last time!”
“I was in C’s office earlier and checked his file.”
I looked at her mystified. Gemma was incorrigible; if she had been caught she would have been in terrible trouble.
“Looks more like a traditional jungle than a concrete jungle,” she added, trying to change the subject.
I decided to let the matter drop.
We stood on top of our hill in silence surveying the new landscape. This once great city was now unrecognisable. Apart from the hills there was very little visible evidence that humans had ever lived here. Streams had taken over where mankind once built storm drains—these having blocked up hundreds of years previously—and pathways and roads had long since disappeared as plant life became established in the new topsoil. Once diverted from the city by man, larger rivers had also re-established themselves, finding the easiest routes and becoming tributaries to a much larger waterway in the distance. This had to be the Hudson River.
“Silenced by nature…” said Gemma thoughtfully.
“Sorry?”
“All man’s accomplishments have been silenced and hidden by nature’s onslaught.”
“How poetical.”
“I feel inspired. An archaeologist would have a field day here.”
“True. If no one takes the anti-virus maybe one day our descendants will do just that.”
“They will take it Steve. They have to.”
I didn’t want to dwell on that thought so I said, “We should take some photographs with our tab-phones. The pictures mightn’t last long—temporal adjustment may steal them soon after we get back—but it would be good to show Section this possible future.”
“Actually, I’ve always wondered why the evidence and pics we take back don’t immediately disappear when we step through the vortex. Why do they linger a few hours?”
“Dad says the pics are an echo of an uncertain future. Echo’s replay a few times after the shout or noise … before they disappear forever.”
We both took lots of high definition photographs of the wonderful landscape. I imagined the area looking very similar to this back in pre-people times.
Afterwards, we trekked down the hill and checked out the nearest river, walking along the edge where the vegetation was less dense. The waterway was about twenty metres across, deep, and slow moving. In places it was easy to walk alongside it whilst in others we had to duck under and climb over branches that extended out a little way over the water.
Gemma looked thoughtful. I asked her what she was thinking.
“If our final jump takes us to a place like this we’ll have to clear a lot of vegetation just to make a place to live,” she said.
“Perhaps we’ll be able to take some equipment with us to make life easier,” I suggested.
“Yea and we’ll look right idiots if we take a bulldozer or something and end up in the middle of some high-tech civilisation.”
As we spoke a vortex appeared to our right. It hovered above the water, about five metres out of reach. “Fantastic,” I snapped, “now they think we’re Tarzan and Jane and we can swing out there.”
“No Stevie babes, I think we’ll have to swim.” That name had always irritated me. I remembered Graham calling me Stevie Babes, but unlike him Gemma wasn’t trying to be mean. In her light hearted way she was saying I was being a brat for complaining too much.
This was something I needed to work on, but for now I continued complaining, “Great, is it safe? What do you think lives in this river anyway?” I noted the knowing look on her face so smiled and lightened up, “And don’t call me Stevie Babes, Gemma Poohs.”
We dived into the river without removing any clothing and swam out to the vortex, Gemma reaching it a few seconds after me. Adopting a standing position would have made it easier for me to climb through the time portal, which I realised was higher than it first appeared—probably about seventy centimetres above the surface of the water—but unfortunately I was out of my depth. Instead, I thrashed my legs around in the river until I could position myself in such a way that enabled me to reach up high enough to grasp hold of the vortex room floor.
My fingertips were now back in natural time, nearly a thousand years in the past, while the rest of me remained in this future. On reflection it was a curious thought, but I didn’t have time to consider it now, I was running on adrenalin; the vortex wouldn’t remain open more than a couple of minutes at the most. Having got this far I desperately tried to grab hold of something to use to pull myself up (my plan had been to climb inside and help pull Gemma in), but there was nothing in reach and my wet hands couldn’t get a firm enough grip on the hard, tiled floor.
Vanessa appeared in the vortex doorway smiling, “Would you like a hand?”
“Help Gemma first.”
Gemma manoeuvred herself around in the water until she could reach Vanessa’s hand (still safely on her side of the time portal), then ensuring a good grip, the vortex interface technician pulled Gemma up high enough to for her to scramble into the vortex room. This act took all the strength Vanessa had so I knew she didn’t have a hope of pulling me up by herself, and it would be dangerous for Gemma to exert herself so much just after a return jump. Such exertion could trigger a heart attack.
“Get some help!” Vanessa yelled to Gemma. Gemma turned and ran through the vortex room doorway.
“I knew you’d need me one day Steve. Fancy going for a drink afterwards?” Vanessa asked in a mocking tone.
Behind me the slow, deep waters moved. There was something really big in the river and it was getting closer.
“Whatever. Just get me out of here!” I cried.
She bent down and offered me her hand. I took hold, for a second feeling tempted to pull her in, but knowing that if she survived the time transition I would be condemning her to a life of desolation in the future—as her body wouldn’t withstand the return trip—or worse still, I would be a murderer. Instead, not wishing to be eaten by whatever was swimming towards me, I let her try to pull me up. I was much heavier that the slightly built woman, and for a moment I thought I might have to let go and fall back in the river. The vortex wouldn’t remain open much longer and I didn’t want it to close with my hand on one side of the time portal and the rest of me on the other.
Vanessa held on as tightly as she could with both her hands and pulled with her whole weight, but my wet hand was slipping through her grasp.
She shouted, “Someone help us!”
C came running to the room closely followed by Gemma. As my hand slid through Vanessa’s fingers another much stronger hand reached through the vortex and grabbed my wrist. C’s hand and part of his right arm were now on my side of time. He easily pulled me up into the vortex room … then fell to his knees on the hard floor cradling his arm.
“Record this,” he rasped, perspiration running down his forehead. He used his good hand to pull up the sleeve on his right arm and held out his damaged hand and forearm for the recording devise Vanessa was now pointing at him. Age spots and wrinkles appeared on the affected flesh. C’s fingers lost their muscle tone, becoming thin and almost skeletal. As it began to age more rapidly, the skin and flesh dried up giving the limb a leathery appearance, then layer-by-layer it pealed away revealing C’s hand, wrist and forearm bones. Almost as quickly, the bones were reduced to a powder that fell to the floor leaving C with a bleeding stump just below his elbow. A medical team rushed in trying to quieten him and stop the bleeding but he was still animated.
He pointed at the vortex with his remaining hand. As our view of the river dimmed, a large fish—the likes of which none of us had ever seen—leaped from the water, its huge, razor-sharp teeth missing me by millimetres. As its head passed through the vortex the vortex closed severing it from the rest of its body, the larger part of the fish still on the other side, nine hundred and eighty years in the future. The lifeless head landed on the floor, its blood spilling on the tiles as it slid across the room. Curiously, it did not age.
“Someon
e get that thing to the lab for analysis,” gasped C as the medics frantically worked to stop blood escaping from his wounded stump.
__________
The Government decided to wait until the public outcry had subsided a little before broaching the subject of the vaccinations with them again. Following the death of Jeffery Ash, and the ensuing riots, there had been an emergency general election with the opposition getting into power and forming a new government. The new Prime Minister, Thomas Lightfoot, realised the urgency in administering the vaccination to as many people as would have it, so immediately started an advertising campaign to try to regain the public’s trust.
By November, when time had become short and very few people had come forward for the vaccination, the government stepped up their approach deciding to use Jeffery Ash’s idea of a live, on air vaccination. However, instead of using himself as the guinea pig, the Prime Minister nominated his eight-year-old son and twelve-year-old daughter.
Unbeknown to the public, Mr. Lightfoot had received the vaccination the day before to show the children it was safe.
This live broadcast was much more informal than the last one and was filmed at the Lightfoot holiday home in Cornwall. The programme started with an outside view of the lavish six-bedroom, detached home, set back in ample gardens. The camera showed Angela Durham—the same lady who had presented the programme showing Jeffery Ash having his disastrous vaccination—walking up the driveway past the well-trimmed lawn and leafless hedges. There was no need to knock on the door: Mr. Lightfoot opened it on cue.
“Good morning,” he said, his smile showing his perfect teeth. “Come in everyone.”
Empty Planet Page 26
