by Alex Scarrow
‘How do we grow new support units?’ was the name of one of the first files she’d found in the folder when she’d delved into it a few weeks ago. First order of business had been getting the grow-tubes up and running and getting one of those clones on the go. When she’d double-clicked on it, what she’d got was an image of Foster’s face looking out of the monitor as he’d addressed the web cam. He looked ten, perhaps twenty years younger than he had the morning he’d told her she was ready, wished her luck and walked out of Starbucks leaving her to run things.
The Foster onscreen looked no more than fifty. ‘ So,’ he began, adjusting the flex so that the mic was in front of his mouth. ‘ You’ve opened this file. Which means you’ve been careless and your support unit has been destroyed and now you need to grow a new one.’ Foster had proceeded with detailed instructions on maintenance and feeding, and how the growth tubes work. But finally, towards the end of the log entry, was the bit they’d been after.
‘ Right… so the clones are grown from a store of engineered human foetuses. I’ll presume you’ve used up the last of the refrigerated ones kept in your field office and now you need more.’
Not exactly used up; those of them mid-growth had all died in the tubes, poisoned by their own waste fluids because the electric-powered pumps hadn’t been functioning. The bodies — pale, lifeless, hairless, jelly-like forms that ranged from something that could’ve sat in the palm of her hand to the body of a boy of eight or nine — had been taken care of. Taken out, weighted down and dumped in the river. Not an experience she ever wanted to repeat.
‘ The good news is there are more of them. There’s a supply of viable candidate foetuses, all engineered with the silicon processor chip already housed in the cranial cavity. They’re ready to grow to full term and, of course, come with basic learning AI code pre-installed.’ The Foster on the monitor smiled coyly. ‘ If you’ve been smart, you managed to retrieve your last support unit’s chip and preserved its AI…’
She nodded. Yup. Well, Liam had done that messy business.
‘… so any new support unit doesn’t need to start out from scratch as a complete imbecile, and you can upload the AI from the computer system. So, like I say, the good news is there’s more of them. But the bad news is they’re not going to be delivered to your front door like
… like… some sort of a pizza delivery; I’m afraid you’ve got to go and get them yourselves.’
Sal called out a thirty-second warning and Maddy’s mind returned to the icy water in the displacement cylinder. She eased herself in beside Liam, her breath chuffing out at the cold. ‘Uhhh! This is f-f-f-freezing! How d-do you c-cope with it?’ she asked Liam, her teeth chattering.
He offered her a lopsided grin. ‘It’s not like I get a choice, is it?’
‘Twenty seconds!’ called out Sal.
‘When did you say we’re going, again?’ asked Liam.
‘I t-t-told you: 1906. San Francisco.’
Liam’s eyebrows locked in concentration for a moment. ‘Hold on now
… is that not the same year that… that — ?’
‘Yes?’
‘I remember my dad reading it in the Irish Times. It’s the year that — ’
‘Fifteen seconds!’
Maddy let go of the side of the perspex cylinder and began treading water. ‘Liam, you’ve g-got to go under now.’
‘I know… I know! Bleedin’ hate this bit.’
‘Maybe Sal and I should t-teach you how to swim some time?’
‘Ten seconds!’
‘Oh Jay-zus-’n’-Mary, why does time travel have to be done this way? Why did that Waldstein fella have to be so stupid as to invent bleedin’ time travel in the first place!’
‘You wanna blame someone… b-blame the Chinese what’s-his-name guy who worked it out in the first place.’
Liam nodded. ‘Aghh, well, him too!’
‘Five seconds!’ called Sal. ‘You really need to duck under now!’
Maddy held her hand above his head. ‘Need me to push you under?’
‘No! I’ll just… I’ll, ah… All right!’
Liam sucked in a lungful of air and clasped his nose with his free hand.
‘S-see you on the other side,’ she uttered as she pushed him under the water. Then sucked in air and submerged as well.
Oh Jeez… here goes.
Her first time. Her first time into the past, not counting her recruitment from 2010. She’d been too busy checking the coordinates were set right, arranging the return window time-stamp, checking Sal had pulled out the right clothes for them to wear from the old closet in the back room, making sure she remembered the details of their mission… too busy with all those things to realize how utterly terrified she was at the prospect of being pushed out of space-time, through chaos space — and God knows what that was — to emerge back into the space-time of nearly a hundred years ago.
She opened her eyes under the water and saw the foggy form of Liam’s scrawny body thrashing around in blind panic. She saw bubbles zig-zagging up around him. She could see the dim lamp on the computer desk through the tube’s scuffed plastic, the faint outline of Sal… then…
… Then they were falling, tumbling through darkness.
CHAPTER 4
2015, Texas
‘OK, students, we’ll be arriving at the institute very shortly, so I want you all to be on your very best behaviour,’ said Mr Whitmore, absentmindedly scratching at the scruffy salt-and-pepper stubble around his mouth. He considered it a full beard even if no one else did. ‘As I’m sure you will be,’ he added.
Edward Chan sighed and looked out of the coach’s broad window at the scrub beside the highway. Outside the air-conditioned comfort of the coach it was another blistering Texas day. Hot and bright. Two things he hated. He much preferred his dark bedroom back in Houston, drapes drawn, an ultraviolet lamp making the manga posters on his black bedroom walls glow like the halogen signs outside some cool nightclub.
Dark and cool and peaceful. A place far away from the incessant noise of other kids, the shrill laughter of clusters of girls. High-school girls always seemed to come in clusters — mean, spiteful clusters that sniggered and whispered and pointed. And the boys… If it was possible, they were even worse. The jocks — the alpha-male types — loud, brash, great at sports, oozing easy confidence, gangsta rap hissing out of their iPod earbuds, high-fiving each other for any reason. Golden-tanned, sandy-haired, blue-eyed boys who, you could tell, would ease through school, ease through college, ease through life… and never once wonder if someone was whispering behind their back, laughing at them, pointing at them.
That was the tribal system at school: the girls — giggly gaggles of Hannah Montana clones, the jocks in their swaggering gangsta gangs
… and finally the third category, the ones like Edward Chan — the freaks. Loners, emos, geeks, nerds: the cookies that didn’t quite fit the cookie-cutter machine that was high school.
His dad was always telling him it was the freaks that ended up doing the great things. It was the freaks who became dotcom billionaires, famous inventors, movie directors, rock stars… even presidents. The jocks, on the other hand, ended up selling real estate or managing Wal-Mart stores. And the Hannah Montanas ended up becoming stay-at-home moms, getting fat, bored and lonely.
Ahead of the coach he could see a cluster of pale buildings emerging from the ochre drabness, and presently they slowed down and stopped at a security checkpoint. The other kids on the coach, about thirty of them, all a couple of years older than Edward, began to bob in their seats, craning their necks to look at the armed security guards and the lab buildings up ahead.
‘Please stay seated for the moment, guys,’ said Mr Whitmore over the coach’s PA system.
Edward stretched to look over the headrest of the seat in front of him. He saw a man climb up the steps on to the coach. A smart man in a pale linen suit. He shook hands with Mr Whitmore, the school principal who was chaperoning t
he students.
‘Right, guys, I’m going to hand you over to Mr Kelly, who is from the institute. He’s going to be showing us around the facilities today.’
Mr Kelly took the microphone from him. ‘Good morning, boys and girls. Let me first say welcome to the institute. It’s an honour to have you kids come and visit. As I understand it, you guys have all been nominated by your various schools to come along today because you’re all straight-A students?’
Whitmore shook his head. ‘Not quite, Mr Kelly. “Most-improved performers”. Students who’ve most clearly demonstrated a willingness to learn. We have all levels and abilities here on this coach, from schools right across the state, but what they all have in common is the spectacular improvement in their year-end SATs scores. These students are the ones who’ve worked the hardest to better themselves.’
Mr Kelly’s tanned face was split with a broad smile. ‘Fantastic! We like improvers here. Go-getters. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of you on this coach ended up working for us here one day, huh?’
There was a token of polite laughter up and down the rows of seats.
The coach lurched slowly forward, down a long straight driveway flanked by freshly cut lawns, wet with the moisture from water sprinklers.
‘OK, guys, we’ll shortly be arriving at the visitors’ reception area, where you can get off. We have some refreshments ready for you before we start the tour of this facility. I will be your guide for today, and, as I’m talking, if you have any questions at all, please don’t be afraid to raise your hands and ask. We want you to get the most out of today… to understand what our work is here and how very important it is to the environment.’
Edward looked out of the window as the coach approached a decorative flowerbed and swung slowly around it. In the middle, framed by an arrangement of
vivid yellow chrysanthemums, was a sign: WELCOME TO TERI: TEXAS ADVANCED ENERGY RESEARCH INSTITUTE.
CHAPTER 5
1906, San Francisco
‘Hey! Don’t turn around yet — I’m not ready,’ snapped Maddy irritably.
Liam stayed where he was, facing the grubby redbrick wall in front of him. The back alley reeked of rotting fish, and he wondered if he lingered too much longer here whether the smell was going to be stuck on him for the rest of the day.
‘Are you not done yet?’ he asked.
Maddy muttered under her breath. ‘It’s all these damned laces and hooks and buttons and things. How the heck did women manage to dress themselves back then?’
He turned his head a little to look up the alley. It seemed to open on to a busy thoroughfare. He saw several horse-drawn carts clatter by, and men dressed like him: formal grey morning coats, buttoned waistcoats, high-collared shirts, with top hats, flat caps and bowler hats. Very much like the better-dressed men in Cork might have worn on a Sunday morning. The clothes they’d found in the back room appeared to be perfectly authentic. There’d been another couple of dusty costumes in there. Sal had said something about them being for the other back-up drop-point — another time, another place.
‘Oh, dammit… this’ll have to do,’ tutted Maddy irritably.
‘Can I turn round now?’
‘Yes… but I look a total doof.’
He turned round. His eyes widened.
‘What?’ she gasped suspiciously. ‘What is it? What’ve I got wrong?’
‘Nothing! It’s nothing… it’s just…’
Maddy scowled at him beneath the wide-brimmed sun hat, topped with a plume of white ostrich feathers. Her slim neck was framed by decorative lace that descended down the front of a tightly drawn and intricately embroidered bodice. Her waist seemed impossibly thin, as the gown flared out beneath and tumbled down to the ground, modestly covering any sign of her legs.
She put her hands — covered in spotless elbow-length white gloves — on her hips. ‘Liam?’
He shook his head. ‘You look so… so…’
‘Spit it out!’
‘Like… well, like a lady, so you do.’
For a moment he thought she was going to step forward and punch his arm, like she was prone to do. Instead, her cheeks coloured ever so slightly. ‘Uh… really?’
‘Aye.’ Liam smiled at her. ‘And me? What about me?’
Maddy grinned. ‘Well, you look like an idiot.’
Liam pulled the top hat off his head. ‘Ah, it’s that, isn’t it? Makes me ears stick out like a pair of jug handles.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it, Liam. Obviously it’s the fashion over here. You won’t be the only person wearing one.’
‘It was mostly flat caps and forage caps back home. You tried wearing a top hat or a bowler, you were asking for some joker to try an’ knock it off.’
She pointed at him, ignoring the quip, her smile replaced with her let’s-get-down-to-business frown. ‘What time have you got on your clock?’
Liam pulled the ornate timepiece out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘Seven minutes after eleven in the morning.’
‘OK, we should get a move on. The return window here is in four hours’ time.’
‘Right you are. How far is it?’
‘Not far, I think. It’s on to Merrimac Street, then up Fourth Street to Mission Street… short walk up that on to Second Street. Ten minutes… at a guess?’
Liam stepped forward away from the brick wall, the tumbled crates of rubbish and the stench of rotting fish. With a broad cock-sided grin he offered his arm. ‘Shall we, ma’am?’
Her face softened and she threaded one white gloved hand around it. ‘Oh, absolutely, Mr Darcy. A pleasure, I’m sure.’
They emerged out of the gloom of the alley on to Merrimac Street and immediately Maddy found herself gasping.
My God. The realization finally hit her. I’m actually standing IN history.
Merrimac Street was busy with mid-morning foot and wheeled traffic, mostly horse-drawn carts ferrying goods up from the wharf down the far end. She could make out steam ships lined up against the docks, filling the blue sky with columns of coal smoke and steam, and the churning business of freight coming off or being loaded on.
‘Awesome,’ she giggled with delight, ‘this is just like being in a movie. Just like the beginning of Titanic…’
He looked at her, disgusted. ‘They made a movie about it?’
The smile on her face slipped and became a guilty grimace.
Liam tutted and sighed. ‘Good people died an’ all… for what? So they can become part of a flickering peepshow a hundred years later?’
She shrugged. ‘Uh, s’pose… but it was pretty good, though. Fantastic special eff-’
His sideways scowl silenced her.
‘Never mind.’
They turned left on to the road, heading up it towards Fourth Street, dodging several piles of horse manure along the way. Fourth Street was a little busier, but nothing compared to Mission Street. The road was a broad thoroughfare, a hundred feet wide, thick with carts and pedestrians and a tram line that rattled with trams laden with passengers inside and hanging precariously on the back, dinging their bells to clear the track ahead.
‘Oh my God, this is so amazing!’ she gushed.
Liam tugged her arm. ‘Shhh… you’re sounding like a tourist.’
Mission Street was flanked with five- and six-storey brick buildings, warehouses, offices, factories, banks and legal firms. She caught sight of a tall building dominating the skyline — fifteen, perhaps twenty storeys high that looked like a small version of the Empire State Building.
‘I didn’t know they had skyscrapers back then… uhh… I mean back now!’
Liam nodded. ‘Nothing like this in Ireland.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘And you’re telling me all this gets totally destroyed?’
‘Uh-huh. Tomorrow morning, April eighteenth, the great Californian earthquake. According to our history database, much of the downtown area is destroyed by the quake… and then the resulting fire destroys most of what was left in this a
rea… the fourth and fifth districts.’
‘Jeeeez… that’s a real shame, so it is.’ Liam locked his brows for a moment. ‘Hang on! Strikes me as a bit stupid that the agency has picked here and now to store our supplies if it’s about to be brought crashing down.’
‘Well, duh!’ said Maddy, making a face and rolling her eyes. ‘Think about it! It makes perfect sense!’ She looked at him as if he’d just put on a pair of shoes the wrong way round. ‘Liam, I thought Foster said you’re meant to be smart?’
He pouted his lip, feigning hurt. ‘Well, Miss Smarty Pants, you’re obviously itching to tell me something, so get on with it.’
She sighed. ‘It’s perfect, because the bank vault where our replacement engineered foetuses are located will be completely destroyed in the fire. Everything. All the safe deposit boxes, their contents, all the client paperwork… everything. No paper trail.’
Liam grinned. ‘Ah, very clever.’
‘Exactly.’
The hubbub on Mission Street was added to by the noisy clatter of a sputtering engine. Its noise blotted out everything as it slowly approached them. They finally saw the vehicle rolling down the middle of the street on flimsy spoked wheels, following a man on foot waving a red warning flag before him.
‘Wow! I didn’t know they had cars then!’ Maddy shouted in his ear.
He shook his head. ‘Now who’s being dumb! Of course we did!’ He watched the vehicle slowly rattle past, steered by a man wearing a cap and goggles. Beside him sat a woman sporting a cloud of ostrich feathers above her head, her gloved hands clasped over her ears at the cacophony.
‘Now I know that’s an Oldsmobile Model R,’ added Liam as the vehicle finally turned right off Mission Street and the laboured clatter of internal combustion allowed them to talk easily once more. ‘There were quite a few of those things dashing about Cork — yes, even Cork — when I left.’
