The Last Beginning

by Lauren James

  Clove let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God!”

  Tom moved Jen into a more comfortable position and then stood up. “We need to be quick. Someone will have heard the noise.” He walked awkwardly over to the desk, one hand pressed to his waist.

  “Dad! What happened?” Clove asked.

  “Nothing, I’m fine.”

  “But you—” She cut herself off. His hands were bright red with blood. He’d been shot. It must have happened during his tussle with the guard.

  Tom sat down, pressing his hand more firmly against his side and blanching at the pain.

  Clove tried not to panic. His injury couldn’t be too serious if he was still moving about. He would be fine. They just had to fix the past, and then she could take him to a hospital. It was going to be OK.

  “What do we do next?” he asked.

  Clove let out a shaky breath. “The program is nowhere near being finished and you’re hurt. W−we can’t… This isn’t going to work.”

  For a second, Clove considered running the time machine anyway, and hoping that somehow their bare-bones program would work. But she knew she couldn’t risk it, not even to save millions of lives. If it didn’t work – which it wouldn’t – then the wormhole would grow out of control and turn into a black hole. It would destroy the whole planet.

  It seemed impossible that after all this effort, with so much help, she had still failed. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, with Tom bleeding out, and Jen unconscious, and a broken time machine.

  If only there was another way. If only she could use time itself to find a way to cheat. Why couldn’t she just get someone from the future to bring her the working code? She promised herself that if she ever got the time machine working, she would bring back the code and rescue herself in the past right here and now. She closed her eyes and wished really, really hard.

  If she ever managed to time travel from this reality, then the code would appear on the computer screen when she opened her eyes.

  She opened her eyes.

  There was nothing.

  Well, it had been a long shot.

  Tom let out a long, moist exhale and wiped away the blood from his mouth. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I tried. I tried as hard as I could.”

  Clove could only just make out the edges of the bones in her wrist.

  She was as good as gone.

  When she looked up again, there was a message flashing on the screen.

  > To Clove: You’re welcome. Love, Clove xx

  As she gaped, the message changed.

  > Program ready to use

  > Please set destination

  Clove-in-the-future had come through with the goods.

  Clove’s elation was cut short as she realized she had no idea what to use the time machine for. She didn’t have time to go back to 1745, not any more. She’d have disintegrated into atoms long before she had a chance to stop herself from speaking to Matthew, and Tom was in no state to go there either. She had to come up with a new plan.

  The reason everything was falling apart was because Katherine and Matthew had never achieved what they were supposed to in 1745. Matthew had died, sacrificing himself to save Katherine. If Clove could just use the time machine to rescue Matthew before he died, everything would go back to normal. Wouldn’t it?

  “I’ll … I’ll bring Matthew back,” she said aloud, on an impulse. All this had happened because Matthew had died. So if she put him where he should have been, it would all go back to normal.

  A message from Spart popped up on her watch.

  > How are you planning to do that? He’s dead.

  “I can…” She stopped talking to think. How could she bring someone back to life? And then it came to her.

  There were loads of versions of Matthew throughout history, dozens of them. She just had to take one of them and put him where he was needed the most. In 1745. Somehow.

  She might be able to take one of the Matthews she knew wasn’t needed any more in their time. One who had definitely finished whatever it was he had to do, like the Matthew who had saved the commanders from the rockets in 1854. She could take him and put him in 1745.

  That would work, wouldn’t it?

  She was almost certain that it would.

  Probably.

  She had to try.

  “Spart, open the wormhole to 1854,” she said. “After the rocket attack on the commanders’ tent. We’ll take the Matthew from then and put him in 1745.” She tried to ignore the quaver in her voice.

  > But he won’t survive the—

  “Just do it! Before it’s too late!” Clove yelled, blind with panic. She couldn’t believe Spart was arguing with her. The world was destroyed, Clove was fading into nothing, and Spart didn’t want her to fix it. “NOW.”

  > Scanning time thread …

  > Subject allocation “MATTHEW” detected in time-landscape 1854

  > Initiating wormhole …

  The huge particle accelerator began to whirr, and she watched the wormhole appear. Inside, Clove caught a glimpse of the world of 1854 on the other side: blue sky, brown ground, red uniforms, and then Matthew Galloway as he was sucked into the hole, headfirst. He fell into the lab in a tumble of limbs.

  “Now open the wormhole again,” Clove yelled, “to 1745. Make sure it’s exactly when Matthew was killed there.”

  > But he—

  “DO IT!” Clove screamed at Spart.

  > Scanning time thread …

  > CLOVE, the radiation will—

  “Clove…” Tom groaned. He had lost all colour. He dropped to the floor with a rough grunt of pain.

  “I’m here,” she whispered, crouching beside him. “Dad, I’m here.” She tried to cup his cheek, but her hand passed right through him. Behind her, Spart was still operating the time machine.

  > Subject allocation “MATTHEW” detected in time-landscape 1745

  > Subject allocation “MATTHEW” in time-landscape 1745 timed out

  > Initiating wormhole …

  The wormhole reopened on the cathedral in Carlisle. Clove could see an elegantly painted ceiling and pews filled with people. Lying on the floor, just inside the wormhole, was Matthew. Katherine was curled over him. Spart had timed it perfectly.

  > Intervention in progress …

  > Transferring male candidate …

  > File loading …

  The 1854-Matthew − who had been lying inside the time machine with his head to his knees, groaning − disappeared into the wormhole. He fell onto the floor of the cathedral just as the dying Matthew from 1745 was pulled through time. He arrived in the lab in a rush of wind and a cloud of red.

  > … closing wormhole …

  An expression of horror and confusion on Katherine’s face was the last thing Clove saw, before the wormhole was sucked in on itself and the vision of 1745 disappeared into nothing.

  As the whirring of the machinery died down, there was a long second of silence. Blood fell from Matthew’s body like rain, spraying the floor with a fine red mist. Clove stared at him, unable to believe what she’d just done. Then she shook herself and turned to see if Tom was OK.

  To her shock, Tom had disappeared. So had Jen and the guard.

  Blinking disbelievingly at the room, which was empty except for her and Matthew, Clove wondered what this meant. Had they disappeared because she’d succeeded in changing the past? Had she fixed the mistakes she’d made to the future? Or had she made everything worse?

  She held her hands up to the light, bracing herself. She could no longer see her bones, only the pale pink of her skin.

  She wasn’t fading any more. She was saved.

  And Tom and Jen – they would be at home, wouldn’t they? If they weren’t here, they must be in St Andrews. It was so hard to make sense of everything, but they had to be. Unless she’d somehow erased them from existence completely.

  She called Tom’s watch, bracing herself for new changes.

  “Hello?” he said when he answered,
voice sleep-thick and quiet.

  “Dad?” She tried to hide the tremor in her voice.

  “Darlin’?”

  She couldn’t hide her sob of relief. He was alive, and he knew who she was. She’d got her dad back.

  “Clove, are you OK? Where are you? Why aren’t you asleep? Where are you calling me from? Are you out? At this time of night?”

  “What is it?” She heard Jen say in the background.

  “Sorry,” Clove said. “I’m in bed. I rang you by accident. I’m fine. Go back to sleep. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he said automatically. “Don’t stay up too late.”

  He hung up, and Clove ran her hands through her hair, trying to decide whether to curl up and cry or dance with glee. She’d done it. Tom was alive, and still her dad. She had saved the future.

  But she was stuck in Cambridge, in the empty basement of a physics department, without even a time machine any more, because for some reason that had disappeared too.

  It took Clove a second to realize why: because it hadn’t been built in Cambridge in her version of time, it had been built in St Andrews.

  Before Clove could even begin to work out how she was going to get home, the eighteenth-century version of Matthew Galloway let out a long, low groan.

  CHAPTER 30

  The diary of Katherine Finchley

  Carlisle, Cumberland, England

  Sunday 17 November 1745

  I can’t understand what I saw yesterday, nor how it could even be possible. Matthew was in my arms, bleeding from his chest and close to death. Then, only seconds later, there was a gust of wind like we were standing outside in a storm, and suddenly the body in my arms had changed. It was the same, but different, in a monstrous, horrific way.

  I know the vision I saw was not the delusion of a hysterical woman. Matthew really was shot with a musket. He really was passing into death, there in my arms.

  However, somehow my Matthew was replaced – by himself. By an uninjured, healthy, DEMONIC version of himself.

  The creature claims to come from the year 1854, from a war in Europe. It says that it is Matthew Galloway. This being mistook me for a woman called Katy, who it claims looks just like me.

  The creature is older than my Matthew, with no working man’s calluses nor muscles. It has a different hairstyle and talks with a different accent. It is Matthew but different. A twin of him, raised in a different time and place.

  I do not believe it can be possible. No part of me understands what kind of Witch’s Magicks have caused this to occur, nor how such a thing could happen.

  However, if this is truth, then where on earth, or in Heaven or Hell, is my Matthew?

  Whatever could the Witch want with him there?

  Monday 18 November 1745

  Circumstances have evolved. This twin of Matthew’s truly has been brought to this time from the year 1854. He was sent here from that distant time to help me, I believe. He has knowledge of the future that has been invaluable in the fight against the Rebels.

  We have come to realize that if the City of Carlisle surrenders to the Rebels, then England will be defeated in the Uprising. It seems that this would be disastrous for future events. With this Matthew’s help, I have persuaded Colonel Durand to maintain defences against the Jacobites. Hopefully we can prevent the Rebels from seizing the North.

  If this is the reason the Witch brought Matthew’s twin to me, I hope she knows what she is doing. He suffers greatly from a mysterious illness, and becomes sicker with every day that passes. I worry for his Life and Soul. I still have no knowledge of my own Matthew.

  Thursday 21 November 1745

  Matthew Galloway, born 1833, passed away sometime in the early hours of 21 November, the year of our Lord 1745, of a fever and sickness I still do not understand.

  At least I may rest assured he achieved whatever he was sent here to do, as Colonel Durand has agreed to maintain defence of the City.

  May Matthew rest in peace, alongside my own Matthew Galloway, wherever he may now be, born 1728.

  Folios/v1/Time-landscape-1745/MS-13

  File note: Diary entries by subject allocation “KATHERINE” from 17–21 November 1745

  CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND, 2056

  Clove sat in the hospital waiting room, staring at a mauve wall and trying to process everything that had happened. The version of Matthew she had pulled from 1745 had been in surgery for two hours, and she hadn’t heard anything. She’d had to pretend that she was his sister so that the nurses would let her stay – but that lie was the least of her worries. She had no idea how he would react when he woke up. He’d have no idea where he was.

  He was used to the old-fashioned world of carriages and candlelight – what would he do when he found himself in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machinery? If he hadn’t been able to handle seeing Clove’s watch, how would he react to the modern world?

  Clove itched to run into his hospital room to reassure him, but she wasn’t allowed. Instead, she had to sit in the waiting room, doing nothing. She’d been here for hours, exhausted and full of adrenalin, all at once. It was hard to believe so much had happened in what was, here, only one night. It was now early on Saturday morning. At eleven the night before, she had been breaking into the physics department at St Andrews University. That Clove felt like a different person.

  Earlier, Clove had messaged Tom, telling him that she’d gone to Meg’s house first thing to try and make up with her. He hadn’t sounded worried. He didn’t seem to remember anything that had happened in the alternate 2056.

  “Spart?” she whispered.

  > Yes, CLOVE?

  “Did anything change? Have you looked?”

  > The future has reverted back to its original state. You were very lucky.

  > The subject allocation “MATTHEW” from 1854 worked with the subject allocation “KATHERINE” in 1745 to persuade DURAND to maintain the city’s defences against the Jacobites, as required. It worked.

  Clove closed her eyes. “Phew.” The world was back to its healthy and mostly flourishing self, with no sign of Russian soldiers or nuclear holocausts in sight. She’d fixed everything.

  > However…

  “Yes? What?”

  > According to medical records, the subject “MATTHEW” from 1854 died within days, of symptoms that resembled radiation poisoning. As I tried to tell you in the lab, it’s not possible to travel in the wormhole without a suit for protection.

  “I killed him?” she asked hollowly. The knowledge didn’t hit her the way it should. She seemed to be killing everyone recently.

  She rested her head in her hands. She was too tired.

  “Clove Sutcliffe?”

  A doctor was standing in front of her. “Your brother has come out of surgery. His condition is stable, although one of his lungs had collapsed. He’s sedated, but he should wake up in the next few hours.”

  “Thank you,” she said in relief. “Thank you so much.”

  “There’s just one thing… Do you know of any reason why Mr Galloway might have radiation poisoning?” the doctor asked, frowning at her notes.

  Clove tried to look like someone who didn’t have any knowledge of time-travel-related transportation devices that might possibly give someone radiation poisoning. “No?”

  “Well, we’re treating it, and he should survive, but … it’s very strange. It’s got everyone flummoxed. We have no idea where it could have come from, short of a nuclear bomb.”

  “Is he going to be OK?”

  “I’m sorry to say that he’s going to be infertile for the rest of his life. But apart from that, he should be healthy enough − once the short-term symptoms are treated.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “But the bullet he was shot with” − the doctor scratched her forehead − “it looks like an antique. Like a musket ball. It’s…” She trailed off, at a loss.

  “That’s really strange,” Clove agreed. “I just got a phone call from h
im telling me that he’d been hurt. I called for an ambulance when I got there. He was unconscious by then. I have no idea what happened to him.”

  “Well, when he wakes up, the police will want a statement about the shooting. I’m sure they’ll need to talk to you too.”

  “That’s absolutely fine,” Clove lied. “No problem.”

  This was a huge problem. Matthew couldn’t talk to the police, not in England in 2056 − where Matthew Galloway had broken out of Wakefield Prison in mysterious circumstances sixteen years earlier. The police would arrest him immediately.

  When the doctor had gone, Clove rested her head on her knees, trying to decide exactly how much trouble she was in. At least Tom was still alive, and the future was saved. That was a relief. And she was no longer slowly fading away like a ghost. Those were the positives.

  On the negative side… 1745-Matthew had been shot because of her, and he might still die from his injuries. If he did survive, he was hours away from being imprisoned for a crime 2039-Matthew had committed. 1854-Matthew had died of radiation poisoning and his body was stuck in 1745. All because she hadn’t stopped to think through her time-travel plan properly before she’d gone ahead and done it.

  Keeping all of these different versions of Matthew straight was giving her a headache.

  Everyone knew that if you travelled back in time you’d end up stepping on a butterfly and somehow killing your grandad by accident. Clove had apparently cut out the middleman and just killed her own father. Twice. It was too terrible to think about.

  Another problem occurred to Clove. When – if − 1745-Matthew recovered, and if she managed to break him out of the hospital before the police found him, then she would still have to deal with having brought an eighteenth-century coachman to 2056. Somehow.

  She had several options, she decided. She could tell Tom and Jen that she had found Matthew − who was currently in a hospital in Cambridge being treated for a gunshot wound, over a decade younger than he should be, and spoke like he was from the very distant past − and then suffer the inevitable fallout.

  Or she could wait until Matthew was better, and then send him back to 1745 without Jen or Tom ever knowing. She thought she could probably pull off another lab break-in if she really had to.