After a moment, a long rope ladder tumbled down the trunk. It swung wildly as the bottom rung reached the ground. Damien yanked at the ladder until it was tight and even.
‘Best to tell Mama the news straightaway,’ Alli said, grabbing the bottom rung.
‘I will. But how do you reckon she’ll take it?’
‘With Dad gone, and now Danice?’ Alli replied. ‘Badly.’
Damien nodded. ‘You first!’
Alli started to climb.
The frightened whoop of a bird echoed sharply through the clearing. Damien spun around. The bushes rustled a short distance away.
Damien leapt onto the ladder and followed his sister up into the thick green canopy of branches.
8
The year 2000, New York City
Simon was getting annoyed. He was also getting worried.
He stood by the news stand with a copy of the latest issue of The New Yorker magazine rolled up and inserted into the pouch on the right thigh of his travel suit. That part of his first mission was completed and on schedule. Now all he had to do was meet up with Danice, then return to their timeline in a quiet alley near Grand Central Station. They were supposed to have met five minutes previously. Simon stepped out from the side of the stand and looked up and down the street. Cars, trucks and yellow cabs beeped loudly and crowds of office workers scurried along the pavements.
‘So, buddy, where’s your bike?’ the news vendor asked.
Simon looked away. He was supposed to be inconspicuous! He’d told the man he was a bicycle courier. This was the explanation he had been ordered to give to anyone who asked. With his helmet retracted, and a big T-shirt over the top part of his time-travel suit, he looked like any of the couriers who buzzed around the city.
‘It’s over the road,’ Simon lied. ‘I’m just waiting for a friend.’
The man turned to a new customer and Simon breathed a sigh of relief. He checked his wrist pilot, pressing a finger to the touch screen and activating a series of yellow grids. A red locator dot and a set of figures flashed in the right-hand corner. They indicated the timeline would stay open for another seven minutes, which meant that in two minutes he would have to go back alone. He wasn’t crazy about the thought of reporting: ‘Sorry, sir, got one magazine, lost one time traveller!’
‘So, Simon, what are we waiting for?’ a voice said. It was Danice, wearing a bright-red coat over her travel suit.
‘What took you so long?’ Simon demanded.
‘I had to find the right clothes,’ she replied. ‘A woman from the Bureau took me shopping a couple of times. But this was my first go by myself.’
‘How could you afford that? How much did they give you?’
Danice shrugged. ‘Two hundred dollars.’
‘They only gave me five!’ Simon held out a couple of coins. ‘And I was ordered to bring back the change.’
‘I need modern clothes,’ Danice replied.
‘Because you’re so old-fashioned?’ Simon asked. ‘Maybe you could tell me what era you are from?’
The day before, Simon and Danice had spent several hours in the underground zone that housed the Time Accelerator, learning about its basic operations. He had still discovered nothing more about her, except detecting that she had a slight American accent. But she wouldn’t tell him what year she was from, or even what country she was from. And Captain Cutler was keeping them busy with a tough exercise regime, information briefings, and training missions. Simon had been unable to get away from Danice for even a minute. He was starting to feel claustrophobic.
‘I can’t tell you what era I’m from, you know that,’ Danice said, checking her wrist pilot. ‘Come on, time’s up.’
Simon headed for the alley where the timeline was waiting for them. ‘It’s not me who’s been holding us up!’ he muttered.
9
Simon stepped through the airtight lock.
‘Stop there!’ snapped the Security Officer. ‘Stop at the yellow line and remain stationary!’
Simon looked down at his bare feet and halted by the line on the floor. A series of rapidly moving red and violet beams scanned his body from head to toe.
The last couple of hours had been both weird and gross, as his time-travel suit was dissolved and peeled off his body. Now all he wanted to do was go to his room to chill out, watch TV, have a bite to eat and sleep.
‘So, find any bugs?’ Simon asked.
‘Just checking you don’t bring back any microorganisms, bacteria, viruses or insects from the timezone you visited,’ the officer drawled.
‘Yeah! I read the manual. Sir.’
‘Now for your identity check.’
‘I am me,’ Simon murmured. He was starting to get irritated. His first trip had been more exhausting than he could have imagined.
‘Haven’t heard that one before,’ the officer said. ‘Just place yourself at the recognition scanner.’
Simon positioned his head in front of an oval screen. There was a quick click and a flash of green light.
‘And you’d better get used to this. This procedure happens every time you come back.’
Simon yawned and nodded.
The officer glared. ‘And how about handing in the magazine you purchased.’
‘Sure.’ Simon took The New Yorker from the pocket of his tracksuit pants and dropped it on the counter. ‘Delivered, as ordered. Sir.’
‘Anything else to declare?’
Simon shook his head.
‘The coins,’ the man said, nodding towards Simon’s left hand. ‘I picked them up on the scanner.’
‘Oh, those.’ Simon plonked the coins next to the magazine.
‘And your other equipment?’
‘All left in the safety locker outside the Spin Box,’ he replied.
‘Right you are, Savage, carry on.’
‘Sir!’ Simon said, and strolled through the next door and into the change room.
‘Whew!’ he sighed, letting down his guard for the first time in twelve hours. Now was his official Down Time, a rest period of seventy-two hours that would allow his body to recover its normal molecular structure after the stresses of time travel.
Simon stopped in front of the mirror. He knew there might be some bodily changes as a result of the journey, and he quickly glanced into the glass.
His hair was now a brown tangle instead of straight, his eyes seemed brighter blue, his skin a shade paler. There were blotches of red on his face and neck.
‘You look a real mess,’ he mumbled.
A shiny steel drink robot came gliding noiselessly alongside. It fixed its digital eye squarely on Simon’s face. ‘Hi, Si, care for a drink?’
‘Thanks, Servo,’ Simon replied, grabbing a fresh towel from the bench. A hot shower and a few laps of the pool and his body might start to get back on track.
‘I’ve got orange and lemon, cranberry, yodelberry and tropical mix,’ Servo rattled off. ‘Or try our new vitamin-enriched, creamy yoghurt cola!’
‘Urgh! No thanks! The orange and lemon’ll be fine.’
There was a whirring inside the drinkbot and a small door slid open. A stainless-steel arm extended and held out a glass of frothy, freshly squeezed juice.
‘Thanks,’ Simon said. He was already used to speaking to robots. They carried out many basic duties in the Bureau, and were so interactive that it was easy to forget they were machines.
‘A pleasure,’ Servo replied. ‘I hope you had a fruitful mission, too.’
‘The first of many, I suppose,’ Simon said, ‘but nothing to boast about.’
His muscles still felt tingly and his skin itched.
Ivan Ho burst into the change room. ‘Hi, Simon, how’ve you been?’
‘Okay,’ Simon replied.
‘Man, how do you feel about this time-travel kick—amazing, eh?’ Ivan asked. ‘Feels like you’re being pulled at a zillion k’s an hour into a tube of glue.’
Simon nodded. ‘Then that kind of explosion. Bright red
and yellow light. Then …’
‘Then nothing … and you wake up wherever they sent you. It’s a trip, all right,’ Ivan said with a broad smile. ‘So, where have you been today?’
‘New York, year 2000,’ Simon replied. ‘You?’
‘Beijing, 1900. They wanted me to get some original documents on the Boxer Rebellion.’
‘So, why were they refusing to wear underwear?’
Ivan frowned. ‘The Boxers were a secret Chinese society …’
‘I know! I know!’ Simon laughed, despite his tiredness. ‘They were opposing Westerners who were trying to extend their influence in the country. I read about it the other day. Major effort.’
Ivan grinned again. ‘Hey, if you don’t learn something in this job, what’s it worth, eh?’ He sat down. ‘And what’s with Danice? The mystery girl. You’re hanging out with her, so fill us in.’
‘She’s under wraps. I don’t know much.’ Simon shrugged. ‘She’s a mystery all right. No one’s told me anything.’
‘Savage!’ Cutler’s voice boomed through a speaker built into the frame of the drinkbot.
‘Yes, sir!’
‘I want you to report to the professor,’ Cutler said. ‘Fifteen minutes. You can rest later.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What’s that all about?’ Ivan asked.
‘Beats me,’ Simon said, searching his locker.
Whenever Cutler wants something, it usually means trouble, he thought. Then he pushed the idea from his mind.
‘Hey, have you seen my sandwich?’ he asked.
Ivan laughed. ‘Nick took it to Egypt, 1798.’
‘Hope the Egyptians like cheese and tomato,’ Simon replied, making for the door.
10
The 16th Century, Spain
A pinpoint appeared in the darkness, like the first stab of starlight in a night sky.
A second later, it grew to the size of a bottle top. Then it burst into bright yellow-and-white swirls that filled the stone-walled cellar with rippling light. The light flared off the piles of gold plate, gold bars, candlesticks, jewellery and chests of ducats. A final, brilliant flash brought a TPS spinning into the space, punching a wormhole in the air. Shadowy forms flickered far back along the time tunnel. Then suddenly they materialised in the chamber as three shimmering human forms.
A moment later they assumed their full solidity.
‘Phew, right on target!’ Damien said, shaking his body to get his limbs moving again. ‘You all okay?’
Alli nodded, opening a thigh pouch on her travel suit. It was a simple but practical outfit made of a plastic-like material. She took out a hand-pump spray bottle. ‘Doesn’t get any easier, no matter how many times we do it. You okay, Lee?’
‘Yeah, I’m okay,’ a bony, red-haired boy replied. He squinted in the dank and unfamiliar surroundings. ‘Are we in the right place?’
‘This is it,’ Damien confirmed.
‘There’s that bird again!’ Alli pointed to a solid gold statue in the alcove above the door. It was the size of a small dog, with the head and wings of an eagle and the claws and body of a lion.
‘What is it?’ Lee asked. ‘It’s creepy.’
Damien glanced up. ‘Yeah, plug ugly. It’s a griffin. You see them in a lot of these places. They’re an ancient sort of charm that guards the treasure.’
‘Doesn’t seem to work,’ Alli grinned.
‘Not with us around. You know what to do, Lee?’ Damien reached into his own leg pouch and took out a spray bottle, then picked up a fifteen-centimetre gold bar from a stack. ‘Gold bars first …’
‘Finger bars are the most valuable,’ Alli added as she covered the bar with nano-spray and tossed it into the wormhole. ‘As many as you can, quick as you can.’
‘And this works?’ Lee asked, taking a bottle from his own pouch.
‘Sure,’ Alli replied. ‘A squirt of this stuff sends the gold through time and pops it back into its original form at the other end.’
‘Like us, when we get back?’
‘Yep. That’s how it works.’
‘This hole’s only open for fifteen minutes,’ Damien said. He checked the position of the spinning TPS, which now emitted a bluish gleam that gave them enough light to work by.
‘Damien, that sound, can you hear it?’ Alli asked, nodding towards the solid wooden door at the end of the cellar.
‘Keep working. I’ll check.’
There were clinks of gold against gold as Alli and Lee lifted, sprayed and tossed the gold bars.
‘They’re heavy,’ Lee said.
‘We haven’t even started!’ Alli replied. She glanced at her brother. ‘You hear anything?’
Damien pressed his ear against the door. ‘The guards are belting out some sort of song.’
‘Hopefully they won’t hear us, then!’
For the next five minutes they sweated hard, tossing bar after bar into the swirling vortex.
‘Lee, we’re doing all right here,’ Alli said, looking at the gold ornaments stacked around the repository. ‘Must be dozens of those candlesticks. Grab a few!’
‘The Tribunes in Old City love those,’ Damien said. ‘The Chieftain buys his favours with stuff like that.’
Lee crossed to a shelf which ran along one wall of the cellar. A dozen gold candlesticks stood in a gleaming row. He grabbed for the first one.
‘Weighs a ton!’ he exclaimed. ‘Oops!’
The heavy candlestick slipped from his sweaty grip and fell against the next one. The whole row toppled over with a resounding crash.
‘Sorry!’ Lee said lamely.
There were shouts from beyond the door.
‘That’s wrecked it!’ Damien hissed. ‘I’ll distract the guards while you two get going!’
Alli grabbed Lee. ‘You first. Move!’ She gave him a shove and he was sucked into the wormhole.
Keys rattled on the far side of the door.
Damien turned to Alli. ‘Get out—quick! I’ll be right after you!’
‘Don’t wait around!’ Alli yelled as she jumped into the wormhole and vanished.
Damien heard the metal bolts being thrown back. He dashed for the wormhole as the door swung open. A guard stormed in and fired his musket wildly. The round of shot tore into a wooden beam in the ceiling.
‘Adiós, amigos!’ Damien cried, leaping into the time tunnel. He hoped the gold would please the Chieftain.
The TPS spun for a second and its light swirled around the chamber. Then it was gone and the wormhole closed.
The guards gasped and sank to their knees.
‘El diablo, el diablo!’ one of them cried.
It was his only explanation for a phenomenon he would never understand.
11
‘Good to see you, Savage,’ McPhee said, glancing away from the Timeline Operations Screen that dominated the Command Centre.
For most of Simon’s stay at the manor the centre had been the Forbidden Zone. No entry, no surprise drop-in visits, nothing without security clearance. On their first guided tour, the temponauts had merely glimpsed the centre through a thick barrier of armoured glass from the neighbouring viewing room.
Now Simon was close enough to take in every detail. He stood by the command console, where an Operations Officer was permanently on duty, keeping a close watch on movements across time. The screen was about six metres by three and showed a series of coloured bands. There were twenty vertical lines indicating blocks of one century each, dating back two thousand years from Present Time, and four bands going forward four hundred years. Horizontally, two broader, yellow lines showed current missions. Nick Spenser was still in the year 1798, and Taylor Bly was in 1900.
Simon felt a shiver of anticipation. This is where I want to be, he thought. Mission Control. This is where I can find out what I need to know.
‘Any sight of Spenser yet, Harry?’ McPhee asked the Operations Officer, a chubby, red-faced man in an army uniform.
‘No, sir,’ Harry replied,
‘but the timeline’s just opened again. We’re getting some vision of the area and he’s due back to his pick-up location in ten minutes.’
‘Very well, keep an eye out.’ McPhee turned to Simon. ‘You know how it all works?’
‘Not exactly, Professor.’
‘I was looking at your Training Request Form. You said that you wanted to learn how the Time Control and Mission Tracking System operates. Any special reason?’
Yes, Simon felt like saying, I want to find out how and why my dad died. But it would be stupid to tell it straight like that. ‘I’m just interested,’ he said.
McPhee gave Simon a searching stare before replying. ‘Well, we’ve decided to grant your request. But for one reason only. You remember that I mentioned a special mission with Danice?’
Simon nodded.
‘Good. Understanding how this system operates will help you with that,’ McPhee said. ‘Harry here is our rostered Operations Officer. He will give you some basic training.’
Harry twisted around on his chair. ‘Harry Hammil,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Got any questions, just ask.’
Simon fixed his eyes back on the Operations Screen. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Why do we go back in time and take documents and investigate all these different eras?’
Harry looked at McPhee. ‘Would you like to take that one, sir?’
‘One of our jobs is research,’ McPhee explained. ‘Recently, we formed a History Unit. We’re rewriting some of the history of Europe, America, China and parts of Africa using original documents and facts gathered by our temponauts.’
Simon’s attention switched to the future end of the screen.
‘I see you’re also interested in the centuries ahead,’ McPhee observed, following Simon’s gaze.
‘Those bands going forward four centuries,’ Simon said. ‘Why are they there? In our training manual it says that there is some law, some regulation, about not travelling to the future. Is that right, sir?’
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