We are Tam

by Patricia Bernard

  "Yes, Miss Fipps? What is it now?"

  "Professor, the books you asked for have come upstairs. They are a strange lot though. I didn't know you were interested in science and biology." She placed the pile on his desk. "You do look tired, dear Professor. A little tea perhaps? Shall I open a window?"

  "No, I'm not staying. I've something to finish, then I'll be off. Thank you Miss Fipps." He waved her away keeping his hand on the book that covered the strange writing.

  Her face fell with disappointment as she waddled out of the room.

  "You work too hard. All those reporters. All these late hours. I'll be pleased when this silly cylinder business is over."

  "No more than I," muttered the Professor.

  He finished writing, then took a key from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked a drawer in his desk. He felt around and took out a small metal tube. Sliding the fine paper and two reels of microfilm into it, he closed the lid tightly. Last one for the day, he thought.

  He rose slowly from his chair, walked to the coat stand and put on a heavy black coat and hat. Carefully he placed the tube in his pocket, patting it flat so that it wouldn't be noticed. He felt the other pocket for the tube he'd hidden there that morning.

  As he left his office, he saw himself in the wall mirror - dark, greying hair and beard, deep lines etched around pale grey eyes. I ought to spend more time in the sun, he thought as he examined his sallow, indoor complexion, but I have to finish everything before the cylinder is buried. Everything must be cleared up before I resign.

  He locked the office and walked slowly down the empty corridor. Although tall, he walked with a stoop and looked much older than his fifty years.

  It had been a crisp, sunny day - the sort that makes people come out of their air-conditioned offices - but cloistered in the Library, the Professor hadn't even noticed the weather. Now it was becoming chilly. He dug his hands into his pockets and, quickening his pace, set off across the road.

  As he entered the Botanic Gardens, a diligent jogger passed him, but the professor didn't see him. He was deep in thought. As he walked, he argued with himself, muttering angrily as if talking to someone. He'd have to move faster, for the gardeners would soon be closing the iron gates. A few days ago he'd been locked inside and had to climb over the spiked fence. He didn't want that to happen again.

  Checking that he was alone, he slipped behind a hedge and knelt down beside a tall tree. he took a small garden trowel out of his inside pocket and dug deeply into the earth beside its roots. Then, with a furtive look, he dropped the small tube into the hole and quickly buried it.

  A sailor and a girl walked past, deep in conversation. The Professor hurried away in the opposite direction. He left the path and crossed the lawn to a statue of a horse and colt. Again he checked to see whether he was alone then he started to dig at the base of the statue. His arm ached and his head swam. He was really too tired to do this today. When the hole was deep enough, he threw in the second tube, then filled in the hole and stamped the earth flat.

  "That will have to do," he told the bronze horses. He rested against the statue and looked over the harbour. "I hope someone finds them."

  Eventually he roused himself and trudged off, head bent against the rising evening wind.

  CHAPTER 8. WHERE IS IT HIDDEN

  After promising that they wouldn't be home late, Tam and Steven caught the bus into the city. They didn't talk during the fifteen minutes it took the bus to wind through the narrow streets and arrive at the city centre. Tam was too busy worrying that Tameron might not turn up. How would she explain it to Steven? Steven was reading the graffiti on the brick walls and thinking about what he'd do if this were a hoax.

  They left the bus, and crossed several city streets. Crowds of workers waited impatiently at red traffic lights, ready to rush across at the first opportunity in their haste to get home. Between the tall office blocks Tam and Steven could see the Town Hall tower. It was a quarter to six, and dusk was falling fast.

  Streetlights blinked on around them as they reached the beautifully ornamented Town Hall building. Twenty marble steps led up to its carved portico, supported by grey columns. It was Victorian in design, and its clock tower was the pride of the city.

  "Where did she say the cylinder was buried?" Steven asked, examining both sides of the broad stairway.

  "Bottom step, left side, set into the stone pillar," Tam told him.

  "There's nothing buried here." He ran his hand over the rough stone of the balustrade.

  They sat waiting on the steps between the two large carved balustrades, which curved outwards as they descended, ending at the bottom in two squat stone pillars. Below them, people continued to rush past and disappear down the steps of the underground station. High above their heads the tower clock struck six.

  "Why does it have to be six o'clock? Steven asked.

  "She said contact is easier at the end of sunning."

  "Can you hear anything in your head yet?"

  "No, but I'm going to concentrate." Tam leant her head against the balustrade. "Tameron, Tameron," she sang quietly.

  After a while, echoing in her head, came the faint voice she recognised.

  "Tam, Tam."

  She felt for Steven's arm.

  "It's happening."

  "I am here in Oldcit. It is a terrible place - great blocks

  of stone lying everywhere, weeds and creepers over everything.

  I have found the great clock." Tameron's voice quavered,

  faded, then grew stronger. "There are Citguards patrolling

  between Oldcit and Newcit. I was nearly seen."

  "What's happening?" Steven whispered, pulling Tam's

  arm. She shook him off.

  "Where is the plaque?" asked the voice in her head.

  "A plaque!" Tam said out loud.

  "What plaque?" Steven asked, looking around the steps.

  "What's she talking about?

  "What plaque?" Tam queried. She began to repeat

  Tameron's words as they came into her head.

  "Darwei said that the cylinder is buried behind a plaque.

  Hurry! Find it quickly. Sunning is almost over, and you know I am afraid of the black."

  Tam and Steven searched the stairs, but there was no sign of a plaque. Tam leant against the stone balustrade again and concentrate.

  "We can't find it," she sent. She could hear her mirror-

  image clearly in reply.

  "I memorised the words that Darwei said are written on

  the plaque, but I do not understand them. It says, "Buried

  here this day thirtieth of September 1986 by the Lord

  Mayor". So it must be there," urged Tameron.

  Tam repeated the words to Steven.

  "Thirtieth of September 1986," Steven muttered. "No

  wonder, dillbrain. It's only the twenty-second of September.

  We're eight days, I mean eight sunnings, too early."

  Tam sent this message five hundred years forward in time.

  There was silence in her head.

  "I think she's gone," she said in a low voice.

  "Just as well." Steven felt relieved. "People will think

  you're cracked, singing to a stone."

  "Sssshhh," Tam frowned in concentration. "She thinks

  the cylinder should still be there in the 25th century.

  We must stand as close to the bottom step as possible."

  They walked to the bottom step and stood by the pillar.

  "What's happening now?" Steven muttered impatiently, pulling

  his jacket around him. "It's getting cold."

  "She's digging, says she's seen a piece of green metal.

  She's found the corner of a box. She's lifting it. It's very

  heavy. Oooohhh, there's a flashing light. She doesn't like it.

  It hurts her eyes. She's running. It's dark. She's frightened." Tam's voice rose. "She's being chased. Steven, something awful is happeni
ng." Tam clutched her leg suddenly.

  "She's fallen. She's hurt. The pain is terrible!"

  A red mist swam before Tam's eyes.

  "Are you all right, sis?"

  Tam could see that Steven was worried, his eyes were crinkled up and he was frowning at her, but she couldn't hear what he said. All she could feel was Tameron's fear and pain.

  "Talk to me!" Steven shook her roughly. "What's up?"

  Tam's legs buckled. She slid down the side of the pillar and sat clutching her left knee. Moaning and rocking back and forth, she called Tameron's name.

  "Stop that! Stop it" ordered Steven, scared by her behaviour. "Stop it at once."

  "I feel sick. My leg hurts. I've cut my knee," wailed Tam, eyes wide with pain.

  Steven looked at her knee. There was no cut.

  "There's nothing wrong with it," he pulled her to her feet. "Come on. We're going home." Tam was making such a row that he was sure at any moment someone would stop to see what was wrong.

  "She's lost the cylinder," Tam cried. She leant against the balustrade, with her left leg bent and her head to one side, listening.

  "Come on, Tam. You look like a cocker spaniel. Anyway, we're going to be late."

  Tam rubbed her leg. "It hurts and I feel so tired I could sleep here."

  She looked as if she might so Steven pulled at her arm. "Come on! You can't sleep here." He forced her to walk down the street, and she stumbled along beside him. He hurried her to the bus stop, prodding and pushing her whenever she stopped to rest. "Don't you sleep, Tam. Don't you dare."

  CHAPTER 9. THE RUINS OF OLDCIT

  While Tam and Steven were making their way to the Town hall in the 20th century, Tameron of the 25th century was standing in the Garden of Learned Thought, waiting for two Citguards to pass. Oldcit looked dark and forbidding. The people of her century did not know darkness. At the end of each sunning the night-lights were switched on, regenerating the home-domes' warmth and lighting everywhere with a bright blue glow.

  Taking a deep breath, Tameron sprinted across the forbidden area to the retaining wall.

  "I hope I find the cylinder before sunning is over," she whispered to herself as she climbed over it into the ruins. Once among the crumbling buildings, she searched for the clock tower that Tam had described. How strange to need a machine to tell sunning-time. Each home-dome had an obelisk that told sunning-time perfectly.

  Everything was grey and dismal. It's so ugly, she thought as she stepped over broken glass, shattered wire and metal springs. What were those long pieces of black metal joined together so strangely? She climbed around the pieces of old machinery and peered at the mess beneath her feet. It was at that moment that she realized it was a giant copy of the alarm clock she'd seen in Tam's rest-chamber. Crouching on the shattered clock face, she waited.

  It was still too early to contact the 20th century. This time Older-parent was not helping, but it would not be nearly so difficult the second time. She would be sending only her thoughts and her mirror-image was expecting her.

  Oldcit seemed to close in around her. The shadows deepened. I wonder why there are Citguards to keep people out? Tameron pondered. Who would want to come here anyway? The quick look she had taken from Tam's window had not impressed her. The 20th century city looked gritty and dirty, with a grey cloud covering the grey buildings. She thought of the dull colour of Tam's clothing, always the same dark blue. Then she remembered the brightly coloured comic papers. They looked interesting, and the other younger - a brother, Tam called him - what would it be like to have one of those?

  "Tameron, Tameron," came Tam's distant voice from the past.

  Tameron followed it over the stones and around a deep hole. Before her was a flight of damaged and cracked marble steps. She took a small pick from inside her body-suit and walked carefully towards the steps, fearing that at any moment the earth would give way.

  I must stop thinking about how dangerous it is or I'll lose contact, she thought. She disciplined her mind swiftly and sent an answering message to Tam.

  "Tam, Tam. I am here in oldcit. it is a terrible place. Great blocks of stone everywhere, weeds and creepers over everything. I have found the great clock face. There are Citguards patrolling between Oldcit and Newcit. I was nearly seen."

  Reaching the bottom of the steps, she started to search for the plaque.

  "Where is the plaque?" she asked inside her head.

  "What plaque?" Tam's answering question rang clear.

  "Darwei said that the cylinder is buried behind a plaque. Hurry! Find it quickly. Sunning is almost over, and there are no night-lights here."

  The sky became dimmer as she searched. Tameron had never seen skies without sunning or night-lighting. She almost panicked when she heard Tam again.

  "We can't find it."

  Tameron forced herself to stay calm and began to repeat the words that Darwei had told her, the words on the plaque. An answer came back almost immediately.

  "We're eight days, eight sunnings, too early."

  Tameron's mind went blank, then suddenly she realized that it wouldn't make any difference, not in the 25th century. The plaque and cylinder must still be buried nearby. She moved some loose rubble from the bottom step and pushing stones and bricks aside, dug at the crumbled column with her pick.

  Ping! She'd hit something metallic. Crouching, she dug furiously into the dirt with her fingers. it was getting darker, and she could hardly see. She unearthed a piece of twisted metal. It was the plaque, battered and tarnished. She dug deeper, communicating her excitement to Tam.

  Jammed in a hole cut into the stone was a metal box. She dragged it onto her knees. it was very heavy. She staggered to her feet, the weight pulling at her arms. The catch was broken, and she felt the lid move.

  Suddenly a brilliant white beam lit up the jagged ruins behind her, stabbing the darkness, searching. Tameron froze. The shrill, ear-piercing wail of sirens shocked her into movement. She dodged from shadow to shadow, the heavy box weighing her down. She managed to escape the searchlight, but the voices of the Citguards came closer. She ran, her breath rasping, her chest aching. She longed to run into the lighted areas, away from the frightening black places, but she mustn't be caught in Oldcit.

  Slipping and tripping, hiding in crevices, she ran through the ruins. Once the Citguards almost caught her, passing so close that she held her breath and half comarised to save herself. Her life-colour had deepened with her fright, and she blended into the shadows.

  At last she could see ahead the wall and behind it the tree tops of the Garden of Learned Thought. The box had become a terrible burden. Its corners jabbed into her as she ran. She was so anxious about reaching the lighted area that she didn't see the wire-cable covered in creepers. She tripped, fell headlong and dropped the box.

  "Ouch My knee! I've hurt my knee." Tameron had never felt pain before. Her body-suit was torn from knee to ankle. Her leg was covered in blood from a deep gash in her knee. She stared at it in horror. She must get away from this place. Floundering around, she tried to find the box.

  With relief she saw it, but it lay on its side, open and empty. The cylinder glinted in the moonlight. It had rolled down a gravel slope and was wedged between two small rocks. Stretching forward, she reached for it. The gravel beneath her shifted, and she began to slide. The cylinder was loosened by the moving dirt and rolled out of view. Tameron felt herself slipping after it.

  She flung out her arms wide, clawing at the ground, but still she slid. One hand touched an old pipe embedded in the dirt, she grabbed it, clinging tightly and shaking with fear. She heard the cylinder still rolling, carried on by an avalanche of small stones, then silence, and finally an echoing thud as it landed somewhere far below.

  She pulled herself up slowly, aware of the danger if the pipe were to break. Finally she reached the safety of solid rock and lay panting with relief, her knee stiff and sore. Staggering up, she rested on a long, smooth stone. It was a broken obelisk, lying o
n its side in four huge pieces. Behind it, in the bright blue glow of Newcit, she could see the wall and safety.

  The searchlights were off now, and the ear-piercing siren had stopped. She listened, but could hear no Citguards. Tears welled in her eyes. All this effort and pain for nothing. The metal box lay empty, and the shiny cylinder had disappeared as if she'd never found it. She climbed onto the obelisk and almost fell over the wall. She was too tired to feel fear. Her life-colour was dangerously pale. Without caring whether she was seen, she stumbled across the grass into the Garden of Learned Thought and, lying down in the shadow of the nearest night-light pole, comarised instantly.

  CHAPTER 10. THE DRAGON

  Tam slept late.

  "Lucky it's Saturday," Pat Woodward scolded Steven. "She's exhausted after your little adventure last night."

  Steven looked up quickly, but saw that his mother was joking.

  "The city's a busy place on a Friday night," said his father from behind the newspaper.

  "What's that got to do with it?" asked Pat, her eyebrows raised. "Honestly, Ken, when you get into the newspaper, you make no sense."

  "Can I go and wake her now, Mum?"

  "No you can't. You can go and clean your filthy footy boots."

  Grumbling about mothers who didn't understand, Steven took his boots into the garden and started to scrape them with an old knife. His parents followed with their morning coffee.

  "It's a lovely day for winter, isn't it, Ken? Just the day for a drive to that new nursery I told you about." Steven watched his father ignore the hint and hide behind his newspaper. "It would grow beautifully just there, in that damp corner."

  "What would, Mum?" Steven prompted her, watching his father with a grin.

  "This special orchid I've read about."

  "Orchids are too expensive. Nice day to go to the races though," answered Ken, rustling the pages and smiling to himself.

  "What about something else then?" Pat held the plant catalogue under his nose. "You choose."