by Alexia James
Greg looked up and grinned, an edge of relief in his smile. “Sure, but I can’t be long. I’ve got some fine company here.” He turned back to Janet, “Back in a mo, make yourself at home.”
Janet wondered at his reaction as she looked around the messy room. He had obviously not wanted to discuss his work with her. Could it be that secret if it was IT support?
She picked her way to Greg’s chair to sit down. After tiring of the smoothness of the spinning action, she began to try the desk drawers. The first one was locked, the second held a variety of grotty stationery and, rather unimaginatively, two card keys for the third and locked drawer.
Janet tried both and pocketed one. The drawer contained a laptop and she pulled it out with a grin. Most of what she found made little sense. The programs were completely different from what she was used to seeing and interfaced too well for her to get down to any command line without a lot more time.
She tried several approaches, but nothing worked. The general format was similar enough that she began to pick up how to get about. General commonsense allowed her to get into some kind of e-mailing program and she recognised one or two words like Inbox.
Lazily, she opened the first message and started to read. It was immediately apparent that whatever other jobs Greg did, IT support wasn’t one of them. Most of the e-mails made no sense whatsoever, and she was about to give up when she came across a set of messages with some names she recognised.
Adam Tate 28/10/2166
to: Michael Brannigan, James Taylor, Gregory Jones
cc:
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just to give you a heads up on Danny boy. He’s on the warpath over truth or jump. Alex has been getting antsy after she heard Flyboy planted one on Joan of Arc. She mentioned something about you boys being irresponsible while Danny was here with me, and he ran with it. She did her best to cover the slip, but you know what he’s like. You have been warned…
Michael Brannigan 27/6/2008
to: Adam Tate
cc: James Taylor, Gregory Jones
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not good news. Thanks for the warning. We’ll have to postpone the next round until things cool off a little.
Gregory Jones 27/6/2008
to: Michael Brannigan, James Taylor
cc: Adam Tate
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
You’re only saying that because it’s your turn next and you’re chicken. Where did you hide the device, Flyboy?
James Taylor 27/6/2008
to: Gregory Jones
cc: Adam Tate, Michael Brannigan
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the desk on the third floor. I got you a fantastic grandad hat, Jones, for next time you go to see Matt, but you’re wrong about Danny boy leaving us in peace. Adam already told me he thinks the guy will hop centuries tomorrow. Weds at the latest, and Matt blabbed to Jer that he saw you with your device in hand, and that he thinks you’re getting lazy. No one has mobiles in 1908, and you know what Jer is. Sounds like you might be in for it more than Brannigan.
Gregory Jones 27/6/2008
to: Adam Tate, James Taylor
cc: Michael Brannigan
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A likely story, Flyboy.
Adam, you’re nuts. Danny boy won’t jump until Friday. Can you imagine how time-lagged he’ll be? He’s been in 1760 for the last six months then back to 2166 for a week and now to 2008? He’ll never do it. No one can survive on that little sleep.
Adam Tate 28/10/2166
to: Gregory Jones
cc: Michael Brannigan, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don’t say I didn’t warn you, and don’t implicate me in any of this. I never knew about any of it.
Michael Brannigan 27/6/2008
to: Adam Tate
cc: Gregory Jones, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey, I’m listening. Won’t catch me getting under Danny boy’s feet.
Gregory Jones 27/6/2008
to: Michael Brannigan
cc: Adam Tate, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chicken!! Brrwarck Brrwarck!!
Michael Brannigan 27/6/2008
to: Gregory Jones
cc: Adam Tate, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Takes one to know one. You just want to watch Danny boy take me to task. High entertainment, but I’ll take you down with me.
Gregory Jones 27/6/2008
to: Michael Brannigan
cc: Adam Tate, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Snitch.
Michael Brannigan 27/6/2008
to: Gregory Jones
cc: Adam Tate, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Looser.
Gregory Jones 27/6/2008
to: Michael Brannigan
cc: Adam Tate, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fancy a drink, Saturday?
Michael Brannigan 27/6/2008
to: Gregory Jones
cc: Adam Tate, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Yeah ok. Which century?
Gregory Jones 27/6/2008
to: Michael Brannigan
cc: Adam Tate, James Taylor
re: Sticky situation
------------------------------------------------------------------------
This one since you’re so chicken. The George. Seven O’clock.
The messages made little sense at first and she wondered if they were talking in some kind of code. It was as though there were something obvious going on that she simply couldn’t see, rendering all the messages baffling. She skimmed back through again and the dates caught her eye.
Adam Tate, 28/10/2166.
She straightened up, inhaling sharply, and studied the text again… “Imagine how time-lagged he’ll be?” and “He’s been in 1760 for the last six months then back to 2166 for a week, and now to 2008?”
What was she to make of it? Obviously, they were joking about time travel, but why? Perhaps they had all seen a movie together and it was all an ‘in’ joke, but that didn’t explain the dates. More than that, the messages seemed genuine. Impossible. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair before dismissing it.
Tiring of e-mail she tried to get online, but it was password encrypted and she couldn’t get past without knowing a lot more about what she was dealing with here.
She managed to find the control panel, labelled up as fixtures and fittings in a somewhat bizarre nod toward conveyance, but that would have to wait for a more opportune time.
She had been occupied for about twenty minutes now, and although she wouldn’t have been fazed had Greg walked in, she didn’t particularly wish to be caught nosing through his computer. She put the thing away, leaned back and sipped her coffee.
After another labor
ious quarter of an hour, Janet was tired of waiting. She stuck her head out of the office and was just in time to see Greg materialise out of thin air. He was absorbed in going through something on a funny looking mobile he held. Finishing up, he stooped down to tighten a shoelace.
The truth of the e-mails shot through Janet’s brain with a blinding clarity that was almost faster than she could follow.
A line from one of the e-mails came to her about no one having mobiles in 1908. Something about someone seeing someone else with their device in hand. Device, time machine, mobile phone? It wasn’t too far a stretch if you could accept one to get to the other.
The phone lay quietly on the floor by Greg’s side, but its apparent ordinariness couldn’t disguise what it actually was.
Wearing loose black jeans, a tatty suit jacket, waistcoat and old-fashioned cap, Greg Jones looked like a worker straight out of the 1900s.
He straightened up and pulled off the hat. Lifted the lid on what looked like a small telephone table or desk to reveal a space within, and chucked his hat, jacket and waistcoat inside. Then he grabbed a sporty looking sweater from the same place and hauled it on, going from looking like someone from an old sepia photograph, to a casual, if somewhat scruffy, example of 21st century fashion.
He rubbed a hand over his stubble, and chucked the little mobile/time machine in with the clothes, shutting the lid on the desk.
Janet wondered at him using his time machine so blatantly where she might see him, but almost instantly understood that had she not snooped through his e-mail, she would certainly have disbelieved her own eyes. She still wasn’t sure she believed them.
He had not seen her so she ducked back into his office. She was lounging nonchalantly in his chair when he came in, but her heart was hammering.
Before anything else, she wanted a look at that little phone, and that wasn’t going to be easy. Her mind raced through possibilities as Greg gave her a friendly grin.
He swigged the last of his coffee and said, “Did you think I’d abandoned you? I’m sorry I took so long. Got caught up. Shall we ditch all this and go catch a film?”
Janet shrugged, “Suits me. I’m glad you weren’t any longer, God only knows what I might have got up to.” She smiled serenely at Greg’s uncertain look, got up and stretched. Linking her fingers in front of her, she pulled out the muscles in her back then dropped her arms and stood for a moment, glancing once at her coat slung over the back of a chair and then up at Greg, with the slightest of smiles touching her face.
Greg blinked and rushed to snatch up her coat, holding it out for her to slide into.
“Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast as she buttoned herself in.
She transferred one of her mittens stealthily from her pocket to her closed hand and held back her smile, eyes demurely lowered, not wanting to give away the slightest hint of her intent.
At the lift, she glanced back making a show of patting her pockets. She held up her mitten rather helplessly. “Think I must have dropped the other. Wait here and hold the lift, I’ll only be a moment.” She walked quickly back as she spoke, turning the corner and making a beeline for the small desk.
Stopping only to cast a brief glance about, she opened the desk, located and pocketed the little black device inside, and hurried back to Greg, triumphantly waving aloft her mitten. “Found it!”
She followed Greg into the lift, burrowing her hands into her pockets. Her fingers clung to her prize and she gave a contented sigh.
At Janet’s request, they stopped off for dinner first. Greg suggested a pizza place he had recently discovered on the corner of Old Compton and Frith. It was crowded and they were given a too-small table in a draughty corner near the facilities.
Greg was disappointed, but Janet merely shrugged and took off her coat. She surrendered it to the waitress and settled herself in the better placed of the two chairs. The little device already palmed and resting against her arm in the bulky sleeve of her sweater. She left Greg no option but to take his seat and make the best of things.
Over drinks, Janet studied the decor of the restaurant, allowing her mind to wander until Greg claimed her attention by asking her if there was any film in particular that she wanted to see.
“Oh, I don’t know. To be honest, unless there’s something you especially want to see, I’d just as well give it a miss. Cinemas aren’t what they used to be.”
Greg smiled, “You mean the cost of the ticket? Things have gone up since I was a kid, but naturally I’ll pay for you, it is our first date. Unless you’re gonna get your feminist feathers ruffled.” This last, said with a grin.
“Thank you. I’m never a feminist when it comes to money.” She gave him a smile warm enough to steal any offence from her words, and reached across to give his hand a quick squeeze. “It’s not that though. I mean— remember the old style theatres that used to house cinemas?”
“Sure. They were stuffy and the seats were uncomfortable. Then when the film finished, you got vertigo making your way down to the exit.”
“I’d take all that over a comfortable seat in a freezing air-conditioned room with the screen too high and the volume too loud. Those lovely old theatres were marvellous in comparison.”
Greg nodded slowly. “Remember the funny ticket dispensers? Some old dragon would sit in a glass-fronted rabbit hutch at the entrance with a metal desk that popped out tickets like magic. Little paper things like raffle tickets.”
“Yes! That’s right, and you’d all pile in on a Saturday morning to watch cartoons. It only cost peanuts to get in.”
“They never had cartoons at the cinema that I remember. Films only, but I remember my best mate and me sneaked in to watch ‘Speed’ when we weren’t old enough. I think that was one of the final films to be shown at that old cinema on Chepstow before it got closed down and later turned into a gym.”
“I remember that place. Have you been there since? I wonder if they put loads of floor levels in or if they just took out the auditorium and left that huge ornate ceiling a mile above a load of running machines.”
“Yeah, with a swimming pool in the old orchestra pit.”
“Have you, though? Been there, I mean. I wish I could cop a look at it again.”
“No. Why would you want to? It’s probably changed out of all recognition and you’d be disappointed.”
“I guess what would be better is to have a time machine. Then you could go back and watch something there again.” She gave him a direct look on the words.
“What, a DeLorean, you mean, with a flux capacitor thingy-what’s it?”
“Isn’t flux that stuff plumbers use? I wonder if Marty’s DeLorean ran on gas and solder?”
“I don’t think that would work. You’d have the whole thing seize solid every time it cooled down.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see it, though?”
“What, a DeLorean running on gas and solder?”
“Don’t forget the flux. No, I mean 1996 or something, whenever that film came out. Wouldn’t you like to go back and see how 1996 looks and maybe catch a film or something? See how it all looks.”
“What, Back To The Future? That film came out in ‘85, and I know what ‘96 looks like and so do you, we lived through it.”
A half smile lifted the corner of her mouth and she wondered if he had lived through ’96. He seemed remarkably up on his pop culture, right down to knowing the exact year a random film she’d mentioned came out. He couldn’t have been more than four years old at the time, but perhaps he was a fan of the film. It was relevant to his life, after all.
“I know we lived through it, but it would still seem strange because we’re used to seeing things as they are now. I’d love to go back and take a look about.”
“Last of the great time travellers. Janet gets her hands on a time device and she wants to look at 1996.”
“A time device?” Janet gave him a gentle smile, which anyone who knew her well enough would have deemed dang
erous.
“Device, machine, car, whatever. But seriously, why 1996? Why not 2166 or something?”
“Well duh, for all we know 2166 might be a barren wasteland. We might have had a nuclear war that’s wiped out humanity or an asteroid might have hit the earth and sent it spinning into the sun. Then you’d end up asphyxiating in your DeLorean, orbiting Jupiter or something, whichever planet is nearest.”
“Wow, what a way to go!” Greg shook his head and laughed. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
She gave him a smirk. “Maybe. So, what do you imagine the world looks like in 2166?”
Greg shrugged. “Probably much the same as it looks now, just dirtier and more expensive.”
“All the more reason to visit ‘96. It’s cleaner and cheaper.”
“I can’t fault your logic.” He shook his head. “Trust me. It would be a bad idea.”
Their food arrived then and Greg turned the subject so they spoke of other things for the rest of the evening.
Later that night Janet curled up in an armchair nearest the radiator in her sitting room, and studied the little device she had pilfered from Greg’s office.
It looked like a mobile phone, only it was a little larger and heavier than might be expected. She turned it over in her hands and ran her fingers over the battered metal casing.
It was a dull black. Heavy, as though made of lead, and scratched and pockmarked in places. It opened in the same way as her mobile, the front sliding upwards to reveal a wide screen that was lit with menu options. Dates, places and names met her fascinated gaze.
She wondered how long it would take Greg to figure out it was missing. The way he had shoved it in the desk and the state of the thing indicated it was used by many in the office, so she could possibly hang onto it for a day or so before anyone realised it had gone.
A heading on the screen caught her attention. Tracking. It was followed by a four-digit number and some basic instructions. Remembering something similar, she skimmed back to the other menus with lists of names and strange codes like FO. They were followed by four digit numbers too. She went quickly back to the tracking menu and read the instructions.
