The Trouble With Time

by Lexi Revellian

  “This isn’t to do with IEMA. I’m simply offering you money to do a job.”

  “Timecrime. You could be setting me up.”

  Jace remained calm, but his patience was beginning to show. “I don’t work for IEMA any more. There’s a warrant out for my arrest. I’m putting myself in your hands, coming here. One phone call and you could claim the reward.”

  Ryker stiffened. “I got standards. I don’t grass anyone up, even ex-time cops.” He turned to Floss. “And who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I’m from 2015. I want to get back there.” Floss tried a smile. “It would be great if you could fix the TiTrav.”

  Ryker came to a decision and turned back to Jace. “Okay. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Jace unbuckled the TiTrav from his belt and laid it on the bench. Ryker looked from it to Jace and his face broke into a sudden grin. “You weren’t kidding when you said this wasn’t IEMA business, were you?” He picked it up and examined it, running his fingers over the damaged case, tapping the screen. “If you want to sell, I know someone who’ll pay whatever you want, and no questions asked.”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “Or he’d be interested in just borrowing it. For a fee.” Jace shook his head. “If you change your mind . . .” Ryker fiddled around some more with the TiTrav, then his head lifted. “I seen this one before. It’s the same one you were talking about last time I saw you, that Pete had stolen off him.”

  “I know.”

  “What you don’t know is someone brought it back to me a few days later, to get the tracker taken off. I reckon it was the stinking bastard who killed Pete.” The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “I didn’t tell him I’d already taken it off.”

  “Who was that?”

  Ryker sat back. “Now I’m not at all sure I should tell you that. I got paid well enough at the time – after a little discussion. His first idea was I should do it for free, and I had to put him right about that. Explain to him he had quite a bit to lose, same as me. But I also got told what to expect if I wasn’t discreet. In detail. And I believed him.” He paused. “But somehow I doubt you’d have got hold of this if the last owner was still alive. That’s why it’s locked. And probably why it’s a bit knocked about.”

  “You’re right. Quinn’s dead.”

  Ryker showed no surprise at the name. “I knew you didn’t nail him when he turned up here. So he shafted you instead?”

  “You could say that. How much do you want?”

  “Fifty thousand. In cash. Up front. And don’t bother haggling, that’s my price, take it or leave it.”

  “You’ll have to do it while I watch.”

  Jace felt in an inside pocket and handed him a bundle of fifty one thousand notes. Ryker went round the workbench and sat to count them. Jace followed and stood behind his chair to keep an eye on him. Not wanting to be left out, so did Floss. Ryker finished counting and put the money away.

  The safe clunked shut and he turned, fixing a beady eye on Jace. “One thing. If you’ve got any fancy ideas about shooting me when I’ve finished and getting your cash back, remember you’ll need me again if it starts playing up.”

  “I’m paying you to make it work. A TiTrav’s not much good if it’s unreliable.”

  Ryker shrugged. “This model’s quality but it’s getting on, there’s updates it should have had over the last couple of years and I can’t hack in to get them, IEMA upped their game in ‘47. Bound to be slower working out co-ordinates. Not a lot you can do about that, unless you want a visit from your old buddies.” He settled at the workbench and connected the TiTrav to his computer. Rows of incomprehensible data appeared on the monitor. Ryker seemed comfortable with it, altering and adding bits of code. Five minutes later, the catch clicked and the two halves opened. He smiled with satisfaction.

  After another ten minutes’ work he said, “I’ll have to take the back off. Something’s not right.” He reached for a screwdriver, unscrewed eight tiny screws and delicately removed a small curved panel set flush with the inside. “Oh dear oh dear. Now that was just careless.” He gazed reproachfully at Jace. “You got blood in it.”

  “I was being careful. As careful as I could.” Jace sounded defensive. “I didn’t expect him to bleed as much as he did. He was dead.”

  “How bad is it?” Floss asked.

  “Hard to say. It’s only along the top here, came in through this crack in the casing. They’re watertight unless you damage them.” Ryker got out dental brushes, cotton buds, a box of tissues and a bottle of clear fluid, and set to gently removing Quinn’s dried blood. This took some time. At last Ryker replaced the screws and went back to tinkering with the software.

  “I’ve put in a new pass code: 123456, same number to open it and for access.” He glanced at Jace. “You’ll want to change that.” He tapped and swiped the screen, intent, muttering to himself now and then. “I fixed it for Pete so even if it’s switched on, ain’t no one can trace it no matter what they got. I left the history cause that’s quicker if you want to go back somewhere, but anyone looks, it’s not there.”

  Jace nodded approvingly. “That’s good.”

  “You put in xyz and up it comes. You can’t change that code, but you won’t need to.”

  He went quiet for a bit, concentrating. Floss gazed around idly, wondering what the other things on the bench were. She picked up something that looked like a robotic hand. Ryker told her to put it down.

  Finally he sat back, his expression dubious. “I done the best I could. It should be good to go . . . you may find it plays up a bit. If it does, turn it off and on, reset it and try again. Basically it’s all right. Won’t let you down. I’ve unset the limiter. When you’ve got time, bring it back and I’ll fix the case. D’you want to try it out?”

  Jace took the TiTrav and said he’d go five minutes into the future. He snapped the cuff on to his wrist, set the time and location, pressed the two buttons simultaneously, and vanished.

  Floss immediately started to worry that the device would malfunction and he wouldn’t return, leaving her stranded in 2050, or that he planned to vamoose without her, leaving her stranded in 2050. She really didn’t want to be stranded in 2050. Ryker offered Floss a coffee, and went over to the grotty kitchen to make it, rinsing a couple of mugs while the kettle boiled. She got out one of the motion sickness patches and stuck it on the inside of her elbow so she’d be prepared if Jace returned ready to take her back to 2015. Hope and fear tangled in her gut.

  As Ryker put the mugs down on the bench, the doorbell sounded and the dog leaped up and bounded to the door, barking. Ryker peered at the image of the alleyway on the left-hand monitor. A woman stood outside the door, looking away, scanning the street. She turned.

  Kayla.

  CHAPTER 18

  Escape

  “I know her. She’s Time Police.” Ryker’s face was grey. “He’s set me up.”

  “I don’t think he has. Why would he?” Floss wished Jace was back. Surely he should be back by now. How long had he been gone? “She must have followed us. Don’t open the door. She can’t know you’re in.”

  Ryker moved the image around to scan the alley. Just Kayla. He brought up another image on the next screen, a brick wall, an overgrown path, a block of flats. No one visible. He relaxed fractionally. “Looks like she’s on her own. She’ll go away in the end.”

  Suddenly Jace was in the room.

  Floss said in a low voice, “Kayla’s outside.”

  “On her own?” Floss nodded. “I’ll talk to her.”

  He moved towards the door. Floss caught at his arm. “D’you think that’s a good idea? She’s Time Police, she’s Quinn’s girlfriend, she followed us here.”

  Jace looked sharply at her. “How do you –”

  Ryker jumped to his feet. “Shit!”

  Floss ran back and looked from screen to screen. Both showed men carrying weapons, running into the alley, erupting through the bushes
at the rear of the building, maybe six or seven in total. A loud bang made the dog go into a furious volley of barks. They were breaking the door down.

  When they burst in they’d notice the two warm coffee mugs, and know someone had just left. Floss took her mug to the sink, hastily tipped the coffee away and rinsed it.

  “Floss! Leave that!” Jace said. “We need to go.”

  Floss ran and grabbed his belt. He scrolled down the TiTrav’s screen, one eye on the entrance. Suddenly she said, “Our phones!”

  Ryker opened the safe and handed them to Floss. She pocketed them. Jace’s arm went round her. They could hear banging on the other side of the building now. Jace said with a hint of warning in his tone, “We weren’t here, Ryker.” He tapped hastily at the screen. Something burst through the top of the door, letting in the daylight. Another bang, then the door crashed to the floor.

  Kayla shouted, “Freeze! Hands in the air!”

  Jace pressed both buttons. Floss heard a last muted bang as the world went dark.

  When the horrible whirling, stomach-churning sensation was over and her feet felt solid ground beneath them once more, Floss opened her eyes. Her immediate reaction was relief that she felt only mild nausea, with no urge to throw up. Then she realized where they were; not Islington in 2015. Back in bloody Bunhill Fields, in the deserted London of the future. The air was damp and a chill gust swirled autumn leaves on to unkempt grass. She let go of Jace’s belt and tried not to wail.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “We had to get out fast. This was in the history and I knew what it was.”

  “My flat was in the history.”

  “It would have taken longer. I had to change the time setting.”

  “Why on earth . . . ? If you hadn’t done that you might have had time to choose my flat!”

  Jace’s voice was hoarse. He looked spent. “It’s an IEMA rule. You don’t go into the future or the past the same day someone else has.”

  “You don’t work for IEMA any more!”

  “It’s a rule because it’s dangerous.” After a moment he added, “Okay . . . so the same day wouldn’t matter . . . but we couldn’t go the same minute. We’d have met Quinn.”

  Floss turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to get a grip. She shouldn’t be making a fuss; after all, this detour didn’t matter. She said in a small voice, “I want to go home.”

  “No problem. I’ll take you home.” Jace leant back against a tombstone and focused on the screen. “23rd July 2015, 6.15 pm, London. This it?”

  “Must be.” And it took him all of five seconds to find it.

  “I’ll set it five minutes later.”

  “Make it one minute in case my bike gets stolen.”

  “Hold on.” Floss gripped his belt and shut her eyes. He held her waist and pressed the two buttons. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes. Jace swore softly and pressed the buttons again. She noticed beads of sweat on his forehead, which was not reassuring. He turned the TiTrav off and waited ten seconds, pressed the reset, and turned it on again. Floss prayed. Nothing. Jace tried once more, leaving it off for longer. A light drizzle began to fall; the sky darkened. Nothing happened.

  Bitter disappointment turned to impotent rage. The beastly thing wasn’t going to work. Trembling with frustration and fear, she said on a rising note, “Suppose it never works again? We’ll be stuck here forever! When we could have been in my London – I could be back there now, in my flat! And it’s your stupid fault! All you had to do was pick that instead of this. Haven’t you spent enough time here already? I can’t believe you did this!”

  Jace didn’t answer. He slumped against the headstone and shut his eyes. Floss let go of his belt and stared at him hopelessly. Her hand felt wet. She looked down and saw it was covered in blood. She gazed, horrified. “Jace! You’re bleeding. Where are you hurt?”

  “I don’t know.” His hand went to his side and he swayed. “She shot me.”

  Dear God. It was her fault. If only she hadn’t thought of their phones at the last minute and delayed their getaway by those few seconds . . . if only they were in 2015, with hospitals and doctors a 999 call away. Floss held his wrist and pressed the two buttons, but the TiTrav was still not working.

  She put his arm over her shoulder. First she had to get him out of the rain. “Can you make it to your house?” Jace leaned his weight on her, breathing heavily. They set off, stumbling over the rough grass, Floss trying to encourage him. “You’re doing fine, keep going, nearly there . . .”

  Without warning his legs gave way; unable to support his full weight, she lowered him to the ground. He groaned and his eyes closed. She undid his waistcoat. The shirt below was more scarlet than white. Pulling it up, she saw blood welling out of a hole in his side. Oh God, he’s going to die. Desperately, she racked her brain for the little she knew of first aid. Keep him warm, stop the bleeding. She shrugged out of her coat and tucked it round him. She pulled off her sweater, folded it and pressed it against the bullet hole. There’d be an exit wound beneath him which she couldn’t reach. The rain fell faster. She felt terribly, appallingly out of her depth. Jace’s skin was pallid, his breathing ragged. His eyes opened briefly and closed again.

  “Keep talking to me, Jace. You’ll be okay.” He had to be. She couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t.

  “She meant to hit my arm. It was bright out there . . . darker inside, she couldn’t see . . .” He fumbled with the TiTrav. After a moment it came off and he gave it to Floss. “I didn’t change the password . . . 1234 . . . 56. Ryker . . . said it might play up . . . basically all right . . .” His breath was coming in long rasping gasps. She didn’t know what to do.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He gave her a wry smile.

  She smiled tremulously back. “Stupid question. Can I get you anything? Water . . .”

  “Don’t go,” he said. “Hold my hand.”

  She gripped his hand in hers. It felt cold. “I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry . . .” His dark eyes locked on hers, then his gaze drifted off. His eyes closed. The ragged breathing slowed and ceased.

  “Jace!” Her eyes filled with tears and she began to sob. A great and terrible grief welled up inside her. “Jace . . .”

  Floss knew he was dead, but dragged him to his house anyway, slipping and stumbling and weeping. She couldn’t leave him out in the rain. When she had heaved him over the step and inside, she wasn’t strong enough to lift him on to the bed, so she laid him on the floor and put the stained duvet over him and her sweater under his head. The wound wasn’t bleeding any more. She sat beside him in the gathering dusk, hoping for a miracle; that his eyes would open and he’d be all right. She watched him, knowing this was not going to happen.

  Her thoughts went to Ryker, who’d been seen by the Time Police in company with illegal time travellers. He faced a minimum fifteen years’ jail. She thought of her mother, who wouldn’t see her again or know what had happened to her if the TiTrav didn’t work; and of herself, maybe destined to live out the rest of her life the way Jace had been when she first met him.

  When it got too dark to distinguish Jace’s features, she reached out and touched his face. His flesh felt unnaturally cold and stiff. Floss got up and sat at the table, staring out of the window at the blackness, listening to the rain beating on the roof.

  CHAPTER 19

  Time tourism

  Wednesday, 8th November, 2045

  While the internal enquiry under Sir Richard Burbank rambled on, Quinn gave evidence along with the rest of his team and bided his time. Ryker was cross-examined but, predictably, failed to either provide any useful information or incriminate himself. Eventually Sir Richard concluded that all the evidence pointed to Carnady’s guilt, and no further investigation would be made on this score. Though tracking down the miscreant and finding the device remained an IEMA priority, in the absence of any leads at all, gradually the dust settled over the s
ensational disappearance of Jace and the TiTrav.

  Three months after the enquiry, Quinn began time travelling discreetly to his apartment in the near future, where he printed out lists of stocks and shares prices. Armed with this information, he was able to make unerring investments – along with minor failures to allay suspicion. But, satisfactory as he found his growing fortune, this was dull stuff. Soon, he judged, he could begin to experience at first hand the most intriguing periods of history.

  His first choice was the Colosseum, to see the shows that had held fifty thousand people in thrall. He would go the year it opened, 80 AD.

  He planned the trip with care. To the surprise of his wife, he threw a fancy dress party, thus giving him the excuse he needed to obtain a Roman nobleman’s costume. He hired one from the National Theatre, whose wardrobe mistress assured him the designer was renowned for getting every last historical detail correct. And indeed, the plain white wool toga looked authentic enough when he tried it on in his clandestine Clerkenwell pied-à-terre before taking it home. He turned this way and that in front of the mirror. It suited him. At the party Kayla, becomingly attired as Nell Gwyn, said he looked the epitome of gravitas, and offered him an orange.

  Quinn’s plan was to arrive at the Colosseum as people were going in, and blend unnoticed with the crowd. He knew that the classes were segregated, from nobles seated in the bottom two tiers nearest the action, to women and slaves right at the top. According to his research, entry was free but a ticket in the form of a clay disc was required. These tesserae had a seat number stamped on, and were distributed in advance. However, some things were a constant; where tickets existed, so did ticket touts. He took some carefully chosen items in a leather satchel to barter – disposable lighters, glass marbles, magnifying glasses, small jars of spices, pads of paper, pens and a few wind-up toys.