“Hey — what about my bike?” Angus said.
“The men will take care of it. I can assure you we have much more important business to attend to. Now, let’s go.”
The sun was in the west and hanging low in the sky. Angus and Jack peered from the helicopter as it swooped in above Soonhope High’s extensive playing fields. Jack was pretty sure no one had arrived at school in quite such style before. Pity there was nobody there to see it. They had a bird’s-eye view of the austere Victorian school building which sat in secluded grounds some way out of the town. Until ten years ago it had been empty. It was then redeveloped by an endowment from a charitable trust, which they now knew, of course, had been a front for VIGIL. Since its purchase, the building had spawned a number of modern appendages around its Victorian core: the Science block and the gym and also the theatre, of course, where Jack would be appearing in Hamlet in two weeks’ time. It all seemed very normal. Just like all the other schools in the Borders, against which Angus regularly played rugby. There was one difference. Soonhope High housed the most advanced technology known to man: a working Taurus. A time machine. As a result, the site had tighter security than a US nuclear missile base. But it was completely unobtrusive. And that was the idea. Only a select few knew of the astonishing secret within the school walls.
The helicopter touched down and Jack, Angus, the Rector and Inchquin climbed out.
“Keep your heads down,” warned the Rector.
In the distance, two familiar figures stood waiting to welcome them — their old friends, Tony Smith and Gordon MacFarlane. They waited at one of the school’s side entrances. Tony took up almost the entire doorway. Gordon stood beside him. He was shorter but still built like a tank. Officially, they were the school janitors. But Jack and Angus had learned their true identity six months before. Along with Belstaff and Johnstone, they were part of VIGIL’s elite security squad.
“Gentlemen, please escort these two through Entrance B to the Situation Room. We will join you shortly.”
“An escort? Good.” Angus replied. “You two should have blue flashing lights on your heads.”
“That’s funny, Mr Jud. Look,” Gordon clutched his stomach with both hands, “I’m in stitches.”
The Rector scowled. “Gentlemen, I would advise less levity. We have an extremely serious situation here. Do I make myself clear?”
Gordon looked at his toes, sheepishly. “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
Jack and Angus followed Tony and Gordon into the old Victorian part of the school.
“Right, here we are,” Tony announced.
They had reached a store cupboard halfway along one of the main corridors and Tony proceeded to take a large set of keys from his belt, jangling them loudly as he searched for the right one.
“Isn’t that a bit low tech for VIGIL?”
“Now, son,” Tony replied in a hushed voice, “you know better than to mention that name in an open corridor, even if no one else is here. Anyway, it’s all part of our image. You’re not supposed to see all the high-tech stuff.”
Tony located the key, inserted it into the lock and opened the door. The cupboard smelled of, well… school. That stale, dusty smell of textbooks, old bits of computer equipment and stationery. Tony reached inside his pocket and pulled out a thin piece of plastic, a bit like a pocket calculator. He gently pressed a button on the device and the cupboard door closed automatically.
“That looks more like it,” Angus said, knowingly.
“I think this procedure will be familiar to you all. Step to the back, please,” Tony said, pressing the device in his hand a second time. Without warning, an aperture formed in the floor. Soon the entrance had opened completely and a steep spiral staircase appeared, leading downwards. It was lit by a ghostly blue glow, just bright enough to make out the position of the steps.
“Okay — all clear — on you go.”
One by one, they stepped onto the spiral staircase. The steps began to descend automatically. As they dropped beneath floor level, the aperture above them closed silently and after a couple of minutes they came to a gentle halt. Ahead of them was a door. Tony pressed the device again and it opened onto a short metal-clad corridor illuminated by the same dim blue light. At the end of the corridor was a circular door like the entrance to a bank vault. It had five letters etched on it: ‘V I G I L’.
The door opened without a sound, revealing a tubular passageway that curved off symmetrically both to the left and to the right. Jack noticed that there were no markings on the passage walls — no rivets, no seams — it was perfectly smooth.
“Round to your left, please,” Tony said. They followed obediently and as they walked, the passageway bent away from the entrance, which resealed itself silently behind them. They had only taken twenty or thirty paces when Jack noticed a strange marking on the wall at about head height. It appeared like the outline of a figure — a stylised hominid figure of some sort. There was something other-worldly about it. Jack stopped and turned to Tony.
“What does that symbol mean, Mr Smith?”
Tony approached the figure on the wall. He turned to Gordon. “Have you seen this, MacFarlane?” he said apprehensively.
Gordon moved closer and inspected the strange marking, running his fingers tentatively over it. “Mmmm — the latest experiments must be more advanced than we thought.”
Tony turned back to Jack and Angus. “VIGIL have been using their wormhole technology to experiment on new applications…”
The boys’ eyes widened.
“Yes — the figure on the door is indeed a symbol…”
“The alien symbol,” Gordon added reverentially.
“Signifying a portal to a whole new universe.”
Angus’s eyes were on sticks, “You mean… space travel?”
Tony put them out of their misery, “No, you plonker, that’s the Gents toilet — and the Ladies is opposite — look. Do either of you need to go?”
Gordon laughed raucously and the boys shuffled on their feet self-consciously.
“We’re fine, thanks.”
The party moved on, Tony and Gordon buoyed by their joke at the boys’ expense.
Finally Tony announced, “Right, here we are.”
The passageway had continued to curve round and they had reached a point where the grooving on the wall indicated another doorway. Jack reckoned that if they continued on they would eventually arrive back at the point where they had originally entered the underground complex. Essentially, they were in a giant subterranean doughnut from which all the various VIGIL control rooms and annexes could be accessed.
Jack read the lettering on the door:
‘Situation Room’.
He felt his heartbeat tick up a notch. This was it.
Tony pressed the device in his hand and the door slid open.
On each wall of the large underground room there were screens — some showed maps, some complex-looking historical timelines and others just row upon row of computer programming language that Jack could not even begin to understand. Some of the VIGIL team were already seated around a large central board table. They looked like a war council. Others manned computer terminals, or scientific equipment, at pods in separate areas of the room.
Jack spotted a number of familiar faces: Miss Beattie, their English teacher, was involved in an animated conversation with, of all people, Gino Turinelli, from the cafe in the High Street. Jim De Raillar, who ran the mountain bike shop two doors down from Gino’s, was also there and, finally, Jack’s mother, Carole, was sitting at one of the computer terminals. In fact, as Jack looked around, he recognised everyone. They all either worked at the school or in the local village of Soonhope. Since their inauguration into VIGIL, Jack had learned that VIGIL’s network was quite pervasive. It made sense. Clearly, you would need a lot of different skills to create and maintain a working time machine — especially if you ever happened to need to use it. Each member of VIGIL had their everyday persona: teacher, shopke
eper, janitor and so on. Then they had their other, secret, role in the VIGIL organisation — scientist, analyst, technician or security guard. For example, Jack had learned that Miss Beattie was not only an expert on Shakespeare, but also had a first class degree from Cambridge and had done stints at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and the European Organisation for Nuclear Research — CERN. Gino — actually Professor Turinelli — was a computer expert, and Jim De Raillar and Jack’s mother were analysts.
Just then, the Rector and Inchquin came into the room through a separate entrance. Soon a tense discussion was under way, facilitated by Inchquin who sat gravely at the head of the table.
“Jim, can you give us an update on the analysis of the message Tom Christie sent to us a couple of hours ago, please?”
“Certainly. To recap, the message confirms that Christie and Dr Pendelshape have fallen out. It also explains that following their failure to stop the First World War they started to work on a new timeline simulation some months ago…”
“What period does the simulation focus on?”
“Late Elizabethan.”
“Interesting…” Theo Joplin, the historical analyst, interjected, and the Rector flashed him an angry glance for interrupting.
Jim De Raillar ignored the comment and continued. “Anyway, it appears that the Revisionist team have refined the computer simulation software so they can make much more precise recreations of the interventions they plan to make in history, and the potential consequences of the action. Christie’s message referred to it as ‘surgical’ historical modelling. It seems that the Revisionist team were very excited about these advances… but then Christie got nervous when Pendelshape started to talk in terms of progressing the simulation to the implementation phase — an actual intervention in history. Pendelshape wanted to target the late sixteenth century using their replica Taurus. Of course, it was clear from the message that Christie’s greatest concern is for Jack’s safety. He does not want the Revisionists to do this…” De Raillar looked at Inchquin and then at Carole and Jack uneasily. There was an edgy silence in the room.
“Carry on.”
“Well, it appears that Pendelshape and the rest of the Revisionists do not share these concerns and it looks like they have decided to go it alone. Christie felt that the Revisionists had moved against him and he decided to leave them some weeks ago. Concerned that they would quickly refine the simulation and we might think him responsible, he took the unprecedented step of sending us a warning message today — and then contacting Jack directly by phone. It was a big step to take. Christie knows he is risking his life — betraying his own team in such a way. He is now isolated from both VIGIL and the Revisionists.”
Inchquin arched his fingers in front of him, deep in thought. “So — Pendelshape has usurped Tom Christie as the leader of the Revisionists. He has a plan to make some intervention in history — in the sixteenth century. Okay, two things to check. First, Carole, what is the latest forecast on time signal availability?”
Carole looked up from her terminal. “We have had no time signal availability for a number of weeks now, but as you are aware, we are forecasting the availability of carrier strength time travel signals over the next forty-eight hours. Of course, forecasts are not accurate — in terms of timing, duration or strength.”
“Time signal forecasting — it’s worse than the weather forecast…” Joplin moaned.
“Shut up, Theo, you’re not helping,” the Rector said. “This is why Christie has chosen to contact us now. The Revisionists will also know that we are entering a period of potential time signal availability… so Christie must think they will use this opportunity to carry out their plan.” He paused. “Do we have any details on the actual intervention in history that they are planning?”
“No. Apparently when Christie left them, there were a number of open scenarios still being analysed, but they were not complete. He had no final detailed plans.”
“So, Theo, now is the time to say something sensible. You’re the historian, any particular views on why they would choose the period between 1580 and 1600 to make an intervention?”
Theo Joplin looked up from a laptop that he had open in front of him. He was only twenty-seven but looked like a relic of sixties’ hippiedom with his long hair, goatee beard and flowery shirt. But appearances were deceptive and encased within his mop of messy black hair was an encyclopaedic knowledge of history.
Joplin curled his lip. “A good choice if you want to make some structural changes to the future course of history — many, many options. Lots going on. Overall, a very cool period…” He turned back to his laptop assuming that this would be a more than sufficient contribution to the conversation.
The Rector tried to contain his frustration. “Would you mind being a little more specific?”
Joplin shrugged nonchalantly. “English Renaissance, Shakespeare, Marlowe, Spanish Armada — or Armadas — I should say, Mary, Queen of Scots, the Babington Plot, Drake, Raleigh, Howard, Grenville, Treasure Fleets, first English colony in America, religious conflict, Ireland… I could go on… and no doubt you’ll want me to…”
“We don’t have time for all this,” Inchquin said irritably. “Jim, are we sure that Christie’s message did not say anything more specific about what Pendelshape and the other Revisionists might be trying to do?”
“He said that Pendelshape had a well-developed theory that if the Spanish dominance of the period could be extended somehow, then it might be harnessed to usher in a period of peace. Perhaps for centuries. A strong Spain would have defeated the Netherlands and then colonised all of the Americas… and also they would have been better able to enforce a single religion — Catholicism. This would have reduced religious conflict.”
“Interesting theory.” Joplin was suddenly enthusiastic. “It’s true that the period was a bit of a turning point for Spain. She was the most powerful country in the world, but her power declined — gradually mind you — pretty much from then onwards.”
“Since when, specifically?”
“The defeat of the Armada, really, in 1588. The fact that Queen Elizabeth reigned for so long, as a Protestant queen, and the fact that the Armada failed meant that the balance of power — certainly naval power — slowly transferred to England, then to Britain. And by the nineteenth century, Britain was the most powerful nation on earth.”
“So you’re saying that if the Armada Campaign had succeeded, the world would have been a different place.”
“Very different. The common language of the West would be Spanish, not English — just as it is in much of South America today. The influence of Protestantism would have been substantially weaker and we would have many different habits and customs. We might even have had a regular bullfight in Soonhope,” Joplin chortled.
“Theo, this is not funny,” Inchquin growled. “Jim, do you think Pendelshape’s plan is to give power to the Spanish?”
“It’s something along those lines — it marries up with Christie’s communication to us. But the details clearly weren’t fully developed when he left — so I don’t think he knew the specifics. But the main thing he wanted to make clear was that he didn’t want to be associated with any of it and, more than that, he wanted us to know that he was not associated with it so that we would not take retribution on him.” Jim paused and then added bluntly, “Or his family.”
“I understand,” Inchquin said, moving on swiftly. “Well, we really need more data than this. It is all too sketchy at the moment. Tony, can you radio the team up on the hill? Perhaps they have managed to track him down…”
Suddenly, Carole called out from behind her terminal. “Councillor. There is some sort of reading. We have an emerging time signal. It’s faint but it looks like there is a possible deep time disturbance… possibly time-travel initiation.”
“Can you pinpoint it?”
“Difficult to identify it precisely — but the impacted year is 1587. Looks to be early on in that yea
r.”
“Location?”
“England — definitely. South-east. Must be London.”
“Well that decides it then. It looks like Christie was right and the Revisionists are making their move. We must not waste any more time. We need to mobilise immediately.” Inchquin rose to his feet and placed both palms on the table, his voice grave.
“I feared it would only be a matter of time before this happened again. Everyone — security protocol is Triple Alpha. VIGIL is now on high alert. You all know what to do.”
Sixteenth-century Sortie
Jack stood in front of the Taurus. He felt different emotions. Not all of them good. Last time he had been in the Taurus control room, he had thought he was going to die. It loomed ominously behind a solid wall of thick green glass that extended from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. The great machine had been expanded and rebuilt since he last saw it. From their previous mission, VIGIL had learned that the Revisionists’ Taurus was significantly larger than VIGIL’s and had the capability to transport sizeable items of machinery, as well as people. In the last six months, work had been carried out on VIGIL’s Taurus to ensure that it was up to scratch. However, VIGIL would only ever use their machine for emergencies such as this. They were reluctant to transfer equipment that was potentially out of period because of the historical consequences it could have. The Revisionists, they had learned, were not so fussy.
The great machine sat brooding among a complex assortment of engineering equipment — pipes, cables and access gantries. The shell of the Taurus itself was a raised metal platform bounded by a semi-closed arrangement of hefty, black metal struts. There were eight of them. They rose from the ground and bulged out to surround the platform and then they rejoined each other at the top. The simplicity of this structure belied the wonder and complexity of its function. This machine could take you back in time.
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