by RR Haywood
‘That valley is a big distance,’ Ben says, thinking on the spot. ‘It could still be faked somehow.’
‘One way to know for sure,’ Safa says and sits up to look round. ‘We’ll need to see it working. We need proof.’
Fourteen
‘We want proof,’ Safa says, bringing them to a stop in the corridor on seeing Roland in the doorway to his office.
‘Yes, I had envisaged you would indeed require . . .’
Ben stands at the back and notices how tiny she is compared to Harry and he’s amazed Harry is letting her take the lead the way she is. Maybe Harry is content to just stand back and watch for a bit, like assess and weigh it all up before making his own mind up. Ben prays the windows are hologram projections and Roland is a mad kidnapping wanker who is about to be beaten up by Safa and Harry. He ignores the fact that he already believes Safa and Harry are who they say they are. That bit isn’t relevant to his desperate hope.
Malcolm thrusts a key into the door with the red light over the top of it and leads them in. A large square room again styled in that homely fashion of bare concrete walls, floor and ceiling. The only difference is there are two free-standing, long metal poles with solid-looking weight plates at the bottom giving them stability. Two sleek black boxes like music speakers are attached to each pole. The three stare at the poles. No wires anywhere. No weird contraptions or flashing lights. Just two poles with speakers. Ben looks for the magical doorway or portal but doesn’t see anything and feels the hope rising that this really is all bullshit.
‘Where is it?’ Safa asks.
‘Quite underwhelming, isn’t it?’ Roland says, walking past them to the poles.
‘That?’ Safa asks, pointing at the poles then looking at Konrad and Malcolm like she’s about to start hitting them. Ben hopes she does. He’ll even help. Not that she needs his help, mind.
‘Let them set up, Miss Patel,’ Roland says as Malcolm pulls a tablet computer from a pocket and starts thumbing the screen to life while Konrad moves apart the poles, which slide on castors to roughly the width of a doorway. He then loosens the holding bolt on one of the speakers and slides it up the pole, pauses, looks at Harry, then pushes it higher before stopping and tightening the bolt. He does the same thing on the other side until two sets of the speakers are opposite each other at the top and bottom, forming a square.
‘Activating,’ Malcolm says, looking up as a blue square of iridescent light comes to life formed between the four corners made by the positions of the speakers. It’s beautiful, with shimmering hues of faint colours rippling across the surface.
‘Fuck me,’ Ben murmurs at the mesmerising sight. A solid wall of light of such a shade of blue but with every colour in the spectrum of light rippling through it. Perfectly blended too, and just that alone is a sight to see, but the way it bathes the room in colour instantly makes him think back to the light he saw in the tunnel at Holborn.
Konrad stares at it for a second then turns to them. ‘You go through that and you’re there,’ he says simply.
‘Are you being serious?’ Safa asks them both. ‘That is a time machine?’ She points in disbelief while Harry folds his arms and starts gently frowning.
‘Yes, Miss Patel,’ Malcolm says, dropping his eyes back to the tablet.
‘That is it,’ Roland says. ‘Simple, isn’t it? But you wanted proof.’
‘We go through that and we can travel in time?’ Ben asks, waiting for Safa to start punching people.
‘Yes, Mr Ryder.’
‘Okay.’ Ben shrugs and steps forward, ready to prove him wrong, but also with an awful sinking sensation that this is about to get a whole lot worse. ‘Go on then.’
Roland doesn’t reply but looks at each of them in turn. ‘Before we proceed I will need a vow from each of you that you will do exactly as I say at all times. We are about to travel to a point in the timeline of humanity. Any interaction we partake in can alter that timeline. We will not talk to anyone. We will not speak within the hearing of any other person we see. We will do nothing at any time to draw attention to ourselves. If I say we abort then we come straight back through the door thing immediately—’
‘Portal,’ Konrad mumbles.
‘Thank you, Konrad,’ Roland says stiffly. ‘We will spend less than a minute there but I am confident it will satisfy your desire for evidence. We cannot stay longer as we do not have adequate clothing for you to fit into the period of time we are going to. This is observation only and for the sole purpose of proving the device’s capability. Do you understand?’
‘Fair enough,’ Ben says, itching to get it done and finished to prove this bloke is a freak so he can find a way out. The more he thinks about it, the more he believes the window was a hologram. But that other warning voice is there too. He ignores that other voice though, as he doesn’t like what it’s telling him.
‘Mr Madden? Do I have your word you will follow the instructions I have given?’
‘Miss?’ Harry asks, which makes Ben blink in surprise at him giving way to Safa again.
‘Okay.’ Safa looks at Roland. ‘But if anything happens to Ben or Harry I will come for all three of you. Are we clear on that?’
‘I accept those terms,’ Roland says with a nervous glance to his two workmen. ‘This is a test of honour and integrity as much as a method of proving the machine.’
‘Whose?’ Harry asks.
‘Both, I rather fancy,’ Roland says with a tight smile. ‘I think we are ready to proceed, Malcolm. We’ll go for that room Konrad rented.’
‘Okay,’ Malcolm says, thumbing the screen with well-practised movements. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
‘Room?’ Safa asks with a questioning look at Konrad. ‘How will a room prove anything?’
‘It will,’ Roland says simply.
Harry moves to stand in front of the device, looking up at the speakers then down to the floor before walking round behind the light.
‘Can you see me?’ he asks.
‘No, mate,’ Ben calls out.
‘Same,’ he says, coming back into view on the other side. ‘Can I touch it?’ he asks, extending a hand towards the light.
‘Done,’ Malcolm says.
‘Please allow me to check first,’ Roland tells Harry. He turns to the light and after a quick thumbs up from Malcolm he bends forward at the waist and shoves his head into the wall of light and disappears from the torso up. He’s there but not there. Like he’s been shorn off across the midsection. Harry quickly leans round the back of the light and shakes his head.
‘No way.’ Ben rushes round, the reverse is the same as the front, but with a distinct lack of Roland’s upper body poking out. His brain struggles to process what his eyes are seeing. Roland is there. Leaning forward but not there on the other side.
‘All clear,’ Roland says after pulling back. ‘Please, come straight through.’ He steps into the light and is gone completely from the room. Roland is not there. He is gone. The three of them gawp with eyes wide open and try peering harder into the light but fail to see anything on the other side.
‘It’s safe,’ Malcolm says, nodding at the bright blue doorway. ‘Honest, it won’t hurt or anything. Me and Kon done it loads of times.’
‘Loads,’ Konrad says, nodding at them.
Harry goes first. Holding his hand out to touch the light gently as though he’s trying to stroke it with his fingertips but his fingers go through.
‘Can you feel it?’ Safa asks.
‘No,’ Harry replies. With a grunt he lunges forward as though to headbutt the light but sails clean through it. A second later he pulls back with the blood draining from his face, standing shocked to the core. ‘Wait here,’ he whispers and steps through.
‘What the fuck,’ Ben mutters, subconsciously stepping closer to Safa. ‘Holy shit,’ he yelps as Harry’s head appears through the light as though he’s leaning forward from the other side.
‘Come through.’ Harry grins wide and toothy then pulls
back out of view again.
‘Fuck,’ Ben mouths again and looks at Safa, who stares up at him looking weirdly excited. She smiles, grabs his hand and nods at the light. He swallows and nods back.
‘On three,’ she says. ‘One . . . two . . . three . . .’
The transition is instant and painless. Exactly like stepping from one room to the other with a distinct lack of any form of sensation or physical reaction. They half-expected it to feel cold but that’s only because it’s blue.
They take in the room in one swift look round. An old-style bedroom with an ancient-looking brass-framed bed against a wall that has had the worst plastering job ever seen. Lumps and bumps everywhere. Streaks of brown damp too, and the room smells musty. The blankets on the bed are rough wool and covered with stains. An old set of drawers, broken and leaning at an angle against another wall. Bare wooden floorboards. An old-style wooden-framed push-open window of single-paned glass is in the wall, through which natural daylight streams and catches particles of dust, which glint and hang in the air.
The smells hit them next. The scents of people, cooking, fires, horse manure, smoke, soot and a dozen other things all at the same time. The sounds of people talking nearby and a street outside full of life. The distinctive clip-clop of horse hooves and a man shouting out in a language they do not understand but recognise to be French. Ben recognises everything visually. The bed is a bed, for instance. The drawers are drawers. Everything is old yet it doesn’t feel old in here.
‘Ben.’ Safa calls his name having gone to the window to stare out in silence with Harry at her side.
‘Please do not stay at the window for long,’ Roland whispers. ‘And speak quietly.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Safa whispers, complying instantly with his request. ‘Look.’ She nods as he steps over. The window looks down from the third or fourth floor of a building to a busy street crammed with people. It’s so familiar yet so jarring at the same time. Ben and Safa have seen this in movies many times, but not like this. This is olden times and instantly recognisable from thousands of photos and Hollywood movies with elaborate sets dressed to perfection. Horses everywhere. Pulling carts or old-fashioned enclosed carriages that range from falling apart to gleaming clean with smartly uniformed drivers at the front in a riot of colours. Bright blues, reds, yellows and shades of gold. Some of the people walking are dressed in filthy brown and grey clothes. Others in vibrant colours and styles. Market-style stalls selling food, fish, meats, breads and other things they don’t recognise. Smells waft in and this time they gain directional awareness and see cooking pots on glowing coals and an old woman spooning liquid from a pot into a bowl that she hands to a man, who starts eating it on the spot. It feels like spring or early summer with a clear blue sky overhead and that buzz you get when winter is finally over and the days become warmer and longer.
‘Over there.’ Safa nudges him. Ben follows her finger and reels back from the shock.
‘Fuck me . . .’
‘It’s real,’ she says, turning to grin at him and again grabbing his hand. ‘It’s fucking real, Ben . . .’ A rush of emotions inside her. Time travel is real. Harry Madden is real and she’s holding Ben Ryder’s hand. Time travel is real. No one will ever touch her like that again. She’s away from there. Away from that time and with two people who know what honour and decency is.
The thing she was pointing at is unmistakable. Even in the half-built state it’s in now. The Eiffel Tower is one of the most recognisable structures on the planet and there it is. The four huge legs sweeping inwards and up to the already-built first platform, and even from this distance and seeing it across rooftops, they can make out the latticed framework.
‘Paris, France. April eighteen eighty-eight,’ Roland says from behind them.
‘Can I open the window?’ Safa asks eagerly.
‘Yes, but please do not draw attention to yourselves. Miss Patel, you are somewhat distinctive in appearance. Might I suggest you do nothing to draw attention?’
‘Sure,’ Safa says, lifting the latch to push the window open. The air comes in. Real air. Real air full of soot and smoke that is almost choking in how dirty it is after the purity of the bunker, but it’s wonderful all the same. Harry stares down to check no one is looking up then leans quickly out, takes a deep breath and comes back in.
‘Konrad rented this room this morning local time and a week ago in our time reference but even so . . . I’m afraid we have to leave,’ Roland says. ‘We cannot risk being seen here and I always fear the blue light will be reflected or seen by someone.’
They back away like gentle sheep herded by a shepherd and go through the blue light back into the now dingy concrete bunker room to air that seems so thick, clean and rich. Roland comes through behind them and nods to Malcolm, who swipes his thumb across a big red square on the tablet, shutting the blue doorway off in the blink of an eye.
They stand in stunned silence. All three staggered at what they just witnessed. Malcolm and Konrad smile at each other. It was the same for them when they first saw it. Roland pauses, giving them a minute to absorb it.
Finally, he clears his throat. ‘Was that, er . . . well, will it suffice?’
‘Fuck no,’ Safa scoffs with a huge smile that she fights to control. ‘I mean, no,’ she says more seriously. ‘Totally not convinced . . . not convinced at all.’
‘Pardon?’ Roland asks in genuine shock.
‘What else you got?’ she asks.
‘Got?’ Roland asks.
‘Yeah . . . what else? Where else? Not convinced . . . need more. Harry? Are you convinced?’
‘No,’ he says deeply, seriously, but with a glint in his eyes.
Roland tuts, rolling his eyes and huffing. ‘It’s not a toy.’
‘No, it’s a bloody time machine!’ Safa states, the grin once more stretching wide. ‘Come on, where else can we go?’
‘There isn’t anywhere and . . .’
‘You drugged us,’ she says bluntly. ‘Twice . . .’
‘I am aware of that, Miss Patel, but we took very serious measures just to garner use of that one room. We do not have any other safe periods that we can—’
‘Ah now,’ Ben says with a hand on the back of his neck as he looks up at Roland. Safa’s head snaps to stare at him. Roland, Malcolm and Konrad the same. Ben blinks at the sudden strange attention but holds the thought in his head. ‘Thing is,’ he says with an apologetic smile, ‘that footage you showed us could be faked . . . computer generated.’ He shrugs casually. Safa stares harder, seeing the glimpse of a predator in Ben’s eyes. ‘The dinosaurs were miles away and viewed from a window . . . so they could be faked. That room we just went into was just a room overlooking a street, which could also be faked. We were there for less than two minutes. What you have shown us so far is not evidence enough to convince us that—’
‘Forgive me,’ Roland says, interrupting. ‘We cannot and will not take the risk of popping into random eras to satisfy your curiosity. The risk is too great. Any single infraction or . . . or’ – he waves his hand in the air – ‘interaction could be devastating to the timeline.’
Ben tuts and nods, still holding that casual demeanour. ‘So I was famous for what happened at Holborn?’
‘I do not see the relevance,’ Roland replies stiffly.
‘But you knew where I would be at Holborn? Right?’
‘Well, yes, but . . .’
‘So why come to my work in the morning? What essential need did you have? I mean, the risk to the timeline is too great, isn’t it? You knew where I would be so why take that risk?’
‘Ah. Yes. Indeed,’ Roland sputters, smoothing his hair back as he pouts, frowns and rocks on his heels.
‘Your toy, yeah?’ Ben asks pointedly. ‘Don’t want to share it?’
‘Gosh no. Not at all . . . I merely meant that . . .’
‘Rio de Janeiro,’ Ben says. ‘Nineteen ninety-nine. The carnival ran from the thirteenth to the sixteenth of February. Ov
er two million people on the streets. Lights everywhere. Go for the evening so that blue light doesn’t show out . . .’
‘Good Lord, we cannot do such a thing,’ Roland sputters again.
‘And you were on the other side of the road before I went into the station,’ Ben says, still casually but far more predatorily. ‘What essential need was that? London is covered in CCTV. Smartphones everywhere . . . you chose a date to show us. Now we choose a date. I’m not asking for ancient Rome, the birth of Jesus or the Battle of Hastings, Roland. Think about what you are asking us to do . . .’
‘He’s right,’ Malcolm mumbles, glancing at Roland. ‘You let us see the Titanic sailing out . . .’
‘What?’ Ben snaps as Roland groans. ‘You let them see the Titanic? Are you fucking stupid?’
‘Oh, we were at the back, Mr Ryder,’ Konrad says.
‘And we dressed in local clothes,’ Malcolm adds.
‘We didn’t let anyone take our picture either,’ Konrad says.
‘We were, like . . . five minutes?’ Malcolm says, looking at Konrad.
‘Oh, less than that . . . more like four, three even . . .’
‘And Roland liked it,’ Malcolm says as Roland groans again, sagging on the spot. ‘His suggestion actually, wasn’t it, Kon?’
‘You cheeky fucker,’ Safa says, glaring at Roland.
‘Okay okay,’ Roland says, holding his hands out to placate them. ‘Fine. Rio nineteen ninety-nine. We’ll need a few minutes to get organised.’
‘What for?’ Ben asks immediately, the suspicion still strong.
‘Er, we need the GPS coordinates, Mr Ryder,’ Malcolm says.
‘Ben, mate,’ Ben says, still unused to being called Ryder after so many years. ‘How do you get those?’
‘They’ll need clothes too,’ Konrad says to Roland. ‘We’ve got a place we use,’ he adds, looking at Ben to explain. ‘Take us a half hour. Any preference on clothes?’
‘Street clothes. Jeans, T-shirts . . . casual,’ Ben says before Roland can answer. ‘Muted plain colours, nothing bright or patterned.’
