by Alex Scarrow
He shook his head firmly. ‘Although they look human, youmust try not to think of them as such. They’re nothing more than meat robots, Sal,nothing more. Come on,’ he said, gesturing towards the sliding metal door leading backinto the archway, ‘let’s get the displacement machine charging up.’
He ushered them out, Sal craning her neck one last time to look at the tubes as they steppedout.
‘What will you do with them?’ she asked.
‘I’ll deal with them, don’t you worry about that.’
‘But what will you do with them?’
Foster shook his head. ‘We’ve got far more important matters to be thinking aboutright now.’
He closed the door on the smell and the noisy rattle of the generator and made a mental noteto dispose of the clone bodies when Sal was fast asleep. The last thing she needed to seeright now was him carrying their bodies out.
He stepped over towards the machine beside the large perspex cylinder, and flipped a switch.A long row of small red LED lights winked on. The first of them almost immediately flickeredand turned from red to green.
‘OK, it’s charging,’ he said.
He joined the girls slumped in chairs around their mess table. ‘We’ve beenthrough a lot. And there’s still a lot more we’re going to have to do. When themachinery is charged up enough, we’ll need to get that message throughto Bob. And, of course, we’ll need to decide exactly whereand when we’re opening the return window. But fornow,’ he said, sighing, ‘right now… I could murder a cup ofcoffee.’
The girls, both grimy and tired, looked up at him. ‘Just what the doctorordered,’ said Maddy.
Foster settled back in his chair, suddenly feeling as old as the hills. ‘Come on, then,whose turn is it to brew up?’
CHAPTER 62
2001, New York
‘The shorter the message we try to send, the less energy we’lluse,’ said Foster. ‘We need to keep it precise and to the point. That way we canspend more of the energy of the tachyon burst on creating a wider spread ofparticles.’
Sal pulled a face. ‘I still don’t get it.’
Foster scratched a chin thick with several days of white and grey bristles. The first thinghe planned to do once things had returned to normal was to get a nice clean wet shave.
The idea of beams of sub-atomic particles that could be fired backwards through time had beena hard concept for him to get his head round back when he’d first been recruited as aTimeRider. In fact, a lot of the concepts, the technology, the gadgets had been alien to him.His young mind had struggled hard to absorb it all. But he’d managed.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s like this. What we’re doing, in effect,is spraying an area of America in the past, fifty years ago, with a shower of tiny particles- these tachyons. Now, if we knew precisely where Bob was standing at a certain time, then we could aim ourtransmitter right at that point and fire off a message using very little energy, needing tosend only a small number of these tachyon particles. However, we don’t know where Bob isright now. We just have a general direction.’
‘But why don’t we aim the beam to the location and the point intime that we sent them back to? You know… the White House front lawn, say… thirtyseconds after they’d arrived there. They won’t havebeen able to wander too far in, like, half a minute,’ said Maddy.
‘True,’ said Foster, ‘but then they won’t have had time to gather anyuseful intelligence in just thirty seconds. We’d be right back where we started, nonethe wiser and with no information to work from.’
He looked across at the machine beside the perspex tube. The winking row of red lights showedthe displacement machinery was still a long way off from being charged up enough to use.
‘Look, I’ll be honest. I really don’t know yet whether we’re evengoing to be able to get one of them back, let alone both of them. The point is — and this is really important- we have to hope they’ve found out enough in the past to be able to tell us exactly when and where this wrong history diverged from our own.Because,’ he said, looking up at both of them with a stern expression, ‘we mayonly have enough power left to get one shot at sending someoneback. One last shot.’
He sipped from his mug.
‘Just one shot to put things right.’
‘Right,’ said Maddy quietly.
‘So, we know they missed the return window, and the back-up window an hour later…and the last back-up twenty-four hours later. Which means they must have run into trouble. Butthat’s not necessarily such a bad thing.’
Sal made a face. ‘It’s not?’
‘No. From my many years’ experience as an operative, running into trouble isinevitably how you end up learning things.’ Foster smiled. ‘The more troublethey’ve been in, the more they’ve probably learned about the world in1956.’
‘If they’re still alive, that is,’ added Maddy.
‘Liam is a very resourceful young lad. He’s a quick learner.And the support unit with him, well… they’re very tough things. Takes quite a lotof effort to kill one of those. Between them, I’m sure they will have managed a way tolie low, to gather information and await a message from us.’
‘So then… what message are we going to sendthem?’ asked Sal.
Foster looked at her. ‘We send them a time-stamp: a location and moment in time forthem to make their way to.’
‘Right.’
‘We can assume they have remained in the area of Washington.’
‘You sure?’ cut in Maddy. ‘Can we assume that?’
‘Yes, because it makes sense. Bob will assume we’ll pick them up from roughly thesame area. So he’ll have kept as close to the White House as is safe to do.’
‘We’re doing a lot of guessing here,’ said Maddy, a note of scepticism inher voice.
‘Guessing is all we’ve got, I’m afraid.’
Neither girl looked too happy with that.
‘Look, here’s the plan,’ he said. ‘We’re going to turn on thecomputer system, pull up a street map for Washington and try to find some quiet backstreet nottoo far from the White House… say within a mile or two. That’ll be where we’ll open the return window. We’ll write down theco-ordinates, turn the computers back off since they’re drawing power from the generatorand we’ll have what we want.’
‘OK.’
‘So the other part of the message is the when. That’sthe part of this we’ve got to guess right.’
‘How about the day after the twenty-four-hourback-up?’ suggested Sal.
‘Could do… but if they failed that, then something must haveprevented them getting there. I’d say we need to give them more time.’
‘Something prevented them?’
Foster shrugged. ‘Many things. Bob or Liam might have been wounded, incapacitatedsomehow… unable to move. They might have been arrested. The area might have been sealedoff or hazardous.’
‘So, how long after that, then?’ asked Sal. ‘Two days? Threedays?’
His lips tightened. ‘As long as we possibly can. We don’t know what theirsituation is, how much planning or recovering they might need to get to thislocation.’
‘How much time are we talking about?’ asked Maddy. ‘A week?’
‘The maximum mission time possible. Six months,’ he replied.
Maddy pulled off her glasses and absent-mindedly wiped the lenses. She narrowed her eyes.‘Maximum mission time? You mentioned that once before.’
‘Maximum mission time,’ repeated Foster. ‘Twenty-six weeks. Six months.That’s the support unit’s expiry point.’
‘Expiry point?’ said Maddy. ‘I don’t like the sound ofthat.’
‘The support unit, Bob, is programmed to destroy himself if he’s not beenreturned to the present after a period of six months.’
‘Why?’ asked Sal.
‘To prevent him falling into the wrong hands… to prevent him becoming a dangerousweapon.’
‘Dangerous?’
‘His mind is adaptive AI. It’s soft
ware that learns. Imagine if Bob fell into thewrong hands. Imagine if Bob’s software began to learn about the world from someone evil,or mad. Imagine if Bob learned about the world from someone utterly insane like the Roman Emperor Caligula. Or was used as a weapon by Napoleon, or GenghisKhan.’
The girls considered that prospect in silence.
‘Worse still,’ Foster continued, ‘since his organic body doesn’t age,and provided he’s able to eat, he could live indefinitely. A strong man, almostimpossible to kill, who never ages. Think about it. Something like that could end up — particularly back in a superstitious time — being worshipped as a… well, as agod.’
‘Sheesh,’ whispered Maddy, ‘I bet ol’ dumb-nuts would lovethat.’
‘Point is that it’s a particularly bad idea leaving a support unit behind inhistory. So they’re programmed to self-terminate after six months.’
Sal frowned. ‘So what will Bob do? Blow up?’
‘Nothing quite so dramatic. The computer brain short-circuits and burns itself out.You’re left with nothing but a nugget of metal that’s useful to no one.’
‘And the computer burning itself,’ said Maddy, finishing off her coffee,‘that, like, that’ll kill Bob?’
‘Not exactly. With no computer in his head, the support unit will be nothing more thana large, able-bodied adult male with the undeveloped mind of a newborn baby.’
‘He’s left a gibbering idiot for the rest of time,’ said Maddy.‘Nice.’
‘No. He’d most probably die eventually. Being unable to actually think, he’d be unable to care for himself, feed himself. Thebody would die of starvation after a few weeks, just like any other human body. In fact,unable to figure out he needs a drink, he’d die within just a few days.’
‘Poor Bob,’ said Sal.
Foster leaned forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Meat robot… OK?That’s all he is. Just a meat robot.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Meat robot,’ she repeated to herself,‘meat robot.’
‘So,’ said Maddy, putting her glasses back on, ‘that’s the time-stampwe’re gonna send back to them? That they gotta shift their butts to somewhere in theneighbourhood of the White House for a portal that opens six months after they first arrivedthere?’
‘Maybe a couple or more days before the termination date. Just so we’re notcutting it too fine. But yes,’ he replied. ‘I think that’s our bestshot.’
‘Right.’ Maddy nodded towards the computer monitors. ‘I guess I better bootup the computer, see if the thing still works an’ rustle up a map ofWashington.’
‘Good girl.’
CHAPTER 63
1957, woods outside Baltimore
‘So, er… who are all these guys, Bob?’ asked Liam as he struggledto keep up with him, striding across the snow-covered field towards the woods. There were menin their wake, dozens of them, waving their guns in the air, discharging them, cheeringtriumphantly.
‘They keep following me,’ answered Bob flatly.
Liam looked back over his shoulder at them: a grimy ragtag army of soldiers and civilians.Beyond them he could see the crisp white field was dotted with grubby prisoners fleeing thecamp in all directions.
‘The captain did it again!’ cheered one of the fighters.
‘Let’s hear it for Captain Bob… hiphip…’
The men chorused ‘hooray!’, several of them firing their guns again insupport.
Liam leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘CaptainBob? You told them you were an army officer? Jay-zus… thatwas clever.’ He was genuinely impressed with the initiative Bob had shown.‘I’m proud of you,’ he said, slapping him on his broad back.
‘I have told them nothing,’ Bob replied. ‘They have decided to call me thisname.’
‘Hey! You!’
Liam turned round. A dozen yards behind, catching up with them, was a small weaselly-lookingman, who looked like the sort of dodgy debt dealer his mum had once warnedhim about.
‘Hey, kid! Don’t be crowdin’ the captain like that. You want face-time withhim, you come talk to me first, all right? He don’t need to be troubled by no peskylittle kid wantin’ an autograph.’
Liam looked at the other fighters behind him, their eyes still glazed with the exhilarationof battle, panting plumes of winter breath and gazing at Bob with an intense…fierce…
What? Fondness? Love? No, it wasn’t that… It wasmuch, much more. It was awe.
‘Hey, kid!’ said the weasel in the suit. He jogged over. ‘You wanna joinCaptain Bob’s Freedom Force? Is that what you want? Then come talk to me back at the camp. The name’s Panelli, Vice-captain Panelli. I’m the second-in-command around here. I’ll sortyou out with some food and a gun — ’
‘Uh… no, that’s OK. I don’t want to join your Freedom Force.I’m just — ’
‘Then if you ain’t joinin’ the force, kid, you better scram. We got us somemore raids to plan, a war to fight. An’ Captain Bob needs time to rest up before heleads us against them Krauties again.’
Liam looked up at Bob. ‘This isn’t what we’re here for, is it? To fightKramer’s army?’ he asked, ignoring Panelli.
‘You are correct,’ replied Bob. ‘Mission priority now is to return homewith acquired data.’
‘So, how are we going to do that?’
Bob considered the question for a moment. ‘I have no available plan. Suggestion: weawait a signal from the agency giving us further instructions.’
‘We just wait for them to call us?’
‘Affirmative.’
‘Hey!’ cut in Panelli, grabbing Liam’s arm. ‘Hey, stop that! Whatsorta weird talk is that yer saying to the captain?’
Liam spun round angrily, shaking off his hand. ‘Please! Can you leaveus alone? We need to talk!’
Panelli looked at them both suspiciously. ‘I heard you say something about an agency signal? You some kinda spy? Some kinda enemysympathizer?’
‘What? No!’
‘You sound sorta funny to me. Got some kinda accent going on there. What do you think,men?’
‘Oh, for cryin’ out loud! I’m Irish!’ replied Liam. ‘I’mnot a flippin’ German spy!’
Liam looked up at his support unit. ‘Bob, tell them I’m your friend.’
‘He is my friend.’
Panelli looked surprised. ‘You… you know thiskid?’
‘Affirmative. I know him.’
‘So… so, what’s the deal? You family orsomething?’
Liam shrugged. ‘Yeah… that’s right. We’re family, aren’t we,Bob?’
Bob cocked an eyebrow, uncertain what to say. Then, after a moment: ‘This is the one Ihave been looking for,’ his deep voice rumbled.
Panelli suddenly looked unhappy with that, jealous that his self-appointed status asBob’s right-hand man had seemingly been undermined by some scrawny kid.
‘So, Captain Bob… you been looking for this kid, an’ now you found him.What does that mean for me… us?’ he asked, a look of growing concern on his face.‘Do we… do we still follow you?’
Bob frowned and looked down at Liam for guidance, again unsure what to say.
Good grief. These guys… they think he’s some sort of asaint.
He almost giggled at the ridiculousness of it.
‘Tell them, Bob. Tell them exactly what we’re doing.’
‘We are awaiting a signal.’
‘A sign?’ gasped the young corporal, standing just behind Panelli.
‘Yes… that’s it exactly,’ said Liam, ‘we’re awaiting asign.’
The word rippled around the gathered men, whispered with growing excitement and awe.
A sign. A sign.
‘Do you… do you m-mean,’ continued the corporal, ‘a s-sign from theLord?’
‘From the field off-’ added Bob helpfully. Liam elbowed him in the ribs andhe closed his mouth.
‘From the what?’ asked Panelli.
‘A sign,’ repeated Liam, ‘from, you know, from… beyond.’
; Whispers spread like a breeze among the men. Liam spotted several anointing themselves withthe sign of the cross.
‘Beyond,’ uttered the corporal, wide-eyed.
‘That’s right,’ said Liam, trying to keep his voice even and his lips fromcreasing, ‘from… you know who.’
A silence settled over the men.
At that moment a scudding cloud happened to pass out of the way of the sun, sending a burstof dazzling rays down on to the snowy ploughed field, bathing Bob in a warm light. The fuzz ofcoarse nut-brown hair growing on his coconut-like head seemed to glow for a moment, glow justlike a halo.
A collective gasp passed through the gathered men, and one by one they began to kneel, eventhe weasel — Panelli — who Liam would never in a month of Sundays have thought wasthe church-going type.
Oh, just great. That’s all we need.
CHAPTER 64
1957, woods outside Baltimore
The soup sploshed into Liam’s bowl from a ladle smelled and looked almost asunappetizing as the gruel he’d grown used to eating in the prison camp.
He looked up at the man who’d served him. ‘Thank you.’
The man offered an awkward smile and tugged his cap politely. ‘Is there anything I canget for Captain Bob?’
Liam considered that for a moment. Bob was clumsy with a spoon. Chances were he’d endup dribbling the soup all down his front.
Not very inspiring. Not very saint-like.
‘Our leader would like some bread, if you got any.’
The man smiled, delighted to be of service. He rummaged in a backpack and produced a longloaf of stale bread. Liam nodded a thanks, tucked it under his arm and began to head back tothe tent before hesitating and turning back round to face the man.
‘Uh… our leader sends his blessings for the food.’
The man grinned broadly. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ crossing himself as he spoke.‘God bless him.’
Liam made his way across the camp, illuminated by the glow of a crackling fire and silvershafts of moonlight, lancing down between the branches of the forest. He nodded politely tothe others he passed, offering blessings from Bob along the way. Over thelast couple of days, the camp’s atmosphere seemed to have changed from being that of thesecret den of a band of patriotic freedom fighters to that of some kind of a monastery. Menwho’d exchanged bawdy jokes one day seemed pious and reflective now.
