Time Rep

by Peter Ward

  “You mean when I saw that poster advertising a holiday to the twenty-second century? The one with Big Ben being blown up?”

  “That’s right. Well, the original city of London was mostly destroyed in that invasion.”

  “Crickey,” Geoff said. “I guess they didn’t like Earth very much then?”

  “Oh, they liked Earth,” Eric replied. “Only they preferred it to not be inhabited by the human race if at all possible—they wanted it for themselves. You see, the Varsarians were a particularly aggressive alien species hell-bent on some mission to colonize every planet in the universe capable of sustaining organic life.”

  “And you say people go back there on holiday? That it’s one of your most popular destinations?”

  “It is the most popular destination we offer,” Tim said. “As you know, death and destruction are big selling points, and believe me—that invasion had it in spades. It’s a dangerous time to visit, but the battle was one of the most spectacular in human history.”

  “It really is worth seeing if you ever get the chance,” Eric said.

  Geoff mulled this over.

  “Can’t you just tell me what happened briefly,” he said, “in the comfort of this very nice, very safe limousine?”

  “As you wish,” Eric said, taking a deep breath. “In 2181 a huge fleet of Varsarian ships took Earth completely by surprise and annihilated several major cities in the space of a few hours. New York, Beijing, London, Basingstoke, Berlin—all were practically wiped off the map in one hit.”

  “Basingstoke?”

  “Historians are still arguing over why they picked Basingstoke,” Eric said. “The latest theory is that the name meant ‘potatoes galore’ in their language, and that they decided to blow it up because they didn’t know what a potato was and thought it might be dangerous.”

  “That’s just silly.”

  “It’s a cultural thing. Apparently, certain words and phrases carried extreme importance to the Varsarians, causing them to behave in an over-the-top way. Basingstoke was just one of those words.”

  “Earth’s counterattack was laughable,” Tim continued. “Nuclear missiles, fusion bombs, proton clusters: the aliens took such little damage from the onslaught, they actually thought Earth was firing gifts into the sky as a peace offering.”

  “So what happened?” Geoff said. “How did Earth survive?”

  “Unknown to the Varsarians, and indeed most of the world, a small university in Malta had just made a major scientific breakthrough,” Eric said. “They had discovered how to create a temporal vortex.”

  “A what?”

  “They had discovered time travel.”

  “Time travel was discovered that long ago?” Geoff said. “In Malta?”

  “Discovered, yes,” Eric said, “but not applied to anything. We had to develop a supercomputer powerful enough to control the technology before we could really exploit it—the time-tourism industry, for example, is only fifteen years old. Back in the twenty-second century, the university decided to veto the technology and kept it a secret from the public on the grounds that it was too dangerous. However, fearing the probable extinction of the human race, the university powered up its particle accelerator, tracked the Varsarians’ orbit in space, and projected a vortex directly into the flight path of the invading fleet. The fleet was instantly transported six hundred years into the future. From humanity’s point of view, this was actually quite funny—not only had they eliminated the Varsarian threat for the time being, but they also knew the precise moment when the fleet was going to reappear—they knew the exact year, the exact day, the exact minute. When the fleet therefore reappeared in the year 2781, Mankind was expecting them. By this time, the human race was fairly experienced at intergalactic travel and had built a huge battle fleet of its own to counter the attacking force. They wanted revenge for those who had lost their lives so long ago, and in six hundred years they had developed some pretty nasty weapons that were more than capable of delivering it. For the Varsarians, however, the six-hundred-year jump was instantaneous—they were completely unaware of what had just happened, so they carried on attacking. Unfortunately, they soon discovered that their opponents had suddenly become quite an even match. Energy beams that were moments ago wreaking destruction on the planet’s surface were now being reflected back at them, mother ships were starting to take damage, and space fighters were being shot down. The battle lasted many days, but in the end, mankind was victorious—all of the invading ships were destroyed, and the Varsarians were finally defeated.”

  “Bit unlucky for them, really,” Geoff said.

  “Could have been unluckier,” Eric replied. “If that university in Malta had sent them two thousand years in the future, they would have been wiped out in seconds. Most vacuum cleaners will be more powerful than the alien’s weaponry by then.”

  “So what happened to London?” Geoff said.

  “Well, this is the interesting part,” Eric said as if the previous part about the near-extinction of humanity had been a bit dull. “Towards the end of the battle, one of the damaged Varsarian spaceships actually broke through the Earth’s atmosphere and crash-landed in North America. When it was recovered by the military, they discovered an amazing piece of alien technology: a molecular rearrangement beam.”

  “A what?”

  “A particle beam capable of rearranging mass into any formation.”

  Geoff thought about this.

  “A what?” he said.

  “On a small scale,” Eric sighed, “if you fired this beam at an apple, it could turn it into an orange. On a large scale, if you fired it at the desolate, radioactive remains of a city once destroyed by an alien invasion, it could transform it back into that city.”

  “And that’s what happened with London?”

  Eric nodded. “Once the scientists had figured out how to program it, they flew the ship back into space and fired the beam at London. Within minutes, the city was completely reformed.”

  “But why does it look exactly like the London of the twenty-first century? Why are there still cars driving around?”

  “Because when the scientists were making their calculations, they could only refer back to what London looked like before it was destroyed. The government of the day took advantage of this and decided to recreate London exactly as it had existed in the early twenty-first century. They then passed a bill that made it illegal to build or change anything, and the city became preserved as a memorial: a symbol of the city’s strength in times of adversity. Since then, London has stayed exactly the same: Big Ben is still Big Ben, buses are still red, and the Tube still suffers from signal failures. We weren’t even allowed to build the time-tourism facility in London unless we agreed to convert an old railway station, and the rest had to be built underground—even the supercomputer,” Eric said.

  “Blimey,” Geoff said. “That’s quite a story.”

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t end there,” Eric said.

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No. There’s still one loose end that exists even to this day.”

  “You mean you still get those annoying people on the street handing out free newspapers?”

  “Not quite. When the scientists first tested the molecular rearrangement beam, they fired it at a monkey. The results were terrifying.”

  “Why? Geoff said. Was it horribly mutilated?”

  “No,” Eric said. “The monkey turned into a human being.”

  “A human being?” Geoff said. “What’s so terrifying about a human being?”

  “Think about it. Why would the monkey have turned into a human being?”

  Geoff shrugged. He had no idea.

  “Because that was the way the Varsarians had last configured the molecular rearrangement beam. The theory is that some of them actually survived the crash, turned themselves into humans before the ship was recovered, and disappeared into society. What’s worse, we have
reason to believe that descendants of the Varsarian race still live among us today, plotting to use time tourism to change the outcome of their failed invasion. They may even be the ones who were able to gain access to the computer.”

  “In other words, they want to use the technology that was responsible for their downfall against us,” Tim said, looking out of the window. It was beginning to get dark outside.

  “We’re about five minutes away,” Eric said to Geoff. “You’d better take your pants off.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Take your pants off. Your clothes still reek of smoke from the Great Fire of London, and there’s probably a load of holotographers waiting outside for you. We can’t let you get out of the car dressed like that.”

  “I’d rather be wearing these pants than no pants,” Geoff said, protectively tugging them up as far as they would go.

  “Relax,” Tim said. “I’m not suggesting you get out of the car in your underwear. There’s a dinner suit under your seat in your size. Give me your clothes and put it on.”

  “Can’t I just wear these clothes?” Geoff said. “I don’t really like the thought of getting undressed in front of you two.”

  “We’ll look away if it makes you feel better,” Tim said, “but you’re talking to two guys who took a semen sample from you four hours ago. We’ve already seen everything, believe me.”

  Geoff couldn’t really argue with this and reached under his seat, pulling out a rather expensive-looking tuxedo.

  It wasn’t long before the limousine pulled up outside the building Geoff had been to for his interview over one thousand years ago. It looked exactly the same as he remembered it—tall, oblong, and cladded in glass. The only difference was that this time, a bright blue sign stretched over the main entrance that said “Time Tours Inc.” If he recalled correctly, there was nothing to suggest this place was the headquarters of the time-tourism industry in the twenty-first century. A luscious red carpet concertinaed its way up the short flight of stairs to the entrance, lined with thick rope cordon. And on either side of the carpet, huge crowds of people were jostling each other for a better view. What was all the fuss about?

  “Don’t forget this,” Tim said, handing Geoff his badge. “All the other Time Reps will be wearing theirs.”

  “Why are there so many people here?” Geoff said, clipping the badge onto his jacket. “Is someone important coming?”

  Eric straightened his tie.

  “Like we said, there’ll be the odd politician here and perhaps a few celebrities, but these people aren’t here to see them. They’re here to see the new Time Reps.

  It took a moment for what Eric had just said to sink in.

  “Wait a minute—you mean they’re here to see me?”

  “Don’t worry,” Tim said. “All you need to do is wave to the crowds and walk inside. Ruth should be waiting in the lobby to take us upstairs.”

  Geoff pressed his face against the car window and looked at the crowd. He couldn’t believe it—these people had actually gathered to see him. Some were already trying to take his picture.

  “I’m not worrying,” Geoff said, rubbing his hands in excitement. “I think this is great! The limousine, the crowds—can you imagine the look on Darren Bell’s face if he could see me now? I’m being treated like a bloody film star! And wait till I tell Zoë!”

  “This could have been a mistake,” Eric said, raising his eyebrows at Tim. “The file said he didn’t like being the center of attention. It said …”

  “I know what the file said,” Tim interrupted, turning to Geoff. “Listen very carefully,” he said, lowering his voice. “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to try and ignore all this attention. You mustn’t let it affect who you are.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember what Mr. Knight told you earlier—the only reason you got this job is because he thought it wouldn’t change you. It’s imperative that you remain the same uninspired, unambitious Geoffrey Stamp that he interviewed this afternoon. If all this glitz is starting to make you feel important or somehow special, then you could be endangering your position as a Time Rep. And for goodness sake, you can’t tell anyone about this in the twenty-first century. Not Darren, not Zoë, not anyone. It has to remain top secret.”

  “But …”

  Before Geoff could even contemplate finishing this sentence, a footman suddenly opened the car door to let Geoff out. There was a loud cheer from the crowd, the people at the front bulging up against the rope cordon, their arms stretched out with autograph books. Geoff stepped out of the car and took a few steps forward, closely followed by Tim and Eric.

  “How am I supposed to ignore this?” Geoff whispered back to Tim. “Everyone’s going crazy for me!”

  “You’ve got to try,” Tim replied.

  “I blame the media,” Eric said. “They’ve been hyping you up all week.”

  “Hyping me up?” Geoff said.

  “Look this way, Geoff!” someone cried.

  “Over here!” came another voice.

  “Smile for the holotographers,” Tim said, placing his hands on Geoff’s shoulders and steering him to face a group of journalists. “Just give them a few good shots and head inside. And don’t answer any questions.”

  Geoff did as he was told and smiled. The “holotographers” held up some camera-like devices and flashed away.

  “What do you think of the future, Mr. Stamp?” a journalist said, thrusting a microphone forward as far as he could.

  “I …”

  “Don’t answer,” Tim said.

  “Mr. Stamp!” another journalist shouted. “How do you respond to the allegations that you’ve been lied to about the …”

  “That’s enough,” Eric said, pulling him back.

  “What was that?” Geoff said. “What have I been lied to about?”

  Tim and Eric said nothing, hurrying Geoff up the red carpet and through the entrance without saying a word.

  Nine

  Ruth was waiting for them in the frosted glass lobby, sitting on the edge of her frosted glass desk. Her hair was immaculately styled into a “bun with a couple of chopsticks stuck in it” arrangement, her lips were glossed in a subtle pink lipstick, and she wore a tight-fitting oriental red and black dress. Geoff couldn’t begin to comprehend the effort that had probably gone into her appearance; after all, he’d had enough trouble just trying to do up his shoelaces in the limousine.

  “Ah—you finally made it,” she said, standing up. She looked at Eric. “You ready to do this?” she asked.

  “I guess so,” Eric replied.

  “Good. Well, everyone else is already upstairs, so shall we get on with this?”

  “How many people are here?” Tim said.

  “Couple of hundred,” Ruth replied. She adjusted her heels slightly and led them over to the elevator.

  “Hold on a minute,” Geoff said. “What was that guy saying outside? Something about me being lied to?”

  Ruth stopped for a moment.

  “You let him talk to the holotographers?” she said, looking round at Tim. “After all those rumors about him in the news?”

  “Rumors?” Geoff said. “What rumors?”

  Tim sighed. “Rumors that you might not be as insignificant as you’ve been led to believe,” he said. “Some journalists think that your position as a Time Rep has been orchestrated as part of a wider conspiracy to change history.”

  “So these people think I might not be insignificant?”

  “Quite the opposite in fact,” Tim said. “These people actually think that you’re special in some way.”

  “Special,” Geoff said, nodding to himself. “I like that. So, do you think they’re onto something?”

  “The story is nonsense,” Eric snapped. “If the computer really has made a mistake about you—if you really are ‘special’—history would have changed already!”

  “G
entlemen, gentlemen,” Ruth said, trying to bring the conversation into a more civilized tone. “Can this wait until later? Mr. Knight is waiting for you upstairs before he gives his speech.” She held the elevator door open and ushered the three men inside.

  “Please state your destination,” the lift said in its synthesized female voice.

  “Top floor,” Ruth replied.

  The doors closed, and the elevator began to move.

  Eric leaned his walking stick against the corner of the lift and pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket. “I hope this speech is shorter than last time,” he said, dabbing his forehead before arranging the handkerchief to stick out of his breast pocket in a perfect triangle. “Have you had a chance to read it?”

  “Don’t worry,” Ruth replied. “It’s only a couple of minutes long.”

  “And what’s the message this year?”

  “The usual. There’s a bit about how time tourism enlightens humanity, makes people cherish the past … Oh, and a couple of senior politicians are here tonight, so he’s going to publicly reassure everyone that time tourism is still safe despite the attempts to abuse it—thanks to you.” Ruth patted Eric on the shoulder. “You might even get a mention.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “That reminds me,” Ruth said, touching Eric’s arm. “Mr. Knight wants you to show the Defence Minister those new precautionary measures you’re working on. Can you stop by your lab on the way up and collect the paperwork?”

  Eric nodded in silence. He looked pale.

  “Laboratory,” he said, his voice sounding a little weak.

  “Thank you,” the lift said. “This lift will stop at the laboratory before proceeding to the top floor.”

  “You’ve got your own lab here?” Geoff said.

  Tim nudged Geoff’s arm. “There’ll be quite a few other Time Reps here tonight,” he said. “You should try and speak to them if you get the chance. They’ll be able to give you a few tips about the job that we might not be able to help you with.”

  Geoff said nothing. He tugged on his bow tie—Tim had done it up a little tight.