by Peter Ward
“We wouldn’t?”
“Nope,” Miles said, leaning in towards Geoff and lowering his voice to a whisper. “From what I hear, this whole ‘Time Rep’ thing was her idea.”
“You don’t say …” Geoff muttered.
It took Geoff a few minutes to find Ruth, who was sitting peacefully on the edge of one of the mock-Roman fountains, staring into her wine glass.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Geoff said, sitting down next to her. “I’m ‘the slob.’”
Ruth looked up. “The slob?”
“Yep. At least that’s what everyone’s calling me. ‘Hey! You’re that slob guy!’ ‘You’re the slob, right?’”
“That’s because you are a slob.”
“I know that. You know that. But why do other Time Reps know that? Why does Colin the thirteenth century turnip farmer know that?”
“You’re a Time Rep,” Ruth said, placing her wine glass on the floor. “You saw the crowds outside—you’re famous here! Everyone knows everything about you.”
“And I understand I have you to thank for that.”
“For what?”
“For being here. For being a Time Rep.”
“Yes, I suppose you do,” Ruth replied, leaning back on her hands.
“So this whole thing was your idea?”
“It was my idea to recruit people from different time periods, yes.”
“And how did you come up with that?”
“Because we needed something to revitalize the time-tourism industry: something to make it more interesting. You see, when we first started offering holidays to the past, it wasn’t actually that popular. It was a real shock—we thought the idea of going back in time would be hugely successful. Thought it would revolutionize everything. And for a while, it did—holidays to the past became as popular as the exotic spaceflight holidays to distant galaxies. By the end of the first few years, however, people got a bit bored of it all, and sales began to decline.”
“Bored?” Geoff gasped. “How could people get bored of something so incredible so quickly? That’s nearly as bad as when Firefly got canceled after only one series …”
“The problem was people didn’t really know what to do when they went back to somewhere like 1595,” Ruth said. “There were no hotels in most destinations and certainly none of the amenities they were used to. And as the years passed, people stopped going on long breaks—most would just go back in time for a couple of days out of curiosity, check out the scenery, and then come back.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Ruth replied, “if you’re prepared to lose money on every holiday you sell. It’s not cheap sending someone back in time. If you want to make any money at all, you need people to be going back for at least a week. So I thought to myself, why aren’t these people exploring the time period properly? Why don’t they stay to witness significant historical events or visit all the notable landmarks of the period? Then it dawned on me—these people had no one there to guide them, no one to tell them about all the things they could be doing. Take the time period you are representing. If we want people to spend any significant time in the twenty-first century, we need an expert there: someone who knows all the sites; someone with extensive knowledge of all the customs of the time period; someone on call twenty-four hours a day.”
“Or you could just use someone like me,” said Geoff. His tone of voice made it sound as though he was joking, but in truth, he wasn’t. On call twenty-four hours a day? With no pay? What a deal!
Ruth laughed. She picked her wine glass up off the floor and took a sip.
“So anyway—that’s where the idea of having Time Reps came from,” she said.
“So I take it from all this that the idea was successful?”
Ruth nodded.
“Like you wouldn’t believe. When we told people they could actually speak to people from the past and learn about these time periods properly, sales went ballistic, exceeding even the most optimistic forecasts. Schools starting booking educational trips for entire classes thirty-five tickets at a time, universities would organize massive field trips for their students, and families started to take notice again. Before we knew it, our market value had trebled in a matter of months, and I was hailed as the savior of the company. From that point on, my life totally changed: no longer was I just one of Mr. Knight’s many assistants—a girl fresh out of university with a degree in marketing, a head full of ideas, and a dream of making it to the top. I was promoted to being the youngest board member in the company’s history—the Director of ‘Innovation and Strategy,’ no less.” She made two little “inverted comma” signs with her fingers as she spoke as if to suggest the title was not to be taken too seriously.
“Is that good?” Geoff asked. Corporate hierarchies weren’t really his speciality.
“Yes, it’s good—particularly for someone my age. But I’ll tell you the most satisfying thing of all—in an environment full of male egos and testosterone flying about the place, it felt damn good coming up with something none of the boys had thought of.”
“That sounds great and everything,” Geoff said, “but can I ask—don’t you ever feel guilty about this at all?” Geoff said.
Ruth paused halfway through her sip and looked at Geoff.
“Guilty?” Ruth said, bringing the glass slowly back down from her mouth. “Why should I feel guilty?”
“Well, you’ve effectively been playing God with my life for the past seven years, haven’t you? You’ve kept me locked indoors, removed me from the outside world, lied to me, all so you can make the twenty-first century a better place to visit, a place more …”
“… commercially viable?” Ruth offered.
“And it’s not just me,” Geoff said. “I’ve been talking to other Time Reps. Apparently it’s the same for everyone. You keep them cocooned away for years before they know what’s going on. Don’t you feel the slightest bit guilty about the way you’re controlling people’s lives?”
“If a Time Rep’s life was going to otherwise be interesting and fruitful before we stepped in, then yes, I would feel guilty. But you know how this works—you wouldn’t have exactly turned out to be a nuclear physicist had we not interfered with your life. Remember—you’re all totally insignificant. Would you like to know what you’d be doing right now if we hadn’t interfered in your life?” Ruth said.
“Go on.”
“At this moment, you’d be unemployed, sitting in front of a computer trying to work out how to program your own computer game. You’d be spending hours sitting in front of the machine, making very little progress, before giving up on your dream and drifting between mundane temp jobs for the rest of your life. Would you rather be doing that than being here?”
Geoff swallowed hard.
“I suppose not,” he admitted.
“So you see, I don’t feel guilty about how we control the destiny of Time Reps. Not at all. Not when I know how your lives would have turned out otherwise. I actually feel like I’m making a positive difference to somebody. Do you know what Colin the turnip farmer would have been doing had we not recruited him?”
Geoff shook his head.
“He would have been a parsnip farmer.”
“I just don’t like the fact that I’ve been deceived,” Geoff said, rubbing the back of his neck. “All this time, I thought Tim was my friend. I’ve always wondered why he put up with my mess, why he didn’t mind the fact that I owed him two year’s rent. Now it makes sense—he was just some guy who was paid to live with me.”
“Listen—you’ve known each other a long time,” Ruth said, touching Geoff’s arm. “He wouldn’t have stayed assigned to you had he not been enjoying it. Why don’t you speak to him?”
“Can’t find him,” Geoff said. “He’s gone off to find Eric.”
At that moment, Mr. Knight came over and tossed the stub of his cigar into the fountain.
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��Everything all right?” he said.
Ruth stood up abruptly.
“Geoff’s trying to find Tim,” she said, smoothing her skirt against her legs. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen him anywhere?”
“Tim?” Mr. Knight said. “Yes, as a matter of fact I spoke to him a few moments ago. Said he’d gone downstairs to see if Eric was in his lab.”
“So Eric’s still missing is he?” Ruth said, rolling her eyes. Her voice was laced with a hint of sarcasm. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Mr. Knight wasn’t really paying attention to the way she was speaking. He seemed more interested in a group of people standing in another corner of the room. “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” he said, peering over Ruth’s heads and giving the group of people a wave. “Now, would you please excuse me?”
Geoff turned to Ruth.
“Where’s this lab?” he said.
“It’s on the floor below,” Ruth replied.
“Listen—I’ll be back in a minute,” Geoff said, getting to his feet. “Now could be a good chance to catch Tim alone.”
He was just about to leave when Ruth grabbed him lightly by the wrist.
“Geoff?” she said.
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” she said, releasing his arm slowly. “Just—good luck.”
Ten
Just as Ruth had said, Eric’s laboratory was one floor down from the party, the faint bass of the music and the sound of people’s chatter gently reverberating through the ceiling. It certainly wasn’t how Geoff had imagined a laboratory to look—he was expecting huge test tubes full of bubbling green liquid, metal spikes conducting surges of blue electricity, and shelves crammed with deformed biological specimens. Instead, all he got were a few rows of humming data banks and a filing cabinet. Eric’s desk sat at the back of the room, unoccupied. It was covered in paper.
“Tim?” Geoff called out, wandering over to Eric’s desk. “You in here?”
He listened. The data banks continued to hum. The filing cabinet continued to make a noise like a filing cabinet. Tim wasn’t here—he must have just missed him.
Geoff sat down at Eric’s desk and looked around, drumming his fingers on the surface. In front of him, amongst a scattered mess of paperwork and diagrams, was a large file with the name “Geoffrey Stamp” written on the spine and a photo of him stuck on the cover. He picked up the file—it was surprising heavy, bulging with documents, and wrapped with a thick elastic band to hold it all together. Geoff slipped his thumb under the band and pulled it free, allowing the file to expand and breathe. A few documents spilled onto the floor. Rifling through, he found transcripts of conversations, voyeuristic photographs, medical details, everything. Someone had certainly been doing their homework on him but in a different way to that time he was bullied in maths class.
He bent down and picked up one of the documents that had fallen on the floor. It was a certificate. It read:
This is to certify that
GEOFFREY STAMP
has passed the third assessment phase.
The subject is now cleared for one to one surveillance.
If he wasn’t mistaken, it was dated just a few days before he’d lost his job and moved in with Tim.
Towards the back of the file the documents seemed a little more recent, the paper a little less yellow. He was now getting on to things like psychological case studies, intelligence assessments, and all sorts of random hypotheses about himself that he’d never even considered: Was he prone to violence? What was his favorite colour? Why wasn’t he ticklish under the arms? Why didn’t he like zucchini? The questions were endless.
The last section of the file was totally dedicated to the seagull Eric had mentioned a few hours ago—the one that was looking right instead of left as a result of him being made a Time Rep. There were even a couple of photos of it: one of it looking right, the other of it looking left. Apart from that, the photos were identical. It was standing in the exact same position, in the exact same place on the edge of a small outcrop of rock. Even the clouds in the photos were the same. Geoff turned the photos over. One said “Original Timeline” on it, the other “Modified Timeline.”
Continuing through the file, Geoff was amused at how many scientists had taken an interest in this seagull, some choosing to write whole theses on the subject. He skimmed through a few pages. It seemed as though everyone was in agreement that the seagull’s decision to look the other way was just an unexplainable, insignificant blip in an otherwise unaltered timeline, and that Geoffrey should be made a Time Rep candidate regardless of such a benign alteration to the space-time continuum. One thesis was even entitled: ‘The Geoffrey Stamp Seagull — Who Cares?”
Geoff flicked over the next few pages before stopping again. One scientist it seemed did care and had written a report with a very different name: “The Geoffrey Stamp Seagull — Are We All Looking the Other Way?” Geoff turned the page and began to read.
For months now, the scientific community has been debating whether or not we should allow Geoffrey Stamp to be given Time Rep candidature. Normally, Time Rep candidates are only approved if history remains totally unchanged as a result of their appointment. In Geoffrey Stamp’s case, we are on the verge of making an exception to that rule—a seagull will choose to look right instead of left in one hundred thousand years’ time, and we are willing to overlook this apparently insignificant change to make life easier for a holiday company. Friends, I believe we are making a significant mistake, one that could spell disaster for the integrity of the space-time continuum and the future of the human race. This report explores the truth behind the seagull’s decision to look the other way and why Geoffrey Stamp should be immediately dropped from the twenty-first century Time Rep shortlist.
Geoff licked his finger and turned the page. It was blank. He flicked on—the rest of the file was blank. Either someone had removed the other pages of this report or the author was some sort of comedian with a penchant for invisible ink.
“Uhh …”
Geoff looked around. Unless he was mistaken, somebody had just said “Uhh …” He closed the file and stood up.
There it was again:
“Uhhhh …”
The voice was very faint. It appeared to be coming from behind the third row of data banks, just barely managing to croak above the dull humming of the machines.
“Hello?” Geoff said, slowly walking in the direction of the voice. “Is anybody there?”
“Geoff?” the voice whispered. “Geoff, is that you?”
“Who is it?” Geoff said. The voice was too weak to recognize.
A fit of coughing came in response. Sounded unpleasant.
“Who is it?” Geoff repeated.
“It’s … It’s me, Geoff. It’s Eric …”
“Eric? We’ve been looking all over for you! Where have you been?”
“No time …” Eric said. “Help me …”
Geoff walked around the other side of the data banks and stood shock still. Eric was sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, clutching his stomach.
“Oh, my God!” Geoff said, dropping to his knees. “I’ve got to get you help!”
“No!” Eric said, clutching Geoff’s arm. “There’s no time! You need to listen to me!” He pulled on Geoff’s arm and hunched himself up against the data bank, coughing profusely. Specks of blood were splattering from his mouth.
“Who did this to you?”
“Remember what I was saying? About someone on the inside leaking my al … algo …”
“Algorithm?”
Eric nodded. “I didn’t get time to finish it. I didn’t … get time to fix the loophole.”
“Eric, please—who did this to you?”
Eric’s head drooped. It looked like he was having serious trouble breathing.
“Who did this to you!?” Geoff shouted, grabbing the lapels of Eric’s blood-stained dinner jacket and shaking him.
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“The loophole,” Eric said, looking up again. “It can be fixed. You…can fix it …”
“Me?”
“It’s … It’s simple really. I’ll tell you … what the secret is. I’ll tell you how the computer … can be tricked … Come close …”
“Eric, no! I’ve got to get you help!”
“No!” Eric shouted, pulling Geoff close to his face. He winced in discomfort, a trickle of blood dripping from his mouth and running through his beard. “I won’t let them break my algorithm! I won’t let my life’s work go to waste! You sit here … and you listen to me!”
Eric whispered into Geoff’s ear, explaining exactly how the computer could be tricked. Geoff listened carefully, his eyes widening as Eric spoke. Of course! When you thought about it like that, it was so simple! As Eric finished his explanation, he smiled at Geoff and released his arm, his hand dropping lifelessly to one side.
“You … understand?” Eric said.
Geoff nodded.
“Be quick …” Eric said, clutching his stomach. “These people are on the verge of … of …”
“Of …?” Geoff said.
Before Eric could finish his sentence, he coughed up a mouthful of blood and slumped over, dead.
“Eric?” Geoff said. “Eric!!!”
It was no use. Eric was still dead.
Geoff stared into Eric’s vacant eyes and thought seriously about going into a mad panic: the sort of panic where you pull your hair out, eat some of it, then run around the room with your pants on your head screaming like a girl. But no—he had to get a grip on himself and speak to Mr. Knight right away. He was now the only person who knew how the supercomputer could be fooled and what needed to be done to fix it. He turned around and froze.
A hooded figure was standing in the doorway, clutching Eric’s walking stick, blood dripping from the tip onto the laboratory floor. Geoff’s expert powers of deduction led him to believe that this was probably the person who had attacked Eric and perhaps even the person who had been watching him during the Great Fire of London.
