Time Rep

by Peter Ward

  He turned to leave.

  “Why do you need to go there?” Ruth said.

  “To upload the new algorithm,” Eric said, holding up the disk in his hand. “I was telling you about this yesterday, remember? My new code removes a fundamental loophole in the system. Once this is uploaded, no one will be able to cheat the computer.”

  “Good,” Ruth said, looking at the others. “We wouldn’t want that.”

  “I don’t know,” Eric muttered under his breath, hobbling towards the lift at the back of the room. “I spend all this time telling them about the work I’m doing to improve my code, and they still don’t listen.”

  “Will you excuse me a moment?” Ruth said. She ran over to Eric and gave him a hug, then whispered something in his ear. Eric smiled, gave her a wink, and left.

  Tim frowned.

  “What was that about?” he said as Ruth rejoined the rest of the group at the window. “I didn’t think you two were that close?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Ruth said, smiling to herself as she looked across London’s new skyline. “Just checking something.”

  “Well, I guess that explains why I’m still here,” Geoff said. “Ruth did think up the idea for Time Reps after all. Must have come up with it independently.”

  “And now you’re the president of the company as a result,” Tim said, turning to her. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Ruth replied, touching Tim’s hand.

  Geoff inflated his cheeks with air, held it there for a moment, then blew it out again.

  “Erm … would anyone object if I went home now?” he said. “After all this excitement, I think I need a holiday …”

  “Well, we have a number of great locations for you to choose from,” Tim said. “Have you ever thought about visiting the Great Fire of London?”

  Thirty

  Geoff walked up the garden path to 23 Woodview Gardens with his house keys at the ready, his legs barely able to carry the weight of his body. It was late—the night sky looking remarkably peaceful considering the epic battle that had just taken place above his head. Indeed, reminding himself of the date, he realized it must have been around this time that the Varsarians were being defeated, and as he looked up, he just caught a glimpse of a small explosion lighting up a corner of the sky briefly with a glint of blue.

  Just as he was fumbling with his keys in the door, the house was lit up by a bright dazzle of headlights—Darren Bell was pulling into his driveway next door.

  “Evening, Stamp!” Darren said, climbing out of his car and shutting the door behind him with his sleeve. “Don’t normally see you around this time of night! Been working late?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” Geoff said, too tired to come up with some sort of cover story. “I’ve witnessed the extinction of the dinosaurs, traveled over one thousand years into the future, seen the Great Fire of London, uncovered a conspiracy to change the course of history, and saved the entire planet from an alien invasion.”

  Darren blinked.

  “You and your stupid computer games,” he said, activating the remote central locking on his car. “When are you going to learn that those things aren’t real?”

  “You’re right,” Geoff said, twisting his key in the lock and pushing open the front door. “I guess I have a bit of a problem telling the difference between what’s real and what’s imaginary. Goodnight.”

  He stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind him, hanging his coat on the end of the banisters. As much as he wanted to climb into bed and go to sleep, this process involved going up the stairs, which was a big no-no at the moment—his legs probably would have had a fit if he even mentioned it. So he staggered into the lounge and collapsed on the sofa, burying his face into the nearest cushion that didn’t smell of newspaper.

  It had certainly been a long day, and to make matters worse, he had an early start tomorrow. Apparently, he had to meet thirty-three tourists outside a modern art gallery at nine in the morning and explain to them why twenty-first century people considered a piece of litter stapled to a canvas to be a work of art. He wasn’t really sure what to say: by that logic, had any passerby caught a glimpse of the front room, they wouldn’t have thought they were walking past an animal enclosure—they might have thought they were walking past an art installation.

  Today had certainly been a long day, yet inside he felt refreshed, confident—a changed man. Would this get him into trouble? After everything that had happened today, would Ruth really fire him for feeling a little better about himself? For knowing his purpose in life? His true worth to society? He yawned and shut his eyes. Perhaps, if he saw Zoë tomorrow, he would ask her if she wanted to go down to the lake with him just like they used to do in the old days.

  Thirty-One

  “So, how you keeping?” Zoë said, sitting next to Geoff on a bench, overlooking the lake. “Found another job yet?”

  “Actually, yes,” Geoff said, brushing his hand against some long grass growing next to his feet. “Remember that one I applied for the other day?”

  “The holiday rep?”

  “Yep. I got the job.”

  “You did?” Zoë said, running her fingers through her short dark hair. “That’s fantastic!”

  “Thanks,” Geoff said.

  Zoë stopped stroking her hair and narrowed her eyes.

  “They were very quick, weren’t they?” she said.

  “Quick?” Geoff said.

  “Well, you only applied for the job yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “Did I?” Geoff said. All this traveling through time had made him lose track of what day it was.

  “Definitely.”

  “You sure it wasn’t last week?”

  “No, it was definitely yesterday,” Zoë said. “I was delivering you that letter, remember?”

  “Ah yes. I remember.”

  “Who was that from, by the way?”

  “Oh … nobody,” Geoff said. “Just some … thing.”

  “So, they didn’t ask you in for an interview?”

  “No, they did.”

  “When was that?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “What do you mean yesterday?” Zoë said. “You only applied for the job yesterday! You mean to tell me they asked you in for an interview on the same day?”

  Geoff was sweating.

  “Yep,” he said, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “I er … delivered the letter by hand. It was the last day they were accepting applications. Since I was there, you know, they said I might as well sit for the interview.”

  “And they offered you the job on the spot?”

  “They did.”

  “Wow,” Zoë said. “That’s amazing. It’s not normal for places like that to make a decision so fast. You must have really impressed them.”

  “Well, you know,” Geoff said. “I was just being myself.”

  “That’s even more amazing,” Zoë said.

  Geoff laughed.

  “So what do you have to do?” Zoë said. “Does it involve any traveling?”

  “Kind of …” Geoff replied. “Mainly, I’m just showing tourists around London, but now and again I have to go … elsewhere.”

  “Shame it wasn’t for somewhere exotic,” Zoë said, “like the Maldives.”

  “I know, I know. But you’ve got to start somewhere, haven’t you?”

  “Well, I’m really happy for you,” Zoë said, picking a stone up off the floor and tossing it into the lake. “I always knew you’d do well.”

  “Thanks,” Geoff said, shuffling a little closer. “Listen—can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, what is it?” Zoë said.

  “Well …”

  “Hey, look at that,” Zoë said, interrupting Geoff to point up at the sky. “You don’t see many seagulls round here, do you?”

  “No, you don’t,” Geoff said, watching as the bird circled in the air. “
Most unusual.”

  “Sorry,” Zoë said, turning to face him once more. “What were you saying?”

  Epilogue

  Eric leaned back on his chair and watched as the video simulation disappeared in a puff of vapor. He looked at his watch—how long had they been down here, sweating away in the paradox-scanning facility?

  “Well, now we know why Mr. Knight didn’t want you double-checking his choice of candidates before you sent those letters out,” he said, turning to Ruth. “If he finds out you came down here …”

  “He won’t,” Ruth said, folding up a piece of paper and sticking it in an envelope. “If he didn’t find out when he ran this simulation himself, he won’t find out in real life, will he?”

  “I suppose not,” Eric said. “What’s that in your hand?”

  “The letter I’m about to send to Geoff,” she said. “I wrote down exactly what he read aloud at the beginning—don’t want to start changing anything now. I just hope he can read my handwriting—I had nothing to lean on.”

  “What do you mean?” Eric stammered. “You’re not actually going to get him in for an interview, are you? We should be calling the police! Mr. Knight needs to be stopped! You’ve seen the simulations he’s been running down here—he’s dangerous!”

  “Why should we try and stop him?” Ruth said. “You’ve seen what will happen. If we call Geoff in, every alien on this planet will be wiped out once and for all. On the other hand, if we move in on Mr. Knight now, there’ll still be hundreds of them out there. We’ve got no choice.”

  “But … he’s going to kill me.”

  Ruth put her arm round Eric.

  “I know,” she said, “but things turn out alright in the end, don’t they? You come back to life, don’t you? You’ve seen it for yourself. And you’ve seen how pleased I was to see you …”

  “You just want to be president of the company.”

  “That’s not what this is about,” Ruth said, “although I’ll admit that is a fairly nice bonus. There’s just one thing …”

  “What is it?”

  “We’ll have to behave exactly as we did in that simulation,” Ruth said, pointing at where the screen had just been. “And there were a few moments when both of us nearly gave the game away. I’m pretty sure everyone saw you wink at me at the end, for goodness sake. If we let anyone know that we’re onto something, or do anything remotely different, things may not go the way we think.”

  Eric sighed.

  “I hate to admit it,” he said, “but you’re right. It’s the only way we can stop them.”

  “There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Ruth said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, since we know Mr. Knight must have watched that simulation as well, why does he still want to go ahead with this? I mean, if Geoff is ultimately responsible for foiling his plan and wiping out the entire alien race, why does he still want to interview him?”

  “I don’t know,” Eric said. “Perhaps he only had time to watch the simulation up to a certain point and assumed the rest would turn out OK.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Ruth said. “You mean to tell me that after all that planning, he didn’t take the time to sit down and watch it through to the very …”

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to:

  Lucy Brown, Cammil Taank & Adam Malinowski for their support and encouragement.

  Olivia Morris and Diane Banks for all their efforts in representing me.

  Mark Selby and Shangeetha Jeyamanohar for editorial advice, particularly Mark who was responsible for removing the worst jokes, and making sure the one about the supermarket conveyor belt stayed in.

  Finally, a special thanks to Erik Brown, without whom Time Rep would never have found itself in the right hands.

  More from Peter Ward

  In a world where technology controls everything, sometimes your own handwriting is the only thing you can trust.

  Richard Henley is an ordinary man leading an ordinary life, but when he finds strange notes in his own handwriting warning that someone is trying to kill him, he is sent on a journey to places he never knew existed. With an ominous and all-powerful organisation on his trail, his only hope is to trust unexpected allies, take control of his life, and uncover the truth about what happened to the girl he loved twenty years ago. A darkly humorous commentary on our app-obsessed culture, if Richard can stay alive, his world will never be the same again.

  Note to Self is available in print and e-book from all major retailers.

  About the Author

  Peter Ward was born in London in 1980. He was educated at William Torbitt Primary School and Ilford Country High School in Essex, before studying English Literature at the University of Southampton.

  He lives in London with his partner Lucy, and a very small cat.

  Time Rep is his first novel.

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