Anachronist

by Andrew Hastie

  THANK YOU. He imparted to the other mind as he felt it separating from his own.

  WHO WAS FATHER?

  Before Josh could respond Caitlin removed the crown and the connection was broken. He sat up and rubbed his temples.

  ‘That was some pretty crazy shit.’

  Caitlin laughed as she took the jar back and placed it on the shelf.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  She turned and smiled. ‘You’re speaking in fluent Greek.’

  44

  Lenin and the Professor

  ‘Go back and loop over those last fifty frames,’ Professor Fermi instructed the security guard who was operating the CCTV playback. He was staring at a bank of monitor screens all showing various angles of the same scene in the lab just before Josh triggered the fire alarm. There was a point in the footage where the face of Josh, grainy from the multiple magnifications, had gone from looking confused and scared to calm and determined — in a split second.

  ‘Tell me, Boyce, would you say that looked like the same man?’

  The guard shook his head. He wasn’t sure what the professor was trying to prove from the change in the kid’s expression, but the overtime paid double.

  ‘OK. Go back to the other guy. The one with the gun.’

  The footage wound back until Lenin appeared from the store room with the trolley laden down with canisters.

  ‘STOP!’ the professor commanded ‘Enhance that guy and print me out a couple of copies.’

  The guard did as he was told.

  ‘Now, what I still don’t understand is why our friend here.’ He pointed at the blurry figure of Josh. ‘Sets off the sprinklers and jeopardises their mission. Run it forward again.’

  The video continued, and they watched as Lenin struck Josh with the butt of the gun, then took one look at the lift and ran up the stairs.

  ‘Go back to the point where they are watching the lift. There!’

  Boyce stopped the recording.

  ‘Now wind it back a frame at a time. You were coming down in the lift until the fire alarm went off. I’m guessing they are programmed to stop automatically when the alarm is triggered. Yes?’

  Boyce nodded.

  ‘So, he stopped you coming down to the lab. I think, my friend, that boy might have been trying to save your life. Put a copy onto this.’ Fermi handed him a USB stick. ‘And leave the printouts on my desk.’

  It had taken less than twenty-four hours to find out who the kid with the gun was. Boyce, who had taken early retirement from the police, still had a few friends on the force and had little trouble finding out that the perpetrator was a local gangster and drug dealer known as Lenin.

  Fermi had lived in Italy long enough to know how to deal with racketeers. They were simple animals, driven by a pathological need to dominate and an almost suicidal lack of respect for authority. The only thing they cherished more than power was money, and Fermi had a lot of that.

  His father had left him a vineyard in Piedmont that had an annual revenue in the millions. He had no interest in viticulture and had recruited a South African estate manager by the name of ‘Dieker’ to run operations so that he could pursue his research into quantum fields. Research that had been entirely self-funded up until now, but that was all about to change since his systems had picked up the gravitational wave given off by the watch.

  He moved the microscopic camera further into the body of the device. The inner workings of the watch were more intricate than any circuit board; fine gears and wheels moved in perfect regularity above an iridescent crystalline structure. Fermi guessed that the quantum heart at the centre of the crystal was being held there in some kind of stasis, but knew better than to start breaking it apart. Black holes were highly unstable and incredibly powerful, and the scientific method required him to observe and analyse, not smash it open with a hammer.

  He looked down at his notes. The sheets of paper were covered with sketched diagrams of the mechanism, copies of the symbols from the fascia and comments on what they might represent. His current hypothesis was that the dials were some kind of measurement of time, but not marked in hours. He calculated that the total possible number of configurations could span twelve thousand years at least.

  What he couldn’t reconcile was how and why the boy had such a device. It was evident from the way he had used it to escape that he knew exactly how it worked — which would save Fermi a great deal of time and frustration if he could find him again.

  This was where the notorious Lenin came into the equation. Boyce’s associates had no problem tracking him down and even providing the names of his known associates, including a certain Joshua Jones aka ‘Crash’, who had just finished his latest round of community service for some petty burglary.

  Fermi read the charge sheet again. The boy had been in trouble since he was ten years old. The crimes were mostly all misdemeanours, apart from one serious incident when he was twelve — a boy had died in a car accident in which Jones was driving, and many others had been injured.

  There had been nothing but an empty, boarded-up flat at the last known address the police had on file for Jones. Someone had sprayed a ghost tag over the metal gratings that covered the windows. It was a menacing symbol of which Fermi had seen similar versions in the streets of Naples. It was a ‘Segno Nero’ — the black mark — Jones was literally a dead man walking.

  Fermi wondered if he might make an alliance with Lenin. They both wanted the same man and Fermi had something that Lenin needed, Ephedrine — vast quantities of it. The professor was willing to do anything to get his hands on Joshua Jones.

  The guy was not as stupid as he looked, thought Lenin as he watched the stranger park up on the opposite side of the multi-storey car park. There weren’t many who knew about the CCTV in this place; the security had been knocked out months ago and no one had the time or the money to repair it. He watched in the rearview mirror as a well-dressed, middle-aged man stepped out of the black Landrover and held up his hands as if to say ‘I’m not armed’ — his driver, however, who remained at the wheel, looked like he was ex-military.

  Lenin patted the gun that was tucked inside his jacket and got out of the car.

  ‘Stay here. Keep an eye on the jar-head in the other car,’ he ordered the two boys who had slid down on the back seat.

  The stranger walked confidently towards Lenin and stopped halfway; Lenin did the same, and each studied the other for any signs of betrayal.

  ‘You are Lenin?’ the stranger asked with a slight Italian accent.

  ‘You got the meth?’ Lenin asked, not bothering to acknowledge the question.

  The stranger smiled. ‘Straight to business. Very good.’ He motioned to the car, and the driver came out with a briefcase, he was massive and walked with an air of confidence that made Lenin wonder if a bullet would actually stop the guy.

  The stranger took the case and held it out to Lenin. ‘A sample of our new partnership.’

  ‘Open it — slowly,’ Lenin instructed.

  The stranger shrugged in that Mediterranean way and flicked the locks to reveal two metal cylinders with ‘ETHANOL HYDRATE’ printed in large type down the sides.

  ‘That’s not what we agreed!’ Lenin complained, his hand drifting towards his gun. ‘You said you could get me thirty litres.’

  ‘This is better. It is hydrate, smaller and easier to transport — it just needs water. With these two you can make sixty litres. Ask your chemist.’

  Lenin thought about calling Elena, but somewhere at the back of his drug-addled mind, he knew that what the guy was saying made sense.

  ‘OK, hydrate — cool,’ he said, taking the case.

  ‘So, what about my part of the bargain?’

  Lenin nearly pulled the gun on the guy, just to see what would happen. The contact who had set up the meeting had said something about this dude wanting to know where Josh was, but Lenin hadn’t seen him since he screwed up the job at the university.

  ‘So you loo
king for Crash?’ Lenin sucked air in through his teeth.

  ‘That was the deal.’

  ‘He’s a dead man.’

  ‘Perhaps, but first I need to talk to him. Twenty-four hours should be all I need, and then he’s yours.’

  ‘No one’s seen him — he’s gone dark.’

  ‘He is in hiding. I was told you would know how to find him.’ The professor’s voice was strained.

  ‘Not him,’ Lenin took out a joint and lit it. ‘His mother. She’s sick. He’s a devoted son. It’s a simple case of waiting.’

  Lenin turned back towards his car and started walking.

  ‘And where do I find his mother?’

  ‘Barts. Neuro ward. Josh’ll be there, he’s always been a mummy’s boy.’

  Fermi went back to his car and got into the front passenger seat.

  ‘Everything OK?’ the driver asked in a thick South African accent.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Fermi thoughtfully. ‘Get in touch with Professor Turner at St Bartholomew’s. Tell him we need to organise a patient transfer to Harley Street.’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  45

  Antikythera

  [Antikythera, Crete. Date: 9.914]

  The market was an incandescent bazaar, packed with traders and their customers haggling over figs, oil, carpets and a thousand other trinkets. The warm evening air was full of the scent of oil lamps, citrus and a myriad other exotic fragrances that Josh couldn’t name. Everywhere he looked he saw something unusual or bizarre: small monkeys in cages peeling figs for the passers-by, a tattooed scribe selling spells drawn on scraps of paper, even a stall that sold live snakes.

  He was trying hard not to be a wide-eyed tourist, but the experience of an ancient culture close up was overwhelming — especially when you were quite literally standing in the middle of it. There were too many new things to take in: the clothes, the jewels, the beautiful women, nothing looked familiar — his brain was constantly searching for a frame of reference, some glimmer of normality.

  His newly acquired language skills weren’t helping either; being able to understand the babble of the crowd was only useful if you had some kind of context of what they were talking about — understanding and knowing where two entirely different things. He had that weird feeling that you get when you jump into the sea and realise you have no idea where the ocean floor is.

  There were Roman soldiers everywhere. Their presence overshadowed the otherwise easy-going feel of the place. He watched the traders as they shrank back when the guards marched by — everyone was cautious, on their guard. Compared to the poor merchants they were intimidating sight with their polished armour, spears and heavy shields. The Romans seemed not to care, they had the look of battled hardened men who would rather be anywhere but policing a street market.

  Caitlin had told him not to look anyone in the eye, especially not the Centurions. Josh kept his head down as they passed, hiding himself amongst the crowd. She was standing a few metres away, her head covered with a cowl to hide her hair. There weren’t many redheads in this part of the world; virtually everyone he had seen had dark black hair and olive skin. She’d made some remark about not wearing any deodorant earlier, and it was only now he appreciated what she meant: in the close proximity of the crowd, the smell of their collective body odour overwhelmed him.

  After the patrol had passed, they made their way to a fountain in the centre of the market square. He took the wooden cup she offered him and drank; the water was cool and sweet.

  ‘You okay?’ she said in Greek.

  ‘What’s with all the Romans?’ he replied, taking another cup of water.

  ‘I forgot to mention the island is under Roman protection. They’ve invoked martial law. The locals aren’t too happy about it. I think it’s getting close to the curfew so they’ll be closing down soon.’

  As she spoke, he could see the market was dispersing. People moved out into the side streets with baskets balanced on shoulders, the wealthier ones followed by heavily loaded servants.

  Josh looked up into the tree that hung over them. It was old, with a thick trunk and a wide sprawling canopy. The leaves were dark green, and ripe succulent oranges hung from its lower branches. Josh reached up and picked one. He peeled it and gave half to Caitlin. The fruit was deliciously ripe and refreshing — the two of them sat in silence and savoured the taste.

  ‘So, where do you think he will be?’ Josh asked when he’d finished.

  ‘Not too far from the harbour, I would guess,’ she said, wiping the juice from her chin and pointing down the hill to a spur of land that reached out into the moonlit waters of the bay. Josh could make out the dark shapes of fishing boats moored close to the jetty and the lights of a larger fleet of warships anchored in the deep water. Two beautiful silver sandy beaches stretched out either side of the bay. Both were deserted — it was the picture of an unspoilt little fishing port.

  How different it will be in the future, Josh thought, when the tourists turn up with their jet skis and party boats.

  ‘They’re quinqueremes,’ she said nodding to the large dark ships, ‘they’re part of the Roman navy. The Macedonians may still be at war with Pompey. I can never quite remember when it ended.’

  ‘Great. I should have guessed he would be somewhere near a war.’

  Another Roman patrol marched past. Some of them were carrying torches and others were thumping their swords against their shields. The traders scrabbled around, packing up their stalls as they approached.

  ‘They’re going to move us on. You up for finding him now?’ she asked, keeping one eye the troops.

  ‘What if he’s in some kind of trouble?’ Josh said, looking at the swords. ‘Shouldn’t we have weapons?’

  Caitlin turned and patted her thigh. ‘I’ve already thought of that.’

  Josh could see there was a dagger-like lump under the layers of her dress.

  An old lady was hurrying away from the guards carrying a small basket of bread and figs. She tripped and the shopping spilled out onto the cobblestones. Caitlin stood up and went to help her.

  ‘Venerable grandmother, would you know where I might find a soothsayer or an oracle?’ Caitlin asked, once they had everything safely back in the basket.

  The old woman gave Caitlin a toothless smile — her face broke into a thousand brown creases.

  ‘Of course, my child. The seer you seek resides in the temple over yonder.’ She pointed up with one bony finger at a single white building on a distant hill that overlooked the bay.

  It had taken them most of the night to get out of the town. They had spent hours carefully avoiding the Roman army, hiding in alleys and side streets until they’d got clear of the patrols. By then it was late and the moon was obscured by cloud, making it too dark and dangerous to navigate along the cliff path. They had slept huddled under Josh’s cloak listening to the sound of the waves below.

  The next morning they ate one of the loaves the old lady had given them and watched the fishermen preparing their boats.

  ‘The Order has a variety of roles we can assume for times when we need to stay in one period — soothsayer is one of the more standard ones,’ Caitlin told him as she pulled apart the bread and handed him a piece. ‘The Draconians are well known for integrating themselves with the local cultures — going native. They once created an entire religion around the Oroborus symbol in ancient cultures just to ensure our safety.’

  ‘So we can always get a job as the local fortune teller?’ Josh joked.

  ‘Hardly. Oracles were more than just sideshow acts back here. Look at that place,’ she said pointing up at the impressive temple towering above them. ‘I guarantee you that he’s probably one of the most revered men on the island, and probably has ten or so acolytes at his beck and call.’

  The view from the top of the cliffs was breathtaking. Sunlight danced off the cerulean blue of the Aegean Sea as it stretched out along the curve of the horizon. White sails of the warships looked like ti
ny postage stamps on the flat, glass-like surface of the water.

  The temple was silent as they entered. The cool marble floor was a relief after the rough stone paths they’d just walked up. On either side of the entrance hall were benches beside long rectangular ponds full of golden fish. Caitlin sat on one and beckoned to Josh to join her.

  ‘Don’t we have to bang a gong or something?’ he whispered.

  She smiled and removed her cowl, shaking her hair loose. ‘They know we’re here.’

  There was a tinkling noise, like tiny silver bells, from the far end of the chamber. A beautiful pale woman in a thin white dress appeared from an unseen door and stood waiting for them.

  Josh and Caitlin followed her inside the main chamber. She motioned them to stand in the middle of the circular room, and, as they did, a procession of a dozen or so equally beautiful women surrounded them — each one smiling beatifically. Josh found it very difficult to stop staring at their dark nipples, clearly visible through the gossamer of their dresses.

  Once the circle was complete, one of their number stepped forward. She was slightly older than the others and wore a golden snake amulet wrapped round one upper arm.

  ‘I am Sybil. Priestess of Apollo.’

  ‘We are travellers,’ said Caitlin as she pulled her sleeve back to reveal the mark of the Order.

  ‘The traveller is most welcome in the temple of Apollo,’ said the lady, who turned towards Josh as if expecting him to follow Caitlin’s example.

  ‘He is my servant,’ Caitlin added quickly.

  Sybil smiled, placated by the explanation and her attention moved back to Caitlin.

  ‘What do you desire, mistress? We are at your service.’

  ‘I am looking for the sayer. I was told he was here within your temple.’

  Something unspoken passed between the others as Caitlin spoke. Josh was studying the group while she was talking and noticed them shiver in unison. It was obvious that something had happened to the old man.