by Alex Scarrow
Nice thought.
Maddy cleaned herself up as best she could within the cramped confines of the toilet cubicle. She stared down at the last of the vomit swirling round the toilet basin and down the hole, feeling better now that the aeroplane meal was out rather than still churning in her gut.
She wiped her mouth dry with the back of her hand and checked in the mirror for any telltale blobs of puke caught in her hair. A tall, gawky, pale-faced girl stared back at her; nerdy freckles she hated so much dappled across her cheeks beneath the frames of her glasses. Her strawberry-blonde hair dangled lifelessly to her skinny shoulders, on which hung a drab grey T-shirt with the Microsoft logo stitched on the front.
Yeah, one hundred per cent geek. That’s what you are, Maddy.
A geek-ette… something of an oddity; a female into messing around with circuit boards, tricking-up her PC, hacking her iPhone to give her free internet access… a girl-geek. A girl-geek who got the screaming terrors every time she boarded a plane.
She unlocked the door, popped it open and stepped out. Her eyes glanced up the central aisle of the plane at a sea of headrests and the bobbing forms of several hundred heads.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and spun round to see an old man standing beside the bank of toilet cubicles.
‘Uh? What?’ she said, removing small hissing headphones from her ears.
‘You’re Madelaine Carter from Boston. Booked into seat twenty-nine D.’
She stared at him, bemused. ‘What? You want to see my ticket or –?’
‘I’m afraid you’ve got only a few minutes left to live.’
She felt her stomach lurch, getting ready to eject another torrent of half-digested food. A phrase like ‘a few minutes left to live’ was the last thing a nervous flyer like her needed to hear right now. It ranked alongside words like ‘terrorist’ and ‘bomb’ as something one should never utter on a packed passenger plane mid-flight.
The old man had the harried look of someone running late to catch a train.
‘In a few minutes everyone on this plane will be dead.’
She figured there were only two types of person who might say something like that: a complete whacko in need of medication or…
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, ‘you… you’re not a t-terrorist?’
‘No. I’m here to rescue you, Madelaine,’ he spoke quietly, then cast a glance at the sea of heads either side of the aisle, ‘but only you, I’m afraid.’
She shook her head. ‘What?… Who? I… uh –’ Her mouth was flapping pointlessly.
‘There’s not much time.’ He looked at a wristwatch. ‘In about ninety seconds a small explosive charge will detonate midway along the right side of the plane. The explosion will knock a hole through the fuselage, the plane will instantly decompress and roll into a steep dive. Twenty seconds later the starboard wing will sheer off, filling the inside of the plane with aviation fuel, which will ignite.’ He sighed. ‘The impact with the woodland below thirty-seven seconds later will kill those who haven’t already been incinerated.’
Maddy felt the blood drain from her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ he added, ‘but I’m afraid no one will survive this.’
‘Uh… this is… this is some kind of sick joke, right?’
‘No joke.’ He continued: ‘You alone have a choice. You can choose to live.’
He’s serious. And something about him told her he wasn’t on meds. She found herself gasping, instinctively reaching for her inhaler. ‘N-ninety s-seconds? A bomb goes off?’
‘Less than that now.’
Not a whacko, then…
‘Oh God, it’s your b-bomb. What do you want from us?’
‘No, it’s not mine, and I’m not a terrorist. I just happen to know this plane will be destroyed by a device. A terrorist group will claim responsibility for it tomorrow morning.’
‘Is there t-time? Could w-we find the bomb and throw it off?’ she asked, her voice raised in panic. She’d said the ‘b’ a little too loud and it had carried forward. Several heads up the aisle turned quickly to look back at her.
He shook his head. ‘Even if there was time, I can’t change events. I can’t change history. This plane has to go down.’
‘Oh God,’ she whimpered.
‘The only thing I can do is take you off before it does.’
She looked up the plane. More heads were turning. She could hear a rising ripple of voices and the word ‘bomb’ as a whispered tidal wave rolled from seat row to seat row.
‘If you take my hand,’ he said, offering it to her, ‘you’ll live. And in return I’ll ask for your help. Or you can stay. You get to choose, Madelaine.’
Maddy realized there were tears of panic rolling down her cheeks. The man seemed sane. Seemed calm. Seemed deadly serious. And yet… how could anyone be taken off this plane mid-flight?
‘I know you don’t believe in God,’ he said. ‘I’ve read your file. I know you’re an atheist. So I won’t try to tell you I’m an angel. I know you have a fear of heights, that you’re not great on planes either. I know your favourite drink is Dr Pepper, I know you have a recurring nightmare about falling from a yellow-painted tree house… I know so many more things about you.’
She frowned. ‘How… how do you know th-that?’
He looked down at his watch. ‘You have thirty seconds left.’
A stewardess was now striding down the aisle towards them, her eyes widened with concern.
‘I know you’re an avid reader of science fiction, Madelaine, so perhaps it’ll be easier for you to understand if I tell you I’m from the future.’
Her mouth opened and closed. ‘But… but that’s impossible!’
‘Time travel will become possible in about forty years’ time.’ His hand extended towards her. She looked down at it uncertainly.
‘Twenty seconds, Madelaine. Take my hand.’
She looked up at his lined face. ‘Why? Why –?’
‘Why you?’
She nodded.
‘You fit the skill profile exactly.’
She swallowed nervously, felt her breathing becoming laboured and erratic. Confused, panic-stricken, unable to think of a useful next question.
‘We need you,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘Fifteen seconds. It’s time to decide.’
‘Wh-who are y-you?’
‘I… or I should say we… are the people who fix broken things. Now, take my hand, Madelaine. Take it now!’
Instinctively, she stretched out towards him.
A stewardess pulled up a few feet short of them. ‘Excuse me,’ she cut in, ‘someone has reported the pair of you loudly using the “B” word… bomb.’ She whispered the word quietly. ‘I’m sorry but you just can’t use language like that on a passenger plane.’
The old man looked up at her and smiled sadly. ‘No… I’m the one who’s sorry, ma’am. I truly am.’
Maddy looked at him. ‘This is for real?’
He nodded. ‘And we have to leave right now.’
‘OK,’ she uttered, grasping his extended hand tightly.
The stewardess tipped her head on one side curiously, her forehead furrowed, her lips pursed. She was about to ask how they planned to leave the plane exactly.
Then the world suddenly was a blinding white and Maddy snapped her eyes shut.
CHAPTER 5
2001, New York
She was screaming, at least that’s what she thought the sound was. It might have been her. It might have been the sound of a wing tearing itself from the plane.
It might even have been the stewardess; she wasn’t sure.
A terrifying dropping sensation, dropping away into darkness.
‘No-o-o-o-o!’ she found herself crying with a voice that sounded like the ragged death-squeal of a slaughtered pig.
She lurched suddenly and violently.
‘Oh Jay-zus-Christ-Almighty!’ a male voice beside her gasped.
Maddy’s eyes opened wide and locke
d on to a flickering light bulb dangling from a brick ceiling, then on to the rusty springs of a grubby bunk bed directly above her. Finally, to her right, her eyes drifted to the smooth face of a young man sitting on a scruffy metal-framed bed across from her, dressed in what looked like a waiter’s uniform.
‘Jay-zus-Christ-Almighty, you made me jump there,’ he uttered. ‘One second you were sleeping all peaceful, the next you’re up like a screamin’ banshee.’
Maddy felt her breath rattling like a startled moth caught in a wire cage. Wheezing, she looked down and saw she was still clasping her inhaler, just as she had been a moment ago aboard the plane. She took a long pull on it and then managed to find enough air in her lungs to sit up slowly.
‘I’m dead. I must be dead.’
The young man managed a weak and awkward smile. ‘Me too… I think.’
They looked at each other for a moment. ‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘do you think –?’
‘That this is heaven?’ she finished his question. ‘No such thing. If there is… then it looks a bit rubbish to me.’ The bunk bed in which she was lying creaked with movement from above. Maddy looked up at the springs and mattress.
‘Is there somebody else up there?’
Liam nodded. ‘Yeah, a young dark-skinned girl. She’s asleep.’
‘Her name’s Saleena,’ a voice called out of the darkness.
They both jerked round to look out into the gloom beyond the light thrown down from the bare bulb.
They heard footsteps on the hard concrete floor, and then, faintly at first, they saw a man emerge from the darkness, carrying a tray.
‘Coffee?’ asked the old man.
‘Oh my God!’ gasped Maddy, recognizing the face.
Liam’s jaw dropped. ‘You! You’re the man on deck E.’
‘That’s right,’ he replied calmly. ‘My name’s Foster.’
He joined them, setting the tray of chipped mugs and a carton of doughnuts on the floor between the beds. He sat on the bed next to Liam.
‘And you’re Madelaine Carter, and you’re Liam O’Connor.’ He nodded towards the top bunk. ‘The girl up there’s Sal Vikram. She’s only young, thirteen. The poor girl will be terrified when she comes to. Here.’ He handed Liam and Maddy a mug of coffee. ‘You could both probably do with a little pick-me-up.’
‘Mr Foster, is it?’ asked Liam.
He smiled. ‘Foster… Mr Foster, I’m not fussed.’
‘Mr Foster, where are we?’
Maddy nodded. ‘I should be dead. There’s no way you could’ve got me off that plane. No way.’
Foster turned to her. ‘Time travel, remember?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘But that’s impossible.’
‘No, it’s not –’ he shook his head – ‘unfortunately.’
‘What’s time travel?’ asked Liam.
Maddy cocked her head at him. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘Go easy on the lad,’ said Foster. ‘He’s from 1912. They didn’t have much in the way of sci-fi shows and comics back then.’
She turned back to Liam, looking more closely at his clothes: not a waiter, but a ship’s steward. She spotted White Star Lines stitched on a breast pocket.
‘1912? You’re serious?’
‘Very,’ added Foster. ‘Liam here was aboard the Titanic.’
Her mouth flopped open.
‘What?’ Liam looked confused. ‘Why’re you staring at me like that?’ he asked her.
‘Because, Liam,’ said Foster, ‘you’re from Ireland a hundred years ago.’ The old man laughed. ‘And she’s from New York, the year 2010.’
Liam’s dark eyebrows lifted in unison.
‘And Saleena Vikram, up there on the top bunk, she’s from Mumbai, India, the year… 2026.’ Foster offered a grin that made his old face crinkle like greaseproof paper. ‘And as for me, well –’ he smiled – ‘let’s say I come from Never-neverland.’
Maddy leaned forward. ‘Oh my God, come on, when? The twenty-second century? Further on?’
His smile told her nothing.
‘Do they have spaceships in your time? Has mankind colonized the solar system? Has warp drive been invented yet –?’
He held a hand up to shush her. ‘Another time, perhaps. Right now there are more important things to attend to.’
Before either of them could reply, they heard a stirring from the bunk bed above them.
‘She’s coming round,’ said Foster. ‘She’ll be even more disorientated, more frightened, than either of you.’
Maddy slurped a hot mouthful of coffee from the mug in her hands. ‘I seriously doubt that.’
The girl’s murmuring turned to a frightened whimpering that quickly intensified. Foster stood up and leaned over the top bunk.
‘Shhh… it’s OK, Saleena,’ he cooed reassuringly. ‘It’s all over. You’re safe now.’
The girl’s mewling voice became a sudden shrill shriek as her eyes snapped open and she sat stiffly upright on the bunk.
Foster held her narrow shoulders firmly. ‘Saleena.’ He spoke quickly and softly. ‘You’re safe; no one can hurt you here. It’s over.’
The girl’s breath came in short stuttering gasps. Her eyes, thickly rimmed with dark eyeliner, widened behind a drooping black fringe that slanted across her narrow face. They darted from one thing to another, for the moment it seemed making sense of absolutely nothing.
‘It’s over, Saleena,’ said Foster again. ‘You’re safe now.’
Her gaze settled on the old man. She flicked her fringe away from an almost ashen face; her coffee-coloured skin was drained to an almost corpse-like grey.
Liam stood up and peered over the edge of the bunk, cocking a bemused eyebrow at her strange appearance: a dark hooded top with some scruffy wording splashed in neon orange across it; thin drainpipe jeans ripped and patched, with patches on top of patches; and boots that looked two sizes too big for her, laced up past her ankles… And a small stud pierced her upper lip.
‘Uh…’ He did a double take before extending a hand in greeting. ‘My name’s Liam O’Connor. Pleased to –’
‘Give her a moment, Liam,’ said Foster. ‘Just a moment… her extraction was particularly traumatic.’
‘Is it you?’ Her voice was small, shaken, uncertain. ‘The man… the man in the flames.’
‘That’s right.’ He smiled warmly. ‘It’s me, Saleena.’
‘Sal,’ she replied. ‘Sal… Only my mum and dad call me Saleena.’
‘Sal, then,’ he said, helping her up. She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and silently studied the other two: a boy dressed like a hotel porter, and a lank-haired teenage girl with glasses.
‘Hey,’ said Maddy, ‘welcome to Weirdsville.’
‘Just give her a bit of room there. Let her catch her breath.’
‘You got an odd accent, so you have,’ said Liam curiously to Sal.
‘That’s rich,’ snorted Maddy, ‘coming from you.’
‘She’s from a city called Mumbai, in India, Liam. You’d know it as Bombay.’
‘But she speaks English, so she does.’
‘Well, duh,’ said Maddy, rolling her eyes, ‘they all do. It’s a bilingual nation.’
CHAPTER 6
2001, New York
The coffee was gone and one last unwanted doughnut sat in the box.
‘We’ve been… did you say recruited?’ Maddy repeated.
‘Yes, that’s right. You’re working for the agency now.’
Liam leaned forward. ‘Uh… Mr Foster, sir, what exactly is theagency?’
‘Let me go through everything I need to say first. Then you can all ask as many questions as you like. It’ll be much quicker if we do this my way.’
They nodded.
Foster pointed out at the darkness beyond the alcove. ‘I left the other lights off in here so you wouldn’t see it all – this place, the equipment – and be overwhelmed by it. Right now let’s just pretend there’s only this little bric
k archway, that light bulb, the four of us and these beds… and that’s where I’ll start.’
He took a deep breath.
‘Time travel exists, boys and girls.’
He left that statement hanging in the air for a few moments before continuing.
‘A theoretical physics paper demonstrating the possibility was written in 2029. The first successful prototype machine was constructed in 2044.’ He sighed. ‘Now that we’ve opened that can of worms we can’t close it.’
He studied them with deep stern eyes hidden between furrowed eyebrows and sallow cheeks etched with criss-crossing wrinkles.
‘Mankind was never meant to dabble with time. Never! But now that we know how to somebody needs to make sure that nobody actually does so. And, if some fool does go back in time, then it’s someone’s job to fix the damage caused as quickly as possible.’
There was a faint tremor in his rasping old-man’s voice.
‘Time travel is a terrifying weapon, far more powerful than anything ever before conceived,’ he said grimly. ‘Mankind just isn’t ready for that kind of knowledge. We’re like children casually playing toss and catch with an atom bomb.’
Liam cocked his head questioningly. ‘What’s an atom b–?’
‘I’ll explain later,’ replied Foster. ‘Which brings me to you three, and this place,’ he said, gesturing at the darkness beyond the pool of light. ‘The fact is there are too few of us TimeRiders – groups like us dotted around the world, dotted through time, watching and waiting patiently.’
‘Watching for what?’ asked Maddy.
‘For a shift.’
‘A shift?’
He nodded. ‘It starts as something ever so slight, almost unnoticeable to the eye. You catch it then, when it’s just a ripple. You have to because, before you know it, it becomes a tidal wave; it becomes unstoppable, uncontrollable. And then we’re all truly screwed.’
Sal’s eyes had been lost in the darkness, still far away, but she turned to look at Foster. ‘What is a shift?’