by Alex Scarrow
Like any normal family moving house, it was a revelation to Maddy, Liam and Sal discovering how much clutter they’d already managed to acquire. Magazines and books, a Nintendo and a TV, a kettle and sandwich toaster, a chemical toilet, a wardrobe full of clothes, a shelf in their bunk archway filled with half-used toiletries. And rubbish. A small pyramid of empty drinks cans, a teetering Jenga tower of pizza boxes and takeaway cartons.
As they left the archway, tired after a busy day, the last of Monday’s fading sunset left the sky a deep blue and there existed that momentary gasp of air, that fleeting pause between the last of Manhattan’s office dwellers vacating the city and the emergence of the first eager beavers of New York’s nightlife.
Times Square was still busy, but mostly with ambling tourists coming home to their 5th Avenue hotels after a day’s sightseeing. Bob, SpongeBubba and the freshly birthed girl clone – yet to be called ‘Becks’: they were still debating whether to consider her a new personality entirely, that was still up for discussion – were left to watch over the SuperChief and the archway. The rest of them headed across to Manhattan, one last time in Times Square. They found a Mexican-themed place that looked out across the winking lights and animated billboards, the news ticker around the Hershey store, the stop-start intersections and sluggish convoys of yellow cabs, gaggles of goggle-eyed tourists, and the last city suit walking home with a gym bag slung over one shoulder.
It was quiet in the restaurant. They ordered from the waitress quickly and then were left alone to the privacy of their faux dark wood and red-velvet-cushioned booth to talk.
‘So …’ Maddy clasped her hands like a host desperate to get her party started. ‘Here we are, then.’
‘Aye,’ said Liam, ‘the first proper chance I’ve had to sit down, rest and eat in ages.’
Maddy nodded. It seemed an eternity ago that they’d been cornered by guards in Caligula’s palace. Since then they’d been running, hiding, scavenging. She realized she hadn’t eaten properly in days, the best part of a week in fact. That went some way towards explaining her ordering the triple bean and beef mega-burrito.
‘You’re running,’ said Foster. ‘I can understand that … but have any of you thought where to?’
‘No.’ Maddy tucked hair behind her ear. ‘Not yet.’
‘Well now, to be sure, we want to know who sent those support units after us.’ Liam looked at Sal for support. She nodded. Clearly the most pressing question hovering between them all.
Maddy shook her head. ‘Somebody from the future. Obviously. I don’t know.’
‘Did you say the male units looked just like our Bob?’ asked Foster.
‘Yup. Like his evil twin or something.’
‘These are military clones you’re talking about,’ said Rashim.
She nodded. ‘Military use, yeah.’
‘Then if they looked exactly like your Bob, they’d be from the same or a similar birth batch. The cloning process develops genetic-copy errors if you reproduce from the same DNA indefinitely. So the batches have relatively small print runs. Twenty maybe thirty units per base DNA pattern.’ Rashim stroked the fine tip of his nose. ‘I recall that the military contractors producing clone units back in the 2050s were constantly having to start over with new candidate genomes to engineer.’
Liam chuckled. The others looked at him and his face quickly straightened. ‘Back in the 2050s?’ He grinned. ‘I mean, doesn’t that sound odd? That’s the future for all of us, so it is. The far future for me!’ He shrugged; no one seemed particularly tickled by that. ‘Just sounded a bit funny, that’s all.’
‘When does your clone unit come from?’ said Rashim. ‘Do you know his precise inception date?’
‘Bob?’ Maddy struggled to remember. ‘Uh, I think it’s the 2050s …’
‘2054, if I recall correctly,’ said Foster.
‘Then your enemy, whoever sent those killer units, must come from the same time.’ Rashim folded his arms. ‘That’s an assumption, of course.’
Liam shuffled uncomfortably. ‘But who’s our enemy? Who’ve we gone and annoyed?’
‘What?’ Maddy laughed. ‘Who’s our enemy? You mean apart from some secretive association of Templar Knights? A government-backed top-secret project called Exodus, that group of anti-time travel activists who tried to assassinate Chan, Kramer’s bunch of neo-Nazis.’ Maddy paused. ‘Need I go on?’
‘Well,’ Liam shrugged, ‘apart from them, that is.’
‘The point is,’ cut in Foster, ‘the world, down the line, is an increasingly grim place.’ He looked at Sal. ‘You’ve seen the storm clouds of the future, haven’t you, Sal?’
She nodded. ‘Not good.’
‘A world full of people who see the only way of escape is back through time. And we …?’ Foster looked around at them. ‘We’re who’re standing in their way. That’s a lot of enemies to choose from.’ He turned to Rashim. ‘Maddy told me your group came from 2070?’
‘2069 actually,’ Rashim sighed. ‘The world’s dying. I mean, it’s not good at all. The food chain’s poisoned so that we’re all living on soya-synth products. And the floods took a lot of land. Migrating people, billions. And wars. And God knows we’ve had a lot of them. But that’s what everyone’s worried about … petrified of, you see? A big war. There are countries and power blocs in my time that are in a desperate position. Desperate enough to consider the use of extreme weaponry: bioweapons, nanoweapons.’
‘What’re those?’ asked Liam.
‘Plague … is perhaps the best word for it, Liam. Whether it’s something genetically revamped, or self-replicating nano-bots, either way it becomes a weapon that doesn’t discriminate over borders, nationalities.’ He looked out of the window at the flickering lights of Times Square. ‘We’re in a bad place. Desperate times. It’s inevitable that something like that will eventually happen. We’ll wipe ourselves out. We’re destined to engineer our own end.’
‘The end.’ Maddy leaned forward. ‘That’s what Becks said to me. That was what she said was the “reveal condition” for the Pandora message, the Grail message. The end.’
‘Pandora?’
She looked at Rashim, wondering how much they should be letting their new, temporary accomplice in on.
‘All we know,’ said Foster, ‘is that the people who want you dead had access to weapons technology from 2054. Apparently, the very same foetus batch as Bob and Becks, no less.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ Maddy stared at him. ‘That feels like an enemy very close to home. Perhaps someone inside the agency?’
Liam started. ‘You mean a turncoat in our Mr Waldstein’s secret time-police force?’
‘A traitor.’ She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. ‘I just hope not. We can do without that.’
‘Maybe when you sent that message asking about Pandora,’ said Sal, ‘someone else got it? Intercepted it?’
That thought was met with silence. A silence that lasted several minutes and ended when the waitress arrived with an arm laden with hot plates. She served them out, along with the drinks they’d ordered, and, after looking at their glum faces, put a hand on her hip.
‘This some kinda office party?’
Maddy nodded. ‘Sort of.’
‘Sheeesh …’ The waitress made a face, half pity, half amusement. ‘I’d hate to work at your place.’ She wished them a perfunctory ‘bon appetit’ and left them to it.
‘We’re none the wiser as to who wants us dead,’ said Liam. ‘So, how about we decide what we’re doing? Where we’re going to go? Because … I’m completely confused.’
Sal nodded at Rashim. ‘And what about our new friend? Is Rashim staying with us?’
‘Uhh …’ Rashim cleared his throat, fidgeted with his cutlery. ‘Well, I’d really like to tag along. You know, if that’s all right? I won’t be a nuisance.’
Maddy shot a glance at Foster. Is this my call? She wondered if now they had Foster back with them, he might resume th
e mantle of team leader, relieve her of the burden of making the decisions.
Foster smiled. ‘You decide,’ he said softly. ‘It’s your team now. Not mine.’
She picked at the burrito on her plate, fumbling with both hands to keep the mince and assorted gunk from spilling out either end. ‘I suppose we could use Rashim. He’s got a better understanding of the displacement technology than I have.’
‘Than any of us,’ added Foster. ‘To be fair.’
‘True.’ She nodded and glanced up from her food at the man. He seemed fascinated by the rack of ribs on his plate, inspecting it like a forensic pathologist picking over a cadaver. She smiled at that. Of course. He’d probably never experienced real meat in his time.
‘And he knows forty-four years more of the future than I do,’ said Sal.
‘Excuse me.’ Rashim looked up from his ribs. ‘You’re all talking about me like I’m not right here sitting next to you.’
‘Sorry, Rashim,’ said Maddy. ‘You’re right, that is kinda rude.’
Rashim nodded. Apology accepted. He turned to Sal. ‘When do you come from?’
‘2026. From Mumbai.’
‘Really?’ His eyebrows arched. ‘That’s not long before the …’ He stopped himself.
‘Before?’ She looked at him. ‘Before what?’
He shrugged. ‘The first Asian War.’ Rashim winced apologetically. ‘I’m sorry … I shouldn’t –’
‘No, tell me. Please.’
He deferred to Maddy. ‘Tell her about it later if you like, Rashim. Right now we need to focus on our next move. We’ve got to decide what we’re going to do.’
‘What is it you wish to do, Maddy?’ asked Foster.
He’s pushing me to lead. Not for the first time, Maddy wondered if she tended to open things up for discussion too much.
She put down the leaking burrito, licked her fingers. Buying time … because she simply didn’t know just yet. A part of her had almost made the decision that the game was up, that their duty as TimeRiders was done and perhaps they should all just put some clear miles between themselves and New York, and then all go their separate ways to live whatever was left of their lives how each of them wanted.
But then an insistent, nagging voice inside her reminded her of the horrendous timelines they’d narrowly prevented from happening. And of course that voice had an even greater urgency to it now she knew it was just their one little team keeping an eye on history. Not some vast agency of multiple teams, with multiple redundancies, safeguards, fail-safes.
Just them.
So the decision, in truth, was already made in her mind. But she wanted to hear what the others had to say, particularly Liam and Sal.
‘We run,’ she said. ‘Then?’ She looked at Liam with a shrug.
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Liam.
‘I’m putting it to you. I’m asking what you think, Liam. We run … then what?’
Liam frowned for a moment. Then put down his burger – no, dropped his burger. Suddenly indignant, he exclaimed, ‘Jay-zus, Maddy! Are you asking me whether we give up?’
She said nothing. That was her answer.
‘No way!’ He turned to Sal. ‘Right? No bleedin’ way!’ He looked almost angry. As close to anger as she’d ever seen him. ‘Now listen here, Madelaine Carter! I’ve nearly died a dozen times, so I have. To keep that …’ He flung a hand towards the window and the glistening lights of Times Square. ‘To keep New York just like it is! I’m not giving up on that now!’
Maddy noted a proud smile steal across Foster’s lips.
‘Sal? I’m right, am I not?’ said Liam. ‘We want to go on, right?’
She chewed on the straw in her glass of Dr Pepper and blew bubbles for a moment before she finally spoke. ‘There’s things I want to know. I want to know what Pandora is. I want to know what Becks knows; what’s locked up inside her head. I want to know what that man was trying to tell us.’
That man. Maddy and Liam knew who she meant: the poor soul who’d arrived back in New Orleans, 1831, only to be fused into the bodies of two horses. He’d held on to life for perhaps five, ten minutes, a gruesome jigsaw puzzle, an inside-out parody of a centaur.
A horror-show freak for the few minutes he, it, lived.
‘I want to know what’s really going on, Maddy.’
‘I want to know more about this Waldstein fella. Aye, and more about this agency,’ said Liam. ‘And the only way I see it is … we have to keep on doing what we’re doing. Even if we have to move somewhere else and continue doing it there.’
Maddy tapped the table gently with her knuckles. Her attempt at calling their meeting to order. It took a few moments. She would’ve been quicker just telling the pair of them to shut up. But also a touch rude.
‘OK, it’s agreed, then. We relocate and we’ll set things up again.’ She looked at them all. ‘And we will continue keeping this timeline on track while we’re still able to. Because – look – whatever’s really going on, if we’re being played for fools, if we’re being manipulated by Waldstein somehow … or someone else inside his agency or someone outside, the truth is … I know what we’re doing is the right thing. And that’s the only, literally the only, certainty we can grab hold of.’
The other two nodded. They’d seen enough alternate timelines to know there could be far worse ways history could play out than the way it was now.
‘For better or worse, right, Foster?’
The old man nodded. ‘For better or worse, history needs to stay on track.’
‘OK … OK, this is what I’m thinking we do.’ Maddy pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. ‘We head north to Boston.’
‘Why? What’s so special about Boston?’ asked Foster.
‘It’s my home.’
Liam looked up from his burger. ‘You want to go to your home?’
‘It’s my home turf,’ she said. ‘I grew up there. I know the area. And look, maybe we can get some help. My folks –’
‘You can’t go to your home, Maddy,’ said Foster.
‘Why not?’
Sal’s eyes widened. ‘Jahulla! You’ll be there already, won’t you? Another you?’
Liam stopped chewing. Dawning realization on his face too. ‘You’d be a little girl! There’d be a little Maddy there!’
‘Nine.’ Maddy nodded. ‘Yes, I’d be nine.’
‘Madelaine,’ said Foster. ‘You cannot visit your family, you cannot visit yourself. Do you understand me? That’s a very dangerous contamination!’
She stared at him silently for a long while before finally, reluctantly nodding. ‘All right. I get it. OK, I won’t visit home. It was just an idea. But listen! I know the area. There are places I know where we could set up. If we’re going to ground, it’s better we head somewhere that someone knows. Right?’
‘Somewhere we can easily tap power?’ said Rashim. ‘We’d need that if you want a viable new place to operate from.’
‘Sure. There’s loads of places we could settle in. There’s industrial parks. We could rent a unit, pretend to be some small business or something.’
Liam nodded, encouraged that she seemed to have already given the move some thought. ‘Seems like a plan, so.’
Sal smiled. ‘A new home. I’d like that.’
Foster seemed less than happy. ‘It’s a danger, Maddy. And a temptation. To be so close to your childhood home.’
‘I won’t go home! OK? I promise! I mean … what’s the alternative? We stick a random pin in a map of America and just hope for the best?’ Her burrito drooled gunk on to her plate with an unappealing splat. ‘Seriously, guys. If anyone else has got a better suggestion … I’m all ears.’
No one, of course, did.
‘Then that’s all I’ve got. Boston. It’s a start. What do you guys say?’
Liam and Sal nodded.
‘Uhh … so does that answer your earlier question?’ asked Rashim.
‘What’s that?’
‘Wh
ether I’m coming along?’ Rashim looked sheepish. ‘Am I in your … what do you call it? Your team?’
‘Yuh … I guess,’ Maddy smiled. ‘Sure, if you want?’
He smiled. ‘You’re joking, right? A choice between staying in 2001 or going back to 2070?’ His face cracked with a wide grin. ‘It’s a head-slap. I’d very much like to stay.’
‘Then that’s the deal.’ She offered her hand across the table. ‘We need some kind of oath or something, but I guess a handshake’s good for now.’
They reached across and shook awkwardly. The sort of uneasy gesture of two geeks unsure whether to high-five, chest-bump or knuckle-kiss and in the end pulling off a fumbled combination and Maddy nearly knocking her drink over. Sal rolled her eyes.
‘So, we’ll set off tomorrow morning. Have a last night in the arch.’
Liam nodded. ‘A last night to say goodbye to the ol’ place.’
Maddy sighed. ‘It’s a freakin’ brick archway. That’s all.’
‘No, that’s not fair. I’d say it was a bit more than that.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ said Sal. ‘It was sort of home.’
Maybe they were both right. It had begun to feel a bit like that. ‘Let’s just look ahead, guys. OK? We’ve still got a job to do. And maybe now … we’re doing the job on our terms? We’re calling the shots.’
That felt like a leader-ish sort of thing to say. Like the right thing to say. Maddy looked sideways at Foster and he gave her a subtle wink.
Chapter 6
11 September 2001, New York
Liam lifted the last of the bags into the back of the SuperChief. Maddy took them from him. ‘That the last of the stuff piled in the middle?’
He looked back into the dark interior of the archway. ‘Aye.’
‘Good. Because there’s no room left anyway.’ She ducked back inside, looking down the middle of the vehicle, an assault course of plastic bags and cardboard boxes. And that was just their essentials. ‘I guess I’ll find somewhere to tuck these. What’s in these bags anyway?’
‘Some of me books.’