‘It took me a while to calculate your next move,’ Sim added apologetically. ‘We couldn’t be sure whether it would be the warehouse or one of your previous missions.’
‘So you KNEW I was going to do this? I thought you guys couldn’t see into the future.’
‘But we do know about your past,’ Lyra said with that look again.
‘And we did some digging,’ Phileas added more seriously. ‘My department has to do background checks on every candidate. It’s nothing personal.’
Josh couldn’t think of anything more personal. The thought of them knowing about his past, all those stupid mistakes he had made — the way he used to be. He was ashamed of that life, and he realised that wasn’t who he was, nor ever really had been — he had just been trying to survive any way he could.
‘So I’m guessing you’re not going to let me borrow a little of the treasure?’ Josh half-joked as he kicked the chest. It was made of a thick, dark wood and didn’t move an inch.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Phileas replied. ‘Its fate is best served here. The Antiquarians will archive it in another hundred years or so.’
‘Why? If no one is going to ever use it?’
‘Because,’ Sim answered, ‘there is a ninety-seven-point-three per cent probability that it would end up getting you killed.’
Josh knew better than to argue with Sim’s statistics.
‘Fine. So I am guessing Caitlin has another plan?’
‘Funny you should say that,’ Lyra replied.
54
Contact
The professor was sitting at a desk in a half-built laboratory — one that the university knew nothing about. Fermi had bought a secure industrial warehouse specifically to work on the device that Joshua had left behind. He sat amongst a chaotic collection of cardboard boxes as white-suited technicians were busy constructing complex machines and computer systems, all following his carefully planned instructions.
‘So he’s made contact?’ the professor said into his phone. He was using an encrypted VOIP app which he’d bought a significant stake in a few years before the NSA had starting monitoring everyone’s communications.
‘Yeah. Just as I said,’ the voice of Lenin replied through the speaker. ‘He wants to know when and where.’
‘Let’s say midnight tomorrow. Where do suggest?’
‘I know a place. What about the money?’
He liked the directness of the boy. He was ambitious and smart. In other circumstances he would have made a great politician or general, but the fates hadn’t been kind. Drugs were a one-way street to disaster. Lenin would probably be dead within five years.
‘You will be compensated once I have him.’
Fermi ended the call. A few seconds later, a map location appeared in the message tab.
One of the technicians came over with an iPad held out in front of him. There was a technical schematic displayed on its screen.
‘The magnetron needs a 400amp supply. We’re pretty sure this place doesn’t have the capacity for that kind of load.’
Fermi put his phone away and ran his fingers through his hair.
‘Che cavolo! Do I have to do everything around here?’ he said, taking the tablet from the man.
55
Clockmaker
[Naxos, Greece. Date: 9.913]
The clockmaker’s old hand trembled as he placed the last bronze gear into the mechanism — this was to be his masterpiece, his finest work. Vikardis had imagined creating such a device since he was a young apprentice, a machine that could plot the transit of the sun and other heavenly objects across the sky.
There was a precise logic to its design, one that could only be realised in the angles of Euclidian geometry. It was a manifestation of mathematics that had no equal and it would ensure that his name would be revered alongside those of Pythagoras and Plato.
The fact that it wasn’t his idea was something that history would forget. The traveller who’d visited him so many years ago, who’d sat for days with the young apprentice as he memorised the workings and gearings required, was now nothing more than a ghost. He was a stranger who’d asked for nothing in return for the knowledge, stating that his motives were ‘for the good of mankind and science’.
Putting the last piece in place, Vikardis sat back and admired his invention. As he kneaded his aching shoulders, unravelling the knots that the hours of painstaking work had created, he knew there was nothing left now but to send the work to Rome and wait for the summons to the senate.
His reverie was disturbed by a noise in the outer courtyard — a cat most likely chasing a meal. Before he could rise to investigate, he realised there was a man standing in the doorway.
Vikardis quickly covered the device with a cloth and stood up. ‘You are welcome stranger,’ he said, bowing his head and assuming a benevolent tone to mask his irritation at the unannounced interruption.
‘Ave, Master Vikardis,’ the stranger said, bowing low. ‘I have come to talk to you about your latest commission.’
Suspicious of the stranger, who wore the robes of a senate official, the old clockmaker moved in front of the device.
‘My humble apologies, master, but how do you know of my work?’
The stranger smiled and produced the seal of the Consul Lucius Cornelius Sulla.
‘Sulla was most interested in your last report and are very eager to see a working model. “Go to Vikardis”, he commanded. “See how he advances!”’
The old clockmaker bowed his head deferentially. ‘Sire, this is most timely — I have just recently completed the only working prototype.’ He proudly removed the cloth from his invention.
The stranger came closer to the object, his eyes wide with amazement. ‘It’s a wondrous thing. A veritable masterpiece — you truly are a master craftsman.’
The old clockmaker glowed with pride — this was all he’d dreamed of, to be brought to Rome, to live the good life. He offered the stranger a seat and poured them each a cup of dark, rich wine.
The stranger sat down opposite the watchmaker, took a sip from the cup and scratched his beard.
‘Now tell me about the man that showed you how to make this.’
56
The Plan
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ exclaimed Josh, ‘I thought that was forbidden. Don’t you have rules about messing with your own timelines?’
They were sitting in the colonel’s kitchen, Sim was busy cooking something Lyra had caught in the grounds of the Abbey at Orval and Phileas and Lyra were pouring over a collection of time maps and notebooks spread out on the table.
‘Literally hundreds of them,’ agreed Sim, ‘but Caitlin is convinced an intercession is the only chance of resolving the crisis.’ He crushed some herbs into the steaming pot of stew. ‘She made me run the numbers — they do look rather good.’
Josh wasn’t sure he could believe what they were asking him to do — something he’d spent most of his life wishing he could.
They wanted him to go back and save Gossy.
‘It’s not as if you would be directly interacting with your own timeline anyway,’ said Lyra, pointing to something on one of the lines on the map.
Josh didn’t need to be convinced, but he remembered how the colonel had reacted when his other self had shown up. ‘Isn’t there some kind of temporal law that could wind up with me just disappearing?’
The others smiled as if sharing some kind of in-joke.
‘What?’ asked Josh.
‘That’s what they tell all the new recruits. It’s supposed to stop them playing the Grandfather Paradox,’ said Lyra.
‘Going back and killing your grandfather, so your dad never existed,’ Sim added. ‘It’s classic Novikov self-consistency conjecture.’
Josh looked at him blankly.
‘The universe seems to have a few built-in safeguards to stop that kind of thing from happening,’ Phileas interrupted, trying to sound reassuring. ‘All we’re going to do is make a small adjustment to the
outcome of one particular car crash. The effects of which will be so localised as not to have any impact on the broader timeline.’
‘It may not seem like a big thing to you —’
‘But we know that it will change your life and those around you,’ Lyra interrupted.
‘Will I remember how it was before?’
Sim put the lid back on the pot of stew and sat down next to Josh.
‘The truth is, we don’t know, and neither will you until we do it. These kind of changes are strictly off the books, and therefore don’t tend to be well documented.’
‘So tell me again how this is going to help resolve the problem with Lenin?’
Sim went to grab one of the drawings.
‘The non-technical version,’ Josh added, pushing the papers away.
Sim seemed to be a little put out. Phileas stepped in to explain.
‘We think that cornerstone — the death of your friend — caused a significant shift in your timeline. Lenin became a far more dominant influence in your life as a result — your guilt stopped you from challenging him. The belief that you were solely responsible for Gossy’s death, and that he saved your life, has allowed Lenin to exploit you for years.’
Phileas reminded Josh of the psychotherapist they’d sent him to after the physical injuries had healed. There was a lot of talk about a missing father figure and authority issues.
Sim leaned forward and pointed to something in one of the notebooks. ‘Caitlin thinks if we alter the outcome of the accident here, it will release you from the subservient role that you have assumed ever since.’
‘And he won’t abduct my mother?’
‘Basically yes.’
‘Or we could just pay him the money — I know the Order can afford it.’
Lyra smiled. ‘Yes, we could. A thousand times over, but it would never end. He would always find another way to bind you to him. He thinks you’re his property — like a slave, I suppose. You will never be able to free yourself until one of you is dead. It’s quite the most destructive kind of relationship.’
Josh had never really thought about it that way. He’d always hated the way Lenin bossed him around, and had lost count of the ways he should take him down. But there was always that small voice in the back of his head that reminded him of how he’d saved Josh’s life — he could never shake the feeling that he owed him.
‘Okay. I suppose it can’t hurt to try. Can it?’
‘Good, now we need something from that time. Do you have any personal effects here?’ Phileas asked as he looked around the kitchen.
‘I have a diary that goes back that far.’
‘Perfect. Let’s have something to eat and go over the plan.’
Sim grabbed some bowls and began to ladle out the food. It smelt amazingly good for four-hundred-year-old rabbit.
57
Splitting Up
During the meal a text came through from Lenin. It read, ‘PIRATES MIDNIGHT 2MORROW.’ Josh replied and switched off the phone. He didn’t want to think about the future when he was about to relive the worst moment of his past.
There was a slight issue with his diary, as they discovered when he showed them the blank pages from the time of the accident.
Lyra tried to read his memories, this time without sticking her tongue down his throat. She gently took his face in her hands and slid her mind into his. He caught glimpses of old events as she sifted back through his long-term memory, but when she reached the right time frame she shrank back in horror. Her face went ashen, and Sim had to catch her before she fell over.
‘What happened?’ Josh asked as they all went to help her.
Lyra pushed them away and got back to her feet. Phileas gave her a glass of water.
‘You’ve got some pretty serious defences blocking those memories. It’s kind of like scar tissue, but with added demons, all wrapped around a six-metre-thick wall of pain.’
‘So you can’t get in?’ asked Sim.
‘I didn’t say that,’ she snapped. ‘I just think, well, it’s like an old carbuncle — you wouldn’t want to be around when it burst.’
Phileas was sitting on the sofa deep in thought. ‘How are you with music?’ he asked casually.
Josh thought back to Ella’s song the night before. ‘I can use music to go places. It’s weird — I don’t even need to touch the record.’
‘You may have latent audiophilic abilities. Sound can be a very powerful vestige, but only some of us can use it to actually move through time.’
Josh shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
‘Okay. So think back. What were you listening to around the time you had the accident?’
It was a track that Josh had spent years trying to forget about. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to hear again.
‘It’s not something you guys would have heard of,’ Josh said, trying to avoid the subject.
Phileas laughed. ‘We’re not all into Mozart and Sibelius, you know.’
Lyra could see Josh was uncomfortable and took his hand. ‘It’s alright, Josh. I know this isn’t easy.’
Josh sighed. ‘It was called “Speed of Light’, by —’
‘DJ Laser. I know that one,’ Sim said. He pulled out an old iPod and started flicking through the songs. He went over to the stereo and dropped the iPod into a dock. ‘Rufius tends to be an old fart when it comes to music. It took me ages to persuade him to get one of these.’
‘Does he ever use it?’ Josh asked. He couldn’t imagine the colonel using anything so modern.
Sim shook his head, cued the song and turned up the speakers. The others stood in a circle around Josh as the bass kicked in.
Josh felt nothing. The song was right, but it didn’t initiate any timelines or events for him.
‘Something’s wrong. It’s not like the last time with Ella.’
Sim scratched his head and shrugged.
Lyra stepped in. ‘It’s digital, you idiot. We need an analogue recording.’
Sim’s eyes lit up. ‘Back in a min.’
He disappeared for less than a heartbeat and returned with a twelve-inch record under his arm.
‘Bloody hard thing to find — this is a bootleg from one of their concerts. Took me nearly a day to track it down.’
He placed the shiny black vinyl onto the turntable and dropped the needle gently onto it.
You won’t see it coming
The power builds inside
Motion taking over
Moving out into the night
Taking on the world
At the speed of light
We’re gonna go farther
We’ve gotta go faster
Josh let the music flow through him, feeling his heartbeat match that of the song. He was instantly transported back to all those times in the car, so many good memories of driving fast down empty lanes in the middle of the night, the music so loud he could feel the bass in his chest.
‘Good,’ shouted Lyra over the noise. ‘Now focus on that time. Find the point nearest to the accident.’
He fast forwarded through the days until he got close to the time, then slowed towards the fateful day and stopped. He was close enough. He held out one hand, and Lyra took it. The others joined her and the room began to vibrate.
You won’t see it coming
We gotta go faster
We gonna go farther
Taking on the world
At the speed of light
58
NCP
[London, UK. Date: 12.011]
A moment later they were all standing in the lower basement level of a NCP car park with the music playing somewhere close by. A Subaru Impreza squealed out of one of the far bays and sped past, skidded round the corner and onto the up ramp. Two boys were sitting in the front. The driver looked no older than twelve.
‘Was that me?’ Josh asked, trying to remember if he had ever stolen a Subaru.
‘Uh-huh,’ muttered Sim, checking his almanac. ‘We need to make
sure you don’t actually meet yourself. Things can get a little complicated — unpredictable if you know what I mean.’
‘I thought you said there were safeguards.’
‘There are, but it’s better if we don’t have to find out what they are.’
Phileas checked his watch. ‘We have an hour or so before the Copernicans send the Protectorate to investigate this — so we need to hurry up.’
‘Where would your friend be now?’
Josh took a moment to think. ‘I unlocked a Porsche for him on the second floor, but I left first. He must’ve had problems getting out. He was a couple of minutes behind me at the start.’
‘Second floor, ten minutes,’ said Sim, doing some quick calculations in his head. ‘Okay, got it. Everyone hold on.’
They grabbed each other instinctively and shifted up to the second floor.
Josh spotted Gossy’s mop of sandy hair through the window of the Porsche. He held his breath and watched the head of his friend bob around as he adjusted the seat — a car alarm was going off somewhere nearby.
‘Is that him?’ asked Sim.
‘Yeah,’ confirmed Josh. ‘He always used to have trouble with the seat controls — legs were too short.’
‘How are you planning to stop him?’ asked Lyra.
Josh hadn’t really considered what he was going to say to Gossy to stop him. It wasn’t as if the kid would recognise an older version of his best friend, and telling him that he was from the future and that he was trying to save his life wasn’t going to fly either.
‘We could just lock him in the boot,’ suggested Sim.
‘No,’ whispered Phileas, ‘he needs to —’
Lyra made a strange kind of whimpering noise, and everyone looked around.
The Infinity Engines Books 1-3 Page 29