Bentley nodded and went to leave.
‘Is there any news from my mother?’ asked Lyra, spreading butter over the warm bread.
‘Nothing. But to be honest, I’m the last person they would tell.’
‘Why?’
Bentley flushed a little at the question, his gaze dropping to his feet. ‘Everyone’s busy, and I’m the most junior rating here, so important stuff tends to take a while to drift down to me, unless it involves catering.’
‘I know the feeling,’ agreed Sim through a mouthful of cheese.
Bentley’s eyes lit up and he leaned in. ‘I did hear that the founder has disappeared with the Infinity Engine.’
‘Good,’ Sim said, ‘at least that means Dalton’s as blind as we are when it comes to the next crisis.’
‘I don’t think he cares about the Eschaton Cascade,’ said Lyra, who was constructing the largest sandwich Bentley had ever seen.
‘Really?’ Bentley looked surprised. ‘Why not?’
‘He’s never believed in it,’ Sim explained. ‘He thinks that Copernicans create problems out of some need to find them. He’s a determinist, so the idea of predicting the future of a chaotic universe is abhorrent to him.’
‘Whereas you’re a natural-born worrier,’ said Lyra.
Sim smiled. ‘I can’t help being risk averse.’
‘He gets that from his mother,’ she added, ‘who I’m guessing is probably planning some kind of counter-attack as we speak.’
29
Xeno
[Royal Zoological Gardens, London. Date: 11.828]
The Xenobiology department was off-limits to most members of the Order, mainly because it held some of the most deadly and dangerous creatures from the maelstrom, or storm-kin, within its cells.
Alixia had taken extra precautions on her route to their laboratory. She’d correctly assumed that the main entry points would be being watched. Dalton wasn’t stupid enough to try and raid it, but she knew that he had a talisman now and would be considering trying to use it on one of their specimens in the hope of creating a breach.
She had to warn Doctor Shika, the head of the Xeno department.
The lab was hidden deep below London Zoo, in Regent’s Park, and housed over four hundred species from the maelstrom. It had been created by Daniel Dangerfield years ago to better understand the chaotic, non-linear realm by studying the hideous creatures that lived within it.
Daniel had died the previous year, killed by a chimæra, a hybrid of man and maelstrom — which was thought to be another precursor to the Eschaton Cascade.
Kaori Shika had been promoted to his position on Alixia’s recommendation. Her role had always been a supporting one within the Xenos; although not actively involved in their management, Alixia had helped Dangerfield to develop the techniques for storm-kin capture and containment.
Alixia was an extinction curator, which focussed on the study of long-dead species, and had dedicated her life to understanding the reasons behind their eradication, which in most cases also meant bringing them back to life.
‘Alixia, how lovely to see you,’ Kaori said, greeting her with a formal bow.
Alixia put her arms around the small Japanese doctor and hugged her.
‘How are you?’ she asked when Alixia stepped back. ‘I heard a ridiculous story about your family being hanged?’
Alixia subconsciously rubbed her neck. ‘I am dead, at least in the eyes of the Eschaton Division, but other than that I’m quite well. There will be time for details later. Right now we must discuss your security.’
She took Kaori’s arm and they walked into the central hall. It was an enormous round chamber with iron staircases rising up along the high curved walls. Thick glass panelled cells that lined the ground floor were filled with strange and terrifying beasts, each one guarded by a Xeno technician in a heavily shielded suit.
‘As you can see, I have imposed a lockdown as you instructed.’
‘Good, and are all the access portals sealed? Even the secret ones?’
Kaori nodded.
Alixia’s keen eyes scanned the laboratory, catching glimpses of hideous creatures moving silently behind reinforced glass. ‘Have the storm-kin showed any abnormal activity?’
Kaori looked puzzled. ‘No more than usual. Are you expecting some kind of trouble?’
‘I believe they may be the first indicator of a breach, and they’ll be more sensitive to any maelstrom activity. We must remain vigilant — these are our canaries.’
Kaori nodded. ‘You suspect there’s going to be an attack from the maelstrom?’
‘No,’ Alixia said and shook her head. ‘I believe someone on this side is going to initiate one.’
Suddenly, an alarm went off, sending the guards into a frenzy of activity, men and women in armoured suits running in from all corners of the building, carrying an array of large calibre weapons. They formed a cordon around Alixia and Kaori, whose tiny body had metamorphosed, and was completely enclosed within the spectral shell of a terrifying horned monster.
A shimmering portal expanded in the air in front of them and two rather flustered people stepped through it.
‘Madam De Freis?’ probed the man nervously, his features reminding Alixia of Caitlin.
She studied the woman, whose eyes confirmed her suspicions. ‘Mr and Mrs Makepiece I believe?’
‘We need your help,’ Caitlin’s mother said with a hint of desperation. ‘Caitlin has disappeared and the only man who can help us has been badly injured.’
Alixia nodded, turning back to Kaori. ‘Let me know the moment you detect any abnormal behaviour.’
Kaori, who was still shrouded in the ghostly aura of her creature, simply bowed.
30
Fermi
Josh heard someone cry out. His vision was blurry from the drugs, but he could just make out another clone of Lenin standing over him. This one was naked except for a tattoo on his neck that read ‘X0001’, and he was holding a knife in one hand which was covered in blood.
The clone was staring at him and saying something, but Josh couldn’t hear what it was, then he felt a sharp pain in his leg and lost consciousness again.
‘Wake up!’ insisted someone from deep within his dream.
‘Josh — wake up! I think this place is going to blow!’
It was Caitlin. She was shaking him and slapping his face.
‘Okay!’ he said, opening his eyes.
‘Get up!’ she demanded, something in her voice telling him she was scared.
The world swam a little as he swung his legs off the operating table, and he put his hand on her shoulder to stop the room spinning. There was something silver sticking out of his thigh.
‘What happened?’ she asked, pointing at the knife in his leg.
‘I think he was operating on me,’ he said, nodding to the body on the floor.
It was Lenin, the one the professor had been using, his white coat was stained with red.
‘There was another one. Another Lenin. I think he killed him.’
A loud explosion shook the room and the lights went out, plunging the operating theatre into darkness. A few seconds passed before the emergency lighting kicked in.
Lenin lay dead in the middle of the room, his face completely blank, as if someone had just taken out his batteries. A dark stain spreading across his chest where he’d been stabbed.
‘We need to get out of here. Do you think you can walk?’ Caitlin put his arm around her shoulder.
Josh nodded, then winced as he tried to put his weight on the injured leg. ‘You’re going to have to pull it out.’
Caitlin searched the drawers for anything useful, but most were full of devices she’d no idea how to use. Then she found something that looked like a bandage.
Gripping the handle of the knife, she told him to take a deep breath and pulled. The blade was sharp and came out easily, as did the blood. She applied the largest dressing and pressed hard, watching the white gauze turn re
d.
‘Hold that,’ she ordered, opening a packet of plasters as he took over.
Josh was looking very pale. Caitlin knew she had to work fast before his blood pressure became a problem. She placed the first plaster over the dressing and was amazed to see it expand around the wound as if it knew what to do, and they both watched in silence as the band-aid secured itself and sealed the bleed.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That’s one benefit of being in the future then.’
The colour was returning to Josh’s cheeks. ‘I can’t feel anything,’ he shrugged.
‘Probably some kind of built-in anaesthetic. Does that mean you can walk? We need to leave here before he sends another clone,’ she said, looking around for an escape route.
Josh limped to the door. The lack of power on the control panel told him it was out of action too. ‘We can go back the way we came?’ he suggested, tapping the metal door with his knuckle.
‘No, that future won’t exist at this rate,’ she said, examining the knife. ‘This has a basic chronology we can use to get back to those time tunnels.’
‘It’s like the one he used on my mum,’ said Josh, taking it from her.
‘Some kind of DNA extraction tool I guess.’
31
Tibet
[Spiti Valley, Tibet. Date: 11.587]
The founder paused to watch a golden eagle soar effortlessly on air currents that swept down from Everest and into the steep, rocky sides of the Spiti valley. He spied the Ki Monastery standing on top of a hill, dwarfed by the broken-toothed mountains of the Himalayas.
He stretched his back, kneading the knotted muscles at the base of his spine. Parts of Ki were over a thousand years old, cracked and crumbling; he knew exactly how they must feel. Its ancient stone walls were built more in the style of a fortress than a religious sanctuary for good reason, as the monastery and surrounding village had survived numerous attacks from Mongol armies, not to mention earthquakes and fires.
He’d moved forward millions of years in the blink of an eye. Like a time-lapse film, he had watched the ice-sheets and glaciers that had once covered the landscape melt away, leaving nothing but the meandering river that wound through the accumulated shale and boulders that were scattered across the valley floor.
As he climbed the stairs to the stone battlements, an old Buddhist monk, dressed in traditional gold and maroon robes, stepped out of the temple doorway and bowed to him.
‘Lord,’ he said, greeting him in Zhe-sa, the polite, respectful style of Tibetan.
The founder bowed low. ‘Master.’
‘You carry the worries of the world on your shoulders,’ the old monk said, his eyes studying the founder’s empty bag. ‘Has the time come?’
The founder sighed. ‘As you predicted it would. I’m afraid I must seek the sanctuary of the Citadel.’
The monk closed his eyes and spoke quietly. ‘Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.’
He stepped aside and allowed Dee into his temple.
There was always a sense of serenity that came over him when he walked through the corridors of the temple. Hundreds of columns lined the passageways that led to the inner sanctum, each one elaborately decorated in relief of Buddhist stories: of cause and effect or flying goddesses and powerful deities.
With each step he found himself reflecting on the plans he’d made. If this truly were the beginning of the Eschaton Cascade, then everything he’d prepared for would be tested. This wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed the end of a timeline, and the founder shuddered at the memory of what could be facing them if they didn’t manage to correct the course they were on.
The Djinn were not the worst of things that lived outside of time.
32
The Letter
Bentley hadn’t seen or spoken to his family since he’d joined the Draconian Defence trials, and for all they knew he was still at the Academy trying to complete his training.
His father was a retired Draconian engineer, and his mother was a Scriptorian who worked at the Bibliothèque Mazarine in Paris. He had a brother and two sisters who were all much older than him and had followed their mother into the Scriptoria — he was the only one who’d joined his father’s guild.
Or at least he’d tried to.
Bentley had a sneaking suspicion that if it hadn’t been for his actions with the Wyrrm, he’d never have made the grade. He was proud of how they had trapped the creature, even if it had cost Darkling his life, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t really cut out to be a Dreadnought.
The thought of having to deal with those kinds of terrors every day made him break out in a cold sweat. He was much happier making stuff, like his father before him — they were inventors, not fighters, and even though he’d proved himself in battle, Bentley felt it was probably better for all if he stepped down from the front line.
The problem was that he hadn’t found a way to tell his commanding officer.
Since rescuing Sim’s family, the threat level had been raised to severe, which meant that the entire guild had gone into a permanent state of combat readiness, and every guild member was mobilised — ready at all times for battle. It was over a week now and Bentley had grown tired of carrying the cumbersome gunsabre around with him; the rifle weighed a ton and his body armour was bulky and uncomfortable.
He was stationed with the garrison on Ascension Island, which was more like a prison than a dormitory, and Bentley, who was by far the youngest of the squad, felt like a complete fraud surrounded by so many veterans.
At lunch, a letter arrived from his father, and Bentley felt his spirits rise. He’d written to him only the day before to ask his advice on what he should do, and was so eager to read his reply that he gave away the rest of his rations.
Taking the note, he slipped out of the canteen and took the elevator up to the observation deck, which was deserted, so he settled down to read in peace.
‘My dear boy,’ his father began, ‘please do not be alarmed, but we have been taken by the Protectorate and are currently being held against our will.’
His dad was rather old-fashioned, having been born in the late-seventeenth century, and his turn of phrase tended to be a little understated. What he really meant to say was: ‘Help! We’ve been taken prisoner!’
‘Our captors have been quite fair-handed thus far, and we are for the most part unharmed.’
Bentley’s hand shook with anger as he read on.
‘I have been instructed to implore you to attend us at your earliest convenience, and for the sake of your mother’s nerves, it would be most agreeable if you would come directly.
Tell no one. D.’
Bentley’s knuckles were white as he opened the timeline attached to the letter.
It was a simple task to unwind its chronology and find his family sitting shivering in a dark cell somewhere beneath the Protectorate headquarters.
Bentley knew better than to jump straight into it, even though every nerve in his body was telling him to do so. Tears filled his eyes as he stood hovering on the edge of the event watching his father write the note while Dalton’s henchmen stood menacingly over him.
Why would Dalton want me? he wondered, thinking back to the time he’d met the arrogant bully and his gang of Daedalans in the lower dungeons of the academy.
As he disconnected from the timeline, another message appeared in a different hand below his father’s writing.
‘Don’t take too long.’
It was signed in blood.
33
Justice
Fermi observed Lenin’s entrance through a hundred different video feeds.
The man was naked, and his gleaming, well-muscled body was everything that the old professor was not.
Fermi remembered the first time he’d occupied that body, wearing it as if it were a set of clothes, feeling the skin and muscle of his arms, touching and flexing his fingers as his mind in
tegrated with the neural pathways.
The sensation of standing on two feet again as he stepped out of the gestation pod had been a revelation — like being reborn. To breath air without the assistance of a machine, to feel the weight of gravity on his body, all sensations he’d never thought to experience again.
Not until he’d discovered dark energy.
Then everything changed.
His work on the time portals had given him the ability to change the past. Fermi had used it to accelerate many different areas of research, teaching young scientists knowledge they should never have had, using multiple pasts to improve their theories. It was the ultimate scientific method, and every iteration brought him closer to his goal, closer to the cure.
One particular area of study was in quantum fluctuation. The waves of space-time were creating energy, a limitless supply of energy. When he learned how to harness this dark power source his range became extraordinary, he could suddenly reach parts of the past that were well beyond the scope of his original machine.
Fermi soon realised he could move beyond time altogether and it was then that he first felt the alien presence. There was no real physical element to their connection, merely the existence of another entity. It had no shape, no real consciousness, but somehow from within the dark energy that flowed through his suit, an awareness surfaced, an insidious collection of thoughts and memories permeating his own like a virus.
The memories of a thousand lifetimes poured into his augmented mind. He had absorbed them all, and like a petulant child at Christmas, he would open each one and devour it. There were so many stories, so many lifetimes to share. The entity taught him of the other universes, ancient timelines that had died before his own was even begun. The alien showed him ways to use his technology, to move his mind into Lenin and to harness the dark energy to power the portals.
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