Mack flicked his worried gaze between his friend and the AI. “No.”
“But…” Trencher started, but Mack cut her off.
“No. You’re staying to keep the door open. I’m the lead.”
“I want to, you don’t.”
Mack looked at Brig, “Fire it up Brig and keep her here.” He dropped his weapon on a nearby table.
“Key goes live in Ten, Nine, Eight…” said Brig.
“Travel light, travel fast. Just a visual, he was a big guy. Could’ve been the stress.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“…Three, Two, One. Link established.”
As Brig finished the countdown a new door exploded into life in the centre of the room. Mack stepped forward, briefly touching Trencher on the arm as he passed. With a step he was over the threshold and gone. Leaving nothing but a light swirl of snowflakes.
For a moment the rush of prehistoric wind could be distantly heard, then silence. Trencher pointed up at a big display on the wall, “Start the clock.”
“Ground Zero countdown on screen.” Said Brig. The display blazed into life for a moment it read “EVENT: SM, 09:53”, then the seconds began to count down. Trencher shrugged off her coat, reversed a chair and sat astride it, keeping her eyes on the screen.
Mack
Southern Mexico, 66 Million Years Ago
Mack, a man out of time crouched over the dismembered body of Dennis with a grim look on his face. He scanned his eyes across the ground, and again over the body.
He’d seen enough. Mack stood to leave, as he turned something caught his eye. Among the sedated crowd around him, something wasn’t right, something was out of place.
Mack stepped forward instead of back towards the gateway and then he saw it. One of the men, a familiar scarred face, the eyes flicked toward him. They were alert and alive when they shouldn’t be, they were dangerous, and they were familiar.
“Holy Shit!” He barely blurted out before it all went to Hell.
Jackal’s face twisted into a snarl and he launched at Mack who barely got his hands up before they went down in a tumble of arms and legs.
unexpected Re-entry
London, 2088
Trencher was still gazing at the screen, seconds had passed, Brig broke the silence. “Agent MacMillan is coming back in.”
“Pretty quick after all.”
Brig’s fingers were a flurry of activity. “Signature confirmed, but biometrics don’t match.”
Trencher snapped her head to look at Brig, “Wait, what was that?” She became aware of a new presence in the direction that Brig was looking and turned back to the doorway. Bathed in amber light and a smattering of snowflakes was a wild-eyed Jackal. “Shit”, spat Trencher. Jackal smiled and wiped his bloody nose with the sleeve of his coat, Mack’s coat.
Brig burst into life. Steel doors hissed down to block the exits. “Lockdown procedures running, broadcasting station wide emergency call. Prisoner breach in the Vault. Repeat, prisoner breach.” There was a sucking backdraft as the doors sealed.
“Don’t Move”, hissed Trencher, “Asshole.” She whipped up her weapon, a hand cannon of brass and steel. Jackal cracked a smile. “Brig.”
“Done.” The portal snapped shut behind him, the Timekey collapsed on itself and clattered to the floor.
“Do you have a trace?”, asked Trencher.
“Not yet.” Brig glided slightly to the right putting space between her and the interloper, “Suggest you deal with this first.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Jackal bent down and scooped up the Timekey. “I said, don’t move.”
“You did, but I think you need this.” Trencher flicked between him and the countdown, the seconds slipping away. Every one bringing Mack closer to an apocalyptic doom. “What did you do to my partner?”
“Oh, he’s alive. For now.”
“Again, what did you do?”
“Only the same thing you’ve been doing for years.” He waved the Timekey at her, “How do you work this thing?”
“Put it down and I won’t shoot you through the head.”
Jackal laughed, “Yes, I remember you. The aggressive one, something to prove, I think. There’s a button, in the middle, yes?” He started edging toward the table with Mack’s weapon on it.
“Don’t”, he ignored her.
“Trencher, Security are outside. Doors?”
“Negative, we need to contain this, I need to get Mack back.” Jackal took a braver step, “Last chance before I put you down.”
Jackal looked quizzical for a moment, “Hmmm. No.” He threw himself at the table, grabbing for Mack’s gun, but missing and sending it spinning. As he rolled over the table Trencher fired twice. The first one missed. The second caught his thigh, he screamed and fell to the floor in a spray of red.
The Timekey fell from his grasp and bounced off the floor in front of him. It sparked once. The Timekey exploded outwards, holding a Gateway. “No!”, screamed Trencher as Jackal reached for the key, but it was too late, the device collapsed on itself, closing the portal and taking him with it.
The closed Timekey spun on the concrete, Jackal was gone. Trencher swung on Brig. “How the Hell?”
“Mack’s ID in the coat, a malfunction, not sure.” Trencher stood in the space and grabbed the Timekey off the floor, she looked at the blood pattern and the bullet hole in the wall.
“When did he go? Brig?”
“Working on it.” Trencher kicked a chair across the room. “Work faster, we need to fix this.”
“I have a trace, there was a malfunction. Looks like a misaligned paradox in the wormhole trace.”
“Brig, English please that means nothing.”
“I can get you near, maybe fifty-mile radius. Give or take a couple of months.”
Trencher grabbed her coat and shrugged it back on. “I need him Brig, I need to swap him for Mack”, she paused as the hologram looked up at her, “Don’t forget the clock is ticking”, she waved up at the screen.
“I know.”
“I can’t spend forever looking for the bastard.” She said slipping two replacement bullets into her gun.
“Got my best solution locked”, said Brig.
“Give it to me.”
“London, eighteen eighty-eight.”
“Two hundred years, Hell.”
“Give or take a couple of months.”
“Your best shot, better than anybody else’s”, Trencher held up a couple of fingers, “Couple of things.”
“Yes.”
“Stall the Chief, as long as you can”, she looked again at the countdown, “And, kick off your backup to our project. Have a feeling its time.”
Brig’s eyes flashed for a moment, “Done.”
Trencher pocketed a spare Timekey from the locker, “Checking out one key.”
“Noted. What about local Intel?”
“We need to get on the ground quickly, dig up what you can. I’ll see what I can find out and report back. We can exchange notes.” Trencher cast another glance at the countdown. She placed the malfunctioning Timekey on a workbench in front of Brig, “Get this up and running, ready to go. We’ll need every second.”
Brig nodded her holographic head, “Consider it done.” Trencher moved over to the centre of the room and exploded her Timekey, Brig spoke up. “Trencher.”
“Yes.”
“For what it’s worth. Good luck.”
Trencher nodded, “Thanks.” With that she was gone, leaving Brig alone in a mild flurry of snow.
august snowfall
Buckinghamshire, 1888
A darkening sky sat over a grassy field; the field hemmed in by classical English hedgerows. In the corner of the field a patch of snow fell from nowhere. A soft whump broke the night silence, leaving Trencher stood in the snowfall with the collapsed Timekey in her palm.
She quickly scanned the boundaries to get her bearings, there was nothing notable to latch onto. She cocked her head, a distant cl
ackety clack followed by the hoot of a steam train broke the night. In the dim light she could see a gate breaking the hedge, she immediately broke into a sprint.
Inside the train, Herbert, a well-heeled Victorian gentleman sat quietly. Dressed in a tweed suit he was alternating between gazing at the countryside slipping by and scribbling notes on a well-worn pad.
Outside in the night air, Trencher vaulted the gate and saw the train approaching. She veered to the left, long strides crunching over the pathway to a low wall hemming a bridge over the train tracks. She stopped at the wall for breath, the train was speeding toward her on the tracks in the cutting below. The thunder and smoke of the steam train rushed into the bridge beneath her, engulfing her with the cokey smell of combustion. She took a deep breath and vaulted over the wall, aiming for the carriages rattling below.
Back inside the train Herbert was startled from his reverie by a loud crash above his head, a heavy thump followed by a scrambling. He instinctively grabbed the arm of his seat, staring at the ceiling. He held his breath straining to hear something else, but there was nothing. After a few moments he checked his pocket watch, pushed his glasses back up his nose and returned to his notebook. No sooner had he done so, the compartment door rattled and slid open, bouncing into its housing.
Framed in the doorway was Trencher, all flapping coat and red curls. “Is this seat taken?”, she was pointing into the compartment.
Herbert was speechless, no incredulous, no, more like his breath was taken. “I said. Is this seat taken?”
Herbert cleared his throat nervously, “No. No it is not.”
“May I?”, she asked waving at the bench opposite him.
She was already moving in when he spoke again, “Of course.”
Trencher threw herself down on the seat, he glanced at her muddy boots and the smattering of snow on her shoulders.
“Snow?”, asked Herbert.
“Sorry?”
“Is that snow, on your shoulders? Your coat?”
She glanced down and shrugged, brushing at her shoulders with her hands. “Yes. Yes, its chilly out.”
Herbert checked the window for effect, “But it’s a balmy August evening. Not a whiff of snow in the air.”
Trencher sighed, “You were in here, I was out there. Wherever there was.”
“There”, he shook his head and checked his watch again, “Was the edge of Bucks, and we will be arriving at Paddington Station, in around forty minutes.”
“Delightful.”
“And assuming you were the noise that landed on the roof a few miles back, I’m sure you would be keen to know the Conductor will be along soon.”
Trencher had caught sight of his leather briefcase on the rack above him and a wry smile slipped across her face, “Are you helping me?”
“My dear, I have no idea who you are or anything about your daring insistence on boarding this train and disrupting my quiet carriage.”
“Let’s call it fate.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Okay, yes. I did it, I jumped off a bridge and landed on the roof, where fate lead me to this carriage, this compartment and this seat across from you”, she straightened herself up in the seat and leant forward, “Now. Let’s start again.” Trencher extended a hand.
“Madam, not only is it obvious to me that you are not of a delicate nature, but I can also tell you are incomparably rude.” Herbert stood quickly and grabbed his briefcase from the rack, she could see it clearly now, the gold inscription flashing before her. Herbert opened the leather snaps and started stuffing his notebook into it.
“Where are you going with your panties in such a twist?”, she asked sarcastically.
Herbert refused to look at her, “I don’t believe I have to answer that madam.”
“It really is interesting though, fate”, she laughed gently, “Of course it had to be you”, she shook her head and glanced outside as she whispered, “Brig.”
“Is it though?”, he was quizzical, “Interesting?”
“Yes”, she placed a steadying hand on his arm, “Well, for one, you’re H.G. Wells and I’m a huge fan.”
Herbert could only look confused as he gently pulled his arm away. “What of it? Why do you make me sound so grand?”, clasping his briefcase protectively to his chest.
“Well, that’s a long story that I would love to tell, but right now I need your help and you need the company.”
He nervously pushed his glasses up again, “You are misled, I am not in the habit of handing out charity to every waif or stray that breaks into my carriage.”
“Look Henry. I’m in a hurry, I have no money and nowhere to stay, but here I am, and I need your help to save my friend’s life”, she gave him a moment, “I know you will benefit from the experience.”
“Look here”, he was trying to be indignant.
“So, we’re on the way back from visiting your mother.”
“What? How do you know me?”
“How’s the writing Henry?”
“Herbert.”
“Sorry?”
“My name is Herbert, not Henry”, he sat down, still clutching his bag.
“Sorry?”, she leant closer still, “are you sure? You’ve always seemed like a Henry to me. You know.”
“I most definitely do not ‘know’. My name is Herbert.” Trencher fell back to a lounging position and crossed her arms; her smile was infectious.
“So, how’s the writing? Herbert.”
“I dabble, not enough to make a living”, a writer desperate to talk about their work started feeling more relaxed.
“You will”, she ran her hands through her red curls, “You have ideas Herbert, wonderful ideas. You are a man whose words will impact generations.”
“Very inspiring Miss…”
“Trencher, Costigan Trencher”, she held her shaking hand out again, this time he took it.
“But I know nothing about you, or how you have such insight into me and my life.”
“I can’t say more right now, I don’t have the time and I need to trust you. Although I can see you are biting, there’s a flicker at the edge of your brain that wants to know more.”
Herbert took a moment to look at the window, the night had closed in further, the landscape had given way to London outskirts. “Your notebook, before.”
“What of it?”
“Was it the Argonauts?”, with a wry smile, bordering on a smirk.
Colour drained from his face, “Nobody knows about that, nobody. Ideas still forming in my mind. Fresh dalliances of mine and no business of yours.”
“Well, it is kind of my business”, she paused a moment, “Shall I tell you how it ends? Shall I tell you of your successes and failures? Should I break the laws of the fourth dimension?”
“You spin a good line of bait Miss Trencher.”
“I have your attention?”, he nodded in response, “Good, because you have mine. I’m a fan by the way.”
He checked his watch again, “We have about thirty minutes before we arrive at Paddington. I suggest you make good use of the time, and yes, you already told me.”
Trencher smiled and they both settled back, “Time. Herbert, there’s always time.”
Across London, somewhere on the boundaries of dirty, smoke-stained Whitechapel hidden behind a filthy window was a dark and dingy bedroom. Sat at the end of the crumpled bed, complete with its stained sheets was Jackal. His newfound shirt half open and reaching down to pull his stolen boots on, he turned his head to the other person in the room. Martha, a blotchy skinned alcoholic half sat at the head end, her dull eyes half gazing at the fierce looking man.
“Been a while love, might have been rough, you know”, he grumbled out.
“I’ve been treated worse Guvnor. I’ll live”, the words came from her slack jaw without it appearing to move.
“I was irritable, been a big day”, he glared at her, “You should have said something.”
Martha momentarily turned anot
her shade paler; she hacked a phlegm laden cough and dragged the dirty sheets up to her neck. “You gonna pay me then?” Jackal jumped to his feet and drew a couple of crumpled notes from his pocket, throwing them at her with the hand that wasn’t holding his coat.
“Here. Don’t drink it all at once, I might see you later.” He shrugged the coat on fully and peered at himself in a broken mirror. He took a moment to smooth the coat out, his coat, Mack’s coat. Then he was out the door, shutting it a touch too hard and leaving Martha with a nervous jolt.
Paddington station was awash with activity, the evening trains were rolling in and the canopy of the building echoed with the chuffs and chugs of their arrivals. The platforms were a buzz of urgent bodies, coming, going each one of them drowned out by hissing steam and clouds of coal tainted smoke.
Trencher and Herbert stood to one side, allowing the passengers and their luggage to pass. Trencher was lapping up the scene, her joy at history being played out in life was palpable. Herbert cleaned his glasses as he broke their short silence, “That’s quite a tall tale Miss Trencher.”
She flashed him a quick look, “My friends call me Costigan.”
“I fear we have a way to go before crossing that bridge my dear”, was his stiff response.
Trencher tuned to face him properly, grabbing his lapels and leaning in close, as if to kiss him. “Look. Herbert. I'm on the clock here, I don't know London in 1888, I have a dangerous man to track down and I need help and you might be the only person here that wouldn't write me off as crazy.”
“Well from my position, you may well be the most dangerous one and borderline insane to boot”, he cast a wary eye at the crowds, ensuring nobody was listening, “I can only theorise, but, if what you say is true then your very presence here jepoardises the future. Let alone the knowledge you are sharing.” She opened her mouth, but he waved a staying finger, “If, and that is a very particular if, you really are who you say you are.”
She let a moment pass before speaking.
“Herbert, I need time, that’s all and if you can’t help me, then at least offer me a place to sleep tonight. I need to rest and I ‘ll be on my way in the morning.”
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