Restoring Time

by Jenn Lees

  The door behind Rory opened, and he turned to face a small, elderly man. His hair was white and his face quite wrinkled, but he stood straight and walked with a spring in his step as he crossed the room and sat on a high-backed chesterfield. Maxwell followed him in.

  “Father, these are the men of whom I spoke,” Maxwell said.

  “Hmm.” Mr Derrick Lloyd pushed up his sleeves with rheumatic-knuckled hands, revealing faded tattoos on his forearms. “I’m told you are the son of Caitlin Murray-Campbell.” Lloyd was not as well-spoken as his son. There was a hint of rough to it.

  “Aye, I am,” Rory replied. “But I dinnae ken who you are, and I object to you forcing me here against my will.”

  Maxwell strode forward and landed a hard slap on Rory’s face.

  Rory suppressed a flinch and held his head high, endeavouring to settle the ringing in his ears and the sting on his cheek. He straightened his shoulders, hoping to cover his shock at the speed with which the man had moved. The Lloyds appeared to be gentlemanly, but he decided they were far from it.

  “Well, now you’ve seen me, may I be on my way?” Rory asked. “I have important matters to attend.”

  Mr Lloyd senior shook his head. “You have no idea, do you?”

  Rory clenched his jaw.

  Oh aye, I have a theory, but I won’t risk another stinging slap expressing it.

  “I own this part of Scotland. Some would say that I am the king of the Kingdom of Fife.” Lloyd smirked. “Over the years since the Crash, people have come to me for their needs, material or otherwise. I monitor those who pass through, and particularly, as you now know, who gets to cross the Kincardine Bridge. So, if you wish to go about your business, you’ll need my permission.” The man folded his gnarled hands, placed his chin on them, and positioned his elbows on his knees.

  His rheumy eyes rested an unruffled gaze on Rory.

  Rory’s jaw-clench tightened, sending a sharp pain into his scalp. He needed to get to Siobhan, but this guy bugged him. This man who owned people and had stores and stores of goods hoarded to sell for a mega-profit, or however much he could bleed from those who desperately needed it.

  Some would say.

  Didn’t matter what some would say, this guy was a megalomaniac and Rory was having trouble stopping himself from flying forward and punchin’ the tiny man’s wee piggy nose up into his cold, grey eyes.

  A warm hand touched his forearm. He turned to see Xian shaking his head a fraction.

  “Aye, a wise friend you have there, Mr Campbell.” Lloyd snapped his fingers and the guard standing behind Rory thrust the butt of the submachine gun between his shoulder blades. Burning sharpness radiated from the centre of his back, out and down his arms, forcing him to his knees. Xian knelt of his own accord and raised his hands. The guard behind him halted the HK mid-descent.

  Great! My martial arts teacher has gone all pacifist on me.

  “I think a little time in a cell is required for you, young man.” The leather chair creaked as Lloyd leaned forward. “It may enable you to come to your senses.”

  A guard grabbed Rory from behind, lifting him to a stand with a handful of Rory’s jacket scrunched in his massive fist. A guard grabbed Xian and marched them along the corridor to a room, threw them in and bolted the door. Rory rolled to a sitting position and leaned against the far wall, his back aching.

  “What now, oh non-violent one?” Rory glared at Xian.

  “Man, if we did what you wanted to, we’d be dead,” Xian said. “And you know Siobhan would kill you if that happened. No, worse than that—she’d kill me.”

  Rory leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes and breathed hard.

  Siobhan.

  He had to get to her.

  Chapter 5

  Scottish Government Bunker, Autumn Equinox, 2061

  Siobhan tossed onto her right side. The wall alongside her bed was just as blank as the last time she’d turned to it. Wow, this night was long!

  And this week.

  Rory will be here soon.

  Siobhan rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

  “That will be an interesting conversation,” she announced to her room at the thought of Rory’s impending confrontation with Bethany.

  She got out of bed, stepped over to the dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer where the clothes she hadn’t yet packed waited for their turn. Her fingers spread over a soft home-spun, handloom-woven shirt.

  Rory’s shirt. Had he noticed she’d taken it? She lifted it to her face and breathed him in.

  Horse and heather.

  It still smelled of him even after three months.

  “I give up.” Siobhan put on Rory’s shirt, slipped into some cargo pants, and padded out her bedroom door and along the down-lit concrete corridor, which reflected the softer night-time lighting.

  She paused, listening. The only sound was the hum of the fans that circulated air through the Bunker.

  All were asleep. No fellow night owls suffering from insomnia.

  Damn.

  Siobhan walked to the empty kitchenette.

  “So, I’m awake,” she whispered, throwing open the cupboard door where they kept mugs. “What harm is a little caffeine going to do?” She scooped a teaspoon of instant coffee into a mug and poured water from the hot urn, mixing it before taking a sip and making her way to the stairwell. She wouldn’t use the lifts; the guards didn’t need to know she was awake when everyone else was having sweet dreams.

  Siobhan walked up a flight, holding her mug tight to avoid scalding herself with the hot coffee.

  The next floor up housed the vehicles. Of the many floors in this bunker built deep underground, this one always drew her. The main garage was situated on this floor, and the access road led out of it. The road travelled up a long ramp that eventually came to the small, above-ground compound, which was the only outdoor area available to the occupants of the Scottish Government Bunker. The exit to the rest of Scotland was through the high, solid steel doors of this continually guarded compound.

  Chill from the concrete garage floor seeped into her bare feet, so she clambered onto the bench seat by the wall. Cars, jeeps and tanks were parked in silent rows and when in use were powered by the Bunker’s finite fuel supply.

  The light blue of a saltire flag among the grey-green camouflage caught her vision. It hung from the thick aerial on the tank they’d taken to the Invercharing Community, at Antony’s insistence. That’d put Rory’s hackles up.

  Rory had expected them and he, with his crew and the rest of the Community’s militia, had been waiting at their gates. They must’ve had an early warning system to be that ready. Siobhan recalled her first sight of him. Rory stood tall in jeans and a body-armour vest. His solid stature and rusty hair stood out among the other militia personnel. He was menacing, with a submachine gun at the ready. He was the only one to come through the gate to make the initial contact. What had he thought? A tank and the possibility of all guns blazing.

  Bloody Antony.

  Siobhan jumped off the bench seat, leaving her coffee mug behind, and stomped to the stairwell, then raced down. She ran until the burn of anger that had begun in her chest had travelled along her arms; letting breathlessness push it out. She found herself on the floor of the laboratories and wandered along the corridor to the lab at the end that housed the Time Machine. It was open.

  The lights were on and someone was singing to himself.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh!”

  The singing ceased, filling the lab with an abrupt silence.

  Siobhan walked the short distance to where the Time Machine stood. A metal object clattered on the concrete floor.

  “Murray?”

  A dark-blond head popped up from behind the army-green console off to one side, which was the control panel for the Time Machine. Siobhan’s mouth tugged at the edges at such an unimaginative name for a complex instrument. And at her younger brother-in-law.

  �
��What are you doing?”

  “Ah, I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d have a look at...it.” He pointed a dirty rag in the machine’s direction.

  “MacIntosh still at you to get it going?”

  Murray raised his brows, which sat above clear-blue eyes. “You could put it that way.”

  “He doesn’t give up.” Siobhan rubbed her chin, recalling how the head IT tech hadn’t stopped pushing Murray to get the machine working since he’d arrived in the Bunker three months ago.

  Siobhan had grown fond of Murray. Her heart warmed at his untidy enthusiasm. His hair was unbrushed and, if she recalled correctly, he’d been wearing the same T-shirt for the past three days. She’d felt some pride at his brilliance, and at how surprised the scientific team had been to discover this genius had come from among those who lived up top.

  The Time Machine was an odd thing. Murray was part of the Invercharing Community’s team who had built it. Its action end, as Murray had named it, was an old fibreglass shower cubicle, such as they had in the 1970s. Siobhan had seen one in the old house and style magazines in the archives. It looked like it had spent many years at a dump. Murray had explained they only needed it to focus energy into an area. It did nothing scientific, only gave them a visual guide.

  Murray retrieved a spanner from the floor. “It’s the equinox, you know?”

  “Yes, but it’s the longest night.” Siobhan sighed. “I’ve hardly slept.”

  “No, the equinox is equal day and equal night.” Murray quirked a brow. “Surely you know—”

  “I know what it is, Murray, I was just saying...” Siobhan squinted an eye. “Why work on this so early in the morning?”

  “Brendan disappeared as he stood right where the Time Machine had been positioned in the barn at the Community.” Murray stepped away from the console, absorbed in his thoughts and not answering Siobhan, and walked toward the cubicle.

  Siobhan rested her hand at her throat. This was the first time Murray had mentioned Brendan to her since Rory had informed him of his twin’s disappearance at the sunset of the Summer Solstice. She’d endeavoured to have a conversation with him, but MacIntosh had him holed up down here almost all day, every day.

  “Murray?” Siobhan stepped behind him. “You miss your brother?”

  “Murdo,” he whispered, staring into the cubicle.

  “Murdo MacDonald?” Siobhan said. “Yes, that’s right. He was Brendan. You know that don’t you, Murray?”

  “Yeah. I do.” Murray fiddled with the spanner in his hands. “Brendan lived through the past and made it to this future. He’d waited for the day when the submarine would arrive in Loch Ewe.” Murray swallowed. “He’d positioned himself where he could act immediately the submarine docked on Drumchork pier. Rory said his crofter’s cottage on the Isle of Ewe was right opposite the pier.” He raised his head, staring straight ahead. “They couldn’t have done it without him and everything he did.”

  “Yes, your twin was a brave man,” Siobhan said. “You should be proud of him,”

  Murray ran his right hand over the cubicle without looking at it. His fingers trembled, then his shoulders. Siobhan placed a tentative hand on the young man’s shoulder and stepped around to face him. Tears ran in tracks down his cheeks.

  “Oh, Murray.” Siobhan wrapped her arms around him, and he rested his head on her. Murray’s tears were silent, only a small sob escaped before he pulled away and wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt.

  “Rory mentioned Ley lines too.” Murray sniffed and turned away, walking back to the console.

  Siobhan stayed by the cubicle, giving Murray room to collect himself and his emotions. On the cubicle’s floor lay a crumpled resin pod. It was of a size in which an adult could squat comfortably, and it looked like a dark, clear balloon, but with an opening and clasps. Siobhan stepped into the cubicle and examined the inside: three smooth walls with enough room for a person to stand and shower.

  It was only a shower recess.

  “The archives here are brilliant.” Murray’s speech was rapid, his tears replaced with enthusiasm. “The ancient Celts had little written history. It’s mostly from their oral tradition or recorded from research conducted at the end of the twentieth century.” He tinkered with something on the console.

  “What is?”

  “The information about the Ley lines throughout Scotland.” He spoke like she should know what he was talking about.

  “Are you speaking of superstition? Because it doesn’t sound like science.”

  “Ah.” Murray looked up from the console and his tinkering. There was a grease stain next to the newly added damp tear patches on his T-shirt. Or was it brown sauce? “Siobhan, I’ve tried everything scientific to make this thing work again. But it won’t. So, I’m looking beyond science.”

  “And?” If he was going to go all mystical like Rory had once before, she may as well hear it.

  “Our Invercharing Community sits on a Ley line. So does Edinburgh, Arthur’s Seat actually. Well, anyway, that might be what really powers this thing.” His shoulders slumped a little. “Which means all my calcs were pointless.”

  Siobhan picked up the crumpled pod abandoned on the cubicle’s floor.

  What must Rory have felt when he travelled?

  He’d been there. Through time.

  Was he a different man for having done so? Is that what made him so unique? So attractive.

  “Brendan time travelled without any power—” Murray interrupted himself and then spun in her direction, eyes wide. “He travelled at sunset on the Summer Solstice.” Murray ran toward her. “Get out Siobhan—”

  Murray’s voice and presence blotted to nothing as Siobhan’s world went white.

  Siobhan disappeared before Murray reached the cubicle.

  She was there; then she wasn’t.

  Murray’s temples thudded. He looked at his watch—the one William MacIntosh had given him.

  6:03 a.m.

  Sunrise on the Autumn Equinox.

  Oh, shit.

  Rory was gonna kill him.

  Chapter 6

  The Kingdom of Fife

  Dawn’s sunlight shone through the only window high in the closet-like room, illuminating the wooden floor between Rory’s legs. He sat leaning against the hard wall, hands resting on his bent knees. This bright patch of floor had sixteen nails, ingrained dirt in between the planks, and a stain in the shape of the Isle of Skye.

  He’d behaved badly. He should’ve introduced himself as a representative of the Invercharing Community’s militia. But no, instead he let his eagerness to be with Siobhan, and his intense dislike for people who lord it over others and own some, to get in the way of—what did they call it?—public relations. Now this Derrick Lloyd would think all Highlanders were bad-tempered idiots.

  Because that’s what he’d been.

  A heat smouldered within him. He flicked the balled-up piece of ancient sticky-tape he’d picked from a poster on the wall. It hit the door with a ping.

  “You’re in a stressful place.” Xian spoke beside him, his voice low. “Calm yourself or you’ll get us killed.”

  “You could wipe all those guys out.”

  “They’ve all got high-powered firearms. As elegant and deadly as a Katana is, it’s no match for a room full of bullets.”

  “What sort of leader am I if I cannae handle a guy like that?” Rory pursed his lips. “I suppose you never know who you may have to align yourself with. Keep your enemies closer, and all that.”

  Xian nodded.

  Rory sighed. “I might need to make an alliance with this entrepreneur-scum who owns people and trades in hoarded goods.”

  Lloyd had the potential to be part of the conversations between the Government and concerned parties, something for which Siobhan was keen. She was a nuclear physicist but also had a natural bent for diplomacy and politics.

  If only he did too.

  “Yes, Rory, keep all your options open,” Xian said.

/>   “I dislike people who hold their power over others—like the Government does. Galls me they have Murray under duress.”

  Footsteps echoed down the passage to the door, the lock clicked, and it opened.

  “Mr Lloyd wishes to see you.” The guard, whose sole weapon was a holstered handgun, flicked his head, indicating they were to follow him.

  What? They are treating us with civility this morning.

  Well, maybe he could do the same.

  They followed the guard to the same room as the previous day. Lloyd sat in the high-backed chesterfield, and resting on a small antique tripod table beside him was a china teapot with a cup and saucer in an identical blue floral pattern.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. I hope your overnight accommodations weren’t too uncomfortable for you.”

  Rory’s brow tightened in a frown and he didn’t answer.

  “Yes, thank you,” Xian said.

  “Very well. You’ll wish to continue your journey and attend to your business in the Government Bunker.” Lloyd picked up the steaming cup of tea and took a sip.

  Rory blinked.

  Does this scumbag know about Siobhan?

  “Aye. We would definitely be wishin’ to go on our way.” Rory stepped forward, ignoring the fist squeezing his insides. The guard beside Lloyd tensed. “Sir, I wish to apologise for my rudeness yesterday. I am anxious to get to Edinburgh. May we have our weapons and horses returned? We would like to go immediately.”

  “Hmm. It’s a humble man who can apologise. I see it very little these days.” Lloyd replaced his cup and saucer on the table and scrutinised Rory from head to foot once more. Rory stood straighter; a niggle of unease running down his spine. “We fed and watered your horses last night and my son is readying them for you as we speak.”

  “Thank you, Mr Lloyd.”

  Lloyd waved his hand in a dismissive manner. The guard ushered them out of the room and Maxwell passed them in the corridor.

  “Goodbye, and thank you for tending to our horses,” Rory said.