Send Simon Savage #1

by Stephen Measday

  Danice yawned. ‘A bit of sleep will be good for us.’

  Simon felt a surge of weariness, too. ‘Okay. But we’d better get moving before dawn. We’ve still got a lot of objectives to tick off our list before we go back.’

  In the darkness, Damien crawled out of the city’s waste tunnel, closed the grille behind him and crept up the embankment. He took care to avoid the rivers of sludge running into the drain. The city was quiet, and, after the events of the day, the thought of resting a while in Bigdad’s house seemed like the promise of paradise.

  He slipped across the open ground, then headed slowly and warily up the alley. Then he flinched as a scavenging rat gave a sharp squeak, leapt from a pile of rubbish and scuttled away.

  ‘Stay steady, stay easy,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Just a rat.’

  Suddenly a gruff voice called out. ‘Halt! Stop there!’

  Four burly men stepped out of the shadows of a doorway. Damien tensed. He looked around for an escape route.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ the gruff man said, grabbing Damien by the elbow. ‘We’ve been looking for you. The Chieftain wants to see you. Right now!’

  21

  The 16th Century, Sumatra

  The gleaming beach and the green jungle beyond baked in the tropical sun.

  Nick stood by the waterline, his hand resting against the shattered hull of the once-mighty Portuguese carrack, the Coelho do Mar. ‘Wow, big ship!’ he said.

  The massive carrack had broken into two sections and looked like a whale stranded on the long white beach. Her bow was buried in the sand, and the breakers pounded against the timber planking of her stern, slowly reducing it to wreckage.

  ‘She weighed four hundred tonnes,’ Taylor said, lifting her feet carefully as she made her way through a tangle of torn sails, rigging and smashed spars. ‘She beached here and broke up when the typhoon hit.’

  Ivan pointed to a jagged reef of wave-washed rocks further out in the bay. ‘There would have been trouble offshore, too. The ship probably crashed into those rocks and then ended up here.’

  Taylor suddenly pointed to where the white body of a sailor lay at the shoreline. A black crab sat on his sea-wrinkled face and picked at his eyes with its claws. ‘I wish I hadn’t seen that,’ she muttered.

  Nick crouched into ankle-deep water. ‘Hey, I can see a coin!’ he yelled.

  ‘There’s another one!’ Taylor said.

  Ivan waded through the water towards her. Shiny, newly minted coins glinted like exotic shells all over the sandy sea-bottom. ‘They’re everywhere! Thousands of them!’ he cried.

  ‘The boxes they were in must have burst open,’ Taylor observed. ‘It’ll take us hours to collect them. And we don’t have that much time.’

  ‘Not if those other guys are after this stuff, too,’ Nick said.

  ‘Look, let’s just focus on our immediate goal,’ Ivan said. ‘Our mission is to find this gold as quickly as we can, bury it, and make sure it doesn’t get transported to the twenty-fourth century.’

  ‘We should look inside the ship,’ Nick said, stepping into the gaping hole where the ship had broken its back and split in two. ‘There’ll be piles of treasure in here somewhere.’ He pushed a mangled timber beam out of the way. ‘Watch out for splinters!’

  Ivan and Taylor followed him cautiously into the gloomy interior of the hull. The fractured cross-section of the stricken ship loomed above them. Amidst the piles of ruptured timber, they could make out the top deck of the aftcastle and the decks beneath.

  Nick pointed. ‘Up there! That has to be the remains of the captain’s cabin. That’s gotta be the place to look for gold.’

  ‘So where are the other sailors?’ Taylor asked. ‘There’s no way I want to find any more cold, clammy corpses!’

  ‘Probably out there,’ Ivan said. He nodded towards the open sea. ‘Or maybe they escaped in the ship’s lifeboats.’

  ‘Another coin! Heads, we go up into the cabin; tails, we go out along the beach.’ Nick flicked the coin into the air.

  ‘Up!’ Ivan said, snatching the coin in midair. ‘The only way is up. We have to find that gold. As much as we can carry!’

  Simon and Danice made their way through Old City in the early-morning light. Dogs growled in the doorways of the tumbledown shacks. Shabbily dressed locals shuffled past them in the narrow streets, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Here we are at the city limits,’ Danice said as they stepped into a stretch of open ground between the houses and the city wall. It was fifty metres wide, covered with dry, brown grass and strewn with rubbish.

  ‘Nice spot for a picnic,’ Simon remarked.

  ‘Used to be a park. No one looks after it any more,’ Danice said. ‘That’s the security gate down there.’

  The gate was about three hundred metres away. A swarm of uniformed guards was closely checking a long line of people and horsedrawn carts as they went through.

  ‘That doesn’t look good. Should we go the other way?’ Simon said.

  Danice shook her head. ‘There’s another gate around the corner. There are gates about every kilometre.’

  ‘And all heavily guarded, I guess.’

  Danice nodded. ‘We have to get over the wall, somewhere along here. The Chieftain’s place is further south, along the cliffs. It’s about twenty minutes’ walk.’

  ‘This is the quickest way?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Yes. But it’s a big leap over,’ Danice replied.

  Simon moved into the shade of a scrubby tree, one of only a few left growing in the park. He looked up at the wall. It was about ten metres high, made of brick and roughly hewn stone. Loops of razor wire decorated the top, like shiny curls of steel hair.

  ‘We’ve leapt close to that height before,’ Simon said. ‘Have we got any other choice?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What’s on the other side?’

  ‘Open space like this, I think. Some patches of small trees, bushes and rocks just beyond that. We can take cover in there, and then make our way to the Chieftain’s fortress.’

  They activated their wrist pilots, then stepped back a few paces, before checking no one was watching. Then they leapt forward, hitting the ground with their feet together and springing into the air.

  Their initial jump over the wall went well, but as they somersaulted over the top, a muddy brown reservoir pond instantly came into view below.

  They hadn’t trained for water landings, and they bombed into the reservoir, arms and legs flailing. Simon’s legs buckled and the air was knocked out of his lungs. The thick overalls dragged him under the surface of the water and into the weed-tangled depths. For a second he thought he would black out, but with a final effort he kicked himself free and struggled to the surface.

  ‘Ahh … ahh!’ he gasped, his lungs sucking in fresh air. He swam the few strokes to the edge and looked around for Danice. She was gripping the stonework that bordered the reservoir, panting and gasping for breath, too.

  ‘You didn’t mention there’d be water!’ Simon said, trying to get his brain functioning again.

  Danice nodded towards the edge of the pond behind him. Simon turned his head and looked straight at a pair of black, size-twelve boots.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ a voice rasped. ‘You’re under arrest!’

  Simon looked up into the metal-pierced face of the meanest-looking man he had ever seen.

  The small army shovel dug again and again into the soft white sand.

  ‘I’ve never buried treasure before,’ Nick said, wiping a gritty hand across his dripping forehead. ‘How deep would pirates dig?’

  The equatorial heat was getting to him and he was thinking there were better places to be than at the bottom of a big hole.

  ‘That’s deep enough,’ Taylor said, dropping a chunky gold statue of a tiger onto the sand.

  Four statues now stood in a row, alongside a chest of coins and a stack of two hundred solid gold finger bars.

 
‘If this is only part of that Malaccan rajah’s treasure, he must have been some rich dude,’ Nick said.

  ‘Let’s just hide it and get back to somewhere with proper airconditioning,’ Ivan said, checking his wrist pilot. ‘Our TPS will be here any minute.’

  ‘So, did you guys find all the gold?’ Nick stopped work and stood up in the hole. Only his head showed above the ground. ‘Or have you been slacking off while I’ve been slaving my guts out?’

  ‘This is everything that was easy to get,’ Taylor said, glancing back to the wreck of the Coelho do Mar. ‘We were told not to take risks.’

  ‘There’s nothing left on the ship that we could see.’ Ivan tossed a canvas bag to the ground. It clinked loudly. ‘But I picked up some of the coins that spilled into the water.’

  ‘Okay, it’s just this lot then,’ Taylor said. She lay down, grasped Nick’s arm and helped him out of the hole.

  As soon as he was clear, Ivan shoved in one of the heavy gold statues. It hit the bottom with a thud.

  Nick picked up one of the other statues. ‘You know, I reckon the prof’s wrong. We should take some of this gold back with us. It would be worth a quid or two.’

  ‘We can’t,’ Taylor said. ‘The local people are supposed to find most of this gold over the next couple of months. Our orders are to bury it. Not to change things.’

  ‘I know! I know! A time traveller goes back to see the dinosaurs, accidentally kills a butterfly and changes the whole course of history,’ Nick drawled.

  ‘You could argue we’ve done that anyway,’ Ivan said. ‘The villagers will find this treasure only because we put it here.’

  ‘Or you could argue that it was going to end up here all along, whether we did it or not,’ Nick replied.

  ‘All we really know is that it will be found,’ Ivan stated.

  ‘Guys, cut the time-paradox talk!’ Taylor said. ‘The satellite’s here!’

  A few metres up the beach, the air broke into a swirling vortex as their TPS materialised.

  ‘We’ve got about ten minutes,’ Taylor said. ‘Bury it!’

  They toiled under the baking sun. Ivan and Taylor pushed all the gold into the hole and Nick layered the sand on top. Within seven minutes it was done, and Nick smoothed the sand flat with the frond of a palm tree.

  ‘There,’ he said, proudly eyeing his handiwork. ‘No one will know we’ve ever been here.’

  ‘Only them!’ Taylor said, pointing to a second wormhole that had begun to appear beside the shipwreck. ‘We can’t let them see us.’

  ‘Drop everything!’ Ivan said. He ran up the beach and dived into their own exit tunnel.

  Taylor quickly followed.

  ‘There goes easy money!’ Nick said. He tossed the frond away and leapt into the void himself.

  Alongside the Coelho do Mar, the other TPS entered the timezone in a swirl of colours. Damien and Lee materialised on the beach.

  ‘Looks like we’ve found it!’ Damien said, stretching his arms and legs back to life. He held up a hand, shading his face from the hot sun.

  ‘Wow, big ship!’ Lee said, goggling at the wreck.

  ‘Come on, we can’t stand around staring,’ Damien said. ‘There’s a village up the coast. We better get this gold before anyone else does, or else the Chieftain will be really mad at us!’

  22

  ‘YOWWW! That hurts. It doesn’t peel straight off, you know!’ Simon protested, as a black-moustached Security Officer plucked hard at the fabric of his time-travel suit. In fact, he wanted to tell the man it did peel off. But not like this. You needed to wallow in a bath of dissolving chemicals for a couple of hours to do it right, and without causing pain.

  ‘I’ll ask you one final time,’ the officer snarled. ‘Why wear this under your overalls?’

  ‘I like to wear a lot of clothes. I feel the cold,’ Simon replied.

  ‘Where did you get this strange outfit? Who gave it to you? It looks like a uniform. Who are you really working for?’

  ‘Who are you working for?’ Simon muttered.

  ‘You only need to know that I’m paid to pick up vermin like you!’

  Simon tapped the toe of his right foot nervously. The continual questioning was getting to him. Mainly because no amount of telling outright lies, or staring out through the window and refusing to answer, seemed to be helping him. Not only that, the questioning was getting monotonous and exhausting.

  ‘And what’s this?’ the officer demanded, indicating Simon’s wrist pilot.

  For that, at least Simon could come up with some kind of true answer. ‘It’s like a watch, a calculator, a calendar,’ he said. ‘All in one. Can’t take it off, sorry. It’s built into the suit.’

  ‘Mmm, very sophisticated piece of work. For a watch!’

  Simon’s foot continued to tap on the floor.

  ‘Okay, we’ll go over this again,’ the stout officer said. ‘You say you’re a bicycle courier. Which is why you’re wearing this strange suit.’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Liar!’ The officer glared at him. ‘The only bicycle you’ll find within ten kilometres of this place is in the Old City Museum! There is no such thing as a bicycle courier!’

  Again, Simon tried to avoid a direct answer. ‘But I can ride a bike, you know.’

  ‘You also tell me you’re on a clandestine training program for our armed forces!’

  ‘That’s why I can’t talk about it. It’s a secret.’

  The officer poked a stubby finger hard into Simon’s chest. ‘Pah, lies! Tell me the truth and save yourself trouble. For the last time, who are you and why are you here?’

  Simon shrugged. Maybe he should tell some of the truth.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘My name’s Simon Savage. I’m a temponaut. That’s a time traveller from the twenty-first century. I work for the Time Bureau and I’ve come here to learn about your culture and technology.’

  The officer sucked in a deep breath. He looked like a cane toad suddenly inflated with air. ‘Time traveller … twenty-first … century!’ he spluttered.

  ‘It’s true!’ Simon cried.

  The man leaned forward and grabbed Simon by the side of his neck. ‘You think I’m stupid. That I couldn’t find a maggot on a dead sheep or a flea on a dog!’

  ‘I … didn’t … say that,’ Simon said, choking with the pressure from the man’s hand.

  ‘Pah!’ The man let go and stepped back.

  Simon rubbed his neck.

  ‘I’m being easy on you, Savage, or whatever your name is,’ the man said. ‘But the Tribunes have other people who can extract this information from you. Tougher people, much more brutal than me.’ His beady eyes flicked to a neighbouring room. ‘And your friend might be in danger from them right at this moment. On the other hand, she might be telling us the truth.’

  ‘Danice … is she all right?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Cooperate and I might be able to tell you.’

  Simon stared out the window again. What could he say? Nothing worked with this guy. He didn’t believe the lies, and he didn’t believe the truth either.

  ‘Perhaps you think silence might work,’ the officer said. ‘Okay, so I’ll give you time to think about your story. Think about what you want to tell me.’

  He pressed the red buzzer on his desk. The mean-looking guard from the pond entered the room and saluted.

  ‘Take him away!’ the officer snarled. Then, as if having a new thought, he smiled. ‘Take him to the Pit!’

  Danice heard a man laughing in the next room. She looked towards the connecting door, then back at the solemn face of her interrogator. This was a slim, dark-haired female officer in a smart blue uniform.

  ‘So you continue to insist you’re a time traveller, from the twenty-first century?’ the woman repeated for the fifth time.

  ‘That’s right,’ Danice replied patiently.

  ‘Which you say explains this strange outfit you’re wearing. But your story is too fanciful. It’s the story of
a child, the sort of thing you probably heard in a fairytale. Not something that happens in the real world. You’ll have to come up with something better.’

  Danice realised that the woman had no idea Danice was actually a local forest-dweller. Her time-travel suit had put the woman off the scent and was as good as a disguise. But Danice wondered what the woman actually did know. Did she know about the Chieftain’s time-travel missions? Did she know where or how he got his gold? Apparently not, but Danice was more worried about revealing even the slightest clue that she had a family living in the Big Forest, and a father who slaved away in the city. She had to protect them, and the safest course was to keep distracting this woman.

  ‘But maybe time travel does happen here. Maybe it does happen in this time. Have you ever thought about that?’ Danice said.

  The woman smiled thinly. ‘Go ahead and think these fanciful notions, if you want to, but they don’t interest me.’ She stood up. ‘Still, maybe we can jog the truth from you in other ways. A little time at the Prison Farms might be good for you.’

  Danice groaned inwardly. That would be the worst fate of all. If she went to the Farms she would never be heard of again.

  ‘But they don’t send kids to the Farms,’ she said, without thinking.

  The woman pounced. ‘And how do you know that?’ she demanded. ‘You seem very knowledgeable about our society, for a newcomer. For someone who says they’re a stranger.’

  ‘Um, it just sounds bad, real bad,’ Danice said quickly. ‘A prison farm, I mean.’

  ‘It’s worse than you can imagine,’ the officer said. ‘I suggest you think long and hard about your story. And think about how long you’ll survive out there at the Farms! Someone will be along soon to take you to the Pit.’

  She turned and left Danice alone in the room.

  23

  The Pit was aptly named. It was a deep, damp and miserable dogbox carved into the solid rock in the courtyard of the City Prison. The top of the Pit was open to the sky through a grate of thick metal bars. Simon sat on a slimy block of stone and stared up at a sun that gave little comfort at that depth below ground.