The Time Travelling Taxman Series Box Set

by Rachel Ford

  Trajan, meanwhile, was ranting behind them. “Fools: so you can look at it. But what do you plan to do? Do you know the energy coursing through that thing? It could tear you to pieces.”

  “Go on,” Irma urged. “Destroy it.”

  Nance glanced at Alfred, now. “Do we…shoot it?”

  He nodded slowly. “It worked with the last one. But we need to be far away. The tower crystal was a fraction of the size, and it could have killed us if we were too close.”

  “Right. Okay. Let’s stand behind the control booth, and fire from there. Trajan said that thing could withstand an army’s attack. Let’s see if it can hold up to an explosion.”

  With a few words to their companions to take cover, Alfred and Nancy ducked behind the control booth. Trajan scowled and snorted and threatened the entire time, but the taxman ignored him. Taking the pistol when Nance produced it, he said, “Let me, babe.” He wasn’t entirely sure this booth would hold up. He remembered the way the tower had shaken. He didn’t want her to be directly in the path of that explosion. “You stay back.”

  Then, not giving her time to protest, he called, “Alright, here goes. You all ready?”

  “Go for it,” Irma directed.

  He did. He took aim, took a steadying breath, and squeezed the trigger. The flash of powder and thunder of a shot echoed through the confined space, half a second before a blinding light cut through the cavern. A moment later, a shockwave of energy slammed into the taxman, and he felt himself stumbling backwards.

  Nance caught him, though. “Babe, you alright?”

  He nodded. The truth was, he was surprised. The explosion in the tower had knocked the pair of them to the ground. This had been a powerful impact, but comparatively mild. He glanced back at the containment cell.

  The crystal was still there, still as bright as ever – and still intact. “It didn’t work.”

  Trajan laughed. “Of course it didn’t work, you imbecile. You can’t just shoot something like that. Not with the energy we’re pumping into it. You’ll barely nick the surface before your bullet is reduced to atoms.”

  “Try again,” Irma directed.

  “Yes, do,” the king urged. “This is amusing.”

  Alfred ignored his commentary, and fired a few more shots. The results, though, were exactly as before.

  “We’re not even making a dent.”

  “Your bullets will never get through. I told you. And you should be damned grateful for it, fool: the kind of explosion you’d create would kill everyone in this room.”

  “He said there’s too much energy going through the crystal,” Nance mused, ignoring the king’s commentary. “We need to figure out how to shut it off.”

  “Aren’t you a clever one,” Trajan chortled. “One problem, little Miss Nancy: the only way to do that is to manually depress the reroute, in the pit itself. Which means, you get a front row seat.” Now, the king mimed an explosion with his hands, adding a boom sound effect.

  He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, ear to ear, as smug and satisfied with himself as anyone could be. Alfred scowled, his mind racing. There had to be a way to destroy this crystal without killing them all. There had to. He wasn’t sure on what he based that certainty, but he was certain all the same. The universe could not be ordered in such a way as to leave them the choice of death or genocide…could it?

  “But looks like you’re out of time,” the king continued from behind the glass enclosure. “We’re about to…” The island trembled, and Alfred heard a terrible, far away crunching sound. “And, contact.” Trajan’s eyes gleamed with malice. “With your precious Science Academy, no less, Irma.”

  The chancellor turned to them now. “Nancy, Alfred: destroy it. The city – my people: they’re going to die.”

  Alfred licked his lips. “I…I don’t know how.”

  “The reroute, babe,” Nance said. “In the pit: we need to find the energy reroute.”

  She was headed for the containment chamber already, and the taxman followed. “Babe, what do we do when we find it?”

  Nance circled the subterranean room, finding a ladder on the far side. She lowered herself down. “We’ve got to stop him, Alfred.”

  He nodded slowly. He could hear the rumble of a building being torn apart below them. So far, it was just the tower, and just the academy. But they only had minutes left. Maybe less. All of Katar hung in the balance – all the lives of that vibrant, mainland city.

  But it was more than Katar. It was all of Inbalibrab. Trajan had destroyed Idan before. He was destroying Katar now. He’d do it again. He has to be stopped.

  Alfred lowered himself into the pit too, following Nance. She’d already reached the landing and was glancing over a control panel by time he planted his feet firmly on the ground. “I think this is it, darling,” she said. “Look: ‘power flow interrupter’.” She pointed to a giant lever, now in the off position.

  He nodded, pulling it. This was no easy feat. It required quite a bit of strength to flip. But the chamber at once grew dimmer when he did so. Nance smiled at him. “That’s it.”

  He turned to face the crystal, and let go of the lever. Instantly, it flipped back into its original position, and the taxman had to shield his eyes as the structure blazed with renewed light.

  “I told you geniuses,” Trajan’s voice floated down. “The only way to stop the energy flow is to manually hold the lever in place. Which is a pretty good check against sabotage. Since it means blowing your own dumb self up in the process.”

  He was chortling with satisfaction. Irma, meanwhile, was calling, “What are you waiting for, Favero? People are dying.”

  Nancy, now, turned to face him, and her expression was very grave. “Darling, we have to stop him.”

  “But how?”

  She gulped. “You go, babe. Get back to the elevator, and get out of here. I…I’ll flip the switch. And then, shoot the crystal.”

  Alfred felt his heart sink. “No. Never, Nance. You’ll die.”

  She nodded. “What other choice do we have, Alfred? We don’t have the device; we can’t go back and fix our mistakes. And the city – it’s being crushed as we speak. How many people are going to die?” She took his hands in hers. “I shot that crystal. I fucked this up. This is on me. I love you, Alfred Favero. You go, while you can.”

  The taxman’s heart seemed to break in his chest. He could have sworn he felt it splitting. He shook his head, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her to him. She was right: they had to do this. The people of Katar were going to die because of their choices. And they were out of options, now: it was do or die.

  But he couldn’t let her die. “No, Nance. I told you to shoot. You go. I’ll stay.”

  “I pulled the trigger, Alfred. This is on me.”

  “What the hell’s going on there?” Irma demanded. “Dammit, Favero, pull the trigger.”

  “You’ll kill us all, you ignorant fool,” Trajan warned. “You flip that lever and shoot the crystal, we will all die. Is that what you want?”

  “Can’t you feel that? It’s the science academy, being torn to pieces. The rest of the city is next. Favero, do something.”

  Nance wrapped her arms around him as the two rulers argued, and planted a kiss on his lips. “We’re too late, babe: we’ve got to do this now.”

  “Oh God, Nance. I can’t let you die.” He could feel the shuddering of the island underneath him, as it reached the roof of the science academy. Irma was right: soon it would be the rest of the city. There would be thousands, even tens of thousands of people, below.

  But here was his Nance, now, the love of his life. The woman he meant to marry.

  “We can’t let them die, darling.”

  He nodded slowly. She was right. He would have given anything for another option, for a different choice. But she was right. “I love you, Nancy.”

  “I love you too, Alfred.” She stepped back, though, taking the pistol from his hand. “Press the lever.” She aimed the g
un at the crystal. “I’ll shoot it.”

  Time seemed almost to freeze for the taxman. His heart raced. This was the end, then: not just his end, but his beloved Nancy’s end. There truly was no other way. It was either their deaths, or the deaths of all the people of Katar. Oh God. He nodded. “Alright.” Then, he grabbed the lever. “Nancy…would you marry me? If we got the chance, I mean?”

  She turned to him now, with blue eyes that glistened with tears. “You know I would, Alfred Favero.”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat, and pulled the handle, saying again, “I love you, Nancy Abbot.” At the same time, he heard the crack of a pistol shot.

  And then blinding light and agony washed over his senses.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  His head throbbed. A distant sound, loud and repetitive, like the beat of a drum, invaded his senses. Alfred blinked. He tried to see, but his eyes were still blinded by white light. Nancy? Nancy, darling, where are you?

  He tried to speak, but could not find his voice. So this is death? The taxman wondered at that. It felt like a cross between a migraine and – time travel. The disembodied sense that came with traversing temporal planes was there. But so was pain.

  That surprised him. If he was dead but still conscious, how could he possibly feel pain? Pain was a physical sensation, driven by purely physical pathways and stimuli. How could a soul feel, since it had no physical presence? “Nancy?” he said, and this time heard his own voice.

  “Alfred?” came the response, weak and seeming very far away.

  Nance. She was here, then – wherever here was. He struggled to see, blinking against the light. Slowly, very slowly, the world began to dim, and the light diminish, until he could make out shapes and forms.

  And there was Nance – his Nance – not three feet away. “My darling.” He pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms and covering her in kisses. He wasn’t sure how she was there. He wasn’t entirely sure if this was even real. Had they died, and gone to some kind of heaven? Was he hallucinating, as he lingered at death’s door? He didn’t know. All he knew was that she was standing in front of him, and she looked, and felt, and sounded every bit the Nancy Abbot he knew and loved.

  “What happened?” she wondered. “How did we survive that, Alfred?”

  “Because, Miss Abbot, none of it was real,” a voice sounded behind them, and the taxman nearly jumped out of his skin.

  Spinning around, he found himself face to face with Special Agent Roger Winthrop – who was, he saw, clapping. That, then, was the strange sound he’d heard: the agent’s slow, steady claps. They were in the chamber they’d departed from. He recognized the sterile grays and bare walls. They were back in IBTI headquarters. Somehow.

  “What in the hell?” Nancy gasped. “What’s going on? Where’s Atupal?”

  “There is no Atupal, Agent Abbot,” another voice declared. It was Ki’el. The cephalopod had been standing on the far end of the chamber, but now ambled forward. “This was a training simulation.”

  Winthrop grinned. “First of its kind. Designed it myself, actually.”

  “And, you’ll be delighted to know, you passed with flying colors,” Katarina added.

  “You bested quite a few records, in point of fact,” Director Reynard added. “Not mine. But you scored in the ninetieth percentile for acuity, perception and resourcefulness.”

  “You mean…that wasn’t real?” Nance wondered, sounding thunderstruck.

  “Not a bit of it, my dear: all an elaborate computer simulation.” Here, Winthrop flashed a grin. “Based off of one of the cornerstone works of English literature.”

  A round of grimaces and groans rose from the council. Alfred barely noticed, though. He was still struggling to comprehend. “Simulation? You mean, like some kind of…three-dimensional computer game or something?”

  Winthrop twitched his nose. “Well, it is a little more sophisticated than that, Agent Favero. But essentially, at a very basic level, yes.”

  “Then Atupal…” Nance said, “isn’t a real place?”

  “No. And I was rather afraid you were going to figure that out, sooner or later. You kept asking all the right questions about the crystals.” Winthrop’s aggravation with Alfred morphed into genuine delight for Nancy. “You’re a clever young woman. Although, I can tell: math and science were more your strong suit, than literature.”

  It was Nancy’s turn to frown. “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “If you were better read, Agent Abbot, you might have picked up on the parallels between Atupal and a certain floating island of classic literature.”

  Ki’el’s tentacles shivered on his face, and Reynard hissed. “Literature is rather a better descriptor than it deserves, I think, Winthrop.”

  “What floating island?” Nancy prodded.

  “Atupal?” the IBTI man repeated, his eyes twinkling. “Atupal? Reversed, it’s…Laputa.” He spread his hands expectantly, but when neither Alfred nor Nancy responded, except with blank stares, he let loose a grumble. “My gods, the education system of the twenty-first century leaves a lot to be desired.”

  “He based the simulation off of Gulliver’s Travels,” Katarina explained with a sigh. “And he’s always disappointed when people don’t catch on. And they never do.”

  “Nobody studies the classics anymore,” Winthrop snorted. “It’s a disgrace.”

  “That, my dear friend, is not a classic. Not even among human intellectual byproducts,” Ki’el offered.

  “It was garbage when it was written, and it’s garbage now,” Reynard agreed.

  “It was genius,” Winthrop contradicted. “Have you even met Swift? I have. And I can tell you, old Jon was a genius.”

  “Regardless of the man’s intellect – and I am duly skeptical on that front,” the cephalopod declared, “his writing was refuse. I’ve seen the after effects of a meal, floating at the top of my tank, that were more intellectually stimulating.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” the taxman interrupted. He had no interest in Jonathon Swift, or Gulliver’s Travels. He was still hung up on the idea of the last few days, of his and Nancy’s suicide mission, being a fake. “You’re telling me this whole thing was just some – some con? A prank? Based on an old book?”

  “Not a prank, Alfred: a training mission. In the past…” Here, Winthrop shrugged and laughed. “Linearly speaking, anyway. In the past, we would send recruits on real missions. But the results were too difficult to evaluate. There were too many variables, and we couldn’t know all the possibilities. So we rigged the game. We set the parameters, and built a world that would challenge on every level.”

  He shrugged again, this time with a kind of faux modesty. “And, if I don’t say so myself, we did a damned fine job of it.”

  “How is that possible, though?” Nancy wondered. “I mean, we were thrown into the sea.”

  A round of chuckles ensued. “Yes you were. Damned droll turn of events, that.”

  She frowned at him. “My point being, that felt real: the water, the waves, the swimming. If it was just a…a computer game, how could we feel it like that?”

  “It’s a deeply immersive simulation. The technology – linearly speaking, of course – is quite a few hundred years away from being refined. But in our business…well, time is just a construct.”

  “I don’t understand how it’s even possible,” she persisted.

  “No, I didn’t at first either. It is rather amazing. We can go over the technical details some time, Agent Abbot. But you must have more pressing questions?”

  “I do,” Alfred agreed. “You lied to us. You let us think we were going to die. You let me think – well, that Nance was going to die.”

  Winthrop nodded again. “Yes. And, I must say, it was a very dramatic finale at that: Trajan and Irma shouting at the pair of you, the city crumbling beneath you…and the eleventh-hour confession of love.” He tapped his chest in a sentimental fashion. “I’ve never been much of a romantic, but that w
as quite touching.”

  A murmur of agreement sounded. The taxman flushed and scowled. “You set us up.”

  “Of course. We needed to evaluate your responses when your deaths seemed imminent – and, in the case of a romantically involved couple, when the other person’s death seemed imminent.”

  “We’ve seen quite a few applicants stumble through that last sequence,” Katarina put in, “with varying success. But that might have been the first proposal in my time with the Bureau.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So all of that was just to make sure we would do the right thing?” Nancy wondered. “There was no city about to be crushed, no genocide?”

  “Not a bit of it, Nancy,” Winthrop beamed.

  Nancy, though, was not beaming. “Why would you do that to us? We trusted you, Winthrop. We thought we – I – sentenced all those people to death by destroying that stupid crystal. And none of it was real? Do you have any idea how – how awful I felt?”

  Alfred heard the catch in her voice, and wrapped an arm around her. He was aggravated already. Being lied to, being prepared to die for a sick game, had good and truly vexed the taxman. But hearing that pain in Nance’s tone? “There’s no excuse for that,” he declared stonily. “I think you’ll have to find agents elsewhere, Winthrop. No one treats Nance like that.”

  Winthrop blinked in the face of his anger. “What are you talking about? You passed – you both passed, Alfred.”

  “I don’t want to be part of any organization that lies to people like that. You can keep your ridiculous simulation and your lies. I’m out.”

  “Me too,” Nance agreed.

  Winthrop started to speak, but Ki’el interrupted, “Hold a minute, Miss Nancy and Mister Alfred. Please.” He spread both his arms and face tentacles in a placating gesture. “I know it must seem heavy handed to you. But when you’re in this business as long as we have been – no pun intended – you understand the dangers of putting new recruits into a live danger zone. Yes, we lied to you: but only so that we could test your mettle without putting you in harm’s way.”