by Alex Scarrow
She got up and walked quickly towards the metal frame sitting in the middle of a taped square on the classroom floor. A two-foot-high metal frame with a rat’s nest of wires and circuit boards in the middle. She understood what it was: a displacement device. There was a growing hum of energy coming from inside it, like the stirring of angry bees inside a rattled and shaken hive. She noticed a second taped square beside the first. Empty.
[Information: these are departure markers]
She realized the support unit had been getting ready to transport herself.
[Caution: the displacement device is about to activate]
There was only one possible place this displacement charge was going to take her — to where the others must have already gone. She quickly stepped into the square. No need for any deliberation. Her mission was simple: locate and terminate. It really didn’t matter when or where she ended up in the course of pursuing that goal. Once the job was done, her fate was going to be the same as the unit she’d just fought anyway.
It was then, over the electronic buzz coming from the device beside her, that she heard a voice echoing up the passageway.
‘Faith?’ It was Cooper. ‘Hey! Agent Faith? You OK in there?’
The noise coming from the machine was increasing in pitch and volume now, more a whine than a buzz. Faith felt the hair on her scalp lift as the charge of excited particles enveloped her.
Cooper’s head poked cautiously into view. ‘Agent Faith?’ His eyes darted quickly from the body of the man on the floor, the body of a young girl on the other side of the room and Faith calmly standing in the middle of the floor, motionless like a child playing musical statues, blood dripping from the ragged end of one arm. ‘What’s going on?’ He frowned. ‘What the devil’s that noise?’
Faith cocked her head and tried out a faltering smile on her lips. As close to a fond farewell as she could manage.
‘Goodbye, Agent Cooper,’ she said coolly. ‘It has been agreeable working with you.’
‘Uh? Goodbye? Where are you go-’ He looked at her, then glanced at the odd contraption on the classroom floor. The growing hum that was filling the room seemed to be coming from it. He noticed the taped-out squares. Indents several inches into the floor within them. For some reason he was reminded of those teleportation pads in that TV series Star Trek.
Oh no.
The electronic whine became deafening.
‘Agent Faith! Please step out of that square! Now!! Please — ’
He felt a hard puff of air on his cheeks, dust and grit in his face. By the time he’d quickly swiped at his eyes and blinked the grit out, she was gone.
Mallard was beside him. He’d just seen Faith disappear. ‘Jesus… she… she just vanished!’
Cooper stepped over the man’s body. Mallard ducked down to check for a pulse. Then he was up again on his feet and out in the passage bellowing for a medic to get the hell in here. Cooper ignored all that; it was a commotion that seemed a million miles away and entirely unimportant. He squatted down on his haunches and stared at the scuffed taped lines on the floor — at the fizzing, smoking end of a power cable that draped across the tape and ended abruptly where the floor dropped down into a shallow square recess.
He followed the snaking trail of cable back across the floor and up on to a school desk where a single commonplace Dell desktop computer was quietly humming away, its hard-drive light blinking silently.
His heart lifted with hope.
They must have left it behind by accident!
Perhaps in too much of a hurry to get out of there maybe? Perhaps… perhaps all the answers were right there on that machine? He got up and hurried over. There was something on the screen. An open dialogue box. Text. A cursor blinking, and a final phrase skittered across the screen.
› Reformatting complete. Goodbye.
The dialogue box closed, the screen went black and a DOS prompt appeared and blinked vapidly.
C:/
Cooper’s voice echoed down the passageway, echoed through abandoned classrooms and corridors, gymnasiums and cloakrooms. A plaintive wail of grief and frustration. A lifetime’s worth of waiting… for this. For nothing.
The entire boarded-up school reverberated with one miserable word.
‘ No-o-o-o-o-o! ’
Chapter 57
14 December 1888, Holborn Viaduct, London
Maddy felt the familiar thud of impact beneath her feet, and the usual flood of relief that she’d emerged from the haunting mists of chaos space. She could smell a damp mustiness, unpleasant and yet somewhat familiar; it reminded her of their old archway back in Brooklyn.
She opened her eyes and for the briefest moment she thought that’s where she was: the same low arched brick ceiling, the dim light, the snaking of cables and untidy clutter everywhere. She could almost believe she was right back in Brooklyn.
‘Best step aside, Maddy,’ said Liam. ‘The last one will be coming through soon.’
Rashim had already stepped out of his square, taken off his anorak to reveal a crisp white gentleman’s dress shirt and waistcoat. She smiled; out of all of them he seemed to most relish wearing the smart tailored clothes of this time. He rolled his sleeves up to the elbow and immediately started working with a knife, splicing a loop of thick insulated cable that emerged from a hole in one of the walls. Getting ready to hook up the displacement machine to their source of power, the moment it arrived.
‘Maddy?’ prompted Liam. ‘The square? You should get out of it.’
‘Oh yeah.’ She stepped aside. ‘My God, Liam… it’s just like, well, almost like the Brooklyn place.’
‘Aye.’ He grinned. ‘That was my thought too. You like it?’
She smiled, the first time in weeks that she’d felt like smiling. It felt a little like that first time she’d woken up, Foster hovering over her with a tray of coffee and doughnuts. ‘Pity there isn’t a Starbucks nearby, though,’ she said.
‘Well now…’ He laughed. ‘Actually, there is. Of a sort.’
Maddy looked over the top of her glasses at him. ‘What?’
‘Well, sort of. A coffee shop on the back of a wagon, so it is. Roasted chestnuts. Vanilla slices. Fresh baked pies and tarts. You’ll love it.’
Sal looked around the gloomy space. ‘Where do we sleep?’ She turned back to Liam. ‘Where do we do toilet?’
Liam raised his hands apologetically. ‘Me and Rashim have been doing like everyone else seems to do. You sort of find a dark corner in a backstreet somewhere and you just go — ’
‘Not doing that,’ said Sal. ‘Not going to happen.’
‘Nuh-uh,’ added Maddy. ‘Me neither. I want a toilet.’
‘Aye, all right,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I s’pose we can fix something up.’
‘Immediately, I’d suggest. Like, top of the list.’ Maddy turned her attention to Rashim working with SpongeBubba on the cable, slicing strips of insulating rubber away, exposing copper. She looked at the thick cable protruding from the hole in the wall. ‘That’s where our feed’s coming from?’
‘Yes,’ replied Rashim.
‘Have we got some sort of circuit-breakers installed? Some sort of spike protection?’
‘That’s what I’m working on right now.’
‘Right.’ She nodded. ‘Good job.’
She put her hands on her hips and allowed herself a moment of self-congratulation.
That all went rather well, then. Once the displacement rack arrived and they’d set it and the networked computers up and checked that everything had come through unharmed, they were going to be pretty much back in business. Back to where they’d once been, but this time round they’d be pulling their own strings. This time round they were going to be wholly in charge of their own destinies.
How cool’s that? Maddy smiled. Very.
‘Bob? You getting any particles yet?’
Bob nodded. ‘I am detecting precursor particles. The last displacement volume should be opening very soon.�
�
‘This has really gone smoothly.’ She nodded, satisfied with things. ‘You know, Liam, I think we’re all getting quite slick as a team at this whole time-travel thing.’
‘Aye. Best team in the business.’
‘The only team in the business,’ Sal said drily.
‘True.’
‘Caution!’ said Bob. ‘Maddy, you should stand back now.’
Maddy did as he said and felt the air around her pulse with the sudden arrival of a dozen cubic metres of air and mass. In one marked square, the displacement rack sat on the floor, powering down with a disgruntled whine, freshly severed from its power source.
The other square was empty.
‘Uh… where’s Becks?’
Chapter 58
1 November 1888, Whitechapel, London
Faith found herself standing in a narrow courtyard. Dark, damp, grimy brick walls on all four sides of her that rose up to eaves that overhung and narrowed the dull grey sky. A washing line ran across from one wall to the other, from which faded, wrinkled and threadbare rags of clothes hung limply like forgotten dried berries ready to drop.
Rain spattered on her upturned face as she took in her surroundings. She blinked fat drops of it from her eyes as her mind silently assessed the present situation.
[Information: translation error]
Her first thought was how lucky she was not to be partially merged with something. A dense urban environment like this — the odds were probably even between empty and occupied space. She turned her mind quickly to situation-assessment.
The rapidly decaying tachyon particles told her some of the story. She’d been misplaced spatially by — at her quick assessment — one or two miles. She was unable to be sure whether she’d also been misplaced in time: an overshoot of days, weeks, months. It was, of course, a distinct possibility. She had no idea at all when in time this rogue team had decided to head back to, but she was pretty sure, running the figures in her head, that she couldn’t have over — or under — shot by much time. Days or weeks at worst.
Immediate matters first, though. She needed to blend in to whenever this was and certainly not be the cause of any unnecessary temporal contamination or undue attention. Then, when she was suitably dressed for this world, she could run the calculation in her head and work out precisely how far — spatially — she was from the intended location. There was no way of knowing in which direction she’d been offset, but if she could calculate a more precise distance then she’d have a viable search radius to work with.
Faith looked around the small courtyard. The ground was cobblestones covered by mud and rotting vegetable peelings. Here and there mildew-covered nuggets of faeces — animal or human, she couldn’t tell. Clearly this small space was a dumping ground for the effluence and night-water that was tossed out of the small grimy windows that punctuated the towering walls all around this enclosed little courtyard.
She noticed a long wooden pole with a crudely fashioned hook on the end, leaning against one of the walls. That, presumably, was how the clothes were retrieved from the washing line. She also noted in one corner a small wooden door that hung pathetically on failing, rusty hinges.
It took her no more than a few minutes to retrieve the rags and change out of her modern clothes. She bundled them up under her arm and would figure out a way to dispose of them later. Her bullet-shattered lower arm and hand she wrapped up in a linen shawl. The blood had already coagulated and dried. It would eventually heal: the skin would re-grow, the bone and tendon beneath would re-knit.
The doorway took her into a narrow walkway between damp brick walls, covered by a slanted roof of slate shingles that tapped with the rain. At the far end she could see the grey light of this dull day. And a wide street by the look of it.
At the far end she emerged on to a broad cobbled road; rows of three-storey red-brick terraced homes, identical and equally as drab and squalid-looking as those that had surrounded the dingy space she’d just arrived in. The street was busy with people — people who didn’t look occupied. Women sitting on doorsteps looking on as their children played in the street. A pair of men smoking long clay pipes, standing beside an open fire in a grate, poking it to stir the dying embers to life. All of them in rags.
She saw a sign. Presumably the name of this street; flaking paint on rusting tin — GREAT DOVER STREET.
Faith crossed the street towards the fire, approaching the two men. They didn’t notice her coming until she tossed her clothes from the year 2001 on to the glowing embers. The synthetic fibres of her JC Penney office clothes flared up almost instantly.
‘Hoy! Watcha think yer doin’, love?’ Both men turned to look at her.
‘Fuel,’ she replied evenly, ‘for your fire.’
One of the men grinned around the stem of his pipe. ‘Well, hello, m’dear.’ His red-rimmed eyes — one of them opaque like a boiled fish-eye, a cataract — looked her up and down approvingly. ‘Now there’s a pretty, pretty thing.’
Faith offered her hesitant smile and picked what she considered the most appropriate response. ‘Thank you.’
‘You ’ungry, love? Want sumfin’ to eat?’
It had certainly been a while since she’d had a protein refuel. ‘Yes. I am hungry.’
Both men looked at each other and grinned. Then the one with the clouded eye turned back to her. ‘Well, I got a nice bit of fish back in my ’ouse. An’ some cheese.’ He took a step towards her.
Faith stifled the urge to adopt a combat stance and chop at the man’s neck with the side of her good hand.
Blend in.
‘So ’ow ’bout you an’ me ’ead back to my gaff.’ He nodded to one of the terraced houses close by. ‘I only live over there. I’ll give yer a proper feed, love. Eh? Put some colour in ’em cheeks of yours.’
‘Fish and cheese?’ Faith cocked her head. Protein and fat. Perfect fuels for her body chemistry. ‘Those are both suitable food types. Thank you.’
The man took his pipe out. ‘Tell you what, love, ya don’t ’alf talk funny.’
Her lips flickered uncertainly. ‘I am new in this place.’
‘New? Another foreigner, eh?’ He reached and put an arm round her narrow waist. Faith decided to accept the overfamiliar gesture — for the moment. It didn’t appear hostile or threatening so she let it pass.
‘Come on, then, deary, come along with ol’ Terry.’ He pulled her to him so that her hip bumped clumsily against his leg. ‘I’ll look after ya, my dear.’
He tugged her firmly in the direction of his house and Faith had begun to take a few steps with him when a female voice barked out.
‘You leave that poor girl be, Terry Matchins!’
He stopped and turned. ‘Ah, not you!’ He spat a curse at her.
Faith saw a woman who could have been any age between twenty and thirty-five — so very difficult to tell. The woman’s skin was ruddy with rose-coloured splotches, several teeth missing and the rest an unpleasant vanilla colour. She was short and slight with auburn hair tied up in an untidy frizzy bun.
‘You better let her go! Or I’ll box yer ears!’
‘She’s comin’ round mine for a bit o’ supper. Ain’t ya, love?’
The short woman addressed Faith. ‘Love, that dirty ol’ goat’s not goin’ to feed yer anything that you’d want to eat. Terry ain’t got nuthin’ indoors but dirty intentions. He’s bloomin’ bad news is what ’e is!’
Faith turned to look at him. ‘Is this woman correct? You have no food?’ A cold glare and her face so close to his presented a challenge that unsettled the man and his firm grasp on her waist loosened. ‘I… I just thought you was lookin’ a bit peaky, love. I thought — ’
‘I know exactly what you was thinkin’!’ snapped the woman. ‘Go on, sling yer hook!’
The man bared brown teeth at her. ‘I’ll slice yer up one day, Mary! Next time yer so drunk ya don’t know it’s night or day, I’ll give yer a ruddy scar to remember!’
‘Yea
h, yeah! So you’re the Ripper, are you?’ She stepped forward and pushed him. ‘Go on with ya! Go pester someone else, you rancid old fart!’
The man laughed and shrugged, and returned to his friend beside the fire.
The woman offered Faith a hand. ‘He’s right, though, you do look awful pale, love. I got some leftovers from yesterday.’ She frowned firmly; a face that wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer. ‘Come on, let’s fix you some food. You look awful poorly.’
Faith extended a hand to the woman. A handshake: she’d learned that gesture of formal courtesy from Agent Cooper. ‘Thank you. I am Faith.’
‘Faith, is it? Well, since we’re doin’ introductions, I’m Mary. Mary Kelly. You’ll be safe with me, love.’ Her ruddy face split with a smile that even Faith was able to judge with a fair degree of certainty was entirely genuine. ‘Perfectly safe.’
Chapter 59
14 December 1888, Holborn, London
‘Oh my God!’ gushed Maddy, ‘I so-o-o-o love this!’ Her face was one big toothy smile framed by the wisps of her strawberry hair and the lace of her bonnet. ‘All of this! These posh clothes, this place! Don’t you think it’s so cool!’
Sal was fussing with her lace cuffs. ‘I feel like an idiot in this dress.’
Liam was in the same frame of mind as Maddy. ‘It feels like this could be our new home all right.’
Maddy sighed contentedly. Her first night in Victorian London. ‘Yeah, it’s almost like back home.’ Home. New York. A strange choice of word for that place, that — home — since she’d never actually had one. ‘Just as busy and bustling and vibrant as Brooklyn.’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Liam. His cheeks puffed up like a hamster’s as he worked his way through a pork pie.
She looked around the open-top wagon with its four small round tables and tall wobbly stools. There was even a serving counter on the end, behind which a barista busied himself roasting coffee beans on an open skillet over glowing coals. A whole coffee shop complete with its own canvas awning and colourful bunting right there on the flatbed of an open horse-drawn cart.