Wrong Side of Time

by J. J. Green

  Wrong Side of Time

  Carrie Hatchett, Space Adventurer #4

  J.J. Green

  This novel uses British spellings.

  Cover Design: Illuminated Images & Dark Moon Graphics

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One – Under Attack

  Chapter Two – Carrie’s Bright Idea

  Chapter Three – Decision Time

  Chapter Four – In the Beginning

  Chapter Five – Gavin’s Old Tricks

  Chapter Six – Not a Good Time

  Chapter Seven – Carrie Takes a Chance

  Chapter Eight – Things of the Past

  Chapter Nine – A Hard Landing

  Chapter Ten – High Commander Performance

  Chapter Eleven – Truth Time

  Chapter Twelve – The Writing’s on the Wall

  Chapter Thirteen - Entombed

  Chapter Fourteen - Harriet

  Chapter Fifteen – One Time or Another

  Chapter Sixteen – Over to the Dark Side

  Chapter Seventeen – Carrie's Choice

  Chapter Eighteen – Drop Outs

  Chapter Nineteen – Light in the Dark

  Chapter Twenty – Harriet Unveiled

  Chapter Twenty-One – Battle of the Buddies

  Chapter Twenty-Two – A Slippery Trip

  Chapter Twenty-Three – Desperate Measures

  Chapter Twenty-Four – The Flood

  Chapter Twenty-Five – Painful Parting

  Chapter Twenty-Six – Borrowed Time

  Chapter Twenty-Seven – Farewell to Gavin

  Chapter Twenty-Eight – Transmogrified Moggie

  Chapter One – Under Attack

  Carrie Hatchett fired at the alien running towards her. Two sets of glowing pulses flew out from the lasers she held in either hand, converging on the galloping, green, warty mass of the alien. As the lasers hit, the alien exploded, scattering into wet fragments dripping with blue blood that splattered the walls, floor and ceiling of the starship control centre.

  Another alien popped up from behind the navigation desk, its scaly head weaving and ruby eyes flashing. Carrie swung round to fire, but Dave was on it. He blew off the alien’s head at the neck before the rest of the body had time to emerge, leaving a smoking stump. He turned to Carrie and flashed a smile. But neither could rest for long. Writhing tentacles were dropping from vents in the ceiling. They squirmed so fast, they were difficult to aim at. Carrie’s shots flew wide of the wriggling appendages, nicking the edges. Purple mucus dripped to the floor, but the wounds seemed to have no effect on the beast. More tentacles appeared. Where was its head? Was this alien all tentacles?

  Dave had more success. He had managed to sever a few of the limbs completely, and they lay on the floor twisting and twitching, apparently still alive. The tentacles inched slowly towards them across the gore-drenched floor.

  “Watch out,” exclaimed Dave. “And look—over there in the corner.”

  Carrie had thought it was just a shadow, but it was thickening and solidifying. Legs grew and a head appeared. No, three heads. On each, a mass of eyes blinked open, deadly pale. Meanwhile, the writhing tentacles on the floor moved closer. For a moment Carrie was distracted from the spectacle of the awful black alien. She blasted the nearest tentacle to fragments. That seemed to kill it. She sent laser pulses into the new tentacles wriggling out of the ceiling vents.

  A glint of silver in the corner drew Carrie’s eyes back to the black alien. It had arms now. At least five or six, and each held a weapon.

  “We’re done for,” Carrie said. “We’ll never kill that thing.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Dave, sending rapid bolts of light into the alien’s dark centre. The hits only seemed to anger the creature, however, for it rose up, rapidly doubling then tripling in size.

  “It’s enormous,” exclaimed Carrie, firing again at the tentacles before turning her full attention to the monster. She switched her weapon to a laser cannon. It took a second to recharge between each firing, but it was far more powerful than a hand laser. She blasted it at the beast and scored a bullseye, hitting it dead centre. But the alien only rocked back before bringing its several weapons forward to return fire.

  Scarlet pulses flashed through the air, knocking Carrie down. Dave brought up his laser and fired. One of the alien’s heads disintegrated. Carrie stood up and checked her weapon’s charge. It wasn’t ready to fire. Another hit from the black monster knocked her down. Dave was more successful. The alien’s central head dissolved in a spray of black blood and tissue.

  Finally, Carrie’s laser cannon was ready. She took aim, fired—and missed. Something had unbalanced her. A squirming, severed tentacle had reached her. It began winding round her throat. “Damn.” She threw her laser cannon to the floor as Dave successfully blew the third head off the black creature. Grabbing her gun, Carrie fired at the end of the tentacle, hoping to make it loosen its grip. But the tentacle gripped tighter, squeezing the life out of her.

  In a matter of moments she was dead.

  Carrie dropped her controller with a sigh. On the TV screen, Dave’s score racked up while Carrie’s grew by only a few points. The option to continue or quit flashed. “I can’t believe you beat me again.”

  Dave leaned back on the sofa, stretched his arms along the back and smiled. “What can I say? It isn’t easy being awesome in every way.”

  “Huh. I’d like to see you do it for real.”

  “Now then, Carrie.” He disconnected the video game player and began packing it up. “Just because you defeated the placktoid commander and scared the rest of them back to wherever it is they’re holed up, there’s no need to get cocky.”

  Carrie grinned. “That’s right. I did, didn’t I?” Sometimes working as a Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer seemed like a dream to her. But she had uncovered a plot by the evil mechanical aliens, the placktoids, to take over the galaxy. And at her last encounter with them, she’d saved the lives of the hostages they were holding, with the help of some of her colleagues. The memory perked her up. Her dog, Rogue, had draped his upper half over her lap. She pushed him off and stood. “Do you fancy some tea?”

  Dave pulled out his phone. “Have we got time? It’s nearly seven.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay if we’re a few minutes late. There’s never anyone important around for the graveyard shift. I’m the highest ranking member of staff on site, and I’ll forgive us.”

  “Well then, yes, I would like some tea, Supervisor Hatchett.”

  Carrie went to her kitchen to put the kettle on, reflecting that though there weren’t many benefits to being supervisor of a call centre, she managed to take advantage of every single one of them.

  As she entered her kitchen, she stopped in mid-stride. On the counter was a ball of ginger fur. Toodles, her cat, had taken up residence and was sleeping peacefully, wrapped round the kettle. The lid peeked out from the fur mound. If Carrie wanted some tea, she would have to move Toodles. Her knees went weak.

  She returned to the living room, where Dave was idly browsing her bookshelves. “Actually, I’m not that bothered about having some tea. Shall we go?”

  Dave slid a book back in place, Carrie was pleased to note. Her friend was somewhat light-fingered. “I was looking forward to a cuppa after you suggested it. And a few biscuits to keep me going. We’ve got a long night ahead.”

  “It’s
always a long night.” Carrie sighed. Her job was mainly fielding customer complaints, but company policy was to send the customers into an endless bureaucratic process. She was sure this was intended to frustrate them so much they would eventually give up. As their main contact point, Carrie bore the brunt of the customers’ anger.

  “I’ll make it if you like,” said Dave, going into the kitchen. Carrie followed. “Oh,” he said as he saw Toodles. “Can’t you just move her?”

  “I’d rather not. I mean, she’s sleeping so peacefully. I don’t want to disturb her.”

  Her friend laughed. “Yeah, right. Come on, Carrie. You can fight off placktoids but you can’t deal with a cat?”

  “Toodles isn’t just any cat, though. She’s special.”

  Dave raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting choice of word. I might have chosen a different one. Like malicious, or vicious, or savage.”

  “Hey, that’s my cat you’re talking about.”

  “Sorry. But, seriously, we’re going on a dangerous mission tomorrow. I’ll be relying on you, and you’re not inspiring much confidence. Look, I’ll help. You grab Toodles, I’ll grab the kettle. How does that sound?”

  Carrie frowned. Dave was always round her flat—when he wasn’t out with a boyfriend—but he still didn’t know Toodles. He didn’t know what she was capable of. “I’m not sure—”

  “Let’s just do it. We won’t have time for tea at this rate.”

  Trepidation knotted Carrie’s stomach. “If you insist.” Usually, she would roll up her sleeves to tackle a difficult task, but now she rolled them down. Her sleeves might provide some protection from Toodles’ claws. Together, they approached the sleeping cat. Carrie mentally debated whether it might be better to wake her before trying to shoo her away, but she dismissed the idea. She still bore the scars of Toodles’ objections to being shooed. At least this way they had the element of surprise.

  As they drew close to her cat, Carrie’s heart began to beat faster. Flashbacks of Toodles as a kitten, sinking needle-sharp teeth and claws into her hands, began to play in her mind. She recalled the many times she’d wrestled a towel-wrapped cat into her carrier to take her to see the vet. The hair on the back of Carrie's neck stood up as she remembered the low, guttural growling whine Toodles made when anyone approached her as she was eating.

  They were right next to the sleeping cat. “Ready?” asked Dave.

  Her throat closed too tight to speak, Carrie could only nod. Dave poised his hand above the kettle. Carrie reached forward.

  “On three,” said Dave. Too loud, Carrie thought. “One, two—”

  Sensing their presence, Toodles’ amber eyes snapped open. Carrie snatched her hands out of harm’s way. Dave wasn’t quick enough. His hand still hovered above the disturbed—in more than one sense of the word—cat. Toodles was outraged by this invasion of her territory. Almost too fast to see, she launched herself at the innocent appendage, flew up Dave’s arm, leapt onto his head and, digging in her claws into his scalp for extra purchase, vaulted onto the kitchen shelves. Scattering pots and pans as she went, she jumped down and disappeared through the door.

  Dave’s mouth was open. He stared at his friend, a dribble of blood snaking down his forehead.

  “So,” said Carrie, “what about that tea?”

  Chapter Two – Carrie’s Bright Idea

  Carrie rested her chin in her hand and twirled a pencil as the customer on the phone ranted on and on about how the T-flange on his inducifier wasn’t working; how much he’d paid for it; and how he expected better for the price and better service now that it needed repairing. As he slowed down a little Carrie took a breath and opened her mouth to reply, but the customer had got a second wind. He launched into another tirade.

  She didn’t blame him for being angry. She would be angry too if she’d paid good money for an inducifier—whatever that was—and then been led on a wild goose chase to get the thing fixed or replaced when it broke. But her empathy for the customers didn’t make it any easier for her to sit and listen to their complaints, especially when she couldn’t do much to help.

  In her lower management role of supervisor, Carrie had been invited to a few meetings. At these times she’d taken the opportunity to explain how the complaints procedure wasn’t working and that it left the customers unsatisfied and sometimes angry. She was no businesswoman, and her role was the first serious job she’d ever held, but she was sure it was terrible business practice to provide such poor after-sales service.

  As the customer raved on, she looked across the office at Dave. Her friend was taking a call and typing on his keyboard. She sighed, wishing he would turn round and give her a wave. A friendly smile from him every now and then made her job a little easier. She’d never really gelled with the rest of her colleagues, who were mostly older than her and had families. They tolerated her presence and didn’t seem bothered that their supervisor was a fair bit younger than them, but they never mixed with her.

  “Hey, are you listening? Are you actually even listening to me?” The irate customer’s voice broke through Carrie’s reverie, bringing her back to the present with a jolt.

  “Oh...I...er,” she spluttered.

  “For goodness sake,” exclaimed the man. The phone went dead.

  “Whoops,” Carrie said quietly as she hung up. Listening to people who had a lot to say had never been one of her strengths. Though she’d got better at it recently, sometimes she slipped back into her old ways. She rested her chin in her hand again. Another unsatisfied customer.

  No lights flashed on her display. For the moment there were no calls waiting. Carrie opened a folder and went over the proposal she’d put to the managerial team the day before, outlining a better system for dealing with complaints. Her new process did away with the endless questions to customers about irrelevant facts and useless suggestions. It cut nearly straight through to making an appointment for a service engineer to pay a visit, which was the end stage of the current complaints process she rarely reached before the customers gave up.

  Carrie read through her proposal again and nodded to herself. It would work, as far as she could tell, and it made sense. It would save everyone time and increase customer satisfaction, which would result in repeat sales and higher profits. Everyone would win, and Carrie’s job would be a lot easier. She recalled the surprised looks and murmurs from the managers as they read her document, and her mood lightened. Her line manager, Ms. Bass’, response had been very encouraging. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that they would accept her suggestions. Maybe they would even offer her a promotion. She’d shown initiative. Instead of whining about the problem, she’d presented a solution.

  Dave was still busy with his call. She hadn’t yet told him about her plan. He was never interested in work things. To him, working in the call centre was just a job to pay his rent and living expenses, with hopefully enough left over for beer money, and that was it. Just something mildly unpleasant to get through each day. He didn’t take much in life seriously. Carrie wondered if that might change now that he too had become a Transgalactic Intercultural Community Crisis Liaison Officer. Dave pressed a key and took off his headset. The call he was taking had ended. He took out his phone and began to play a game.

  Carrie went over, bringing her folder. She wanted to share her excitement about her scheme. Dave put down his phone as she arrived. She explained her proposal to her friend, pointing to the new steps. Her friend’s face displayed a polite interest, but every so often his eyes would flick to his phone.

  “So, what do you think?” Carrie asked.

  “Hmm...yes. Well done.”

  Carrie frowned. He didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. “The managers were all very interested yesterday when I showed it to them at the weekly meeting. Ms. Bass was eager to get going on it, in fact.” This wasn’t strictly true. Ms. Bass hadn’t said anything concrete. But Dave’s lacklustre response had made Carrie defensive.

  Da
ve’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” A flush began to creep over Carrie’s cheeks.

  “Okay.” Her friend picked up his phone and swiped the screen, returning it to the game he’d been playing.

  “What do you mean, okay?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. It’s a good proposal, Carrie. You did a good job.”

  Carrie’s lips tightened. Dave could be maddening at times. He would hint at things but not say what he really meant. It was as though he thought she would overreact. She pulled a chair over and sat down. At the same time Dave gave a barely audible sigh.

  “You can’t say 'don’t worry about it’ then expect me not to worry about it. Tell me what you mean. What’s wrong with my proposal? You know what things are like around here. It’s a miracle we manage to sell anything at all. With our awful customer service, our reputation must be terrible.”

  Dave put his phone face down on his desk. He folded his arms as he looked at her. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying you’re naive if you think they’re going to do anything about it. Don’t forget, I’ve been working here a lot longer than you. I’ve seen ten or more supervisors come and go in that time. You’re the first to last as long as you have, and from the sound of it you won’t be around much longer. Do you think the others didn’t try to change things? Of course they did, and management nodded and smiled and said all the right words but did absolutely nothing.”

  Naive? Naive? “I’m not naive.”

  Dave rubbed his forehead, wincing as his hand strayed near the spot Toodles had scratched. “Maybe that was the wrong choice of word. What I mean is, management won’t tell you to your face they’re going to ignore your suggestions. They’ll make all kinds of noises to mollify you and get you to shut up, but I can almost guarantee they won’t do a thing. How long have you been pointing out the problems with the complaints process to Bass, and what has she done about it?”