Timekeepers

by Dave Weaver

  He got out bed, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, and went downstairs to the kitchen. His parents were waiting for him at the breakfast table. There was a plate of sausages, egg and bacon all ready for him; he tucked into it hungrily.

  “Did you have a good night’s sleep?” his mother asked.

  “I had a really strange dream,” he told her, not looking up as he stuffed the food into his mouth.

  “Why don’t you tell us about it, Dear?”

  His mother never called him ‘Dear’.

  “Yes, tell us about your dream, Jack.” Another voice, one he vaguely recognised. But it shouldn’t be in his house. It was from another place, another world. He shifted his eyes from the bacon and eggs to a little man sitting across the table. His skin was sallow and pockmarked, the reddened eyes disconcertingly sharp and bright as they stared at him.

  He looked over at his father, questioningly. “Don’t mind him Jack. Tell us about the dream.”

  As he began to speak the little man raised a hand, as if he knew what Jack was about to say. “Not that dream, Jack. We’d like to hear about the other one where the man asked you all those difficult questions and made you drink that strange potion. That’s the dream we want to hear.”

  And so he told them about that one instead. It was a dream buried deep in the recesses of his memory, so deep that he thought for a moment it had happened to someone else, that he’d been told about it like a child being told a spooky bedtime story when he’s almost asleep.

  After he’d finished the little man gave him a thin smile.

  “Thank you, Jack. That’s all I needed to know.”

  His parents, sitting on either side of the table, smiled as well. But as he looked into his mother’s eyes he knew that something was wrong. The smile froze, the eyes staring into his became wide and unblinking like a mask had slipped over her face. The mouth started grimacing madly at him across the table. This wasn’t his mother.

  Her shape began to change, to shudder and wobble in the chair. It rocked from side to side as if another creature was trapped inside it trying to escape. The contours rippled as the familiar figure in front of him began to morph into someone else; an old man in a white coat with greying hair and pale, stretched skin on his bony face. There was a small concave mirror strapped to his head, an infra-red beam of light emitting from its centre directly into Jack’s eyes. He instinctively turned away, searching for his father. But the chair where he’d been sitting was now occupied by a large muscular man in black body armour. A hard face stared at him. Behind the armoured man there was a bank of lights and machines. The kitchen had gone. He was in a large white room; a brilliant light flooded the area from somewhere above.

  It was some kind of hospital room or maybe a prison, not his home in Fulchester.

  He was lying on a hover-bed, not sitting at the breakfast table with his parents.

  A man he now recognised as General Taros in full Trooper uniform and an old white-coated doctor had replaced them and at the foot of the bed sat Silas Borg. He smiled. The cold eyes darted between the two men before settling on the doctor.

  “Get him ready,” he told the old man quietly. “We’ll be going there together.”

  Chapter 19

  The journey from the Ministry of Security to the Institute was a vague jumble in Jack’s mind. Whatever drugs Borg’s doctors had given him, they were taking a long time to wear off, plus he was still nauseous from Taros’ pulse-gun blast.

  The old doctor had given him an injection then he’d been told to get up and get dressed. Two beefy Troopers had frogmarched him down a labyrinth of dark corridors inside the forbidding building he recognised as the capital’s Ministry of Security.

  He’d been on the run for twelve hours before his capture, plus lying on the hover-bed unconscious for god knows how long, maybe for days. He’d begun to stink. He needed a good shower and some food but the thought of it at that moment made him feel even sicker. He belched and staggered, feeling of light-headed and faint as the guards pushed him along the corridors and passageways. It felt like they were somewhere deep in the bowels of the vast building. Jack tried to remember the route he’d travelled through via Chrono’s dream proxy but recognised nothing.

  They entered a lift, the two Troopers joined by five other men dressed in yellow overalls, each carrying a bulbous black helmet full of flashing instrumentation. They looked like a flight crew. Jack had this confirmed when the lift doors slid open to show a vast tarmac surface with a number of troopships parked-up in gleaming ranks. He found they were now on the building’s roof. The next thing he remembered was looking out of the troopship’s window, head lolling as he watched the gigantic bulk of the Security Headquarters slip away into a grid of wide avenues and office blocks. They vanished into the unending sprawl of the city as the troopship gained height before being obscured by clouds.

  His senses lapsed again.

  Now the troopship had grown still as the drone its Antigrav unit wound down. A pulse-gun poked him in the ribs. Still half asleep he looked up to see General Taros standing over him.

  Without a word the giant undid his seat straps then hauled him to his feet. He shoved him along through the craft’s hold, his heavy boots ringing out on the metal floor, then pushed him down the ship’s landing ramp onto the rolling lawns of the Centre. Jack looked up at the huge triangular slabs of black glass slanting away from him towards the late afternoon sun.

  He was back at the place he thought he might never see again so that was good at least.

  As they climbed through the blasted remains of the door, a squad of State Troopers joined up on either side to escort the two down the long entrance hall into the glowing rooms Jack remembered from before. But things had changed dramatically since then.

  The fluid metal walkways were now still and there were the signs of struggle everywhere. Upturned desks and green computers now littered the floor as Taros and his guards marched him through room after room, all of them in various states of chaos. The young EG staff and security guards had obviously put up quite a fight, as useless as it turned out to be. He wondered if any had been killed in the uneven struggle.

  They were now heading down a wide corridor he’d not seen before, Troopers lining the route and snapping to attention with pounding salutes as Taros strode past them.

  At the far end, two opaque glass doors swished back to reveal a large oval room, walls lit from floor to ceiling in soft blue light. Sitting at a large glass table surrounded by yet more black-armoured Troopers were Lucas, Dario, Atticus and much to his relief, Portia.

  “Jack! Thank the Gods.” She rose awkwardly in her chair before a raised pulse-gun jerked at her to remain seated. “We feared they’d killed you!” She looked upset.

  Lucas continued for her. “It’s good to see you again. I only wish it was under better circumstances.”

  The rap of more fist-pounding salutes announced Silas Borg’s presence. He ignored Jack, walking around the table as the guards moved clumsily out of his way. Almost tripping over the last one, he made his way to the top then turned to spread his arms along the table’s edge. He stared down at his own reflexion as if preparing for a speech, then twisted his head to meet their eyes.

  He frowned theatrically at them.

  “Well, here we all are again, plus one very important other. It’s Jack, is it not?”

  Despite the raging headache Jack couldn’t help finding amusement in his antics; the ridiculous bravado, crude and clichéd like all other tin-pot dictators through history. How could anyone take Borg seriously?

  He noticed Portia catching his glance as if to say, ‘Is this all we were so afraid of?’

  But the three scientists weren’t smiling. Jack saw their stony expressions as they stared across the table at the Governor of Calleva State. Jack’s perception of him through Chrono’s kaleidoscopic images had masked the skin’s true corruption. There were dark blotches around the reddened eyes, which heightened their piercing qual
ity. Whatever had happened to Silas Bork to make him like this couldn’t have been pleasant. It didn’t seem, to Jack, as if it were some unfortunate natural progression; more like a chemically inflicted state of damage, as if a course of treatment had gone disastrously wrong. He couldn’t guess why or how of course. Perhaps the others knew; perhaps everyone else in this world knew the reason for Borg’s exceptional appearance. Perhaps it was a secret the little man would take to his grave.

  “Well Jack,” he continued, seemingly unaware of his prisoner’s scrutiny of him, “you’ve led us a merry dance with your young friend here.” He nodded at Portia. “And all over a few drops of blood. Was it really worth it? I must say I’ve never met a real time-traveller from the past though. Then again there’s the question of which past, isn’t there? Your memory file shows a fine old collection of the strangest things: people I’ve never heard of, machines I’ve never seen before and all those strange countries and continents. A world we never even knew existed!”

  He indicated a vacant chair one of the Troopers had hurriedly placed next to Portia. “Why don’t you join us? I have something very important to discuss with you.”

  “He’s got nothing to say to you, you psychopath!” Portia shouted, ignoring her father’s cautioning hand. “Are you going to murder us too like you murdered my friends?”

  “Most of them survived and will be spending their gap years at the Ministry of Security. We’ll take good care of them. You’d be with them too if I hadn’t intervened on your behalf. An impressionable girl led astray by a dangerous political group, particularly one young man. I’m afraid he’s rather let you down though. Naïveté saved you, plus the connection with your father.”

  The reference to Michael seemed to stun her. She gave Jack an apologetic glance that Borg’s quick eyes picked up. The thin lips twisted down in grotesque mock pity.

  “Young love must be so confusing.” His eyes focussed on Lucas who said nothing. Jack wondered how much Portia had told her father about her relationship with his former assistant. Lucas must have been shocked when he finally found out. Perhaps she had said nothing.

  Dario, stewing in anger at Borg’s teasing, finally exploded. “Get to the bloody point, you pathetic little creep!”

  One of the guards standing behind his chair made as if to hit him with the butt of his pulse-gun but Borg held up a hand to stay the blow. “I may need you, Professor Constantine, so I will let that pass, but please keep a civil tongue in your head from now on or I might find I can dispense with your undoubted skills after all.”

  Portia’s uncle was silent. A look of fear crossed his face; the first time the grumpy scientist had shown anything but contempt for Borg. If even Dario was scared, then Jack certainly should be.

  Borg clicked his fingers at one of the guards who shouted an order down the long corridor. A Trooper marched into the oval room carrying one of the green computers, clumsily setting the machine down on the glass table. A large screen formed in the air above it.

  Borg spoke again. “To the point of our little meeting; what I am about to show you has been re-edited by Borg Industry’s finest technicians. I hope you will appreciate their efforts.” He addressed the machine, “Run Jack Johnson Memory File Re-sampling – Section 56392N to 56395N.”

  A shaky, scratchy holograph of Gaius Drucillus’ face appeared before them, twisted in fury. ‘Are you a god or a demon? I have to know…’ There was the hint of something shiny slashing the air then a yelp of pain.

  Borg said, “Move on until I indicate.”

  The scene sped up as various robed figures jerked and twitched, Drucillus in the foreground gesticulating at the watching group. An old man appeared, dressed in a crimson toga, with wisps of long white hair hanging over his crinkled face.

  “Stop. Proceed.”

  As the scene slowed to normal pace a gold goblet was suddenly thrust up at them, so that it blocked out their view of the two figures. The vessel tipped towards them and a thick liquid flooded the screen. It vanished to show Drucillus again.

  “I think you’ll find this next part fascinating.” Borg told them. “I certainly did.”

  Jack’s disembodied words filled the room, intoning the catalogue of Roman triumphs and disasters to the Proconsul and his opened-mouthed guests. As it finished with the words ‘and Rome was no more’ Jack looked at Lucas and the other two scientists. They were still staring at the holographic image with varying degrees of amazement. They turned as one to him.

  Lucas was the first to speak. “It’s not your fault, Jack. You were drugged, you couldn’t help yourself.” He glanced across at Borg. “That’s what this whole charade is about. You want what they gave to Jack for yourself, and I know exactly how you plan to use it.”

  “Brilliant, Professor! You’ve leapt straight to the crux of the matter.” Borg answered in the smug condescending tone that Jack had begun to hate.

  “What the hell are you all talking about?” Jack didn’t know whom he was addressing, Lucas or the little dictator. Portia’s father answered him.

  “He’s after the liquid, Jack. Drucillus’ so-called ‘Truth Serum’ that he made you drink. That’s why you couldn’t remember what happened in the Temple; it tricks your mind into forgetting, or at least buries it deep in your memory.

  “How come you lot know all about this? You never mentioned it to me!” Jack tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the hurt out of his voice.

  “We grew suspicious of the results and did another blood test on a back-up file while you were staying at my house. We found traces of ancient herbs and other powerful elements of a truth drug but before we could analyse them properly this maniac turned up. Patricia had sabotaged the original test, no doubt under his orders. God knows what evil hold he has over the poor girl.”

  Borg ignored this and spoke directly to Jack. “You are an unusual young man with an exceptionally strong mind. You fought to retain the memory of what you’d experienced, keeping it locked deep in your subconscious. While you lay in a coma you talked in your sleep, repeated what you’d said to Drucillus as if the man was still there standing in front of you. You re-enacted the entire scene. Fortunately for us Patricia was attending you at the time and overheard everything, or at least enough for me to realise what that old medicine man had given you. I’ve known about its existence for many years, conducted many fruitless hours of historical research for nothing. Now here it was being dropped into my lap. The famous Drucillus Truth Serum, the legendary drug he used to create a mindless army under his total control. He sought to overthrow Rome but I have much grander plans: New Rome herself, and that’s just for a start.

  “It won’t work. You can’t break the genetic loyalty programming of the EGs.”

  Borg turned to stare at Atticus in surprise. “But I already have, Professor Atticus. Unfortunately I can’t get them to actually kill with our own drug; even though I’ve been overseeing its development for many years the EGs still only obey on a very basic level. I decided to give Patricia’s brother a version of the truth serum synthesised from Johnson’s blood sample. It worked perfectly, far deadlier than anything we’ve ever been able to manufacture. Once we begin mass production I’ll make sure they all get a hit of it.”

  Jack remembered the poor young man languishing in the disgusting cell at the Ministry. “What did you make him do?”

  “It was on all the news channels last night. A young EG went mad and attempted to assassinate the Minister of Culture at a film premier in Calleva. He was killed on the spot by our superb security forces.”

  “You arsehole!” There was utter disgust in Portia’s voice.

  “How are you going to do it then?” Atticus spoke again. “Presumably introduce it into their food chain once you’ve enough of the stuff to synthesise.”

  “Good idea, Professor Flavius, I’ll do exactly that: thank you.”

  “What does he mean, ‘enough of the stuff’?” Portia asked Atticus.

  “I think that’s the reason he�
��s here now, Portia. Borg means to jump to Fulchestorium. I think he’s planning on taking Jack with him as well.”

  “You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere with you, Borg.” Jack shouted, rising in his chair. This time the pulse-gun’s butt found its mark, sending him sprawling across the table.

  “Be careful with him, you fool!” Borg turned to the others. “You still don’t seem to be taking this seriously; how can I gain your undivided attention?”

  He drew the silver pulse-gun and pointed it at a startled Dario. A thin white beam shot into the man’s chest and he slumped back, eyes rolling up.

  “You’ve killed him!” Portia screamed.

  “Not yet, but you’d better get him to your medical centre before his poor old booze-sodden heart gives out. Now where were we? Ah yes, the truth serum and Fulchestorium…”

  Portia dived across the table. Borg thought she was diving at him and took a step back. “Really my dear, don’t be so pathetic.”

  But her target was closer at hand. Grabbing the computer, she reached down into her trouser pocket and fished out a white tablet. It was identical to the one she’d handed Jack when they were running from the Troopers; the one they’d taken off him at the Ministry. She rammed it into a slot.