Timekeepers

by Dave Weaver

  Jack sent off the thought-code and opened his eyes again. The first thing he saw were his arms appearing in front of him, translucent then rapidly becoming solid as the rest of his body followed them. The second thing was the Governor of Britain lying on the floor amidst the carnage. A flying piece of debris had dug itself into his throat and he was bleeding profusely, his purple toga staining red. His long legs began to shake uncontrollably.

  Jack scrambled over to release a struggling Borg.

  “Get the jar with the Truth Serum; hurry, we haven’t got all day!”

  “Don’t mention it.” Jack told him. He looked up at the altar to find it unsurprisingly jar-less. If the micro-grenade blast had smashed it, the whole stupid escapade would have been for nothing. He cast around and saw the thing had rolled up against the wall. It still had its stopper on, but had a crack down its side. A thick patch of slop on the marble tiles indicated a breach.

  Jack scuttled beneath the smoke to retrieve it. Borg quickly joined him with the flask. “I can’t get the damn thing to open! Do it for me, Johnson, before we both get killed by these morons.”

  Jack grabbed the flask from him. “Michael showed us how!” For a potential world-dominating tyrant, Borg was pretty thick. “Look, you twist this bit and push this in.” The top obediently flipped open.

  “Stop showing off and get the Serum. I’ll hold the flask. Quick!”

  “Alright!” He wanted to strangle the stupid fool.

  Another spear clattered against the wall as Jack reached for the jar. He quickly pulled the jar to him and began pouring the thick liquid into the flask, which trembled in Borg’s shaking hands. As the final dregs slid inside, Borg slammed the lid down and twisted it shut.

  “Right, let’s go; follow me!” He leapt up then crouched down again as three more spears struck the wall where his head had been.

  “Come on, we’ll have to crawl,” Jack told him then began to shuffle towards the nearest passageway, even now filling with smoke.

  As they reached it Borg turned to survey the oval chamber. “Well, that was easier…” He stopped and stared, then began to visibly shake. Jack peered through the smoke at Drucillus’ white death mask face. He could just make out the pale blue eyes staring sightlessly back.

  “What have I done…?” Borg murmured, seemingly unable to look away.

  “Come on!” Jack pushed him into the tunnel then began dragging him along it by the sleeve.

  Coughing and stumbling, they groped their way forward, swallowed up in darkness and confusion as their footsteps echoed eerily off the rounded ceiling. They emerged back in the anteroom next to the main hall. Borg stopped abruptly.

  “I’ve killed Drucillus, Johnson… I’ve killed myself!”

  “You still look very much alive to me, unfortunately. We have to tell Chrono to Jump us back before anyone spots us here. We’ve got what we came for so…” Jack paused as a crimson blur shuffled quickly towards them from another passageway. The bent old figure of the apothecary took shape out of the smoke now billowing into the chamber.

  Borg seemed to snap out of his trance. “Get out of my way, old man!” Borg levelled the pulse-gun at the scrawny chest but the ancient began to wave at him desperately. He opened his mouth to speak and was overtaken by a fit of coughing. He tried again.

  “Take me with you!” He made a grab for the sleeve of Borg’s uniform.

  “Get off me! Let go or I’ll send you to Hades!”

  “You need me, O Mighty One!” The apothecary wheezed. “Why steal just the miracle when you can have its creator? My father taught me the Serum’s making, and his father…”

  “Alright, alright, I haven’t got time for your family tree!” He turned to aim the gun at Jack’s stomach. “What a piece of luck, eh Johnson?” He waggled the gun at Jack’s breast pocket. “Give him your portal or I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you and take it myself.”

  “It’s no good without my thought-code.” Jack told him, trying to edge away.

  “Then I suggest you tell him. Describe it to him clearly; make him see it… Stay where you are!” Borg reached out to grab him, then pushed the gun’s nuzzle into his ribs. Jack could smell his foul breath as the reddened eyes stared into his. “Give him both, Johnson: the portal and the thought-code. Do it!”

  “Let the boy go!” It was Marcus’ voice, coming from the mouth of the passageway. Something silvery flashed through the air and Borg let out a howl of pain, spinning away to clutch at the spear sticking into his calf.

  At once, the soldier was at Jack’s side, towering over him. “Are you hurt, Jack Johnson?”

  “I am unhurt, Marcus.”

  Marcus clapped him on the shoulder. “Then wait here while I finish off this cur.”

  “No Marcus…”

  But the Decurion had already crossed the intervening gap to Borg in a couple of strides. He bent down to grasp the collar of his uniform then tugged him up so they were face to face with Borg’s feet clearing the ground. As he hung there, Marcus’ face formed a look of disgust. He raised his arm above the struggling figure and tilted the short sword’s tip downwards so that it rested above Borg’s heart.

  Marcus spoke above the crackling flames. “Demon; I free your servant from you. And you from your life!”

  “No, don’t kill him Marcus!”

  As the Decurion turned for explanation he suddenly doubled up as if a force had punched him in the stomach. Dropping Borg, he looked down in surprise at the pulse-gun in the other’s hand. Then Jack saw his eyes roll up as he fell back beneath the carpet of smoke. Next instant, the short sword appeared with a clang at Jack’s feet. The soldier’s last act had been to fling the weapon to him.

  “Marcus!”

  There came a sudden lurch; a shockwave both in and outside Jack’s body.

  It felt distant, like an earthquake, yet somehow intimate as well: as if his physical makeup was vibrating. For a moment everything went blurry, then the disquieting sensation abruptly ended. Had he imagined it? Was it something directly from Chrono, which only he and Borg could feel?

  He shook his head to clear it then bent to pick up the short sword.

  Jack became dimly aware of others, as a crowd of guards entered the chamber from the same passageway as had Marcus. They halted abruptly at the scene. One swore loudly but none moved any further as Jack hurried across to his stricken friend. He laid the sword down and raised the fearsome head onto his lap. Then he closed the lifeless eyes.

  The guards were moving closer, encircling their fallen commander. Arms moved to sword hilts, blades rasped as they were drawn.

  A shaky Borg was on his feet again. He’d pulled out the spear but blood still pumped from the deep wound. He shuffled painfully over to Jack, waving for the soldiers to get back. As they edged closer he fished into his pocket for another micro-grenade.

  His hand came out empty.

  He shrugged, almost comically, and bent to pick up the container. As the first man sprang forward Borg whipped up the pulse-gun and shot him at point blank range. The beam’s white light lit up the chamber and for a brief second Jack saw the fear etched onto the others’ faces.

  “I suggest you stay exactly where you are, gentlemen.” Borg told them.

  He looked at Jack and patted the container held tightly to his chest. “Time to go. You’re lucky the old man ran away or this rabble would be taking their revenge on you.”

  “You killed him!”

  “They think we both did. Your boneheaded friend’s not around to protect you now.”

  “You’re an arsehole, Borg!”

  “And you owe me your life Johnson. Don’t throw it away now by annoying me. You’ve done well on our little adventure.”

  Borg took out his portal, closed his eyes and waited.

  He blinked them open again and gave the portal a frown. “That’s funny…” The petulant expression began to morph into panic. He shut his eyes tighter as if that would make a difference, brow furrowed, fist clenched
around the golden disc. With a rush of breath the red eyes popped fearfully open. He stared at Jack as if he couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. “Johnson, my thought-code to Chrono… it’s not working…”

  Seeing Borg’s hesitation the soldiers started moving again, their sword blades gleaming in the light of the fires now burning out of control in the chamber beyond.

  As Borg stared at him Chrono’s voice boomed inside Jack’s head.

  ‘HE’S NOT GOING ANYWHERE.’

  “Jack…please… don’t let it leave me here!” Borg’s voice was small and pleading, like a frightened child’s. Stripped of the bombastic arrogance it sounded merely vulnerable and human.

  The soldiers stepped forward as one. Borg’s shaking hand raised the gun again but this time the button’s click brought no killing pulse-beam. The charge was empty.

  It was too late now to do anything but escape. Jack pulled the thought-code into his mind, concentrated as hard as he could on the image and grasped the portal.

  “TAKE THE SWORD!”

  “What?”

  “TAKE HOLD OF THE SWORD, I WILL GUEST IT.”

  He clutched the short sword’s hilt as the air around him began to crackle with static.

  Even as the soldiers leapt forward Jack appeared to be rising above the fading scene.

  Now they moved over Borg’s whimpering figure like a swirling Catherine wheel of red and silver as the swords slashed again and again. Jack thought he heard his last strangled cries of pain but his eyes were already shut against the Jump’s brilliant white vacuum.

  When he opened them again he was staring up at the familiar figures on the Control Room’s giant screen. He was back at the Centre but had left Borg behind.

  That meant Portia would die.

  Chapter 24

  Jack expected to see a scramble of activity on his return. There were people out there all right; he could vaguely make out the forms of EGs hunched over their consoles and the threatening shapes of black-armoured Troopers lining the walls. Figures paced beneath the giant screen as its green digits glowed in the semi-darkness. Only the digits weren’t moving, and the figures weren’t pacing. They were both frozen to the spot.

  He could see Michael bending over the shoulder of an EG in a far corner, head tilted quizzically up at the screen as he tracked Borg and Jack’s return jump. And yet he was here, before them all, moving freely inside the Capsule. A swing of his arm in front of his face demonstrated this clearly. He was in real-time, the world outside suspended in its tracks.

  What was happening?

  Panic flashed through his mind. It had all gone wrong; the return Jump had malfunctioned and trapped him in a twilight reality between the two timelines. He would never catch up to the present again; be stuck on his own forever. He began to tremble as his mouth dried with fear.

  ‘LISTEN TO ME JACK.’ It was the time mainframe’s voice in his head. ‘I HAVE RECALIBRATED THE SPACE-TIME INSIDE THE TRANSFERENCE CAPSULE. YOU ARE INVISIBLE TO THOSE OUTSIDE UNTIL I CHANGE IT BACK AGAIN. YOU ARE CLOAKED FROM THEM. NOW LISTEN TO WHAT YOU MUST DO. I HAVE OBSERVED ALL THAT HAS TAKEN PLACE INSIDE THE CENTRE AND I AM AWARE OF YOUR DILEMMA. BORG IS NO MORE, BUT THE GENERAL IS STILL A THREAT TO THE EGS.

  THEREFORE YOU MUST KILL HIM.

  I WILL CREATE A VISUAL ESSENCE INSIDE THE CAPSULE TO BRING HIM TO YOU. THERE WILL BE ONE CHANCE TO ACT BEFORE HE REALISES THE TRICK. YOU HAVE THE WEAPON REQUIRED FOR THE TASK. USE IT WELL.’

  Jack looked down at Marcus’ short-sword, still clutched tightly in his hand. He’d forgotten that he’d even picked it up.

  A hologram of Borg built itself up beside him; thin and watery but probably convincing enough seen through the Capsule’s thick glass. The lines of the image wavered like bad reception on a TV set then snapped back again.

  The countdown figures began to move as the Control Room sprang back into life. A high-pitched siren split the air, the Capsule shuddered as the red membranes on its hull faded away and the giant spinning discs in their chamber beneath began to slow.

  Jack could hear voices through the intercom, a chatter of instructions shouted from one desk to another as the crew checked out the vital signs of the Capsule’s occupants. Now would be the time for Chrono’s trick to be discovered, Jack thought. He didn’t imagine that electronic essences would have many vital signs. He looked up at the glowing green numerals. On opposing sides two lists of rapidly changing figures, the Capsule occupants’ life-signs, shone out; they were more or less identical. ‘It’s manipulating the read-outs!’ he realised. ‘Sending out false information to make it look like Borg is still alive. How long will it take before someone realises the truth?’

  He could see Michael striding from one console to another with a perplexed frown. He seemed to realise something was wrong but couldn’t work out what.

  The spinning discs in the energy chamber had stopped completely. As the main overhead lights came up, a familiar dry voice was broadcast around the room. It belonged to Borg.

  “General Taros, I need you now! I am badly injured. Get me out of this thing!”

  Taros moved out of the shadows at the back of the room. Jack could dimly see Portia’s figure by his side, her elbow grabbed by his huge fist. The great helmeted head swung questioningly at Michael who was already moving towards the Capsule.

  Borg’s unmistakable peevish tones came again. “Get over here now man, before I bleed to death in this damn contraption!”

  The big man hesitated then released his grip on Portia and began to hurry across the floor, knocking a couple of technicians out of their chairs en-route. Before Michael could stop him he was clumsily stepping onto the metal walkway, gripping the handrail as his heavy-booted feet clanged along. He’d already begun to wrestle with the Capsule’s door lock before Michael caught up and tried to lean around the massive arm.

  He shrugged Michael’s hand away then span around angrily. Pushing up the black visor, he growled into Michael’s face. “Get it open now!”

  “General, you must wait.” Michael choked out the words as Taros’ huge hand found his throat. “Something’s not right. There could be contamination, or…or something else…”

  “The Governor General is badly hurt! Open this door open or I’ll wrench it off its hinges and your head next!”

  Jack could see that Michael was shaking. He reached past Taros to push in the door lock then slowly turn it to the right. His hand trembled. Both men were staring intently at the lock, neither looking directly into the Capsule. Borg’s image wavered again; if they looked up now the deception was obvious.

  As the door lock clunked into place and the panel in the glass hull slowly opened, Jack gripped the heavy sword behind his back and tensed to strike. He’d never killed a man before but in the next few seconds he would have to drive a steel blade into human flesh. He made himself think of Portia’s face white with fear as Taros raised the gun to her temple.

  As the huge figure squeezed itself through the Capsule’s doorway the hooded eyes raised to Jack’s. In that instant, even before Taros fully took in the semi-transparent hologram of his boss, the expression in them seemed to acknowledge his mistake.

  Then Jack struck.

  He whipped the sword around in a tight arc. There was no room for a full swing but as he pulled the blade upwards towards Taros’ exposed neck he put all his might into the thrust. The blade struck the unguarded flesh between gold helmet and body armour, tearing a deep furrow across Taros’ throat. Jack tensed then swung back in the other direction, not so cleanly this time but enough to rip asunder the flesh in a fountain of blood. The General remained in a crouched position as if unable to understand that he was already dead. Jack kicked out and the heavy body toppled back, hitting the walkway with an echoing thud.

  Jack looked over at Michael, standing behind the corpse with his mouth hanging open.

  The hologram had completely disappeared. Michael’s eyes slid across to Jack’s.

  “I’m back.” Jack told
him.

  Chapter 25

  There was a sudden commotion behind them. Two EG girl technicians jumped at the Trooper standing nearest, knocking him to the floor before he could raise his pulse-gun. They both had knives, the shiny surfaces glinting under the Control Room’s spotlights. They all fell beneath one of the desks before one managed to turn his pulse-gun on him then blast another Trooper attempting to aid his stricken comrade. The rest of the invading force finally seemed to finally snap out of their shock at Taros’ fate but even as they raised their weapons it was clear that their hesitation would prove disastrous. As if responding to a starter’s gun the youngsters threw themselves at their guards, knives in hand. Three went down to immediate hits as a cat’s cradle of red sight-lines threaded the air. The rest made it to their intended targets, slashing and stabbing until the metal floor was splattered with Troopers’ blood. The EGs teamed up to go for the vulnerable area of neck that Jack had found, one holding the flailing figure down while the other struck. A parting shot from the Troopers’ own pulse-guns sent them on their way.

  There was a fury in the EGs’ actions that made Jack understand that this was payback time. He imagined that the EG nurse and her dead brother would be just two of the many victims they were enthusiastically avenging.

  Michael had already turned and fled back up the walkway, pushing past the brawling EGs and Troopers as he ducked the crossfire. Jack realised that he was intent on making for Portia’s huddled form in the far corner of the room. Jack leapt over Taros’ corpse in pursuit but found his path blocked by a group of armed EGs who were clustered in a semicircle at the lift doors, ready to deal with the Trooper reinforcements that must surely be on their way up. In the far corner of the room, beyond the press of EGs, Jack could see Michael had reached Portia and was pulling the girl to her feet as he brandished a pulse-gun snatched off a dying Trooper. Jack attempted again to push his way through as the lift doors opened, spewing out more Troopers into a hail of fire. Finding himself in the line of fire, Jack threw himself to the floor. Through the falling bodies he caught a glimpse of two pairs of feet entering the lift whilst the surrounding EGs were distracted by the fire-fight. One began to kick and struggle as the doors slid shut; Portia’s scream was cut off as the lift descended.