I’m not really a person to my dad, he thought as he walked towards the car. I’m his toy soldier.
‘Good afternoon, Master Winston.’
A chauffeur held open the back door.
‘Hi, Bernard.’ Winston walked straight past and got into the front.
‘I trust your day in college was suitably instructive?’ the chauffeur continued as he took his seat and started the engine.
‘Sure was, Bernard,’ Winston said. ‘Spent most of it in a bomb crater being shot at by Russians and Germans. Got knocked out, too. Bomb blast. Hurt the ankle as well.’
‘Very amusing, Master Winston. I do so enjoy your stories.’
Bernard drove out of the lane and into the city traffic. It was the start of peak hour, the streets full of tiny Electros. They buzzed about the limousine like bees around their queen. Bernard exploited the size and power of his vehicle to bully his way through the crowd. He was soon free of the main traffic crush, speeding on the flyover, leaving the city centre behind.
‘How’s my mother?’ Winston asked. He’d been wondering about her all day.
‘No improvement, I’m afraid,’ the chauffeur replied. ‘She did walk in the garden after a light lunch, but only a few steps.’
Winston closed his eyes. It’s getting worse, then, this crippling thing. Just like the doctors said. They reckon she doesn’t have long. He couldn’t bring himself to think about it, about what came next. About not having her around. He couldn’t even bear to imagine it.
His mother had been a brilliant physicist, until the illness took over. Glimmers of that brilliance still shone through on occasions, despite the potent mix of pain-killers and radiation therapy that often clouded her brain. Winston adored being with her at those times; it was like hitching a ride on a shooting star. The idea that such bright times might end was too awful to contemplate.
‘The Major is expecting you in his study as soon as we arrive home, of course.’
Of course, Winston thought, annoyed at the very mention of his father. What else would I expect? It was the same every day after college – the debriefing session. Father’s way of keeping tabs, making sure I’m excelling as a Hague should excel.
‘Only the best will do, my boy,’ his father always said. ‘A Hague settles for nothing less.’
Why does he bother? I’m not the best. Never will be. And no matter what I do, I’ll always be a disappointment to him.
But then I’m a disappointment all round – to the prof, to Napper and TEX. And Maz … especially Maz.
Mental notes: Take Napper’s advice – keep mouth shut more than open. Take Prof’s advice, too – don’t rush in. And try really hard not to make Maz angry.
Winston knew he’d forget those mental notes. As soon as there was any whiff of excitement in the air, all his best intentions seemed to evaporate.
He stared out the window and let his mind return to his mother. At least there’s one person who doesn’t seem too disappointed in me. He was looking forward to continuing their discussion when he got home, the one she’d started that morning at breakfast.
‘I’m coming across to the theory that much of the dark matter in the universe may be explained by neutrinos, as well as neutralinos and axions of course,’ she’d said.
‘But I thought those particles were weightless, Mother.’
‘Yes, but what if they were only almost weightless? There is such a vast number of them that their combined weight could be truly massive.’
‘Could we work it out?’ The thought had really excited Winston.
‘We could certainly try. But you’d best be off to college right now.’
We will try, Winston thought to himself as the limousine approached the Hague mansion. He couldn’t wait. ‘I’ll see my mother first, Bernard.’
‘Certainly, Master Winston.’
* * *
‘She could have been killed, Gran, so easily. She had no body armour, no protection at all; and this is in one of the fiercest battles I’ve ever been in. I mean I was super scared, and I had a full body kit.’
Napoleon was pushing his grandmother around the gardens at Autumn Lodge in her wheelchair, telling her all about Omega Squad’s mission to the Battle of Stalingrad.
She loved hearing about his adventures, as he loved relating them to her. He did so whenever he could. It was strictly forbidden, of course; all aspects of Operation Battle Book were classified top secret, never to be discussed outside Headquarters. But that didn’t stop Napoleon from indulging his grandmother.
He was not at all worried that she’d ever reveal his secret life as Battle Agent 005 to anyone. He’d sworn her to secrecy, and knew he could trust her. But even if she happened to let anything slip, no-one would believe her because she was classified as suffering from advanced dementia. As far as the staff at Autumn Lodge were concerned, Granny Smythe lost her marbles years ago and her condition had grown worse ever since. They all thought she was off with the fairies.
The family was of the same opinion, but Napoleon was not so sure. She might have seemed crackers most of the time, but he often wondered if she was just a crafty old devil putting on a good act.
‘It seems to me, young man, that you rather like this girl,’ said Granny Smythe.
‘Yeah, I guess so. But I wouldn’t even get a look in, Gran. She’s got the hots for Alpha One. He’s older and I suppose he’s good-looking. If you like that sort of look.’
‘Dear me. How defeatist. How unSmythe-like. You’ll never make a conquest with that attitude.’ Granny Smythe twisted around and craned her neck towards Napoleon. ‘Remind me to give you some tips in that department, my boy. I may be a whisper short of a century, but … ’
The old woman suddenly fell silent, as if she had lost that thought. She frowned and squinted at the sky, searching for it, but gave up eventually.
‘I’d kill for a gin and tonic right now,’ she muttered. ‘With just a dash of bitters.’
Smiling to himself, Napoleon turned the wheelchair around and headed back towards the lodge in the fading afternoon light.
* * *
Amazon heaved a sigh of relief as she stepped onto the train at last. Now she could get a decent sleep, not just one of those micros she’d been grabbing on the run. With luck she’d score half an hour of quality shut-eye.
She slumped into the seat and was dozing almost at once – dozing but still totally aware; ready to spring awake if need be. It was a trick Alpha One had taught her; handy for a Battle Agent. She sank into a delicious slumber and let the stations slip by as if in a dream.
An android sitting behind her pretended to be engrossed in a NewsPanel, but his pale eyes stared into the back of her head.
Twenty-seven minutes later Amazon woke just as the train was sliding into Destiny, second last stop on the Outer Black Line. Refreshed, she pushed past the grey process workers who mainly lived in this poorer part of town. Some were androids, some just looked robotic; she’d given up trying to tell the difference, and sometimes wondered if there was any.
She sprinted up the steps from the station – a good Battle Agent is always in training – and raced the five hundred metres home past the tiny grey identical houses. She stopped at the front door of one. This was where her real battle started, she often thought. The stuff she did with Omega Squad was nothing next to this. She took a deep breath and ran through her plan of attack.
The twins will have made a mess of the place; they always do as soon as they get home from school. That’s them fighting now. But being kids they won’t help clean up. Then again little sis will need assistance with homework. I’ll trade that for some house cleaning from her. There’ll be at least one load of washing to put on, and some ironing to do. And then there’s dinner to make before Mum gets home. I could leave it to her, but I know she’ll be exhausted. Ever since Dad walked out she’s been pushing herself far too hard. The last thing we want is for her to bomb out.
And then of course Amazon had to fit h
er own studies somewhere in there as well. She’d been neglecting them; she hadn’t touched her research project in almost a week.
Maybe I can persuade the twins to wash up after dinner if I let them have a bedtime hologram. Worth a try.
Phew. And Four wonders why I get angry when I have to sort out the mess he lands us in. I don’t need another kid to run around after.
Amazon opened the door and stepped into her house as an android walked past, engrossed in a NewsPanel.
* * *
Napoleon’s two older brothers, Monty and Caesar, were in the games room when he arrived home, playing war games, of course. It’s what they did whenever they could; they were mad about war games. But then that was hardly surprising, for the Smythes were a military family, like many in Futura. Both parents worked at the MANIC Military Base, and Napoleon’s brothers would almost certainly enter the military as well.
They all assumed he would do likewise. After all, the Smythes’ military heritage dating back many centuries had to be upheld. But Napoleon was not so sure; the more he saw of war the less appeal it had for him. And he’d seen more than most.
‘Look who it is,’ Monty shouted as his younger brother walked in. ‘The mighty Word Warrior himself.’
‘Fight any hard books today,’ Caesar added, and they both laughed as if it was the first time they’d ever made those wisecracks.
Napoleon used to hate his brothers’ ribbing him about spending so much time in the library, reading and studying. But these days he didn’t care because the joke was really on them. If they only knew what he really got up to at the CIS, they’d fall over themselves to do it too.
He ignored his brothers and went straight through to the kitchen. His father was setting the table; his mother making a salad.
‘You’re later than usual,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I got caught in a book. And then I went to see Gran. I’m starving.’
‘Well, go and wash up and then we’ll eat.’
Napoleon snatched a slice of pie before his mother could stop him and munched it on his way to the bathroom.
In the shower he let the steaming hot water wash away the battle dust of Stalingrad. But it didn’t clean up the muddle of questions scrambling around in his head.
What about all the trouble that hit them just after they entered Battle Book 17? The weird Static Storm and the explosion. There was definitely something odd about those events. Napoleon couldn’t isolate what it was, but they felt abnormal, as if somehow not part of the Battle of Stalingrad, not even part of Book 17 itself. So where did they come from?
And then there was the hacking. That happened without the prof even knowing, and she guarded her missions so carefully. How on earth did they do it? And why did they advertise their crime by splashing it all over HQ Intranet? Showing off? Or showing up Prof?
Who were they anyway? Who was responsible for the hacking?
Napoleon stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel, questions still turning over in his head.
Did it have something to do with what Alpha One was saying? Big players working behind the scenes, messing with Operation Battle Book, trying to take it over. That sounded a bit paranoid to Napoleon. Maybe A1 was losing his grip. He had been on some tough solo missions lately. He’d needed time in the Refresher Unit after his last mission. Maybe the pressure was getting to him, clouding his judgement. It could mess with your head after a while, Napoleon knew only too well.
But then again, if Alpha One was right …?
As he dried himself, Napoleon could see his own vague reflection in the steam-covered mirror. He wiped away the mist obscuring his face and leaned in for a closer look.
He froze and gave a strangled shriek. Polyxena was in the mirror too, standing behind him.
He spun round. ‘Polly!’
But there was nothing. No-one. Like the other times he’d seen her – reflected in a shop window; standing in a crowd, close but out of reach – just a flash and then nothing. He glanced back at the mirror. Only his face this time. No sign of the Trojan princess.
‘Hurry up, Nappy,’ Monty yelled, thumping on the bathroom door. ‘Dinner’s on the table.’
Napoleon checked the mirror once more, then went to his bedroom, threw on shorts and a T-shirt, and joined his family at the dinner table.
In the leafy street outside the Smythes’ house, a man in a black van watched them on a small screen.
SEVEN
‘What Battle Book have we got today, Skin?’
It was 8.05 am and Napoleon was in his change cubicle, Simulation Skin on and warming up. The prof had called him around 6.30 to say that a Battle Book was on the boil, and that it was a good opportunity for them to practise that teamwork they so badly needed to fix.
‘Book 94, 005,’ Skin replied. ‘You will be investigating the —’
‘I know, Skin: the Battle of Hastings, 13 October 1066. Duke William II of Normandy and King Harold II of England go head to head.’
‘Correct. Your knowledge of military history continues to improve, BA005.’
‘The Battle of Hastings was a really cool bash.’
‘Incorrect, this time, 005; cool and bash are inappropriate descriptors. Important conflict of major historic significance would be a more apt assessment of the battle in question. Hastings irrevocably changed the history of the British Isles.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I said, Skin.’
‘Hurry up,’ Professor Perdu called over the intercom. ‘Book 94 is approaching Advanced Delta Phase.’
Five pulled on some rough woollen pants and a shirt and stepped out from his cubicle. TEX, Four and Nine were there already, also dressed as peasants.
‘A word of warning,’ Professor Perdu said once she had the squad all together. ‘Remember the Static Storm we had yesterday, or whatever it was. I cannot stress enough how dangerous that was. I completely lost you for a while in a way that has never happened before. And I still can’t explain it. I’m hoping it was a one-off. But if not, and it happens again, I want you out of there at once. Which means you must stay together this time.’
The agents nodded in agreement. Then they checked their gear and stepped into the Tome Tower. They ran their eyes over the Battle Books lined up along the shelves, each titanium-iridium casket containing a different battle from the past. Book 94 stood out from the others, shaking and rattling, a thin plume of smoke seeping from it.
‘It’s ready to open,’ Four said. He was trembling with excitement. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘Stand back,’ Professor Perdu said, and activated a TrolleyBot from her control panel.
The crab-like machine scuttled across the Tome Tower floor, clamped onto the Battle Book and ferried it to the launch site. Then, keeping a firm grip on the Battle Book, the TrolleyBot released the security hooks that held the casket shut. The Battle Book burst open and a shaft of fiercely bright light roared up into the Tome Tower.
‘Battle Book 94 is ready for entry, Omega Squad,’ the professor announced.
‘Whose turn is it to go first?’ Nine shouted.
‘Mine,’ Four yelled before anyone else could reply, and immediately ran at the beam.
‘What!’ Nine called out. ‘You’re doing it again!’
‘Yeehaa!’ Four shouted, too fired up to stop. ‘1066! Here I come.’
He leapt into the shaft of light and disappeared instantly.
TEX and Nine gave Five the go-ahead to follow, and he started running. But as he reached the Battle Book a loud siren blasted. Red warning lights flashed and the professor’s voice blared from speakers.
‘Abandon mission!’ she shouted. ‘Abandon mission!’
Five couldn’t stop. He was already in the air, heading for the entry beam. But just as he hit the beam, Battle Book 94 closed, extinguishing the shaft of light. He sailed right over the top of both the Battle Book and the TrolleyBot, and landed in a heap on the other side.
TEX and Nine ran to his side to help him up, but he shook th
em off. He scrambled to his feet and raced out of the Tome Tower, straight to Professor Perdu.
‘Why’d you do that?’ he shouted. ‘Now Four is in the Battle Book by himself.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ the professor yelled back. ‘Book 94 shut down of its own accord.’
She worked frantically at the control panel, muttering to herself: ‘At least I hope it shut down of its own accord.’ She shouted instructions at two of her android assistants. ‘Activate ScanoScreen, Jensen, in Macro Mode. And you take charge of the TrolleyBot, Tara2; keep a firm hold on that Battle Book.’
The professor stared intently at her main screen; it was filled with strange swirling colours.
‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ she yelled. ‘There’s a great deal of static and interference. But this is more than any Static Storm I’ve ever encountered.’
‘What about Four?’ said 009.
‘Not good.’ She pointed to a small red dot on the ScanoScreen. It was bouncing about like a crazy ball. ‘He’s being tossed all over the place.’
‘Will he get to Hastings?’ 005 asked.
‘I hope so. He’s gone back 750 years already. He should make it.’
‘What then?’
‘I’ve got an Exit Beam ready for him as soon as he touches down. We’ll pull him out at once, if we can.’ Strain was etched on Professor Perdu’s face and her hands were shaking.
‘And if we can’t?’ said Nine.
Before the professor could reply there was a loud explosion in the Tome Tower, followed by a cracking sound. Everyone stared through the safety window, astonished by what they saw. Battle Book 94 had opened again. Light was streaming from the metal casket.
‘How did that happen?’ Five shouted.
‘I have no idea,’ said Professor Perdu. ‘It just opened by itself. This is unbelievable. It’s almost as if someone else is controlling things.’
‘At least the book is open now,’ yelled Nine. ‘Maybe we can leap in and follow Four after all.’
The Time Thieves Page 4