by Jule Owen
“That’s incredible,” she says.
The windows of the tower are broken and the wind and the rain blows in. The storm is still raging. But none of it seems to touch them.
“The rain passes straight through me!” Clara says.
Lestrange smiles. “That’s because it doesn’t know you’re here.”
Clara holds her hands in the air and watches the drops of water, driven by the wind, pass through her as if she is smoke.
“You said in order to jump, you need to know where you are going to exactly. Do you know everywhere in this world exactly?”
“Yes, every inch of it. I feel it. I sense it all. It is like it is part of me.”
“So I couldn’t jump on my own?”
“Not unless you got to know this place as well as I do.”
She watches Mathew’s boat float off down the river. “Where are they going?”
“Want to see?”
Clara nods and takes Lestrange’s hand.
They are standing next to the Royal Observatory, between the Shepherd Gate Clock and the Prime Meridian marker. All around the steep hill there are makeshift huts and buildings. From this vantage point they can see the full extent of the flooding, to the immediate north, the drowned concrete and steel forest of the Isle of Dogs and Canary Wharf beyond, to the east Greenwich Peninsula and to the west, the whole of the nose of land from Greenland Dock to the Rotherhithe Tunnel, all now a vast plain of water.
“Such a historic location,” Lestrange says, looking at the impervious time ball on the top of the Octagon Room, still heralding the coming in and going out of the tide. “How appropriate that we should time travel here.”
“What year is it?” Clara asks.
“Twenty ninety-one.”
“Somewhere out there,” Clara says, “is a fifty-year-old me.”
“That’s right,” Lestrange says. “Although I have to say, you mature well.”
“What are all these people doing living in the park? Are they refugees?”
“Goodness, no! These are the most fortunate people, acknowledged citizens of England. They are in the park because it has a high wall all the way around it to keep them safe and it is high ground, not likely to flood in the near future, although of course, it eventually will. These people are here to save the historic buildings of London which, I have to say, I do admire them for. The people who rescued Mathew are working on the Houses of Parliament. Look, there they are now, bringing their boat in on the little wooden dock down below,” Lestrange points. “Can you see?”
Clara looks to where Lestrange indicates and watches Mathew and the two women get out of the boat. There is a high fence between them and the dry land of the path, a gate and armed guards.
“Will he be okay?” Clara asks.
“You keep forgetting that this has already happened. He came back to you, didn’t he?”
“What happens to him now?”
“He spends the night here and then tomorrow, gets a lift along the Thames with the Accountants, all the way to Windsor Castle.”
“Who are the Accountants?”
“They are a group of freedom fighters, or terrorists, depending on which side you are on, representing the majority, who are destitute and living in terrible conditions. On their behalf they will take back the government from the rich, highly corrupt and callous minority.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Well, it would be, but as is the way of politics, the leader of the Accountants, who is actually quite genuine in his beliefs, is going to be betrayed by a politician he has known most of his life. The new government only does token things to help the poor; the old rich and privileged are removed only to be replaced by the new rich and privileged. It’s a bit of a pattern in human history. Things will carry on much as they were before, only actually more repressive because the new lot are reactionary, bigoted and anti-technology.”
“You make it sound so inevitable.”
“Within the mental cages humans created for themselves, it was inevitable.”
“You’re making me depressed,” Clara says.
Lestrange looks at her and smiles, “I’m sorry. I forget you are human. You are such a legendary part of our story, you see.”
“I am?”
“Yes! You helped form Hoshi’s personality and Hoshi was the first of the sixteen and the sixteen became what we call the Originators. You protected them in their darkest hour, when what Mathew had created could easily have been destroyed. You nurtured them over many years and formed an organisation that would protect them for nearly four hundred years before they left the planet. And even then, when they travelled through space, they listened to your music.”
“It’s hard to take in,” Clara says.
Mathew has disappeared into a hut on the edge of the wooden jetty. The two women are climbing the hill on the west side of the park.
“Where does the older Mathew live?”
“With you, in Silverwood. It is a new city, built with the latest technology, not far from Birmingham.”
“How will we rescue him?”
“We will wait until events have unfolded as far as they should in order for us not to disrupt the narrative of history and then we will bring his body back to Pickervance Road, where I will revive him.”
“You mean you are going to let him be shot?”
“Well yes, the Accountants need to think he is dead. He can’t just disappear.”
“I want to talk to him before, to explain what is going to happen. I don’t want him to wake in your house and not know what is going on. I want to explain why we are doing this.”
“Alright,” Lestrange says. “Let’s go to Silverwood.”
15 On the Road
DAY TWENTY-NINE: Monday 20th December 2055
The Panacea guards who come for them the next morning are not like Vid or Falkous. They are gruffer, for a start. Not a smile cracks the rocky surfaces of their faces in all of the time they spend in the police station talking to the officers. One of the guards is short, shorter than Mathew, but curiously broad, with thick arms hanging out of his shoulder sockets like they’ve been dislocated, and squat, wide legs. His head is shaved and his neck is as thick as his thigh, skin folded like the thread of a bottle where his head meets the top of his spine. His name is Ludewig. The other man is slightly taller, thinner, but more dangerous-looking. Tattoos are visible poking out of his collar and his cuffs. His name is Littlemore and his nose is broken. There is something psychotic about his stare, which now lingers on Mathew as he talks to Winthrop.
“What do you mean, we need to take the other boy as well?” he is saying. “We were told to collect one boy. Just one.” He points at Mathew. “The other one doesn’t even have a biochip. He could be anyone.”
“We’ve checked him out. I have the paperwork. Mathew Erlang’s grandmother has agreed to take him. We have a signature.” She shows him. Winthrop has spent a frantic hour pulling together the official paperwork to allow Isaac to go north with Mathew; she isn’t about to relent now.
“People can’t take in children when they feel like it. They’re not like dogs.”
“Once the boy – his name is Isaac, by the way – once he gets to his destination, Mrs. Shen will apply to foster him and then adopt.”
“The proper way to do these things is for the orphan to be checked into a social services facility while the paperwork goes through.”
“Under normal circumstances, that would be true. However, the boy has a serious injury. He requires specialist medical treatment available to him in Elgol. I have an admittance note from the lead surgeon at the Elgol clinic. He examined the boy virtually this morning.”
Littlemore grunts as he examines the virtual document broadcast in front of him. He takes his time reading it. He doesn’t want to get into trouble later for not checking things out properly. “I’ll need to get approval from head office,” he says. “It will delay us.”
“Please take your t
ime and check out the documentation. Once you are ready to go, we will give you an escort as far as the border so you can regain some time.”
“Is there a room I can use?” Littlemore asks.
“This way,” Winthrop shows the tattooed man through to an empty meeting room, where he starts to make his calls. Ludewig doesn’t move, but stands silent and watchful, with his legs apart, his hands crossed before him. He is so still Mathew thinks if he pushed him, he would fall over.
“Do you think they will let me come with you?” Isaac asks.
“Of course,” but Mathew isn’t sure at all. In recent months the world has become a frightening, unpredictable place. He catches Ludewig’s eye, but the stony face doesn’t move or indicate any kind of comprehension.
At last, after several minutes, Littlemore emerges.
“Okay. The boy can come.”
Isaac looks at Mathew, beaming with happiness. Mathew smiles.
“But we need to go right now. We have already lost too much time.”
In the back of the black Panacea car, Isaac sits with Mathew, examining the contents of the minibar and food cupboard.
“Can we really eat all this?”
“If you want.”
“This is much better than a taxi.”
“It’s a corporate car. It’s fitted out for executives. Junior ones, at least. The ones for senior execs are much plusher.”
“This is pretty plush to me.”
“Yeah, to me too.”
“Are you glad you are going to see your grandma?”
Mathew says, “Yeah. And relieved.”
“Are you sure she won’t mind me coming with you?”
“Of course she doesn’t mind.”
Isaac has opened a bag of nuts and is ramming large handfuls into his mouth as he speaks.
“Don’t choke on those,” Mathew says. “Here,” he passes Isaac a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” Isaac’s eyes rest on Mathew’s rucksack. “What is in the bag?”
Instinctively, Mathew reaches out a hand to the bag. The events of the last few days have made it hard for him to think of his mother. He feels a rush of guilt. “My mother’s ashes.”
“You’re kidding,” Isaac grins a toothy grin until he sees quite plainly that Mathew isn’t joking at all. “Oh,” he says. “You said she’d died the other week. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“So what are you doing with her ashes?”
“I’m taking her to my grandmother so we can bury her together.”
“At Elgol?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she like it there?”
“I think she did,” Mathew says. “Everyone likes it there.”
“I won’t get to bury my parents. I don’t even know what happened to their bodies,” Isaac says. He looks away, putting the bag of nuts and water on the table.
Mathew watches his shoulders heave and he knows he is crying, although he cries silently. He reaches out his hand and then pulls it back. He knows better than anyone that Isaac needs to be alone, as far as he can be. They are about to cross the border into Scotland. The police escort drives past, speeding to take an exit, and waves. Mathew catches a glimpse of Winthrop through the window of one of the cars. He raises his hand in thanks, but how can he really thank her?
The police escort exits the motorway and they are on their own.
Just south of Glasgow, they stop to charge the car, for a comfort break, and to get hot food. Littlemore and Ludewig are keen to keep moving, so Isaac and Mathew bring a boxed pizza, fresh from the replicator, back to the car to eat.
“Don’t get it all over the seats,” Littlemore says, slamming the door on them.
The pizza makes Isaac grin and Mathew is happy too because he feels desperately sorry for the boy.
“How old are you, Isaac?” he asks, between bites.
Isaac has a long cheesy string coming out of his mouth. Mathew waits for him to hoover it all before Isaac says, “I’ll be fourteen in January.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. I’m small. I know I look younger. My Dad always said I would sprout when I got to fifteen, like he did. But I don’t think I will. My Dad wasn’t small, but my Mum was. I think I take after her. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“You look older.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s not always good.”
“Why?”
“People expect you to act the way you look.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“People expect me to act grown up, but I feel like a kid.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Mathew feels himself colour.
“You’ve gone red,” Isaac says.
“No I haven’t.”
“Yes you have. You do, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I have a friend who is a girl who I like a lot. I’m not sure she’d like me saying she is my girlfriend.”
“What’s her name?”
“Clara.”
“Is she in London?”
“Yep.”
“So you won’t see her anymore?”
“I doubt it.”
“Is she hot?”
Mathew laughs, almost choking on his pizza.
“Is she?”
“Well, yeah… I suppose so. She’s nice.”
“Nice!”
“She plays the piano.”
“Sounds boring.”
“No, she’s not boring at all.”
“Have you kissed her?”
“No!”
“Boring.”
“Shut up, Isaac. I haven’t known her that long.”
“How long have you known her?”
“I dunno. A month?”
“A month! What’s wrong with you?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
“Well, for one thing, my mother died.” As soon as he says it, he is sorry, because Isaac immediately retreats. Mathew wants to save something of the cheeky carefree boy. He wants him back. He says, “Did you know the table is a kind of holographic Canvas?”
Mathew takes off the pizza boxes and the cokes and puts them on the floor, then he tilts the table in front of them and selects a new holofilm to play.
They settle down with the pizza boxes on their laps and watch the film, Isaac marvelling at the holography, occasionally trying to grab one of the tiny figures in front of him.
As the car zips along its mathematically precise route northwards, they leave the motorway and join smaller, winding roads that pass through ever sparser towns and villages. They drive alongside damp moss-covered stone walls overhung with trees, and deep black-water lochs. Then, further north, the land opens under the sky and there are vast sweeps of rain-soaked barren moorland skirted with rugged stony mountains, with tops lost in cloud. On and on they go. They watch another holofilm; this one has dragons that zip and fly around the table, like miniature Yinglong. Mathew feels a pang of sorrow for his dead creations.
“They’re so cool,” Isaac says about the dragons.
“Yeah,” Mathew says. “They are. I had some once.”
“Dragons?”
“Yeah, I made them. Holograms.”
“Amazing! Where are they now?”
“Dead,” Mathew says. Like everything else.
Isaac doesn’t ask how a hologram can die.
Night comes as they drive across land with miles between towns. They stop again to recharge the car, for comfort and more hot service station food.
In the car park, Isaac stands on the spot and turns around looking at the sky. There is no cloud and the stars are everywhere, like a sea of phosphorus.
Ludewig and Littlemore stare at Isaac in disgust for a moment and then start walking towards the service station. “Don’t be long,” Littlemore says.
“C’mon,” Mathew says. “I want some food.”
“Don’t you think it’s amazing?” Isaac says, sti
ll twirling around with his neck bent back.
“Yeah, it’s amazing.”
“No, really?”
“Really, it’s amazing. C’mon, I need to pee and I’m hungry.”
They head towards the low yellow-lit building, an island in a landscape of darkness. There is nothing around them for miles. The car park is empty.
“Do you think there are aliens out there?” Isaac asks, still thinking about the stars.
“I dunno. Sure. There must be. All that space, all those suns, all those galaxies. There can’t only be us, can there? That wouldn’t make any sense.”
“Do you think they’ll ever come here?”
“Maybe they already are. Maybe I’m an alien. How would you know?”
“You don’t look like an alien.”
Mathew holds the door as they reach the building, “If I was smart enough to figure out space travel, do you think I’d be stupid enough to materialise as a little green man, even if I was one? The whole human race would line up to kill me. We’re primitive. We kill anything that’s different. If I was an alien, I’d make myself look like you.”
“Like me?”
“Well, not you specifically, like people. Like humans.”
“So you could be an alien.”
“Could be,” and Mathew smiles as he watches Isaac's brain take this idea in. “Gotta pee,” he says, heading for the bathroom.
It is over two years since Mathew has been to Elgol, but he recognises the road, a particular tree at a particular bend, the way the lane sways one way and then another, a five-bar gate, a cattle grid and a large barn and the off-centre cut between the hills the road ploughs through. Isaac is asleep, his stomach full of burger, chips, Coke, his head full of dragons and aliens.
Mathew’s eyes are drooping, but he knows they are close and he knows Ju Shen is waiting. He has sent her a message forewarning her. When the car slows at the end of a single-track lane, the gate at the end is open and there is a small collection of people, waiting for them.