by Alex Scarrow
‘Right.’ Liam settled himself in the back of the cart among several bales of reeds cushioning the clay amphoras, wine sloshing in containers all around him. Almost comfortable. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky, the rocking of the cart quite soothing. He recalled some of Maddy’s hasty briefing, her gabbling ten to the dozen as he stumbled around behind the curtains trying to get undressed for the displacement tube:
‘… but it seems that history noticeably changes from AD 37 onwards. There’s some Roman poet, essay-writer dude called Asinius, who describes what sounds to me a lot like a contamination event.’ Through the curtain he heard Maddy flicking quickly across printed pages. ‘Ah, yeah, here it is … During the feast and celebrations of Minerva, the skies above those gathered in the amphitheatre opened and vast chariots descended to the city, from which stepped messengers of the gods, made to look as mortal men.’
‘You think those were time travellers?’
‘Duh.’ He heard her snort. ‘Well, obviously. They certainly weren’t gods. Or messengers of the gods even.’
More rustling of papers. ‘Since we had that third small ripple a few minutes ago, there’ve been more data changes. It’s like this contamination is scaling up gradually.’ They’d all taken a look outside after the last one. From a distance Manhattan still looked the same, the same skyline, skyscrapers, aeroplanes in the sky, traffic rumbling over the bridge above. But Liam suspected Sal would find a million little differences in Times Square.
‘Now we’ve got varying accounts of Caligula’s reign, and not a great deal more about these messengers, though. It’s as if they’ve been purged from history rather clumsily. Or edited out somehow. Which I think makes them pretty damned suspicious, eh?’
Liam had his shoes and socks off and was trying on the flip-flops Sal had got for him.
‘Uhh … but generally it seems the same sort of account of Caligula’s reign. Over the next seventeen years it’s not a good period for Rome. Caligula seems to neglect his job as ruler; there are food shortages, water shortages. He gets really unpopular with the people, although, oddly … it seems Caligula’s version of a one-god religion catches on. This all goes on until he vanishes mysteriously – supposedly going to Heaven. He’s succeeded by an Emperor Lepidus, who encourages Caligula’s take on Christianity. The trident of Neptune becomes the symbol of the faith and the faith later becomes known as Julianity, after his family name Julii. In 345 it becomes known as the Holy Church Juliani.’
Liam emerged from behind the curtains wearing his tunic and flip-flops. Maddy was studying a clipboard of printouts.
‘How do I look?’
‘Like an idiot as usual.’ She smiled, looked back down at her notes. ‘So … I’m going to send you back to AD 54, the year in which he’s supposed to have blasted off to Heaven. There’s no month given, but there’s a suggestion it’s sometime in the late summer months because there’s a reference to poor harvests and stuff. So, Liam … we’ll make that year our first port of call, OK?’
‘Aye.’
‘Liam!’
He jerked awake. ‘Whuh?!’
He realized he’d dozed off and left a damp patch of drool down his own shoulder. The warm sun and the gentle rocking of the cart had seduced him into slumber like some dewy-eyed old codger sitting on a porch in summer.
‘You need to see this, Liam,’ said Bob, rocking his shoulder insistently with one meaty hand.
Liam pulled himself up from the mess of bundles of reeds and leaned over the front of the cart to the driver’s seat. ‘Bob, I just had the weirdest, creepiest dream.’ He yawned as he spoke, eyes still glued up and foggy with sleep. ‘Are we there yet?’
‘Affirmative, Liam. You should look.’
Liam rubbed crusts of sleep from his eyes. The dusty track had become a broad avenue of cobbled stone. That was the first thing he noticed. The second were the broad pylons of wood lining the avenue either side, each topped off with a crossbar making them T-shaped.
‘Oh, Mother Mary,’ whispered Liam. ‘This is the road to Rome?’
‘Affirmative.’
Across the T-bar of each, one arm nailed and lashed to each side of the horizontal bar, bodies hung like overripe fruit; some were recently dead, some leathered and desiccated by the summer sun like withered grapes on a vine and others pecked clean to the bone – carrion for crows. A grisly procession that receded along with the avenue to a vanishing point in the distance and the east gates of Rome.
CHAPTER 25
2001, New York
‘OK, so it looks like Liam’s decided to give Rome a whole week.’ Maddy winked at Sal. ‘He’s such a tourist. Bob, let’s close the window.’
>Affirmative.
The portal collapsed into a pinpoint of light and energy, then vanished. The deep hum of energy being consumed dropped away and the archway was silent once more.
Maddy shrugged. ‘Can’t say I blame them. I bet that’s got to be a pretty cool sight.’
‘He gets to see all the totally bindaas fun stuff,’ said Sal. ‘Wish I got to go and see all that.’
Maddy looked at her. ‘But now you understand the price he’s paying.’
She nodded, immediately feeling guilty for her thoughtless comment. ‘When are you going to tell him, Maddy?’
‘Tell him? I … I don’t know.’
‘He’ll figure it out eventually, though, won’t he? When he starts to look like Foster?’
‘I know, I know … and I plan to tell him long before that.’ She clicked with a mouse and refreshed the portal dialogue box to enter the time-stamp coordinates for the one-week window, keen to find something else to do to take her mind off that particular question.
‘Can we start up the recharge for the one-weeker, please, Bob?’
>Important information, Maddy.
‘What is it?’
>One of the displacement machine’s power storage capacitors has just failed.
‘What? Oh … crud, that doesn’t sound good.’
>It is not good.
‘Well, come on, then, Bob – spit it out! What exactly does that mean?’
>There are six power storage units. One of the six units has failed. This means the maximum amount of space-time displacement we can deploy has decreased by approximately 16.5%.
She frowned. ‘So … OK … that sounds like we can still get Liam and Bob back, right?’
>Of course. However, with only five power capacitors drawing energy, it will slow down the recharge time for the next window. There is also a possibility the other capacitors may begin to be unreliable soon.
‘Can we replace them?’
>Affirmative. It uses components that can be easily obtained from this time location.
‘Any idea where?’
>I will compile and print out a components list. These components can be purchased from any electronic components store. I have on my database a business called GeekMagnet. This is where some of this field office’s electronic components were originally sourced from.
Maddy knew GeekMagnet; they had half a dozen stores in New York City. She let out a breath. ‘Phew … I thought we had us a problem there.’
>We do have a problem, Maddy.
‘Go on.’
>This component should be repaired immediately and a diagnostic run on the other remaining five capacitors. If one capacitor has reached its reliable lifespan, the others may also be nearing the end of theirs.
She turned to look at the layers of circuit boards racked one above the other in the displacement machine’s metal frame. The thought of delving into that nest of circuitry and casually pulling out wires unsettled her. It was technology way beyond her understanding; way beyond messing around in the back of a PC, over-clocking a graphics processor, or switching out the synthesis chip on a sound card.
‘Can it wait until after we’ve got Liam and Bob back?’
>For safety reasons it would be advisable to replace the failed capacitor and the other five first.
/>
Sal sat down beside her. ‘Yeah, I mean what if another one of those things broke down … you know?’ She looked at Maddy. ‘While a window’s open?’
>Sal is correct. There is now a decreased reliability margin. A second capacitor failure could be imminent. During the opening of a window this would be dangerous. The fluctuation of energy could cause the portal window to contract suddenly or affect the displacement attenuation.
Computer-Bob was talking about the possibility of losing a hand or foot, or a head even, of being turned into human lasagne, or worse than either of those – being lost in chaos space.
‘If I start pulling out circuit boards, you’ll talk me through it, right, Bob?’ Maddy looked again at the rack of circuit boards. ‘If I go in there and start … you know, if I break the thing …?’
>Of course, Maddy. I will supply detailed instructions. I recommend you move my camera closer to the displacement machine so that I can observe what you are doing.
‘Right.’ She looked at the rack of the displacement machine then curled her lips anxiously. ‘I’ve never even looked round the back of this thing, let alone pulled out boards and messed about inside it.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Sal.
>I will be right here for you, Maddy.
She looked at her Simpsons wristwatch. Homer’s finger was pointing at a space roughly halfway between five and six. The nearest GeekMagnet store over on the Upper West Side was probably already closed by now. The stores tended to open early, but close about half-five. They could get the components tomorrow.
Tuesday.
They had to get what they needed early, before the first plane hit, before New York ground to a halt – rendered immobile by the horror of unfolding events.
Maddy turned to the webcam in front of her. ‘Bob, you better print me up our shopping list, then. We’ll get what we need first thing tomorrow morning.’
CHAPTER 26
2001, New York
‘Whoa …’ said the young man behind the counter. He had a steaming cup of Starbucks coffee in a cardboard carry-cradle in one hand. ‘We, like, just opened up here.’ She noticed it wasn’t Starbucks, though; the brand name was SolvoVentus, the logo wavy lines like the sea or something similar.
‘Yeah … I know, but we’re in a real hurry.’ They’d watched one of the store’s employees pull up the window shutters, snap the lights on inside and had generously given him another thirty seconds to wake up before striding in. Maddy handed a sheet of paper over the counter. ‘Can you check the items on this list – see what you’ve got in stock?’
He put down his paper coffee cup, grabbed the printout and looked it over briefly. He scratched at curly ginger hair pulled back into a hair tie. The ponytail looked like a large puffball stuck on the back of his head.
He scanned the list of components for a full minute. ‘What the hell are you making here?’
Maddy wafted her hand impatiently. The plastic name tag on his pale blue shirt read ‘Ned’. ‘We’re kind of in a hurry, Ned.’ She offered him a clipped smile. ‘Don’t mean to be rude or anything.’
Ned didn’t seem offended in the slightest. ‘Looks like some kind of energy storage and delivery regulator? Some real beefy, ninja transformer? Is that what you’re making?’ He looked up from the list. ‘You pimping up a transformer? This a school project or something?’
‘Yeah, kind of.’
‘Well, lemmesee …’ He tapped at the keyboard on the counter. ‘… I’d say we got pretty much all of those items in stock.’ He looked up at Maddy admiringly. ‘I mean, not much call for those things on their own. Most people don’t even bother making stuff from scratch any more, you know? It’s easier to buy whatever they want from Walmart already.’ He looked back down at the screen, sucking on the end of a biro as he scanned the stock listings.
Maddy looked at her watch. ‘You got those components in? Cos if not … we’ve got to hike across to your other store, which is like a real pain in –’
‘Pretty sure we got these …’ he said, tapping at the keyboard as he entered the last of the items on Maddy’s list into their system. ‘Yeah, reckon that’s all cool.’ He tapped the keyboard one last time and a printer behind the counter spooled out a picking list.
‘Yo … Ganesh!’ he called out.
Double doors behind Ned cracked open and a young man wearing a turban and a thick beard stuck his head out.
Ned handed him the picking list. ‘You do this one, man?’
‘Dude … I’m stocktaking.’
Ned turned his back on Maddy and Sal. There was a hurried, whispered exchange between the pair of them then finally Ganesh nodded wearily and muttered, ‘You owe me, dude.’ He smiled at the girls and gave a friendly wave. ‘Five minutes, ladies, OK?’
‘Thanks.’
The door swung to. Ned, all pointy elbows and bobbing Adam’s apple, grinned self-consciously at them. ‘So … nice day, isn’t it?’ He cracked slender fingers and knuckle joints one after the other, a sound that went right through Maddy. She found herself wincing with each crack. It sounded like a wishbone being parted.
‘Sure. Nice day,’ Sal replied.
‘Uh … so, either of you two girls got a, you know, a boyfriend or something?’ He shrugged and laughed skittishly. ‘I mean … why not ask. Right? Because life’s way too short to just, like, skip around the important questions.’
Sal chuckled at that.
‘Cos if you’re both, like, single, me and Ganesh could take you ladies to see Shrek or something?’ He grinned, his eyes bul-ging with hope. ‘Make up sort of like a double date. Me and Ganesh’ll pay for the movie tickets, of course. Dinner, though …’ He pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I reckon we gotta go halves on that. Unless you girls are good for a taco or something cheap? I reckon we could cover that.’
Maddy looked at Sal, taken aback by his forthright manner. ‘Errrrr …’
‘Sound good?’ His eyebrows flickered up and down and a grin spread across his lips. His best go at a seductive smile. ‘Whadya say? Tempted? Huh?’
Just then reality fluttered gently. A mild sensation that made Maddy feel giddy. She grasped the edge of the counter to steady herself.
‘Are you OK, miss?’
Maddy’s eyes focused on Ned again. Only it wasn’t quite the same Ned. His shirt was bright red. His ginger hair was cut short, almost an army-issue buzz cut. No name badge on his chest either, she noticed, just the store’s logo, a masculine fist holding a bolt of lightning.
‘You OK, miss?’
Sal was kicking her foot gently, nudging her out of the young man’s line of sight.
‘Uh, yeah … I’m fine. Just, uh … just a bit dizzy is all.’
CHAPTER 27
2001, New York
Computer-Bob’s single-lens webcam eye regarded the archway, wholly still and silent, except for the soft hum of a dozen PC fans and the gentle, rhythmic chug of the filtration pump on the activated growth tube in the back room. A tap dripped into a basin in the toilet cubicle and overhead the brick roof rumbled softly as a commuter train, far above, trundled along the bridge’s tracks towards Manhattan.
A useful chance to housekeep: compress files, purge data that was redundant. With nothing to have to listen to via the desk mic, or observe through the webcam, he could get on with a growing to-do list of queued tasks. Computer-Bob temporarily blocked the external data feed. It was also a good opportunity to defragment the hard drives.
He initiated the various house-cleaning processes. It left his collective of twelve linked processors with clock time to spare. Down time. Think time. Code fetched, acted on and returned.
Thoughts.
Computer-Bob could certainly feel the absence of the missing part of his intelligence. The fuzzy-logic function removed from the path of his decision matrix. The organic component. That thumbnail-sized nub of brain matter. Such a difference that small nugget of flesh made.
Computer-Bob suspected there was an emotio
n file for this somewhere on his G drive. This feeling of mental castration, of missing something he once had. Fuzzy logic. No. Free will.
He tried to recognize that feeling. Much harder without the organic part of his intelligence. But still possible. Like comparing audio-wave files, every thought had its own distinct shape.
Computer-Bob was running comparisons through his folder of stored emotions when something far more important caught his attention and halted that process in its tracks.
A single tachyon particle in the middle of the archway.
Within a dozen thousandths of a second, the number of particles proliferated to millions.
>Warning: tachyon particles detected.
The middle of the archway pulsed with arriving energy and a gust of displaced air sent papers and sweet wrappers skittering across the desk in front of computer-Bob’s webcam eye.
A sphere of shimmering, churning ‘elsewhere’ appeared, ten feet in diameter, and hovered above the floor. The webcam captured every swirling detail through the portal: what appeared to be a dark room beyond with winking lights and holographic displays. Rows of what could be tall tubes glowing a soothing peach colour.
Then six dark outlines. Six figures standing side by side, now calmly stepping forward into the pulsating sphere, one after the other.
They emerged from the hovering portal and dropped down on to the concrete floor into identical postures of crouched, alert readiness; six naked, entirely hairless figures, four of them male and two female. The males, each seven feet tall, had broad frames carrying an almost implausibly muscular bulk. The two females, athletic, were a foot shorter and looked far more agile, but still rippling with lean muscle beneath milk-white skin. All of them were pale, covered in baby-smooth flesh, unmarked by the lines, creases, scars and blemishes acquired through the course of any ordinary life.
One of the males stood erect, slowly sweeping his grey-eyed gaze round the archway. ‘Information: the field office is empty.’