16
Traynor tapped a coin on the counter to catch Bradley’s attention. He came, a bit too eagerly, to take his order, and looked a bit too anxious to please.
‘Gin and tonic,’ said Traynor coldly and paid. He heard Jean's voice outside the bar.
‘... you hadn’t any right to do it, Frank. No right.’ She swept through the bar followed by Skinner who was protesting gently.
‘But, Jean, listen...’
Their voices were lost in the clatter of glasses and bar talk.
Skinner reappeared at Traynor’s side. He looked dulled and unhappy.
‘Shut me out of the lounge,’ he murmured. ‘Says she wasn’t sure if she wanted to let Liz go back. Wanted to be sure about what you’d been telling us.’
‘Let’s go out in the yard,’ said Traynor. ‘It’s a warm night.’
The two men strolled together on the cobbled yard.
‘You know anything about missile interception, Skinner?" asked Traynor.
‘You mean spotting and destroying rockets up in the blue. Only newspaper stuff really.’
‘Right,’ Traynor said. ‘It’s what I’m working on now. A complex business. Rockets fly high today. We know they are being made to home on targets from immense distances out in space. Distances which put them beyond reliable interception by radio signal.’
‘So?’ said Skinner.
‘So, imagine a beam of light. Powerful, fast, because it moves at the ultimate speed, and accurate. And then imagine that physicists in one country had developed such an interceptor but didn’t know when, how or if an unfriendly country had done so. They would know that in the present state of the art it could be done but what progress had been made would depend on when the enemy started work.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Skinner. ‘If Gottfried read your notes they would have started in the late forties.’
‘That’s why it matters and that’s why Liz...’
He stopped short as an agonized cry came to them from the windows of the lounge. Both men looked up.
Pressed against the pane Jean could just be seen, hands and face blurred, crying and sobbing distractedly.
They rushed to the stairs. Jean’s cries must have gone unheard in the noisy bar.
She was crouching by the window, holding her face in her hands. ‘Liz, oh, my poor poor Liz,’ she sobbed, and when the two men tried to lift her up she shook them off. Long shuddering sobs began to shake her body and after a moment she fell limp and unconscious.
They carried her to the sofa.
‘I’ll get her a brandy,’ said Traynor.
As he returned she moved back into consciousness.
Skinner pressed the spirit to her lips and slowly she revived.
‘Frank,’ she said in a shaking voice. ‘Liz is dead. They shot her.’
‘Are you sure she’s dead — even wounded?’ Traynor asked.
‘I can’t tell. She’s dead. Oh God, Frank, why did you ever let her go back?’
'Mrs Skinner,’ Traynor insisted. He was looking at her gravely. ‘Please listen. You must believe me when I say that Liz is not dead. Not even really hurt.’
‘After I saw her shot? How can you say such things?’
‘Because visitors from the future can’t come to any permanent harm. They’re there in a removed sense. But something they associate with harm or violence could create a deep impression of physical damage, like hypnotic states do.’
‘Mr Traynor, I saw the blood patch on her pullover. I watched it spreading. Now who was doing the Imagining? Me or Liz?’
17
As Gottfried walked into the Recreation room he was met by a flood of protest from Frank and Simon and a guttural speech of self-justification from Graz.
‘Ruhe!’ he shouted. Even Frank and Simon recognized what that meant. Like Graz they shut up.
Gottfried stepped up to Graz and held out his hand for the guard’s pistol. He balanced it in his hand and raising it deliberately struck Graz twice across the face. He took it with a sharp hissing intake of breath each time. Gottfried spat a curse at him and turned to Simon.
‘How badly is she hurt?’
‘She’s dead.’
Gottfried took a long look at Liz.
‘She’s breathing.’ He turned and dismissed the two guards and tapped Frank on the shoulder.
‘Help move her gently to the couch.’
Liz lay breathing gently. She looks more scared than hurt, Simon thought, and Gottfried seemed to feel this too but then he had lost out on every encounter with these unpredictable children.
‘Let me look at this wound,’ Gottfried said. He rolled up her jumper and shirt. The blood had begun to dry.
‘Curious,’ he said. ‘Very curious. Blood but no wound.’
Liz was flinching at the feel of his fingers.
‘Skinner,’ said Gottfried. ‘Get water. And first-aid kit.’ Frank moved off and reappeared with first-aid box and cold water.
Liz protested wildly at the cold water. ‘It hurts,’ she screamed. ‘The bullet went right through me.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser. Miss Skinner,’ said Gottfried. ‘My man must have missed. No entry wound — no exit wound. Some blood. A common hysterical symptom.’
‘But it hurts — it really does,’ Liz protested.
‘It would,’ Gottfried said. ‘It will get better.’ He wiped the blood off quickly with cold damp cotton wool.
Liz screamed. ‘You’re hurting. It’s like a knife.’
‘It will pass,’ said the Kapitan, and turned to Graz.
‘Nun,’ he growled, ‘was ist hier geschehen?’
Graz stammered out an explanation and Gottfried stood deep in thought. ‘Es passt mir nicht,’ he said in a tone of deep dissatisfaction. ‘You three English. The lock is broken so out of here and into the back room. Come on, young lady. Your performance was good but the comedy’s over. Get up and walk.’
‘I can’t,’ said Liz. ‘I’m hurt, wounded.’
‘Not a sign of a wound. Tell her, Simon.’
‘There’s not a scratch on you, Liz, really,’ said Simon. ‘Let’s get out of here. I don’t fancy getting locked up with old Graz and his gun again.’
‘Nor me,’ said Liz who was feeling her ribs for the wound and looking amazed as she found no break in the skin.
Gottfried stamped his foot.
‘Off with you — you’re wasting my time. Into the back room. Fritz! ’ he called at the top of his voice. He gave him curt orders and turned towards the Commander’s office. The others followed Fritz and left a sulky Graz leaning against the shattered door. He had a foul look in his eye as he watched them go.
* * *
The heavy door of the back room closed tightly behind them when Fritz pulled it to. They looked hopelessly at one another and cleared some space on the work bench. Simon found a spare parts box to sit on and Frank and Liz climbed up on the bench. For a while there was silence.
‘Frank, are you all right?’ Liz said as she watched him rub his head with his hands.
‘Yes, yes. It’s only that muzzy feeling I keep getting. And you?’
‘Oh me. There was never anything wrong with me. I just thought I got shot to bits but beastly Graz missed.’
‘That makes us a couple of odd bods.’
‘Frank, can’t you remember anything about what happened to you? You’ve lost your memory. Well, there must be some reason for that,’
‘All that comes back to me is that I had something to do.’
‘No, not that — that was about dismantling the machine.’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘Simon told me. He was there and helped. What I mean is before. What was the accident that made you lose your memory?’
'You’re a sweet kid, Liz. Here we are in the middle of a Nazi raid and you and I are nothing to one another but you worry about my troubles. That’s nice ...’
It was more than Liz could take. ‘Nothing?’ she th
ought. ‘Nothing?’ She jumped off the bench. Frank went on:
‘Here, don’t get upset. I’d tell you what happened if only I knew.’
Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Then it’s a mystery that we won’t ever be able to solve,’ she said. ‘Tell us — think hard — what had you been doing just before, say just after the Germans took over. You had some sort of orders. Who from?’
Liz kept up the questions; then Simon broke in.
‘Frank, when you and I dismantled that machine after I found the secret cabinet...’
‘Yes,’ Frank answered vaguely.
‘Well, although you were only half there you seemed to know what to do.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you have a go at it before? When the power was still on. Did you? It would be sort of warm. And when I came in it was standing a bit askew.’
‘Not so. First time I saw it, it was square on the cabinet floor and bang on target.’ Frank nodded at the steel plate opposite.
‘Then you had tried to move it. And you got a dose of the ray.’
‘Maybe. I remember a lot of bright lights. Thought I’d got a crack on the head. From the cabinet door.’
18
I remember a lot of bright lights. Thought I’d got a crack on the head. From the cabinet door...’ Jean’s voice was quite clear. Traynor and Skinner were sitting by her side, listening intently.
‘It’s very exhausting,’ she said and fell back on the couch.
‘This ray,’ Skinner broke in. ‘If it hit me, it started all those bright lights and headaches. What could have happened?’
The beam we had then was a candle compared with what we have now. But if it just touched you ...’
He turned away, aware of Jean's frowning inspection.
‘Oh, come on,’ said Skinner. ‘I’ve been waiting thirty years to know what’s wrong with me.’
‘Who can tell, Skinner?’ Traynor replied. ‘Who can tell? Brain damage perhaps. Memory cells gone. They might come back slowly, the brain’s a very adaptable organ.’
‘Good grief, man,’ said Skinner in a broken voice and Jean reached out a hand to him.
"Please, my dear. Just as long as we know at last. Everything’s going to be all right from now on.’
* * *
Traynor stole away quietly down to the bar and found it empty. He looked about, examining the horse-brasses and plastic harness that hung on the shelves. Above, among some antiquated bottles stood an old naval signaller’s lamp. Its realness stood out among the phoney decoration and he went behind the bar to take it down.
As he operated the lever it clattered and the shutters threw off a little cloud of dust.
Behind him Bradley spoke.
"I was just closing down for the night. Anything I can get you, sir?’
‘No thanks.’ Traynor put the lamp down between them. ‘Marvellous jobs, aren’t they? I don’t suppose there’s a better way of signalling been devised. I didn’t know you were in the Navy though?’
‘I wasn’t. I spent the war here at St Oswald.’
‘Practising signalling I suppose, Mr Bradley,’ Traynor replied as he left the bar.
Bradley picked up the lamp. He was on the point of flinging it across the room, then turned and put it back on the shelf. He drew out the cash desk. A revolver lay on one side, covered by a duster. He broke the gun, loaded it from a cartridge packet and put it in his pocket. Pale with fear he cleared out the till and went slowly upstairs.
* * *
Jean stepped from one window to the other looking over the dark fields towards the ruins of the Station. Her fingers tapped her cheekbones as she tried to sense the strange electronic noises and the flashes of vision too abrupt for description ... something ... something she murmured ... a movement ... they’re doing something wild in that room.
* * *
Traynor stood halfway down the stairs looking at Bradley. The landlord carried a suitcase. His right hand was buried in his mackintosh pocket. He drew it slowly out and pointed his revolver at Traynor.
‘Murder on top of treason, Bradley — why, they’d bring back hanging to oblige you. Besides, what’s your complaint? I’m not a policeman. There’s not really any proof against you.’
Bradley lowered his gun. Then he raised it and flung it at the signalling lamp. As it clattered to the floor he rushed out of the bar and Traynor listened as a car started in the yard and shot out of the drive-in.
He crossed to the bar and looked it over. ‘I think I could do with one on the house,’ he thought. So he had one.
He was sitting meditatively on a high stool when Skinner rushed in.
‘Come up. Jean’s got some contact again,’ he said.
‘Have a drink on the house,’ Traynor said. ‘I’m acting vice-landlord.’
‘In that case yes,’ said Skinner. ‘I feel all in.’ They climbed the stairs slowly but Jean shook her head.
‘It’s all faded away,’ she said. ‘Be patient now.’
19
Gottfried was making progress. And Traynor staring at him across his own desk was uneasy.
‘Are you going to speak. Commander?’
‘I hardly know what to say, Herr Kapitan.’
‘Then let’s begin with a simple premise. You are conducting experiments with light.’
‘Almost every scientist could be said to be doing that.’
‘Stop fencing. I have evidence and it will save time and trouble for you if you tell me about your work. Moreover, I know I can help you with it.’
‘For the cause of the Third Reich?’
‘For the cause of science and so of peace.’
‘Your delusions are quite extraordinary. My answer is simply no, nothing doing.’
Gottfried stamped to his feet and walking up and down stabbed at Traynor with his words: ‘You will have to face this problem sooner or later. If you won’t talk here you’ll come to Germany and they will make you glad to talk.’
‘You’re crazy.’ Traynor rose from his chair.
‘Not at all. Commander. We even have a box for you. A prick of a needle. A little sedation. You’ll wake up in Kiel — maybe Hamburg.’
‘You’re quite mad. After all your talk about men of peace and science. You’re a hypocrite, Gottfried.’
The Kapitan stopped dead in his tracks and glowered at Traynor. He protested in a low voice, ‘When you have seen what men will do to their own kind you will not be so ready with your judgements.’
* * *
In the back room three dejected prisoners sat in a dull silence.
‘Anything,’ announced Simon, ‘is better than this.’
‘Suggest something,’ snapped Liz, ‘if you’re so bright.’
‘I didn’t say I was bright. You said I was just good-hearted.’
‘Suggest some good hearted thing.’
‘Let’s wreck the place,’ spat out Simon. ‘I just hate being locked in here.’
‘That’s a thought,’ Frank said. ‘If we raise enough hell they may move us into the Officers’ quarters. Very posh.’
‘You’re both very funny and unhelpful,’ said Liz, but next moment she jumped at Frank, screaming, ‘Help.’
Behind her Simon was laying about the heaps of metal rubbish with a pick-handle. ‘Stop,’ she screamed, but Frank had joined in with a metal shelf and the din was doubled.
Raising hell being a catching kind of thing the noise was soon trebled. There was so much of it that none of them heard the door open. The first to notice was Simon.
‘Oh Lord! ’ he said, much diminished. ‘It would have to be old Graz.’
They dodged one another clumsily over a floor littered with rubbish and Simon might have made it through the door but for Liz who called, wild and angry at him: ‘You can’t leave us now, you big coward. You started it. You stay and help.’
Graz and Frank were rolling painfully on the floor, Frank taking more punishment than he could really stand. Liz sto
od by with a bit of metal, trying vainly to make an impression on the German thug who had now got astride Frank. His pistol hand came up and he brought the Luger down.
Simon’s fear left him. He swung the pick-handle high and let Graz have the heavy end across his skull.
He winded Frank as he fell on him.
‘Come on, Liz,’ called Simon. He grabbed the pistol and helped her roll the guard off Frank.
‘Come on,’ he called as he heard heavy footsteps out in the corridor. Then he hurried down behind the rank of cabinets. He was inside the overall cupboard before the guards came rushing in. Gottfried, gun in hand, and the Commander followed.
Traynor spoke savagely, ‘Kapitan, you don’t seriously mean to take me to Germany? You don’t think I’ll go — just like that.’
‘You’ll go. Commander. You’ve left me no choice. Graz!’ he shouted. ‘Dummkopf! Graz! Machen Sie schnell.’
But Graz was in no condition to make haste and when the guards went into the back room their curses brought Gottfried over too.
From the cupboard door Simon could just prod Traynor’s back with Graz’s pistol. He took it swiftly and slipped it into his trouser belt. He was waiting unconcernedly when the guards dragged Graz across the floor.
‘I hope you’ve got a box for him,’ Traynor sneered.
‘A clod,’ said Gottfried. ‘Now out of here. The transport is on its way.’
* * *
The room had cleared and Simon backtracked to find Liz and Frank.
‘Where did you scarper to?’ asked a fretful Liz.
‘The cupboard. I had to. Traynor’s got Graz’s pistol now,’ he said softly. ‘How’s Frank?’
‘He’s in terrible shape,’ replied Liz. ‘I’ll get some water.’
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