by Peter Ward
“I’m insignificant?” Geoff said, standing up from his rock. “I don’t matter?”
“You don’t matter to the space-time continuum, but you certainly matter to us,” Mr. Knight said, leaning against the tree trunk. “You see, because most people have an influence on the course of history, we can’t ask them to do this job because we’d be interfering with the past. You, however, are so insignificant, that even if I were to kill you on the spot, history would remain completely unchanged. That’s why we need you to become a Time Rep. You’re one of the only people we can ask because it doesn’t change anything. Not even a little bit.”
Geoff looked down at the ground and twisted his right foot into the dirt.
“Not even a smidge?” he said.
“The less people you know, the less you go out—the better. It’s taken our computer seven years of temporal analysis to produce a list of people from this time period insignificant enough to be considered for the job.”
“But your computer could be wrong,” Geoff said, feeling a little hurt. “Surely I can’t be that insignificant.”
“Trust us Geoff,” Ruth said. “You are. Apart from your suitability for being a Time Rep, you’re worthless. You’re less important to the world than certain types of mushroom. There’s only you and nineteen other people living in the twenty-first century who are insignificant enough to be considered for the job. People who draw absolutely no attention to themselves. Lazy. Reclusive. Lonely. Unemployed. Uninteresting. Unattractive …”
“Stop, stop, stop!” Geoff said, glancing up again. The dot of light was now quite distinctive against the clear blue sky. “Unattractive?”
“Maybe not unattractive … just normal. Bland. None of you would stand out.”
“So what makes me so special?” Geoff said, looking down again. “Am I especially bland? Am I more uninteresting than anyone else? Am I the world’s most boring, unsociable person?”
“No, no no. The only thing that marks you out from the others is the fact that you turned the job down. Everyone else accepted.”
“That’s it?” Geoff said. “Why is that so important?”
“When you turned down the job, you intentionally denied yourself an opportunity. You showed me that you had no aspirations—no desire to better yourself. All the other applicants saw this job as a chance prove themselves, a chance to change their ways. And that is exactly what we can’t have—we need you to stay the way you are. We need you to stay insignificant.”
“So … what did you tell the others?”
“The others?”
“Yeah. After they accepted the job offer.”
“All the other applicants still got a job,” Ruth said, “just not this job.” She turned to look across the rainforest. Over in a small clearing a few miles away, a tyrannosaurus rex had emerged from the jungle. “We sent them all to Spain to work as regular holiday reps. They’ve got no idea that they actually failed the test.”
“I don’t understand,” Geoff said, watching as the tyrannosaurus stomped towards a group of smaller dinosaurs. “If this whole time-tourism thing is such a big secret, why did you advertise the job in the paper?”
“We didn’t,” Mr. Knight smiled, emerging from under the tree. “We had your newspaper custom printed. The advert only appeared in the copy sent to your house.”
“But how did you know I would see it?”
“Because we told Tim to show it to you.”
Geoff stopped looking at the tyrannosaurus rex and snapped his gaze round.
“What?”
“Tim. Your housemate. He works for us. He’s the one who’s been spying on you.”
Ruth wrinkled her brow and turned to Mr. Knight. “Spying might not be the best way of putting it,” she said.
“Well how else would you put it?” Mr. Knight scoffed.
“Wait a minute,” Geoff said, only just starting to comprehend what he was being told. “Tim?”
“Yes, Tim.”
“My housemate, Tim?” he said, taking a few steps towards Mr. Knight. “Not some other Tim?”
“Your housemate, Tim.”
Geoff thought about this for a bit.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“Of course I’m sure!” Mr. Knight replied impatiently.
“And I suppose he’s from the future too?”
“He is.”
“Right. What year did you say you were from?”
“I didn’t. I suppose the year would roughly be 3050, but we don’t really measure time in Earth years anymore.”
“No?”
“No. We use Outer Spiral Galactic Mean Time.”
“Course you do,” Geoff said. “Much easier system. I’m surprised we haven’t started using it already …”
“Look, Tim isn’t a spy,” Ruth said. “Think of him more as a headhunter. It’s his job to make first contact with potential Time Reps, get them ready for the role, and keep an eye out for any disruptions in the space-time continuum as a result of our interference. And yes—he’s had to conceal the truth from you for a number of years, but it’s the only way we can be sure you’re suitable for the job. Besides—now that you’ve been hired, he’ll be a great mentor, as he is for all the other Time Reps he’s identified throughout history.”
“I don’t believe it,” Geoff said. He was so dumbfounded at what he was being told, he hadn’t noticed the dot of light was even larger now, like a smaller, second sun in the sky.
“Think about it. He invited you to live with him when you lost your job didn’t he? Rent free?”
“So what?”
“Bit convenient, isn’t it?”
“Convenient?”
“Don’t you see?” Mr. Knight said, glancing down at his watch. “He invited you to live with him because he decided that you had potential.”
“You’re wrong,” Geoff said. “He invited me to live with him because I’d lost my job. He felt sorry for me.”
“He already knew you were going to lose your job,” Mr. Knight said. “That’s why the company bought a house on your paper round. We did it so that Tim would be able to establish a relationship with you. That way, he was able to convince you to move in with him when you got sacked instead of … doing what you would have done otherwise.”
“You mean to tell me I was never supposed to live with this guy? That my life was supposed to follow a different path?”
“Trust us,” Ruth said, “you’re not missing out on anything.”
“Once you’d moved in,” Mr. Knight continued, “he bought the games consoles to keep you entertained, did all the shopping, everything. He’s been keeping you as detached from the outside world as possible, minimizing your contact with other people. In essence, he’s been grooming you for the job from the moment he met you.”
“I don’t understand,” Geoff said. “Wouldn’t it have just been easier to ask me directly? Put all the ‘Time Reps’ to the test on day one?”
“Not allowed,” Ruth said. “Contacting someone from another time period must be taken slowly. You can’t just wander up and ask someone to be a Time Rep.”
“Why not?”
“Regulations,” she sighed, the lull in her voice suggesting that she didn’t agree with half of them. “There are hundreds of regulations for traveling through time.”
“Regulations?”
“Any alterations we make must be done as gradually as possible. Asking someone to be a Time Rep out of the blue is too immediate. As we said, people like Tim constantly monitor any changes in the space-time continuum when they interact with candidates, and as such we have to be extremely careful, take things very slowly. It’s only when we’re completely sure that a candidate is ready for the role that we bring them in for an interview.”
“Anyway,” Mr. Knight said, putting his earphones on again. “By my watch we have exactly fifteen seconds before the Earth is totally decimated, so we’d better get ready to lea
ve.”
Geoff‘s earphones were already firmly in place, hopefully ready to do their thing. Don’t panic, he said to himself—don’t panic. He looked up at the sky—the asteroid was now looming above them like a giant finger of death: black and jagged and devastatingly huge.
He panicked.
The next thing he knew, there was an almighty roar. All around, creatures stopped what they were doing and looked up as the asteroid broke through the upper atmosphere, the hulking mass of rock blazing through the sky in a trail of smoke and flames. Before Geoff even had a chance to take in what was happening, the asteroid pummeled into the forest before him, exactly where Mr. Knight had predicted. In an instant, every tree, plant and animal was vaporized. Shockwaves thundered through the ground, plumes of scorched earth billowed into the air, and the sky turned black—the sun disappearing behind a thick cloud of ash.
“Time to leave!” Mr. Knight shouted as the mountain they were standing on began to collapse.
But Geoff didn’t get a chance to hear what Mr. Knight had said because by now he was slumped on the ground, unconscious.
Four
Which was by no means unusual. Geoff often fell asleep while people were talking to him. Particularly relatives. But this was different though—the sight of a mass extinction was obviously too much for him, and he must have fainted. Either that or the earphones were actually playing some kind of warped music designed to make you fall unconscious, like a Celine Dion album. In any event, one minute he was witnessing the end of the dinosaurs, the next he was back in his recurring dream, strolling down a hill towards his imaginary lake.
While there was no mistaking the fact that this lake only existed in his mind, Geoff was conscious that it was loosely based on a real-life lake he used to go to with Zoë, a lake they used to stroll around together when they’d finished their rounds in the morning. It had always been a place that had made him feel comfortable, and, in times of stress, it was somewhere he always went to in his dreams to help him relax.
This time was no exception. His imagination had done its best to make it a really nice day for fishing; it was crisp, early-morning kind of weather, the air thick with fog and sweet to taste. In most respects, he felt a bit like being at summer camp, except he wasn’t eleven, and he wasn’t being tricked by the older boys to go and ask the adults for a “Scrotum Scratcher” under the cruel misapprehension that it was a kitchen utensil.
No, this dream was refreshing. Even though he knew he was asleep, he felt awake or, at least, more energetic than normal. Instead of spilling like a rag doll onto his usual imaginary bench, he stood upright, nearer the bank, and cast his line further out into the water than ever before. Almost immediately, Geoff’s fishing rod was nearly tugged out of his hand—his imagination taking him completely by surprise. Digging his feet into the mud, he steadied himself and tried to maintain a better grip. Whatever he had snagged, it was huge, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hang on. The rod was now squirming around uncontrollably, desperately trying to prize itself free from Geoff’s hands, which were beginning to get a little sore. He didn’t understand—he’d never dreamt anything like this before—rusty hubcaps and old boots didn’t usually put up this much of a fight, unless of course they were still attached to cars or people.
Something began to emerge from the water. Was that … a head? He tried to look a little closer—yes, it looked a head, hidden under some sort of black hood. But it wasn’t just a head he had caught—as he pulled harder, the torso and arms began to emerge. This was a whole person! It was certainly heavy enough to be a whole person. His eyes began to water with the strain of trying to control the rod—it was starting to slip from his grasp. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the battle was over. The rod broke free of Geoff’s rather pathetic grip, sailed across the lake, and glugged into the water. The hooded figure disappeared back under the surface, leaving only a few bubbles to commemorate the struggle.
Geoff dragged his feet out of the muddy bank and slumped down on the bench. What was that all about? Was there some sort of significance to what just happened? Why was he dreaming about pulling a hooded figure out of the water? He rubbed his thumbs into his palms to try and bring some circulation back to his hands.
“There,” a voice said. “He’s waking up. Should be able to hear us now.”
“Who said that?” Geoff said, snapping his head around. He couldn’t see anybody.
“Speech has returned, too.”
“How long before his sight returns?” Another voice. Sounded like Tim.
“He should be fully awake within a few minutes.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Tim’s voice said. “This guy slept through a burglary once.”
“So what? Most burglars are quiet.”
“So were these,” Tim said. “Except they stole the bed he was sleeping in.”
The voices weren’t really coming from any particular direction—they just seemed to be booming out of the sky.
“What’s going on?” Geoff said.
“We’re bringing you back into the space-time continuum,” Tim’s voice said. “Your senses are returning one at a time.”
All of a sudden, his body froze. He couldn’t move his arms or his legs.
“I can’t move!” Geoff shouted.
“Don’t struggle!” The other voice said, “That’s just your sense of touch returning. We’ve got you strapped onto a table here.”
“You’ve got me strapped onto a table?”
“Just until your sight returns, Geoff,” Tim said. “Don’t want you walking into any doors, or anything.”
It was at this stage that Geoff would normally pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. The difficulty here was that he already was dreaming and couldn’t move to pinch himself even if he wanted to double-check. He closed his eyes and hoped that this would all be over when he opened them again.
Five
“Geoff?”
“What?”
“Open your eyes.”
“No.”
“We think your sight has returned.”
“Oh good,” Geoff said. “What about my sanity? How’s that coming along?”
“Just open your eyes,” Tim said.
“Can I open one eye?”
There was a pause.
“If it makes you feel better.”
Geoff cautiously opened his left eye. He appeared to be lying flat on his back, his arms and legs firmly strapped to some sort of operating table. Unfortunately, that was all he could really see; above him, a large overcomplicated lighting rig shone in his eyes, blinding him from the rest of his surroundings.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Geoff said. “I think I’ll just close my eyes again.”
“Wait,” Tim said. “Let me turn those lights off so you can see properly.”
The lighting rig folded in on itself and retracted into the ceiling in one graceful movement, as if it secretly wished it had chosen a career in ballet dancing.
“Is that better?”
With the lights no longer shining in his eyes, Geoff could now see that the room he was in was mostly empty. There were no sofas, no pictures hanging on the walls—nothing. With the exception of a door in the far corner, the room was featureless. Completely white. Average size. A room that would have serious trouble describing itself in a lonely hearts column.
Tim was standing in one corner, although at first Geoff didn’t recognize him—he was wearing a long white laboratory coat, and his face was concealed behind a pair of large plastic goggles similar to the ones Geoff wore when he was doing his laundry. Next to him stood a much older man—probably the owner of the other voice Geoff had heard in his dream. The man’s face was quite craggy with a thick white beard, his eyes nestled away behind a pair of bushy white eyebrows. He appeared to be leaning on an old wooden walking stick for support and, like Tim, wore a white coat and goggles.
�
��Right,” Tim said, rubbing his hands enthusiastically, “Let’s help him up.”
The two men approached the table and began to unfasten the large leather straps securing Geoff’s arms and legs.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Tim said, releasing Geoff’s right arm.
“Dinosaurs!” Geoff said. “I saw … I mean, there was an asteroid, and fire, and earthquakes, and fire, and an asteroid! And earthquakes!”
“Good … anything else?”
“An asteroid!”
“Geoff, calm down.”
Geoff tried to collect his thoughts.
“I remember someone telling me that you were a spy,” he scowled, recalling his conversation just before the asteroid struck.
“I can’t believe Knight still calls me that,” Tim said, walking round to release Geoff’s other arm. “Did he not explain to you what I do?”
“This other girl did. Ruth. She said you were a recruiter or something …”
“More like a headhunter,” Tim replied, removing his goggles.
Geoff sat up and rubbed his wrists. It felt like someone had been practicing their Chinese burn technique on him.
“Well this is excellent,” the bearded man said, removing his goggles. “He seems to remember everything. Sounds like he’s suffered no residual memory loss whatsoever.”
“Who’s this guy?” Geoff asked.
“I am Dr. Skivinski,” The man said, leaning on his walking stick. “But you can call me Eric.”
“Turn and face me, would you?” Tim said, pulling out a small pen torch from his coat pocket.
“What are you doing?” Geoff said, swivelling his body round.
“Just removing your brain,” Tim replied.
Geoff looked at him in silence. Despite having known Tim for several years, he never could tell when Tim was being sarcastic, and now would have been a pretty good time to start learning.
“That was a joke,” Tim replied, shining the torch in Geoff’s eyes. “You seem fine. Now—I just need to ask you a few simple questions to make sure you’re okay to leave the room.”