by Peter Ward
“Geoff?”
Silence.
“Geoff. Say something.”
“Basement!” Geoff said.
“Thank you,” the lift replied. “After this lift reaches the top floor, it will then head down to the basement.”
Tim sighed.
“Happy?” he said.
Mr. Knight clinked his wine glass with a spoon.
“Everyone!” he said, sounding a little out of breath. “Can I have your attention please?”
Across the room, people cut short their conversations and looked round at Mr. Knight, who was being helped up onto his desk by Ruth. Presumably this was so people could see him—Mr. Knight didn’t come across as the sort of person who would indulge in unruly office behavior for no reason, even at a party. Through the windows behind him, the moonlit London skyline was exactly the same as Geoff remembered it from over one thousand years ago. It really was a very good re-creation.
The top floor, however, had changed considerably since he was here for his interview, no longer being just an empty expanse of open-plan office space with a lone desk in the corner. Today, it looked more like a Roman palace with a shiny marble floor, ornate fountains dotted around the place, and huge stone pillars rising into the ceiling. Geoff tapped on one with his hand. Solid stone. It was hard to believe that this was the same room.
He turned towards Tim, who was sitting on some sort of chez longue. “What’s the deal with this décor?” he whispered.
“Oh, it’s not always like this,” Tim replied, tossing a grape in his mouth. “Each year a Time Rep takes it in turn to provide the food and decoration for the annual inauguration. This year it’s the turn of the Time Rep from Ancient Rome.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Knight said, looking over the crowd from his desk-cum-pedestal, “welcome to the tenth annual Time Rep inauguration party!”
The guests erupted into a round of applause.
Mr. Knight waited for the noise to die down. “Tonight,” he continued, “we are honored to welcome four new Time Reps into the organization, all of whom you will get a chance to meet later. As of today, we are now able to offer holidays to over a hundred different historical time periods from ancient Egypt, to the second Renaissance period, right the way back to prehistoric times. This is a far cry from our roots fifteen years ago when we could only offer holidays to a handful of destinations. Tonight, we are here to celebrate the fantastic growth the time-tourism industry has seen over the past year. We’re here to celebrate the increased understanding we are able to offer the world about its past. But most of all, we are here to celebrate you—the Time Reps. The ambassadors for history.”
Geoff picked his nose and wiped it on a pillar.
“However,” Mr. Knight continued, “a small minority of people out there want to abuse the benefits of time travel. They want to take this new freedom away from us and use it to change history for their own selfish means. In these times of crisis, we mustn’t forget those who work tirelessly to protect us from this threat. Let me make this clear: time travel has always been safe, and it remains safe because of the continued effort of one man. Please give a huge round of applause for the double Noble Prize winner, and our Chief Physicist, Dr. Eric Skivinski!!!!”
Another round of applause.
“Where is Eric?” Mr. Knight called out, looking out across the party. A few heads began to turn in the crowd, but Eric was nowhere to be seen.
“No matter,” Mr. Knight said, looking a little embarrassed at Eric’s absence. “I’m sure you’ll all get to meet him later. Please, have a drink, get to know your fellow Time Reps, and above all, enjoy yourselves!”
The crowd gave a final, less enthusiastic round of applause, suggesting they were getting a little bit bored with all the applauding. Mr. Knight dropped down from his desk and went over to chat with the nearest group of guests. Around the room, people returned to their conversations.
Geoff wandered over to Tim, who was craning his neck over the crowd.
“What are you doing?” Geoff said.
“Looking for Eric,” Tim said. “You seen him? Mr. Knight’s going to be pretty pissed if he doesn’t show his face tonight …”
“What does Mr. Knight actually do?” Geoff said.
“Mr. Knight? He’s the president of the company,” Tim replied, giving up his search. “Mainly deals with the more political side of the business. He secures funding for us, negotiates with the government over tourism regulations, dictates our corporate responsibilities, and he keeps the shareholders happy. You’ve got to deal with some very slippery individuals when you’re at his level, and he does that very well.”
Geoff looked over at Mr. Knight. He was standing in the far corner of the room talking to an overweight, well-dressed gentleman.
“Let’s go over and speak to him,” Tim said, getting to his feet. “You’ll see what I mean.”
Geoff picked up a glass of wine from a nearby table and followed Tim across the room, negotiating his way past a number of well-dressed men and women who were making polite conversation with each other in small groups.
“That’s the Defence Minister he’s talking to at the moment,” Tim said, weaving his way through a group of men wearing togas. “Probably having one of their regular arguments about the danger of the terrorist threat.”
The Defence Minister was a large man, probably about the same size as an armchair. He had bulging red cheeks, a weak chin, and a neck that spilled out over the top of his shirt collar. He had short, light brown hair that looked as though it would have the texture of Velcro if you touched it, and a face that seemed to move like he was chewing rubber as he spoke.
As they approached, Geoff began to hear the conversation between him and Mr. Knight.
“… forcing us to shut down until you’ve caught these terrorists would be a very brave decision for you to make,” Mr. Knight said, looking quite relaxed. “A very brave decision.”
“But Ernest,” the Minister replied, taking a small sip of what looked to be brandy. “We still have serious doubts about the safety of this operation—especially after today. Did you read Eric’s report on what happened earlier in 1666? Why would someone be following one of your reps?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Knight said. “But there really is no need to worry. Dr. Skivinski is on the verge of completing his new algorithm, and I’m told it’s flawless.”
“And what if he can’t complete this work in time? What if someone changes the past before it’s ready?”
“Eric will come though,” Mr. Knight insisted, his voice unwavering. “He was supposed to be here to show you some of the other precautionary measures we’re working on, but unfortunately he seems to have disappeared for the moment. From what I understand though, he’s on track to upload the new algorithm into the mainframe by the end of the week. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Mr. Knight noticed Tim and Geoff approaching and stepped to one side, motioning them to join the discussion.
“David, this is Timothy Burnell, one of our chief Time Rep recruiters working under Dr. Skivinski. He’s the man who finds us our Time Reps. Tim, you know the Defence Minister.”
“I do,” Tim said, shaking his hand.
“And this is Geoffrey Stamp,” Mr. Knight said, placing his hand on Geoff’s shoulder. “One of our newest Reps for the twenty-first century. Recruited today, in fact.”
Geoff also shook hands with the Defence Minister. It felt a little clammy, like shaking hands with a lump of beef.
“You two are the ones Eric mentioned in his report?” the Defence Minister said. “The ones who chased that man in 1666?”
“We don’t know if it was necessarily a man,” Tim replied.
“Very concerning,” the Defence Minister muttered. “Very concerning indeed …”
“The Defence Minister still has a few doubts over safety,” Mr. Knight said to Tim, not taking his eyes off the Minister
. “He’s thinking about closing us down.”
“I just don’t see why you object to being shut down for the next few days,” the Minister replied, swirling the brandy around in his glass. “At least until this new algorithm of yours is ready.”
Mr. Knight took a moment to pause.
“Shutting down isn’t a problem, David,” he said, smiling. “Not a problem at all.”
“Good. I’m glad we agree on …”
“But think of the message that would send out to the world,” he added. “Think what those blasted Varsarians might make of it. Shutting down now would be admitting defeat. These terrorists need to know that their efforts to disrupt our freedom have been futile. They need to know that they have achieved nothing. If we shut down, we’d be handing them a small victory. We’d be showing them that we’re scared. Are you scared, David?”
“Yes,” the Minister replied, looking into his glass. “I’m terrified. If something should happen …”
“It won’t,” Mr. Knight said, pulling a cigar out of his pocket. “You’ve seen the safety checks we have in place. In fact, both Tim and Geoffrey were there earlier.” He turned to face them. “How many people did we turn away today?”
“Sixteen,” Tim replied.
“You see? Sixteen. You know you can’t cheat that computer. It’s virtually impossible.” He put the cigar in his mouth and lit it.
“But the loophole …”
“Fixable,” Mr. Knight insisted through an exhalation of thick smoke. “And even if it wasn’t, the chances of exploiting it are one in a googolplex.”
“I’m not sure that’s a chance I’m willing to take,” the Minister said, finishing the last of his drink. “The slightest change to the space-time continuum could be disastrous.”
“No one’s going to change anything. I guarantee it.”
“Twenty-five years in politics has taught me that there’s no such thing as a guarantee,” the Minister said.
“Think what you like, David,” Mr. Knight said, “but as I said, shutting us down would be very … brave.”
“Allowing you to stay operational could be even braver,” the Minister countered. “I don’t know, Ernest—I need to sleep on this. We’ll speak again tomorrow. Now gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me …” He handed his glass to a passing waiter and walked away.
Mr. Knight stood there in silence, his eyes fixed on the Minister as he left. He watched him as he passed through the crowd, grabbed his coat, pressed the elevator button, waited for the elevator, stepped into the elevator, and stood inside the elevator as the doors closed behind him. As if that wasn’t quite enough staring, he remained staring at the elevator doors for a good few seconds, just for good measure. Geoff thought this was too much staring for his liking until he realized he must have been staring at exactly the same things for him to be able to relay back to himself what Mr. Knight was staring at.
“Find Eric,” Mr. Knight said, still staring directly at the elevator doors. He grabbed the Minister’s empty glass from the waiter and tapped his ash into it. “He really should be with me when I get stuck in these technical conversations.”
“I haven’t seen him since we came up here,” Tim said. “He’s disappeared.”
Mr. Knight took a deep puff of his cigar. “Well if you see him, tell him to come find me. We’ll need to work on a response to this situation tonight in case they try to shut us down tomorrow morning.” He gave them both a brief nod and strolled off, leaving a thick trail of cigar smoke in his wake.
Tim waved his hands in front of his face to disperse the smoke. “I’m going to find Eric,” he said, turning to leave.
“Wait,” Geoff said, grabbing his arm. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”
“What?”
“I haven’t been to a party for years. The last one I went to had this game where you had to take your shoes and socks off, put your shoes in one box and your socks in another, then the first person to put their shoes and socks back on won some jelly.”
“Jelly? How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve?” Tim said. “You went to your last party when you were twelve?”
“You’ve been keeping me indoors playing computer games, remember? What do people do at these things? What am I supposed to do if someone comes over and talks to me?”
“Talk back.”
“Talk back?”
“Yes.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Wait for someone to finish what they are saying, then say something back.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You’re doing it now. That’s what people do when they’re having a conversation. You’ll be fine.”
“This is different. We’re having an argument, not a conversation.”
“Then get into lots of arguments,” Tim said. He flashed Geoff a quick smile, released his arm from his grip, and walked off.
Geoff looked round at the other guests, all of whom were happily chatting away. He didn’t do chatting—least of all with strangers. Unfortunately, all the people he did know were busy in mid-chat: Mr. Knight was chatting to someone, Ruth was chatting to someone, and even William Boyle from the seventeenth century was chatting to someone. Geoff did a double take—how on earth had William managed to get here so quickly?
It didn’t take long for Geoff to convince himself that he wasn’t really in the mood for a chat. He grabbed a few grapes from a nearby table and retreated into a quiet corner of the room, being sure to stare at the floor the whole time to avoid eye contact with anyone. Hopefully, the other guests would read this body language as saying, “GO AWAY.”
“Hey—you Geoffrey Stamp?” a voice said. American accent.
Geoff chewed nervously on a grape and looked up. A man was walking over to him in long strides, dressed in a smart, pinstriped suit. He was tall with not an ounce of fat on his body to speak of.
“You’re the slob, right?” The man said.
“The slob?” Geoff said, picking some grape skin out from between his teeth.
“Yeah—the unemployed guy. The one who never leaves the house. That you?”
“Apparently,” Geoff said.
“Miles Wentworth,” the man said, extending one hand for Geoff to shake and tugging his name badge with the other. “Time Rep for 1930s America.”
Geoff shook his hand. Miles certainly had a firm grip. The man must have been in his early 40s with a long, clean-shaven face, a jaw that looked as though it had been chiseled from a slab of granite, and sunken cheeks. Flecks of gray hair peeked out from under his trilby, and his eyebrows were so thick they looked as though two small badgers had fallen asleep on his face.
“Yeah, been doing this job four years now,” he said, looking around at some other guests. “Big attraction, the Great Depression.”
“Really?” Geoff said. “Isn’t the Great Depression a bit … well … depressing?”
“That it is, pal, that it is. Unemployment’s at an all time high, people are jumping out of windows on Wall Street, and they reckon there might be another war round the corner. Why would anyone want to go see that?”
“Beats me,” Geoff said, eating his last grape. “Same reason people watch reality TV, I suppose.”
Miles paused. “You got me there,” he said. “Reality TV?”
“Never mind.”
“So, first day, huh?” Miles said, changing the subject. “Enjoying it so far?”
Geoff thought about this for a second.
“It’s certainly been unusual,” he said.
“Unusual? In what way?”
“Let me see … Traveling through time, seeing the Great Fire of London, driving through a re-creation of London in a limousine, talking to a man from the 1930s … Little things like that. Wasn’t your first day unusual?”
“I guess,” Miles replied, brushing some fluff off his tie. “Started off the same as any other da
y, mind; woke up, ate my breakfast, walked to work, sat at my desk, made a few phone calls, you know, usual stuff. Then about lunchtime my boss walks in. Says he’s been looking at the shares I’ve been buying for the last few years, and he’s noticed that my investments make no impact on the stock market whatsoever.”
“No impact?”
“Yeah, and he was right. He’d been making me work later and later hours to the point where I had no social life whatsoever, but no matter how much overtime I put in doing the research, the stock I bought remained static. Don’t get me wrong—it would fluctuate up and down all right, but by the time we were ready to sell, the stock was the exact same value as the price we bought them at. Always bugged me. Thought he’d finally lost it with me when he came in that day. But he was fine. In fact, he wanted to talk to me about investing in this new company that had invented ‘earphones.’ So he puts a pair on my desk and says that everyone will be buying them someday.”
“Earphones?”
“Yeah. So he wants to know my opinion. I say sure, but I want to try them first, so he lets me wear them. Next thing I know I wake strapped to some damn table, lights flashing in my eyes. You probably know the rest. Turned out my boss of seven years had been working for this place all along. He’d been making me work overtime to remove me from the outside world as much as possible.”
“It’s the same for everyone apparently,” Geoff said. “Today I found out that my only friend was the spy, and that the past seven years have been nothing more than an act. I mean don’t get me wrong—it’s very exciting to learn about time tourism, but at the same time, I feel a bit of an idiot. You know?”
“What does Ruth say?”
“Ruth? What has Ruth got to do with this?”
“You haven’t spoken to Ruth?”
“Ruth … the receptionist?”
“She’s no receptionist,” Miles laughed, tugging his shirtsleeves out from under the arms of his jacket so they protruded exactly the same length on either side. “She’s the brains behind this whole operation, if you ask me. A real whiz kid. You and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her, that’s for sure.”