by Peter Ward
“A hot air balloon?”
“Yup.”
“Before the hot air balloon,” Mr. Knight said. “Do you remember anything else about what happened in Eric’s lab?”
“There was a lot of humming,” Geoff said.
“Humming?”
“He’s probably talking about the data banks,” Tim said.
“What else, Geoffrey?” Mr. Knight said, leaning forward in his chair. “What else do you remember?”
“I remember—Oh my God! I remember what happened to Eric! He’d been attacked!”
“That’s right,” Mr. Knight said, looking anxiously at the rest of the group. “Was he alive when you found him?”
“I can’t remember. I think I was busy playing baseball at the time. How’s your swing these days?”
“Try and think, Geoffrey,” Mr. Knight said, giving Tim a concerned look. “Was Eric alive when you found him?”
“I think so,” Geoff said, struggling to remember. “I remember him talking to me about something.”
“What?” Mr. Knight said, standing up out of his chair. “What did he tell you?”
“He was trying to tell me the recipe for a good potato soup.”
Mr. Knight shut his eyes and let out a deep breath. “Please try and remember,” he said, sitting back down in his seat. “What did Eric tell you?”
“I … I can’t remember,” Geoff said. “I can’t remember if you’re supposed to add the cream before or after the coriander.”
“This is hopeless,” Mr. Knight said. He took a vial of pills out of his jacket pocket and popped one in his mouth.
“May I ask a question?” Ruth said to Mr. Knight.
“Of course,” he replied. “Ask whatever you like.”
“Did you see who attacked you?” she asked.
“I’ve been attacked?”
“Yes,” Tim said. “That’s why you’re here in hospital. You were hit over the back of the head and stabbed through the hand.”
“Great,” Geoff said, lifting his hand up. It was wrapped in a thick bandage. “How am I supposed to win tomorrow’s arm wrestling championships now?”
“Answer Ruth’s question,” Mr. Knight said. “Did you see who attacked you?”
“I can’t remember,” Geoff said. “I can’t remember anything.”
All of a sudden, Geoff could hear a bit of commotion outside the entrance to the ward. One of the armed guards ran over to them, holstering his weapon as he approached.
“The Defence Minister is here,” he said, putting a finger in his ear. Geoff assumed the guard was adjusting some kind of earpiece rather than just talking to them with a finger in his ear for the sake of it. That would just be weird.
“Thanks,” Mr. Knight said, leaning on the bed with his head in his hands.
“Out of my way! Out of my way!” A voice boomed from outside the ward. “Where are they? Ernest! Where are you?”
“Here we go,” Mr. Knight muttered under his breath, straightening his tie as he got to his feet. “We’re in here, David,” he shouted back. “We’re in here with Geoffrey Stamp.”
The doors to the ward were pulled open with an unnecessary force by two guards, and the Defence Minister marched in. He looked a lot less dignified than he did last night—unshaven, messy hair, and bloodshot eyes. Either he’d made his way here in a hurry, or he liked to look a bit more dishevelled in times of crisis, much like the way Geoff looked in times of being awake.
“Give me an update on everything that happened last night,” he said, stopping at the foot of Geoff’s bed. He sounded out of breath.
“Before we begin,” Mr. Knight said, “Can I just say …”
“Ernest! I don’t have time for this! Tell me what’s happened!”
Mr. Knight tugged nervously on one of his cufflinks. Geoff noticed that they had little clocks on them. Cute.
“Last night, Dr. Skivinski was attacked in his laboratory by an unknown assailant. We have reason to believe he was in the final stages of fixing his algorithm when this happened. A few moments after the attack, he was discovered by Geoffrey here, who was then also attacked. Probably by the same person.”
“And what is the status of Dr. Skivinski?”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes,” Tim said. “He suffered multiple fractures to his rib cage and punctured a lung. He effectively drowned in his own blood.”
The Defence Minister gulped. “Do we have any idea who could have done this?” he said, crossing his arms protectively across his own chest.
“It had to be someone at the party,” Tim said. “No one else would have had access to Eric’s lab at that time.”
“And who was at the party?”
“Three hundred time-tourists, ninety journalists, sixty-eight politicians, fifty Time Reps, thirty-two junior physicists, twenty caterers, and us.”
“So it could have been anyone.”
“Yes.”
“Did the lifts hear anything suspicious?”
“Basement!” Geoff said.
“Basement?”
“Ignore him,” Mr. Knight said. “We checked the logs—Nothing.”
“What about the murder weapon?”
“His walking stick,” Tim said. “We found it at the scene of the crime. It was covered in Eric’s and Geoff’s blood, so it must have been used to attack them both.”
“Did Mr. Stamp discover Dr. Skivinski before he died?”
“Yes,” Tim said. “But he can’t remember anything beyond that. We’ve tried talking to him, but as you’ve already heard, he’s feeling a little … confused at the moment.”
“Let me try,” the Defence Minister said, motioning Tim to step out of the way. He moved round to the side of the bed and sat down.
“I wouldn’t …”
“Geoffrey?” he said, ignoring Tim. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Geoff said.
“Good. I need you to tell me what happened when you saw Dr. Skivinski. Eric. Did you speak with him?”
Geoff belched. “When are we going to the circus?” he said.
“You see?” Mr. Knight said. “He’s no use to us at the moment. We need to give him more time to recover.”
“We don’t have any time,” the Defence Minister said. “With your chief physicist dead, the time-tourism facility is completely vulnerable to attack. I was prepared to entertain the idea of keeping it open on the proviso that the algorithm would be fixed, but with that out of the window, I’m afraid I have no choice but to shut you down until further notice.”
“Now wait a minute, David,” Mr. Knight said, looking anxiously at Ruth. “Let’s not be too hasty. Surely we could still operate a limited service, increase security checks …”
“I’m sorry, Ernest,” the Defence Minister said, pulling a tie out of his pocket. “I’ve got a press conference on this incident in twenty minutes and I just can’t take that risk. As of this minute, I want all tourists recalled from their holidays, all future trips canceled, and all Time Reps sent back to their native time periods.”
“What about Geoff?” Tim said. “He’s in no state to go back. He can barely walk.”
“His legs are fine,” the Defence Minister said, hurriedly feeding his tie through his collar, “and I know the kind of medication you can get these days. By the time you get him back to the departure chamber, he’ll be all right. I want you to get him out of here and get him home. Any questions?”
“I have a question,” Geoff said, raising his good hand.
“Apart from you,” the Defence Minister said, knotting his tie. Geoff watched as his large neck bulged over his collar as he tightened it. “Anyone got any serious questions?”
“This is a serious question,” Geoff said, feeling a little offended.
“Go on then. What is it?”
“Do you have any cheese?”
Thirteen
It was bad enough trying to convince Geoff to get out of bed without the added annoyance of him having a large gash in the back of his head and a broken hand, so you can probably imagine the difficulty Tim had in doing just that. No trail of sweets leading out of the door was going to work this time—that was for sure. In the end he had to resort to administering Geoff with some particularly strong painkillers, powerful enough to relieve almost anything except perhaps paper cuts and stubbed toes, which still hurt like hell no matter what futuristic medicine you took.
“How are you feeling?” Tim said, leading Geoff through the entrance to the departure lounge.
“Great,” Geoff replied, trying his best to sound sarcastic. The only problem was that he did actually feel great. Whatever Tim had given him to ease the pain had certainly done the trick.
They’d picked up a few other Time Reps on their way back, all of whom had been ordered by the Defence Minister to return to their native time periods. Keeping close behind Geoff was a butler from Victorian times called Winterbottom and an unknown Greek philosopher called Nestor who was apparently rubbish at philosophising. Indeed, when they’d first met up with the other three Time Reps a couple of hours ago, Nestor had likened their situation to that of a blind horse falling off a cliff, which Geoff thought was a little wide of the mark.
It was absolute chaos in the departure lounge. All around, people were either arguing with officials or barging their way through to the exit. Many were just standing still, looking up in disbelief at the hovering departure boards, all of which seemed to be quite fond of the word “canceled,” which appeared after every single destination.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” a voice boomed over the loudspeaker gentle but firm. “WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT HOLIDAYS TO ALL TIME PERIODS HAVE BEEN CANCELED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THIS IS DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES. PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY OUT OF THE DEPARTURE LOUNGE AND ONTO THE REPLACEMENT BUS SERVICE. THANK YOU.”
“Unforeseen circumstances!” someone shouted. Geoff looked to his right. A woman dressed in some sort of “Joan of Arc” style costume was arguing with an official. “You’ve got the most powerful computer in the known universe, capable of predicting every eventuality, and you’re telling me you’re canceling my holiday due to ‘unforeseen circumstances’?”
“I’m sorry, miss,” the official said. “I don’t know much more than you. All I know is that they’re stopping all departures until further notice.”
“I knew I should have gone to Mars!” the woman said, removing her wig and throwing it to the floor.
Geoff and the other two Time Reps stayed close to Tim as they waded against the general flow of the crowd. They appeared to be heading for one of the more distant quarantine chambers.
“This is all your fault,” Winterbottom whispered in Geoff’s ear. “If you hadn’t been attacked, none of this would have happened.”
“What are you talking about?” Geoff whispered back. “I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter! I was backed into a corner and hit over the head with a walking stick!”
“Yes, but couldn’t you have defended yourself? Couldn’t you have fought the attacker off, perhaps even caught him? If you hadn’t been such a wimp, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”
“Will you two stop arguing?” Nestor said from behind. “We’re all friends here, and an argument between friends is like sheep grazing in the wrong field.”
“What?” Geoff said. “What has arguing got to do with sheep?”
“It’s all right for you,” Winterbottom continued, sidling his way past a family dressed as pirates. “You’re not going back to my time period. You’re not returning to a lifetime of servitude: waking up at four in the morning; preparing the master’s breakfast; feeding the horses; polishing the silverware—we don’t even have electricity, for goodness sake! How am I expected to just leave all the pleasures of being a Time Rep behind and return to being a mere butler? I’m going to go mad!”
Geoff felt a little sorry for Winterbottom. Clearly this was a man who had become accustomed to a wonderful new lifestyle when he became a Time Rep just as Geoff had become accustomed to a wonderful new lifestyle when he discovered The Angry Video Game Nerd web series. Going back wasn’t going to be easy for everyone.
Up ahead, hundreds of confused tourists were being ushered out of the quarantine chambers by an overly aggressive group of security guards who were clearly relishing the occasion to use their batons and shout commands into loudspeakers. Most of their days were probably spent reprimanding teenagers for sticking chewing gum to the seats, or stopping people from running with their luggage. Today must have been the day they had all been waiting for—an excuse to hit people over the head and look important.
“Move along!” one guard barked at a man who was awkwardly trying to cradle all of his belongings in his arms. To his left, a weeping mother was struggling to keep hold of her two children. The guards marched on relentlessly, their minds fixed solely on funneling the crowd out of the nearest exit.
“Coming through!” Tim shouted, trying his best to lead the three Time Reps through the oncoming throng of tourists. “Please make way!”
One of the younger-looking security guards stepped in front of them to block their path, his expression displaying such self-importance that if he’d frowned any harder, his face would probably have turned inside out.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he said, pushing his baton forcefully into Tim’s shoulder. “All quarantine chambers are off limits!”
“Oh well,” Winterbottom said, turning around to leave. “You heard the man. All quarantine chambers are off limits. We’ll have to come back some other time.”
Tim pulled out an identity card and shoved it in the guard’s face. “You might want to get out of our way,” he said, pushing the baton to one side, “unless you want to explain to the Defence Minister why three of our Time Reps still haven’t been sent back to their proper time periods.”
The security guard looked nervously at Tim’s identification, then even more nervously at Tim, his frown melting away into a more sheepish expression.
“Sorry, sir,” the guard said, taking a step back. “Please go right through.”
“Come on,” Tim said, placing a firm hand on Winterbottom’s shoulder and turning him back in the right direction. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.”
The quarantine chamber was eerily silent as the three Time Reps sat on their frosted glass seats waiting for the scan to finish: the sort of silence that usually occurs when someone has just made a faux pas. And we’re not talking any old faux pas, like doing a little fart in an elevator and knowing it was just loud enough for everyone to hear; it was so deathly quiet in the quarantine chamber that it felt like someone had just turned up to the annual Vegetarian Society dinner and dance evening only to complain very loudly that there was no meat on the menu.
“If I know Mr. Knight,” Tim said, breaking the silence, “he’s working on a way out of this. He’s probably got some scheme to get us back up and running. You’ll see.”
Geoff, Nestor and Winterbottom stared at Tim. None of them looked particularly convinced by his attempt to reassure them.
“Don’t believe me?” Tim said. “Trust me—we’ll be up and running again in a week. Two at most.”
The quarantine chamber flashed green, indicating that they were all safe to travel. Tim got to his feet and held open the door to customs.
Winterbottom stood up reluctantly and led the way. “I wonder what my first chore will be when I get back,” he said, walking as slowly as he could down the corridor. “Perhaps I’ll be clipping the master’s toenails or scrubbing out the latrines.”
“Jesus,” Tim said. “Will you stop whining? Anyone would think you were going back to the Dark Ages!”
“I am, compared to this,” Winterbottom said. “I won’t even be able to watch tonight’s Hoverball game!”
“Come on, it’s not
that bad,” Tim said, stopping just before the arch that scanned tourists for any prohibited technology. “I told you—Mr. Knight’s got this all under control.”
“But what if …”
“Look at Nestor,” Tim said. “He’s being sent back much further than you, and he’s fine!”
They turned to look at Nestor, who was staring at the ceiling. He seemed to be in another world.
“Yes, but Nestor’s an idiot, isn’t he?” Winterbottom said. “He’s probably rationalized this whole situation in his mind with some stupid philosophical nonsense …”
“Just calm down,” Tim said, standing to one side of the metal arch and motioning the Time Reps to walk through. “Let’s get on with this.”
Geoff was the first to walk under the arch, giving it a suspicious look as he passed through. He knew he wasn’t carrying anything that would make it go off, but he was suspicious anyway—things that were capable of making loud noises often did when he was nearby, like car alarms, dogs, or teenagers. On this occasion, however, he succeeded in passing through without incident.
Nestor was next, dawdling through the scanner like a poodle at a dog show. Again, the arch made no sound.
Winterbottom hesitated for a minute, pacing around nervously. He looked a bit like Geoff psyching himself up to have a shower.
“Well?” Tim said. “Get on with it!”
“OK, OK, don’t rush me,” Winterbottom said, positioning himself carefully in front of the arch as if he needed a run-up to get through. He looked at Geoff and Nestor on the other side, took a deep breath, and walked through the scanner briskly. Immediately the alarm went off.
“Hand it over,” Tim said, pressing a button on the wall to stop the beeping.
“Hand what over?” Winterbottom said.
“Whatever it is you’re carrying. Hand it over.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.
This was embarrassing. Everyone could see Winterbottom was lying. His attempt at looking innocent and confused was about as convincing as the time Geoff had tried to look nonchalant when a power cut made him lose five hours of progress in Final Fantasy VII because he hadn’t been able to find a save point. Unfortunately, Geoff’s pretense was somewhat betrayed by the fact that he’d shouted “FUCK!” at the top of his voice and thrown the joypad out of the window.