Kir eyed him suspiciously, then raised a single eyebrow. “And you think ‘Rooster’ is a weird name for a chicken? That makes more sense than what you just said.”
“Hey, Dan.” Zoe appeared at the doorway, smiling hopefully at the two of them. “Making friends?”
“We were already friends,” Kir announced. “When Daniel was little.” He nodded sagely at Daniel, who looked back at him in mild surprise.
“Well, that’s wonderful. You look after Dan for me, then, won’t you, Kir? I have to go away for a while, but I’ll be back to visit again soon.”
Daniel winced at his mother’s attempt at casualness
“Don’t worry, she’ll come back again. Mums always come back.” Kir reached out to pat the older boy awkwardly on the shoulder, almost toppling himself off the bed.
“That’s right, Kir. Mums always come back,” Zoe agreed quietly. To Daniel, she said, “Hug?”
He paused, sneaking a look at Kir to see what he thought of hugs. Kir sat and watched Zoe with excitement approaching deification. Daniel got up slowly and presented himself for a reluctant hug. It felt better than he’d expected. When she let go it was too soon. He swallowed what threatened to become a whimper.
“I know it’s been confusing and scary but you’re going to be okay.” Daniel wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or herself. Maybe both. She nodded. He nodded back. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter thirty
Varya
Varya tried her best to avoid shuddering as she followed Sebastian down the corridor at Rest Time Corps. Her eyes focused on the hairs on her ex-husband’s neck, just above his jacket collar. He needed a haircut. The black hairs were peppered with grey now, where they curled in short, wispy clumps below the intended hairline. In her peripheral vision she could see signs marked ‘Lab 1’ and ‘Lab 3’ to her left.
Varya had never gone back to work after Kir was born. She relied on the time credit she’d received for birthing him, and the credits she’d earned in overtime before he was born, to extend her life span closer to the sixty-five year maximum. She’d planned to only take a couple of years off, then go back and work longer hours again. It would only mean a month or two of missed time credits, if any. At the time she’d been happy to trade earning thirty extra days in the future to spend a whole year of time with her baby son. But then two years turned into three years, which soon crept into four. And then Kir got sick, so there was no question of returning.
She didn’t miss these cold, sterile halls. Her own medical research facility had artwork on the walls to remind staff who they were working for, really. Collages of sick kids and their families, both before and after diagnosis. And then, the best collage of them all—the kids they’d saved. Healthy kids playing catch, drawing pictures, blowing out candles on their birthday cakes.
Rest Time Corps was a series of grey painted walls adorned with warning signs about potential hazards or security levels.
Varya was concentrating so fiercely on Sebastian’s neck that she nearly stepped on his heels as he came to a stop in front of a single elevator. He pushed the button and they waited.
“What are you hoping to find down there?” He glanced sideways at her.
“Research papers, maybe even partial plans,” she answered vaguely.
“Weren’t they all destroyed, though?”
She shrugged. “People always keep random notes. They might help.”
“We could use some help,” he muttered.
She looked at him sharply as they stepped into the elevator. “Another child?”
He shook his head. “No, not…”
Yet. That was what he’d meant to say, Varya was sure. He’d seemed frustrated and confused during the brief interview he’d subjected her to. She’d told him she was here to help look for scraps which might lead to the recreation of the time transfer technology, to save the kids. She’d explained how the last kid taken had been her friend’s son. He didn’t seem convinced of her story. Then again, she hadn’t felt in a particularly helpful mood and had refused to answer most of his questions – both those relating to the case and herself.
“How’s your friend… Zoe?”
“As you’d expect.” Varya was already striding away from him, through the stacks. He stood and watched her go. She slowed and then stopped, scanning the labels. Looking up, she called out to him. “Where’s the ladder?”
He picked up a step ladder to his left and brought it over. She climbed up, pulled an archive box down, and handed it to him. He placed it on the floor, and she handed him down the one behind it. Jumping several rungs to the concrete floor, she crouched down and pulled the lid off the second box. Inside was a mess of different sized sheets of paper jumbled together with paper clips, rolled mats of plans, and a couple of small black boxes. She threw him a backward glance and shifted so that her body blocked his view.
“This could take a while,” she said, her palm flat on the top of the papers.
“I can wait,” he replied, taking a seat on one of the lower rungs of the ladder.
With her back to him, she started pulling out papers and scanning them, placing them on the ground next to her. She opened one black box and closed it, then dropped it heavily on the discard pile. Then another. And another.
“It’s not here,” she muttered. Her movements became more frantic as she continued to pull the contents of the box out, scattering them in heaps across the floor. She tore the lid off the first box and upended the whole container, pushing the papers into cascades to separate anything caught between. “It’s not here.” She stood and glared at him, a wild look in her eye. “Move.” She scaled the ladder and her upper body disappeared into the shelf as she checked the space vacated by the boxes.
“Have any of the files been moved?” she asked him.
“What? No.” He started to pick up discarded papers and place them back in their boxes.
She stopped and turned to face him; a full head taller than him on the ladder.
“Who’s had access to these boxes in the past five years? Who had authorisation to remove any contents?”
Sebastian shook his head. “Anyone. Everyone.”
“Shit. Don’t you lot have security anymore? Isn’t this place supposed to be accountable and safe and…” Varya took up Sebastian’s former place at the foot of the ladder and put her head in her hands.
“This whole place is a secure facility, Varya. You need top-level clearance just to get through the front door.”
When she raised her face to his, anger had given way to fear.
“It’s gone,” she whispered.
“What’s gone?” he asked.
“The time transfer tech. It’s gone. It was here.”
“Varya, what’s going on with you? The time transfer tech was always gone. It was destroyed, along with the plans.”
She shook her head, tears rolling down her face.
“Reg and I kept one. Just in case.”
He frowned. “In case of what?”
“In case the Rest Time Authority changed their minds. About letting us use it. The discovery was such a fluke, it could have taken decades to re-develop. We thought it might be needed again someday.”
She wiped at her face, sniffed, and tried to stand. “Reg. Where is he? I’ll ask him. Maybe he moved it.”
Sebastian helped her up and then kept hold of her arm. “Reg left not long after you did, Varya. The Corps was pretty much swept clean of anyone who’d been on the original project. Everyone signed non-disclosure agreements and were given severance packages large enough to keep them happy and quiet.”
“We have to find him.”
“You think he…”
Varya nodded. “Not Reg. He wouldn’t, but maybe… Oh god, what have we done?”
Varya realised Sebastian was holding on to both of her upper arms, his grip too tight. She pulled away and stared at the boxes on the floor.
Sebastian cleared his throat. “I’ll work on fi
nding Reg. If he’s stolen time transfer tech that may have been used by the time thieves, it’s part of my case anyway.” He paused. “Do you think there’s anything else in there that could help to reconstruct the tech?” His gaze flicked down at the messy piles.
“Maybe.” She looked up at Sebastian, horror mixed with hope. “Can I take the boxes?”
He picked up one and inspected the label, then gave her a quick once over. “They’re not classified, so yes. But you’ll have to sign a bunch of forms first.”
“Okay.”
He hesitated. “That’s not a good sign, you know. Whoever assessed the contents clearly thought there wasn’t anything particularly useful in these boxes if they’re not highly classified.”
Varya laughed then, a hollow sound that wasn’t full of mirth. “Whoever classified them didn’t know what they were looking at.”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow.
“They’re useful to me,” she explained.
“Okay. Let’s get you loaded up and out of here then.”
“Thank you.”
He stared at her a moment, then joined her on the floor to repack the boxes. “Do you really think you can do it?”
“Do what?”
“Reconstruct the time transfer technology.”
Varya stopped packing and sat back on her heels. “Yes, I do.”
“It’s very complicated.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I can ask for leave from here. You know, to help you out.”
Her expression didn’t change, though her hand twitched. “You don’t have the right qualifications.”
Sebastian reached out and touched her upper arm. Varya jerked back and glared at him.
“I don’t need qualifications,” he said. “I have an excellent understanding of how the tech works and I have more experience in this area than you do.”
Varya stood up, the box balanced at her hip. “I invented the time transfer technology. I did it once. I can do it again.”
Sebastian closed the lid of his box and stood to face her. He raised himself to his full height and stepped closer, so she was forced to look up.
“This isn’t the time to be stubborn, Varya,” he said softly. “You need my help, whether you want it or not. By refusing me out of spite you’re endangering the lives of children.”
Varya spoke slowly and without emotion. “I don’t want your help. And I’m not accepting it.” She stared up at him, with the full knowledge that her laboratory was also a high security facility and he couldn’t enter without the necessary clearance. She was the only one who was authorised to provide clearance and had no intention of doing so. “We’re wasting valuable time. Where are the papers I need to sign?”
She waited until the papers were sorted, the boxes locked safely in the car with her, and the car was at least five minutes away from Rest Time Corps. Then she relaxed her clenched jaw and allowed her hands to shake with a heady mixture of relief and rage. If he thought he could use the same tactics against her that had worked five years ago, he was sorely mistaken.
Chapter thirty-one
Marisa
Marisa lifted the lid of the box that Varya had perched on the kitchen counter. She peered inside and thumbed a few dozen pages.
“So, there’s no digital back-up for these?”
“Nope,” Varya sat at the table reading the top page of an inch-thick stack, a mug of coffee in her hand.
“These are literally the only copies left?”
“Yep.”
Marisa let the cardboard lid fall to the side, softly clattering onto the bench. She inhaled the dusty aroma and wafted it towards herself.
“Come to me, great elixir of immortality, fill me with your secrets,” she intoned.
Varya put her coffee mug down and looked up.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
Marisa shrugged. “Thought I’d give it a shot.”
“I don’t think it works like that,” said Zoe, giving her a weary smile.
Varya had tried to send Zoe home, but she’d returned to the apartment first thing that morning, preferring to stay as close to her son and the Time Lock as possible. Varya had argued that she needed to continue life as normal to avoid suspicion. Zoe pointed out that it was perfectly normal for her to want to avoid spending time in a space she had once shared with her son, which would bring back painful memories. After some more reasoning (Varya) and a few tears (Zoe), Zoe had finally gotten her way and taken up residence in the tiny, white apartment.
Marisa patted her cheeks and ran her fingers over her cheekbones. “I’m sure my skin feels smoother already.” Her audience was unappreciative. “Seriously, though, it’s pretty amazing, don’t you think? Within these boxes is literally the secret to eternal life.”
“Yes,” said Varya flatly. “If you have access to enough people willing to drain their time and transfer it to yourself.”
Marisa watched guiltily as Zoe’s head jerked briefly in the direction of Kir’s old bedroom, where the Time Lock portal was hidden away.
Varya put the papers down and took off her reading glasses. “This is going to take some time, and I need quiet to think, so would you mind…?”
“Sorry,” Marisa whispered, turning back to her recipe book and beginning a stock take of ingredients.
Zoe plucked a few sheets of paper from the box at Varya’s feet. “There’s a lot of material here. I could help out if you like, do some reading, make some summaries.”
Varya peered over her glasses, which she’d replaced on her face already.
Zoe tried again. “I mean, there’s a fair bit here that’s actually pretty close to medical terminology rather than the physics of it. I could take the medical stuff. If you think it might… speed things up, I mean.’”
“Not like you’re in any rush at all,” muttered Marisa.
Varya glared at her back. To Zoe she said, “It’s pretty advanced, but I think most people with a postgrad degree in medical science would be able to follow it. So, yes, if you think you’re up for it, that’d be great.”
Marisa turned towards them, leaned back against the bench and crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.
“Oh really, Var’? Anyone with, say, a PhD in medical science could help out? And there’s a lot of material to get through?” She tipped her head to one side and tapped a finger against her chin. “I wonder where you could possibly get a ready supply of people who have PhDs in medical science? I mean, it’s not like you know many people like that, is it?”
“Oh my god, of course, the lab.” Zoe was quick to catch on. “Varya, could we borrow your lab staff for a couple of days?”
Varya started to shake her head but Marisa interrupted with a pointed finger.
“Oh, no you don’t. You can do this.”
“It’ll attract too much attention.”
“Not if you sell it the right way.”
“This isn’t a sales transaction, Marisa,” she snapped.
“Everything is a sales transaction if you look at it the right way.”
“I won’t put Kir’s Time Lock in jeopardy to…”
“... save Daniel?” Zoe finished quietly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Marisa pulled out a kitchen chair, sat on it, and stared hard at Varya.
“You don’t need to tell them about the Time Lock, or about Kir. They don’t need to have anything to do with this. You just sell it as a mini project to help the government resurrect a technology which will save the missing kids. Same as anything else those scientists do - find ways to save kids.”
“But I’ll have to tell them about my involvement in the initial project.”
Marisa shrugged. “I’ve been telling you for years, you should tell them anyway. I don’t think the reaction will be as bad as you think. They’ll understand the irresistible drive to follow the thread of knowledge, wherever it may take you. They’re researchers, after all. In fact, they’re probably the bes
t audience to start practising your story on.”
Varya nodded once, then a second time, more firmly.
“Okay. Okay, yes, we’ll give it a try. I’ll read through these today and put a team together at the labs in the morning.” She turned to Zoe, who clapped her hands together, eyes bright. “You realise this is only one part of helping Daniel, right? Even if we can put together a time transfer device, we still need the Rest Time Corps to find the person who Daniel’s time was transferred to, so we can transfer it back?”
Zoe waved away any doubt. “Yes, but he’s safe for now. And, even if we never find the person responsible, he can still receive time transferred from someone else, can’t he? Another donor?”
Varya looked at her then and saw past the smile to the desperation behind it. Her first thought was to tell Zoe it was illegal, it was unethical, to transfer time from herself to her son. But then, wouldn’t she do the same for Kir? Give him ten of her years, or even twenty, just so that he could live? In the end, she simply nodded and selected a stack of papers for Zoe to start reading through, along with a four-hour time tab to buy them extra time.
Chapter thirty-two
Elena
For a significant portion of my married life, I wished my husband dead. He wasn’t a terrible man, you must understand. I didn’t even dislike him. Not very much, anyway. It’s just that there came a point when living with him became more difficult than the prospect of living without him.
I’d thought about his death at great length. It wouldn’t be painful. It would be entirely accidental and I would be utterly devastated, but staunch, in my grief. I would hold it together for the children. We would speak of their father fondly and keep photographs of him around the house and celebrate his memory.
There was no need for me to actively intervene. I knew, in my bones, that he wouldn’t live a long life. Call it a premonition, second sight or just plain wishful thinking.
Stan Galanos, that was his name. He was a solicitor who worked in a city office drafting corporate documents and finding loopholes in contracts. Not exactly dangerous work. He was normally home by six o’clock but from time to time his hours would unexpectedly extend.
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