“I’m sorry…”
“MacFarlane. Deal with him.”
From his position only five metres away Jack could not believe what he saw next. Gordon stepped forward. He had a sinister grin on his face — as if he was actually enjoying himself. He withdrew a large knife from a scabbard on his black belt. As he did so, he spun the serrated blade in one hand like a circus knife thrower. Suddenly Jack realised that he and Angus had been wrong. Tony and Gordon were not ex-traffic wardens. The theory that they’d been in the SAS was, in fact, the correct one.
With one hand Gordon reached down, pulled the whimpering Pendelshape to his feet and smacked him hard against one of the wooden bookcases. Pendelshape moaned in pain. With only one hand, Gordon held him a clear ten centimetres off the ground. With the other hand, he took the blade and plunged it into his neck. Jack felt the bile rise in his throat. He thought he was going to be sick. But then he realised that, expertly, Gordon had only nicked Pendelshape’s neck, impaling him instead by both his shirt and jacket collars against the wooden frame of the bookcase. Blood oozed from the wound, but Pendelshape was not dead. Yet. Instead, he was starting to choke as his weight pulled him down and his collar — pinned to the wall by the knife — slowly tightened around his neck. His face was turning purple. The Rector nodded towards Angus who, like Jack, was staring slack-jawed at the violent assault.
“Smith. Please deal with this young man.”
Tony stepped forward and grabbed Angus by the scruff of the neck, yanking him from the sofa with surprising ease. With no hesitation, Tony landed a punch to Angus’s solar plexus. For Tony, it was a light, controlled blow. But there was no doubt, if Tony had chosen to, he could have killed Angus on the spot. But Tony had held back, and instead Angus doubled over, badly winded, and retched like an old man. The Rector now directed his attention to Jack at the other end of the library, next to the Taurus.
“Bring Master Christie here. You know your orders — no damage.”
Jack looked back across the library as Belstaff and Johnstone strode towards him. Pendelshape was slowly choking to death. Angus was on the floor clutching his stomach. It didn’t look like Jack was going to get away any more lightly. His heart was in overdrive. He needed time… time to think. But in five seconds the two men would be on him… and then what?
He snatched the controller that Pendelshape had left by the console and stabbed the button. Just as Belstaff was in mid stride, the glass blast screen accelerated upwards from its housing under the floor. It caught him without warning clean between the legs. Belstaff screamed in pain and found himself powering on upwards, balanced precariously on the top edge of the thick glass. Two seconds later, with a dull thud and crunching bone, the rising panel crushed the unfortunate man right into the ceiling — like a fat finger caught in a car’s electric window. The powerful motors beneath the floor continued to grind and push upwards as the glass blast screen failed to slot itself into its upper housing, now blocked by Belstaff, suspended five metres above. Johnstone, who had been behind his colleague, smashed into the opposite side of the blast screen and reeled backwards, clutching his head.
Cornered at one end of the control room next to the Taurus and behind the blast screen, Jack knew he didn’t have long. He didn’t know why these people were after him, but he knew he had to escape. It was a long shot — but there was only one way out. Through the blast screen, he could just make out the Rector, Tony and Gordon rushing around in alarm trying to find a way to lower the screen and get to Jack, who, though safe for the moment, now had a new fear. His breathing had intensified and he was starting to wheeze. His chest had that awful hollow feeling that usually preceded an asthma attack. He reached for his puffer and took a mighty suck. For a moment, it calmed him.
He leaned over the console that Pendelshape had shown them earlier. There, still nestling in its pod, was the time phone. Above it, a small digital read-out blinked invitingly. It said:
‘Initiate synchronisation procedure’.
Jack looked back over his shoulder through the screen. In a few seconds they would have it lowered again and would be on him. He had no doubt what he must do. He snatched the time phone from its pod and flipped it open. Immediately, he saw the little bar to the side burning bright yellow. Just as Pendelshape had said it would. The read-out on the console flashed:
Synchronisation initiated.
To his surprise another message flashed up.
Are you feeling lucky? Yes/No?
“What the…?” He whispered in desperation as the commotion on the other side of the screen intensified. He stabbed an ‘N’ on the keypad underneath the console. He definitely was not feeling lucky. Another message immediately flashed up:
Would you like preset space-time fix? Yes/No?
“Come on… come on…” Jack, drenched in sweat, stared at the device. He stabbed a ‘Y’ on the keypad. There was a pause.
Thank you. Synchronisation complete.
The read-out changed again:
Board Taurus within thirty seconds.
And then a final message popped up:
Enjoy your time-travel experience.
“This is not for real…” some propeller-head programmer had a warped sense of humour. He grabbed the time phone and then his bag and, shaking with fear, mounted the gantry onto the steel platform in the heart of the Taurus. From his new position, he looked out between the black girders, through the green blast screen into the library, where he could see Pendelshape still pinned to the wall and Angus bent over on the sofa. Seeing Angus there, helpless, Jack felt a stab of guilt — but what could he do? The Rector, Tony and Gordon were fighting with a control panel to find some way to lower the blast screen. He suddenly spotted a small heads-up display that hung just outside the Taurus structure. His heart missed a beat when he realised what was happening. Taurus was counting down.
Preparing for transfer…
14… 13… 12…
Transfer initiating…
Suddenly, the glass blast screen started to lower. Belstaff, pinned to the ceiling, lost his balance as the pressure from the screen released and he tumbled back to the floor. He didn’t move. Jack stared numbly at the body of his games teacher and felt bile rise in his throat as a terrifying thought suddenly occurred to him — Belstaff might be dead.
Jack saw Tony and Gordon look down at their injured colleague and then look back up at him in his vantage point inside the Taurus. When he saw their eyes, he knew he had made the right decision to board the Taurus. Tony and Gordon only had one thing on their mind as they rushed forward towards him.
3… 2… 1…
Dreadnought
Jack looked down at the time phone in his hand. The read-out had changed. It said:
Date: Saturday 20th June, 1914
Time: 7 a.m.
Location: Portsmouth, England
The read-out glinted back at him. Portsmouth…? He was in Portsmouth? On England’s south coast? He looked around. The Taurus and library had vanished, the people in the control room — also gone. He had escaped. But had he really moved? And had he moved in time?
He was standing in the open on a flat concrete surface. There was a damp mist all around, but he could hear muffled voices. He was facing a giant wall — only about two metres away — extending upwards and sideways as far as he could see, although the mist limited his view. It looked like he was on the outside of a large building, maybe a warehouse. The building was not made of bricks, but had a dark, grey smooth surface. He took a step
