‘Isn’t there a way you could at least best-guess how far back in time they’ve gone?’
› Negative. However, it might be possible for my AI duplicate to compare the density of tachyon particles in the vicinity of the explosion and the arrival point. The decay attrition is constant and this would give a fairly precise indication of when they are.
She stared at the screen. ‘Really?’
› Affirmative. It will depend on how accurate the reading was.
If Bob was right, if that was true and they had a time-stamp, then getting some sort of message through time to her was the only course they could take. And Liam and the version of Bob’s AI that was with him were smart enough to come to the exact same conclusion.
‘I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be all right, I really do.’
› I hope you are correct, Maddy.
She nodded, wishing she had just a little of Liam’s laid-back devil-may-care attitude. She tilted her can and swilled another mouthful. ‘Let’s have some music… It’s like a freakin’ graveyard in here.’
› I have an extensive database of music. What would you like for your listening pleasure?
‘Something heavy… something rocky.’
› Clarify ‘heavy’, ‘rocky’.
‘Bob… just give me something lively, then.’
› I can analyse the audio files in my database for variables such as beats-per-minute, wave-form, volume, number of times played.
‘Do that,’ she cut in. ‘Do that… number of times played. Give me something the previous team liked to listen to.’
› Affirmative.
She heard his hard drive whirring softly, then a moment later the speakers on the desk either side of the main monitor began to chug with a heavy drum beat.
› Is this acceptable?
She sat back in her chair and put her feet up on the desk. It sounded pretty good to her, a bit like Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson
… a bit like Chilli Peppers. ‘Yeah, cool… I like it.’
The music echoed around the archway, bouncing off the cool brick walls, making the place feel a little more alive.
CHAPTER 35
65 million years BC, jungle
Liam watched Becks and the men lowering the bridge between them. He was surprised at the strength of the vine rope, showing no signs yet of fraying and snapping despite the tree trunk having been raised and lowered a dozen times already. It thudded down on the boulders on the far side of the river, bouncing and flexing as it settled into place.
‘All right,’ he shouted over the roar of the river. ‘Everyone who’s not staying… let’s go.’
The first of those that were going along on the trip began to carefully bum-shuffle their way along the log, getting damp with spray from below. Twelve of them in total, leaving four behind to man the camp: Joseph Lam and Jonah Middleton, Sophia Yip and Keisha Jackson. Lam, as the only adult, was in charge, and Becks had made sure he fully understood how important it was to keep the ‘windmill’ rotating its arms.
The contraption was a post with a balanced crossbar like a pair of scales and someone’s rucksack on one side slowly leaking — one at a time — pebbles on to the ground. As the weight adjusted and the ‘scales’ slowly tilted, it turned a simple windmill: a long, thin spar of wood that swung through the air with a regular rhythm. Every few hours the rucksack needed to be topped up again to maintain the blade’s swinging action. It couldn’t be allowed to stop.
Lam understood enough of its purpose already — maintaining a regular metronome-like signature of movement. Becks also briefed him on the warning signs that the area in the immediate vicinity was being probed: heat, a momentary localized jump in temperature of about ten degrees and a slight visual shimmering. If a probe actually did occur while they were gone, she’d continued, there would almost certainly be another one directly afterwards to ‘double-check’ the rhythmic interference. And, provided the windmill was still waving and duplicating the same unnatural pattern, he could expect a two-yard-wide time window to open and for someone to emerge from it, looking for them.
Lam assured them he’d set up a rota to keep the contraption turning and then wished them all luck.
They’d spent a few days preparing to set off on the trip. Sixty miles heading north-east, with no idea at all what sort of terrain they were going to have to cross. It could be jungle all the way. It could turn to desert for all they knew. Which was why they each carried in their school rucksacks as many plastic bottles as had come through with them full of drinking water. They had some food too, parcels of grilled fish meat wrapped in broad waxy leaves and tied up with vine rope. Enough food and water to last them a few days and hopefully they could forage for more along the way.
Kelly was first across and waited for the next with a helping hand extended.
Everyone also had a weapon now, either a spear or metal-shard hatchet, or both. Juan had even managed to produce three surprisingly good bows from suitably sturdy branches and a quiver full of arrows from sharpened bamboo canes, with fletching made from thin strips of bark. The arrows had proved to be rubbish against the hard wood of a tree trunk, splintering on impact. But, tested on the long bulky carcass of one of those huge fish, the arrows had gone almost entirely through.
Liam wondered, however, if a volley of their arrows would do little more than irritate a T-rex, if they met one.
Sixty miles. He hoped the terrain ahead of them was as free of lumbering prehistoric monsters as this jungle had so far proved to be. Other than those ugly mudfish in the river, and that bloody carcass they’d encountered over a week ago, the only living things he’d seen had been dragonflies the size of seagulls and bugs the size of rats, although at night the jungle seemed to echo with the curious haunting calls of a host of unknown creatures.
The others were mostly across now, wet from the spray of the river and the sweat of exertion in this hot and humid jungle. Becks was the last one across. She walked nimbly and confidently along the flexing trunk. Perfect balance and absolutely no fear of falling into the turbulent froth beneath.
Liam pursed his lips, jealous of that. To know no fear, to not have that gnawing sensation of terror in your stomach every time something thudded heavily out there in the dark of the jungle. Not that he could afford to show it. His stupid grin and the casual flick of his hand was all he allowed himself every time something happened that made him want to whimper. For example, he truly wished they’d not happened across that bloody ribcage. That meant something — or things — was out there sharing the jungle with them. Something they’d yet to see.
Becks jumped off the end of the log on to the silt riverbank beside Liam. ‘Are you ready to proceed, Liam O’Connor?’
He sucked air through his teeth as he glanced around at the others. They all seemed to be looking at him to lead the way. ‘North-east, you say, Becks?’
Becks’s eyelids fluttered once as she consulted onboard data. ‘Three hundred and eleven degrees magnetic,’ she said, pointing her finger towards the thick apron of trees ahead of them. ‘We must proceed in that direction.’
‘Right, then,’ he said, grasping his spear in both hands. He looked back over his shoulder at the four they’d left behind on the far side of the river, and cupped his mouth. ‘I’ll have a pint of stout to celebrate when we get back!’
They cocked their heads and looked confused. So did everyone on this side.
‘Stout?… Ale?’ he said. ‘You know?’
Whitmore scratched his beard thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean beer?’
Liam shook his head. ‘You Americans really have no idea what a good beer is, do you?’
Whitmore shrugged. ‘I had a Guinness once.’
