The Doomsday Code

Oh God, oh Jay-zus …

Liam jerked his head, bucking and kicking as hands pressed harder to hold his shoulders still.

‘Best hold still!’ one of the men holding him warned. ‘Unless you want him to hack at you like a hog on a spit?’

As the executioner sucked in a breath and his sword hovered for a moment above his head, Liam jerked his chin once more, finally freeing his mouth above the cloth gag.

‘Please! I’m not French!’ he heard himself screaming, shrill and terrified. ‘I’m — I’m — from the future!’

CHAPTER 53

1194, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire

‘Stop!’

Liam heard the blade coming down, a long deep swoop that sounded like the wingbeat of Death itself and then the wooden stump his head was pressed against vibrated with the jarring impact. He heard the blade clang and hum and the executioner curse as the blow vibrated his hands.

Liam tried to focus on the wobbling metal blade right beside his nose, reflecting his own face back at him. And that was the very last thing he remembered before he fainted.

Water splashed across his face, and Liam came to screaming, ‘Nooooo!’

He opened his eyes to see he was in a dark place, his bonds now removed. It was a round room of wicker walls caked with mud. Above him, sunlight dappled through a crude thatch of twigs and reeds, and beams caught dust motes and pollen gracefully floating through them.

‘In case you’re wondering,’ said a voice calmly. ‘You’re not dead.’

Liam looked around the room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The first thing he saw was the hooded figure squatting on the mud floor of the room. Beside it, sitting on a wooden stool, was the tall man with the long sandy hair, studying Liam intently and stroking his bottom lip thoughtfully.

‘Who sent you?’ he asked after a while.

Liam struggled to gather his senses. A moment ago, seconds ago, he’d been awaiting the downward strike of a sword on the back of his neck.

‘You said “I’m from the future”,’ the man said. ‘The only person in the twelfth century likely to comprehend the notion of time travel is someone who, indeed, has come from the future. Therefore, I completely believe you. Now,’ he went on, sitting forward, ‘who sent you?’

Liam looked up at him. ‘You — you … you’re a traveller too?’

The man nodded.

‘Are you … are you one of us?’ asked Liam.

‘Us?’

‘The — the agency?’

He cocked his head. ‘Agency?’

Liam bit his lip. Perhaps he’d just blurted out too much.

‘Agency …? Hold on.’ The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not talking about …?’ He smiled, then laughed. ‘You can’t possibly mean … The Agency?’

Liam shrugged. ‘Yes … I … no, I don’t know. I — ’

‘There were rumours … back in the 2060s. A secret agency set up to track down and terminate illegal time travellers. They were just rumours, mind.’

Liam said nothing, but the man seemed wholly intrigued by him. ‘Of course, everyone suspected that was propaganda — a deterrent, something to scare off any tech companies thinking about secretly developing a machine. But you’re here …’ His eyes narrowed. ‘So … is that it? Is this agency actually for real? Is that where you’ve come from?’

Liam’s eyes darted towards the hooded figure. Menacingly large in such a small hut, it sat silently poised in a squatting position. So far the man was asking questions … not demanding. He wondered how long that was going to last.

‘It’s true,’ whispered Liam. ‘I’m with that agency.’

‘My God!’ The man laughed again. ‘It was real! I knew it! Tell me … who’s behind it? The North American Federation? Is it the Sino-Korean Bloc? New Europe?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Liam replied.

‘Or is it a corporation?’

Liam shook his head. ‘I don’t know … we just work on our own. I don’t know who organizes us.’

‘You’re just a grunt, then?’ He smiled, not unkindly. ‘A foot soldier.’

Liam shrugged. ‘I … I suppose.’

‘And I presume you’ve come back here because I’ve altered history somehow?’

‘Yes.’

‘A lot?’

‘Enough that there’s been a time wave. The present has been changed.’

‘And your mission was to come back here to kill me?’

Liam closed his mouth. There was much too much he’d be giving away with an answer. Instead, he asked a question. ‘Who are you?’

‘That’s rather direct of you. I like that.’ The man smiled. ‘So I suppose I shall tell you. My name is James Locke.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Locke,’ said Liam, gingerly offering a hand. ‘I’m Liam O’Connor.’

A grin slowly spread across Locke’s face. He reached out and shook the proffered hand. ‘I recognize that accent,’ he said. ‘You’re Irish.’

‘Yes.’

‘A pity, eh?’

Liam frowned. ‘Pity? Why?’

‘Why?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t know … do you?’

‘Know what?’

‘Much of Ireland’s gone now. I think some peaks remain still in County Kerry, but the rest is all underwater.’

Liam stared at the man, wondering if he was playing a joke with him.

‘A lot of other places have gone too, mind. But you really don’t know about any of this, do you? What year exactly have you come from?’

He wondered if there was any point in keeping that from Locke. ‘2001.’

‘2001? Really? Why so far back? That’s over forty years before the first-ever test machine was functional.’

‘As good a place as any other, I suppose.’ He looked at Locke. ‘Did you just say Ireland’s underwater?’

‘Systemic climatic failure. It used to be called “global warming”. The ice caps melted decades ago; the sea ended up rising by about a hundred metres. We’ve lost about a fifth of the world’s land mass — the most densely populated fifth. What’s left is crammed full of people. Standing room only, I’m afraid.’

‘Jay-zus!’

‘Oh, you got that right,’ Locke said, pushing wisps of hair out of his eyes. Liam looked at his lean face more closely and realized he was a lot older than he’d first guessed. Forty, maybe fifty. His long hair threaded with greys and silvers, and criss-crossing lines splayed out from the corners of his eyes.

‘In my time the world’s dying, Liam. And it’s all our doing. It’s overheating and every ecosystem is gradually failing.’