After two or three such traumatic returns,the parents of newly abducted children had become wise. They justheld onto their babies for dear life when they came back, clutchingthem while they were still warm and could hug them back.
After several dozen abduct-and-returns, thegrief was immediate. In one infamous case, the mother refused toopen the door to her returned child. CCTV footage showed athirteen-year-old girl banging her fists on the door, shouting forher mother to let her in. Her father later revealed that he ranfrom the backyard into the house, where his wife sat with her backagainst the front door, sobbing uncontrollably. She simply couldn’tface watching her daughter die. The father had tried to move her,but she wouldn’t budge. When the banging subsided, she raised thehandgun she’d concealed at her side, and shot herself.
Varya shook her head. “Kids go missing forother reasons. It’s not always about time. He might have had anargument with someone and wandered off and got lost. You know howunpredictable pre-teens can be.”
Zoe clutched the stem of her newly re-filledwine glass. “Oh, come on, Varya. Daniel’s in his room. He can’thear us, there’s no need to sanitise this. Besides, even he doesn’tbelieve you. He’s nine years old, he’s not a baby.”
Varya flinched. She knew Zoe was right, butshe wished she could still tell Daniel whatever made-up version ofevents would make him feel safe at night, and have him believe her.When had that changed? Two years ago, three? They grew up so fast,lost their faith in adults so quickly. Then again, when adults liedon a daily basis—often even to themselves—it was hardlysurprising.
“Fifty-five years on the clock, he had left.That’s a lot of years to sell, a lot of money, and a big motive.”Zoe looked at Varya. “What’s to say it’s not happening again?” Hervoice held an uncharacteristic note of panic.
Zoe had worked in the emergency departmentin the early days when the time thieves had been less precise. Halfa dozen children had been returned with enough time left on theirChips to make it to the hospital. Their parents would rush them in,screaming for the Time Chip to be taken out. Zoe and her colleagueshad been powerless to do anything except give the family someprivacy in their final moments. No Time Chip had ever been removedwithout causing death to the host. At least the children’s deathswere peaceful ones, as the initiators were designed to provide,unlike some of the traumas inflicted on other children brought intothe E.R. But what could be truly peaceful about the death of ayoung child who had barely had the chance to live?
Eventually the perpetrators had been caught.A criminal cell harbouring a fourth-dimension physicist who hadworked on the time exchange projects and couldn’t let go of theprospect of immortality or—at the very least—old age. He and hisco-conspirators had been put to death the old-fashioned way: bylethal injection. The time theft technology they’d used had beenretrieved and destroyed. Varya knew Ben Williams couldn’t have beentaken by time thieves. The Rest Time initiators were absolutelytamper-proof and the consequences for developing technology tooverride them were both swift and brutal.
Besides, there was nobody left who even knewhow to effect a time transfer. Except for Varya. And her formerTime Corps colleague, Reginald Baker.
Varya focused on Zoe’s wine glass anddecided she was thirsty after all.
Chapter two
Marisa
“It’s not about how much time you have availableto you, it’s about how you use that time to its fullpotential.”
“Bullshit,” Marisa muttered to thewell-suited television presenter as she fanned out forty hours’worth of time tabs on the low table in front of her. “Time ismoney, and money has always been able to buy more time.” Althoughusually what people meant was that you could pay someone else toclean your house, or get your groceries, or execute any one of yourmillions of smaller chores, to free up time for yourself. So thenyou could spend that extra thirty minutes a day doing ahigh-intensity workout to keep your body healthy instead, andtwenty minutes meditating to keep your mind healthy, and ninetyminutes reading or doing crossword puzzles to optimise your brainsynapses.
Marisa nodded in satisfaction, collapsed thetime tabs back into a neat pile like a seasoned card shark, droppedthem into a small matchbox and handed it to the waiting teenager.The girl turned the box over in her soft, slender hands and pushedout the drawer with a candy-pink nail. Inside were layered small,clear blue rectangles. The girl reached in with her index fingerand stroked the pile until she managed to separate the top sheet.She held it up to the light and inspected it.
“And this thing can freeze time?”
“No.” Marisa shook her head. She alwaysfound it difficult to explain the mechanics of the tabs withoutgoing into unnecessary detail. “Not freeze. It will sort of slipyou into a pocket of time. Time will continue in nanosecondsoutside of the pocket, but for you it will feel like four hours.”She turned her back to the wall screen and held out her handexpectantly.
The girl ignored Marisa’s outstretched hand.“But I can study, and nobody will see me?”
“Nobody will notice. You have your ownbedroom?” Marisa tossed her head towards the main house, across theglittering pool. She saw a drape twitch and wondered just howprivate the pool house was, not that she was really concerned aboutdiscovery. At worst, the girl’s parents would confiscate the timetabs for their own use and maybe suspend their daughter’s generousallowance for a while. They wouldn’t dream of turning her over tothe authorities for illegal fourth-dimension activities. That wouldjeopardise their own supply. The corner of Marisa’s mouth twitchedbut she managed to remain serious and professional as she gesturedmeaningfully with her empty, upturned palm. This silly girlbelieved she’d found something her
