Time's Chariot

sudden, all sorts of things were possible. And the only high classifications like that…

… worked for the College.

‘By the way,’ he said through his teeth, interrupting whatever Su had been saying, ‘my theory makes sense now.’

‘What theory?’ Su demanded angrily.

‘The one I tested at Daiho’s place, remember? I worked out that if a body was thrown far enough then the agravs wouldn’t pick it up. But I couldn’t work out how the body could be thrown that far.’

‘And?’

‘I’ve just realized what could have done it.’ He gasped as his injured leg banged into a rock. ‘Still don’t know who, though. They tried to put me off, Su.’

‘And did they?’ Su said, though there was no hope in her tone.

‘In your dreams.’

They were through the trees, now. Tong came towards them, stopped, gaped, then hurried forward to lend his assistance, cautioned only with a stern ‘don’t ask’ from his wife.

They tried to skirt the crowd to get to the terrace where the recall area was, but at least one member of the crowd saw them and came forward. Rico’s heart sank as the familiar and very unwanted toad-like figure of Supervisor Marlici approached, silhouetted against the lights.

‘Op Garron!’ he said, with a smile like a shark greeting someone else’s long-lost relative. ‘How glad I am I found you.’

NINE

Matthew Carradine, the founder, Managing Director and President of BioCarr, had started pacing around his office for the third time.

The office was a beautifully decorated room in the magnificent seventeenth-century mansion that he had bought when he inherited his parents’ fortune, at the end of the first decade of the millennium. It had a breathtaking view of the park outside. It was decorated with exquisite taste, product of the best interior designers his considerable money could buy. The perfect base from which to put all that money to even better use and build up a fortune of his own.

As he had done. He loved this building, but today it just bored him.

His PA, a quiet and inoffensive man called Alan, was turning into an irritating nag and had been snapped at the last time he put his head around the door to offer some tea. And when a call had finally come through two minutes ago, it hadn’t been the call — it had been Alan again, with a mundane, routine matter that couldn’t wait. The poor man had barely escaped with his life.

‘Where are they?’ Carradine muttered. ‘Where are they?’

It was the moment he had been waiting for ever since the visitor, the stranger, had appeared and stood in front of him — just there, between the table and the drinks cabinet — and outlined his plans. And then he had put down what he called ‘a deposit’. And what a deposit! Information decades, maybe centuries ahead of what BioCarr — or, more importantly, BioCarr’s rivals — could offer. No doubt it was passe in — what had he called it? — the Home Time, which lay who knew how far in the future; but here and now in good old 2022, the stuff was so hot it was molten.

A day later, once the information had been verified and Carradine was still coming to terms with the reality of the gold seam he had struck, the man had come back and made the deal. All this in return for certain facilities and a bit of privacy.

Carradine stopped pacing and glanced at his watch. It was 16:07, and the arranged time had been 16.00. Had something gone wrong? Had the Home Timers changed their mind? Had they all been taken — he swallowed, it was a distinct possibility — for a ride?

The call tone sounded and he threw himself at his desk. Then he checked himself and carefully sat down, ran his hands back through his hair and pulled the display towards him. Alan looked out at him, any resentment from his previous tongue-lashing well hidden. Alan was like that. Quiet, reserved, unbelievably discreet, almost ageless. Carradine had suspicions about the reasons for his singleness which he kept to himself.

This once, Alan was indulging in a small smile.

‘I’ve got Holliss at the hotel for you, Matthew,’ he said. ‘They’ve arrived.’

‘Thank God! I mean, good. Good.’ Carradine had to keep his arms flat on the desk in front of him, rather than hug himself with glee, which was his instinct. It was working. It could work. ‘Put her through.’

Edith Holliss looked out at him, large glasses taking up most of the image. They irritated him, as they always did. Why did an employee of BioCarr, which stood for progress and technology, insist on such anachronisms when perfectly good vision correction was available to all for a small fee?

‘Mr Carradine,’ she gushed, ‘I’m delighted to say…’

‘Show me,’ Carradine said. Holliss let a brief flash of irritation show around the edges of her polished smile but she nodded slightly and her picture moved to the left of the display. A group shot appeared on the other side. Four people, and a pile of boxes stacked behind them. ‘It was quite eerie, sir,’ she said. ‘We were expecting them and we’d kept the area clear, as instructed, but even so, they just… appeared. No noise, no flash, no special effects — it just seemed so natural that suddenly they were there.’

Carradine remembered his own dealings with the Home Timer. There hadn’t even been any air displacement, which would surely be expected if a substantial body were to appear and disappear at will. ‘I know.’ He zoomed in on the picture. A young woman and three men covering a range of ages. None of them was the man he had dealt with. He peered more closely, with interest. Their clothes were strange — nothing to distinguish gender, and impossible to tell if they were wearing separate tops and bottoms or strangely designed one-pieces, though there was plenty of variation within that theme — but otherwise they could be the people next door. ‘Any indication of how long they plan to stay?’

‘None at all, sir. The booking’s open-ended, as instructed.’

‘Well, their rent’s good for it,’ Carradine said.

Holliss looked puzzled. ‘Well, of course, sir, BioCarr is footing the bill…’

‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ Carradine snapped, thinking that though Holliss was technically a Grade 7 BioCarr employee, at heart she would always be a hotel manager. A very good hotel manager, whose establishment was frequented by senior BioCarr officials and therefore had the best staff and the tightest security BioCarr could buy… but still a hotel manager.

She looked offended and he was immediately angry with himself. She couldn’t be expected to know about the information the go-between had offered. ‘Please tell me the surveillance is in place?’ he said.

Holliss hadn’t been well pleased to have bugs planted all over her establishment and she dared to look slightly put out. ‘It is, sir, only they have some device which we haven’t been able to locate, and it jams our local bugs.’

‘Naturally,’ Carradine said. ‘What are you doing about it?’

‘The surveillance people,’ Holliss said, emphasizing that it wasn’t her problem, ‘say they’re going to have to make do with lasers on the windows, lip reading via telescope, that sort of thing. What you’ve just seen was the last good shot we had of the guests before the cameras were affected.’

‘Very interesting. What did they bring with them?’

‘A lot of boxes, sir. I can’t tell what they’re made of, and it’s difficult to say what’s in them. As for personal luggage — nothing but the clothes they’re wearing.’

‘Give them whatever they want.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘And now, introduce us.’

The image of two youngsters — Carradine would have said sixteen or so, maybe older but certainly not by much — filled the display. The boy’s skin and features looked vaguely Hispanic with sallow skin and dark hair. The girl too was basically white but otherwise impossible to classify straight off. Carradine had no idea what racial intermixings might be the norm in the Home Time.