‘Bob, we got hit by a time wave, a big one.’
> This is apparent.
‘The wave was caused by Lincoln being here in 2001 and not back where he should be.’
> That is the most likely conclusion. What is Lincoln’s location now?
‘We do not have that information,’ said Becks.
> Hello, Becks.
‘Hello, computer-Bob.’
Maddy wrapped her knuckles impatiently on the desk. ‘Save the love-in for later, you two. We need to send them a message right now!’
‘The last known location,’ said Becks, ‘was the window opened near the FBI training academy, Quantico, Virginia. That was five days ago.’
> Correct. I have those coordinates in my event log.
‘They’ll have been making their way to us,’ said Maddy. ‘How far is it?’
‘Information: two hundred and twenty-six miles.’
‘They should’ve made it back by now, then … surely?’ She pouched her lips. ‘Unless they’ve decided to stay put and wait for me to open a window right where we dropped them off?’
> This is an equally likely possibility.
Maddy balled her fist and cursed. Both colonels exchanged a bemused look at her colourful choice of words.
‘Hang on!’ She held a finger up. ‘I can give them all the time they need … say a whole month if that’s what they need to —’
‘We cannot hold the British for a whole —!’
Maddy shook her head. ‘Relax … relax. This is time displacement. We can open the portal up as soon as the machine’s charged up enough. Say, in about twelve hours’ time. But I could set the time-stamp to open a space one month from now. Do you see … with time displacement, all time — past, present and future — is effectively now … as long as you’ve got enough energy to reach it. Easy as easy peas.’
A cursor flashed across the dialogue box.
> Negative.
‘What?’
> Diagnostic on the displacement machine indicates the tertiary downstream phase analysis module has failed. We cannot at this time open a window in the future.
She banged her fist on the desk. ‘Why is it always so freakin’…? Arghhh!’ She shook her head.
‘Does this mean your machine cannot operate?’ asked Devereau.
Maddy sighed. ‘No … no, it just means we have to wait this out in real-time.’ She shrugged. ‘Stupid me … I was hoping for the easy option.’
She settled back in her chair. ‘All right … all right, plan B, then. We pick a place roughly halfway between New York and Quantico, and give them, what? Two days … no, three days — time enough to make sure they can get there.’
‘From now?’ asked Devereau.
She nodded. Then noticed the look of concern on both men’s faces. ‘We can hold on here that long, can’t we?’ Her eyes went from one to the other. ‘Right? I mean … you know, if they attacked, say, right now? Your men could hold this ground for three days?’
The officers’ eyes met. It was Wainwright who broke the long silence. ‘It will depend what force they throw at us … and, of course, how quickly they have decided to respond to news of this mutiny.’
‘And how well our men will fight,’ added Devereau.
Wainwright nodded. ‘The officers in my regiment … I know will fight to the death. As men of rank we all now face firing squads if we were to surrender. The enlisted men? They would face a British military prison.’
Devereau nodded grimly. ‘A similar fate awaits our officers. But I think my men will fight well because there can be no retreat if the South attack. The Legionnaires will be lined up behind us ready to shoot anyone retreating.’
‘So?’ She was still waiting for an answer. ‘Three days, then?’
Wainwright stroked his chin. ‘To be certain … you can promise us this new history?’
‘If I can pick them up and drop them back in 1831, yes.’
And if Lincoln is still alive.
She suspected Bob and Liam were probably fine; so far together they seemed to have been able to weather anything. And Sal would probably be fine with them looking after her. But Lincoln … the guy was a loose cannon. A big-mouth. A hot-head. Anything could have happened to him over the last week.
‘Then our men will give you your three days,’ said Wainwright. ‘What do you say, William?’
Devereau nodded. ‘This is a good defensive position.’
Maddy turned back to face the webcam on the desk. ‘OK, computer-Bob. Three days rendezvous from now, we just need to pick some place halfway between here and Quantico. Somewhere relatively quiet and peaceful if possible.’
> Affirmative.
‘We got enough charge to send a broad-range signal?’
> Affirmative. Information: my diagnostic has also picked up calibration errors on the transmission array.
‘Affirmative,’ said Becks. ‘A replacement component — a conventional radio communication dish — has been connected. I can run the recalibration with you, Bob.’
‘Well, you two sort that out now.’ She turned to Wainwright and Devereau. ‘Either of you got any relatively up-to-date maps we can look at? We need to pick a place for our guys to get to.’
CHAPTER 70. 2001, New Wellington
Sparks danced up into the night sky from their campfire, one of several dozen they could see up and down the side of the roadway. Refugees heading south and those on foot, like them, stopping at the side of the road for the night to rest, eat and perhaps sleep.
They were cooking cobs of corn they’d plucked from a field earlier this evening over the fire. Somewhere across on the other side of the road, someone was roasting coffee beans over theirs, and someone else, salted bacon.
‘It’s cooler tonight,’ said Liam.
Sal, snuggled beside him, nodded.
‘You all right, Sal?’ he said.
She nodded again, her eyes on the fire, glistening.
‘I know,’ he started. ‘Look, I know what happened was hard —’
‘Hard?’ she whispered. Hard was a lazy, careless word to use for what they’d witnessed. ‘I … I keep seeing it, Liam. You know?’ She looked up at him. ‘I see Samuel looking at me, looking right at me when they shot him. He was …’ Her voice faded to nothing. Together they stared at the fire in silence, watched the cobs slowly blacken on the edge of the fire.
‘I feel …’ She chewed on a fingernail. ‘I feel strange. Like I’m … like I’m not who I used to be. Not the same Saleena I used to be.’
Liam nodded. ‘We’ve both seen a lot, you and me.’
‘It’s like my old life — my parents, my home, my school friends — all that’s become someone else’s life, not mine any more. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Aye,’ he said softly. ‘Me too.’
‘It feels like you, me and Maddy have been together for years.’ Although she knew exactly how long it had been: a hundred and fifty-five days — seventy-five bubble-time cycles plus five days.
‘For me it is,’ said Liam. ‘Six months in 1956 … and another six months in the twelfth century. And another in dinosaur times.’ He looked at her, quizzical. ‘You know what? I’ve lived a whole year longer than you since we were recruited.’
‘I know.’ She looked up at him, tilted her head to look at the tress of grey hair by his temple. ‘You do look older.’
‘Well, I’d be seventeen now, I suppose.’ Mock serious. ‘I went an’ missed me birthday!’
She smiled and punched his arm lightly. ‘Happy birthday, then.’
He reached out and prodded one of the charred cobs with a stick. Still too hard to want to eat yet. On the other side of the fire Lincoln was muttering something to Bob about his childhood, something to do with skinning hares.