A Symphony of Echoes (5 page)

Put like that, what could they have missed? I looked at Kal and she shook her head stubbornly. ‘It’s here. I can feel it.’

Guthrie compressed his lips.

‘Hang on, Ian,’ said the Chief. ‘If anyone would know, it would be these two.’

Helen was uncharacteristically silent, apparently deep in thought. Suddenly, she said, ‘Come with me,’ and we all set off again, Helen in the lead and the rest of us trailing behind like a dirty comet tail. Our weird little procession trundled back along the corridors.

It hit me as we stepped out of the lift. I felt as though I’d walked into something dirty. Whatever it was, it was here. Kal shivered and dropped her head.

Helen led us past a startled Hunter into one of the little labs at the back of Sick Bay. She shut the door and moved towards one of the storage units.

‘All of you, keep back.’ We stayed by the door. Donning mask and gloves, she tapped in a code and opened a cabinet. I stepped back with a hiss and Kal flinched.

Very carefully, she placed a glass case on the table. Inside lay another, much smaller Petrie dish, its lid forced off by something growing inside. It was vile and looked like a cross between a cauliflower and a scab.

I grabbed Farrell’s arm for support as a wave of nausea rushed over me. We all stared in horror.

Helen said hoarsely, ‘I took a tiny, a minute sample of the fluid, just in case any of your wounds became infected. It was no more than a smear. Look how it’s grown!’ Even as we stared, it pulsed strangely. I shut my eyes and when I looked back, I thought it was larger. I stepped behind the Chief, where I wouldn’t have to see it.

‘Get rid of it,’ said Kal harshly, her voice rising. ‘Get rid of it now.’

‘All right,’ said Guthrie. ‘Try and stay calm.’ He looked at the Chief. ‘You and me, I think. I’ll carry. You clear a path and open doors.’

‘Agreed,’ said Farrell.

He turned to me and said meaningfully, ‘See you in ten minutes.’ I nodded again. Guthrie carefully picked up the glass case. Farrell opened the door. They set off and the door closed behind them.

Nobody moved. Kal sat quiet, her eyes closed. I stared at my feet. Minutes ticked by. Oppression overwhelmed me. Would this thing haunt me all the days of my life? I would never be rid of it. And one day, inevitably, it would find me. I could feel the old panic rising. Kal stirred in her chair and I knew she felt the same. My heart pounded. I felt sick.

I was almost at screaming point when, imperceptibly, it began to fade. My mood lightened. I lifted my head. It was that wonderful moment when you’ve been prepared for a prolonged and unpleasant session of projectile vomiting and then, without warning, it subsides and you suddenly fancy a bacon sandwich.

Kal grinned at me. I grinned at Helen. ‘It’s gone.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Absolutely. It’s gone. They’ve done it.’

Kal said, ‘It’s like Frodo at Mount Doom, isn’t it?’ She looked around. ‘I’m starving. Any chance of some pancakes? With ice cream and maple syrup?’

Helen nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Just like Frodo and Mount Doom. I remember now, the first thing he did was stuff his face.’

They hustled us off to bed. Kal got her pancakes.

I wandered into the bathroom, had a shower, and slowly dried myself. I took my time but when I emerged, there was no sign of Leon. Kal was sleeping like the dead. I looked at the clock. It had been nearly an hour and he’d said ten minutes. I dressed again, quietly, so as not to wake her and called him over my com. No response. I tried again. Still no reply. I called Hawking.

‘Hey Max, how you doing?’

‘Is the Chief with you, Polly?’

‘Not any more. He left ages ago. More than forty-five minutes. Have you lost him?’

‘Apparently. Do you know where he was headed?’

‘He was meeting you, he told me.’

‘OK, Poll. Thanks.’

Hunter was at the nurses’ station, reading.

I said, ‘Something’s wrong.’

‘Still?’

I nodded.

‘Is it back?’ She looked over her shoulder.

‘No. Something else.’

I called him again. Again, nothing. Finally and very reluctantly, I called Major Guthrie.

‘Good God, don’t you people ever sleep?’

‘Major, is the Chief with you?’

‘Well, I hope not, I’m in bed.’ A pause. ‘Isn’t he with you?’

‘No.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And I can’t raise him. What did he say when he left you?’

‘He was going to Sick Bay. To see you.’ I could hear him thinking. ‘Stay where you are, Max. I’m on my way.’

I sat at the station and tried to think. Where could he be? There was no way he wouldn’t return to check on me. Something had happened. Guthrie turned up about twenty minutes later. In uniform, this time.

‘No one has entered or left the building since quarter past seven this evening and that was a just couple of techies coming in. Did he say anything to you about feeling unwell?’

‘No. Presumably there was no issue with disposing of – that thing?’

‘No, none. We stayed and watched it burn away. On my instructions, Mr Strong kept the incinerator running for another thirty minutes. Farrell said he was going to see you and disappeared. I followed a couple of minutes later, so I didn’t see which way he went.’

We traipsed down to the basement and found Mr Strong. ‘Twice in one night, Major?’

‘Can’t stay away, Mr Strong. Is the Chief still here?’

‘Good heavens, no. He left about an hour ago now.’

Back up the stairs, I slipped into the paint store, just in case he’d felt the need to visit his hidden pod for some reason, but it was empty. We visited his room. Also empty. Now I really began to worry.

Mrs Partridge wasn’t in her office, but the Boss was in. Did he never stop working?

He looked up as we entered. ‘There seems to be a lot of activity in my unit tonight, Major?’

How does he know these things?

I sat while Major Guthrie reported on the evening’s events. When he’d finished, the Boss sat silently for a while. ‘No trace at all?’

‘None, sir.’

‘And he definitely intended to return to see you, Dr Maxwell?’

‘He said he’d see me in ten minutes. That was over an hour ago.’

‘That’s not like him,’ said the Boss. ‘And there’s no trace anywhere?’

‘None, sir.’

He stared at the papers on his desk and then came to a decision.

‘All right. Major, turn out the unit.’

‘Yes, sir.’ He left the room.

‘Stay here, Max.’

I sat in one of his armchairs and pulled my jacket around me. I was cold.

Three minutes later, every alarm in the building went off. 

Chapter Six

I sat quietly as events raged around me. I had thought about returning to my room, but here in his office I could hear the reports as they came in, so I stayed quiet and hoped he had forgotten about me. Fat chance. During a momentary lull, he said, without turning his head, ‘You checked the paint store?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He nodded and carried on with whatever he was doing.

This was the elephant in the room. He and Chief Farrell were from the future. They’d been sent back to start St Mary’s and keep it, us, and by extension, the future St Mary’s, safe and secure. The Chief had his own pod that he kept, camouflaged, at the back of the paint store. Now he’d disappeared, but his pod was still here. He would never leave his pod. I had a bad feeling about this.

People came and went, reporting failure. After they’d drawn a blank with work areas, the search moved to staff rooms and private areas. They finished just before dawn, and as soon as it was light, they moved outside. By mid-morning, every square inch of St Mary’s had been searched. I had long since fallen asleep and someone had tossed a blanket over me.

The sound of voices penetrated my light doze, I opened my eyes to see the Boss, Guthrie, Dieter, Peterson, and Professor Rapson seated around his briefing table. I could tell from their faces that they’d had no success. I struggled out from under the blanket.

‘Sorry, sir. I’ll make myself scarce.’

‘No, please join us. We’re just discussing our next move.’ I sat down and someone passed me a mug of tea. I was cold, stiff, and a little scared.

Major Guthrie put down his tea and sat forward.

‘I think,’ he began, but we never did find out what he thought, because at that moment we heard running footsteps and voices raised in Mrs Partridge’s office. The door crashed open. It was Polly Perkins, Head of IT, flushed with running.

‘Sir, we’ve found something!’

‘Where? What?’

‘Gents’ toilets down by Hawking. Writing. Maybe a message.’

The Boss stood up. ‘Guthrie, Maxwell, and Peterson, with me.’ We set off. ‘How was this missed in our first search?’

Polly replied, ‘You’ll understand when you see it, sir.’

The toilets smelled the way men’s toilets always do. Like a hundred wet tomcats had died in there. We looked around.

‘Where?’ said Guthrie.

‘Watch.’

She put the plug in a basin and ran the hot water. Steam billowed, obscuring the mirror above. She turned off the tap and stepped back and there, plain as day, two rows of numbers.

We’ve all done it as children. You write on a mirror with a bar of soap, which remains invisible until the mirror steams up and reveals your secret writing. Peterson dragged his scratchpad from his knee pocket and typed them in.

I went to the door and looked out. On the left was the long corridor back to the main building. On the right was Hawking. Opposite was the door to the basement.

Interesting.

Guthrie was saying, ‘Some kind of message?’

Polly said, ‘The numbers are laid out like co-ordinates, although I don’t recognise them. I’d need to check them out.’

‘Not just at the moment, if you don’t mind, Miss Perkins,’ said the Boss. ‘There are other avenues I want to explore first. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will contact you shortly.’

She said, ‘Yes, sir,’ threw us all a curious look and went out. We stood in silence.

‘Major, your thoughts please.’

‘Well, sir, unlikely as it seems, I think Chief Farrell has been taken – snatched – and somehow, someone managed to scribble these numbers as a clue. If indeed they are co-ordinates, then we know where to look. It seems a little – easy.’

Silence.

Peterson nodded.

I walked to the door again and looked out. If I was snatching someone then this was the place I would be. But what were the odds they’d turn up here, in this location, on one of the few nights of the year when the Chief was pottering around in the basement?

So, suppose it wasn’t the Chief they were after. Then whom? Think about that later.

So, you have your man – a man, anyway – and this man, by some means, gets to write on the mirror. And no one notices? Or did they all politely give him some privacy so he could scribble these numbers? How likely is that?

Suppose the man is unconscious and requires medical attention? OK, so at a stretch of the imagination, they drag him back in here to mop up the blood. But in that case, he’s in no condition to be writing anything anywhere. I inspected the basins. They were all clean and sparkling and there were no wet towels in the bin and certainly no bloodstains.

So they grab a man, who just happens to be the Chief. How did they get here? A pod. It had to be. I already knew from Guthrie that no one had entered or left the building. It had to be a pod.

Where had they landed? Apart from Hawking itself, only the basement was big enough and private enough. So how did they know that? That was easy. Someone who was familiar with the layout of St Mary’s. And, if you followed that to its logical conclusion, then that someone may well have known the Chief would be here tonight as well. Someone from the future would have that knowledge. In which case, it
was
the Chief they wanted.

So, in – grab the Chief as soon as he’s alone – and out again. Minutes, maybe even seconds. And during that time, these co-ordinates were written on the mirror. Why? The answer to that was pretty obvious. Oh, God, we were in trouble again.

Last year, we’d come up against a renegade outfit from a future St Mary’s. Led by an embittered fanatic named Clive Ronan, we’d engaged them in the Cretaceous Period and then again in Alexandria. He’d come off worse in both encounters. Very much worse. He had no reason to love us.

Peterson said, ‘This isn’t right. There’s something wrong here.’

Guthrie nodded his agreement. ‘True, but I’d like to investigate those co-ordinates before I commit myself to any course of action.’

The Boss shifted his weight on his stick. ‘Dr Maxwell, your comments please.’

‘Well, sir, in a nutshell, it’s a set-up.’ There were nods of agreement. Everyone had come to that conclusion.

I stared at the floor, a thousand thoughts whirling through my head. One was uppermost. Willingly or not, Chief Farrell had gone back to the future.

I might never see him again.

Three hours later, and I was exhausted. Nevertheless, I couldn’t afford to show it. I could not afford to look in anything other than tip-top condition and fighting fit. I’d just repeated my plan for the second time and the storm of protest was, if anything, greater than the first time. Which was a shame. It was a good plan.

‘It’s a good plan,’ I said, defensively and off they went again. Although not all of them. Dr Bairstow said nothing, just looking out of the window. I sat quiet. Best to let them get on with it.

Finally, the Boss raised his hand. ‘Enough. Dr Maxwell, please remain behind. The rest of you, back here in one hour, if you would be so good.’

Great. I’d slept through breakfast and was now going to miss lunch. Last night’s sandwiches seemed a long time ago.

Peterson was last out, fixing me with a look as he went. I grinned at him. The door closed. I turned back to the Boss, who moved a few things around on his desk and then said, ‘I have a slight amendment to your plan.’

I listened carefully and at the end, I nodded. It was a much better idea.

‘I won’t leave this St Mary’s unprotected,’ he said; words I would remember later. ‘I can’t. No matter what else is going on, my first duty is always to this unit.’

I nodded.

‘But I think this will re-adjust the odds a little more favourably. However, I have to say I am deeply unhappy with this – idea of yours.’ He held up his hand to forestall any objections I might be thinking of making. ‘I know. It is a good plan. It’s logical. To some extent, it’s playing into their hands, but it’s what they will be expecting and you are exploiting that weakness. My concerns, Max, are for you.’

My concerns were for me too, but I didn’t make the mistake of seeming dismissive. ‘I understand, sir. It’s not my most favourite idea, and trust me, I am fully aware of the risks. But it won’t work with anyone else. They’ll be expecting me. And that’s their weakness.’

He sighed. I said nothing. There was no point in over-egging the pudding. He had weighed up the risks and the benefits. No one had come up with anything better. Guthrie’s suggestion for a full-frontal attack had been vetoed. Anything that left St Mary’s unprotected was off the table. This was all we had.

‘Max …’

‘I know, sir. Believe me, I’m not thrilled, either. But I can’t see an alternative.’

‘Nor I. But you’ll be completely exposed.’

I nodded. ‘That’s the whole point, sir.’

‘You’re not fit yet.’

‘I know, but I promise to keep my head down.’

‘They can hurt you badly.’

I nodded. They could. ‘Not if your idea works, sir.’

‘They might just kill you on the spot.’

I nodded again. I was trying hard not to think of that.

He still looked unhappy.

‘Sir, this is St Mary’s. We don’t leave our people behind. They won’t be surprised to see me. Disobeying orders and mounting a rescue all on my own is exactly what I’m famous for.’

He nodded. ‘Very well. Start putting things together. Liaise with Major Guthrie and Dr Peterson. Speak to Dr Foster about your face. There’s no rush for this. We have the time and space co-ordinates. Take a day or so to make sure every contingency is taken into account. Keep me updated. I’ll make sure everything is covered at this end.’ He smiled. ‘You’ll want a secure St Mary’s to come back to.’

I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and slipped out of the room.

I had a bit of a job with Peterson. He really was not happy and, like many usually easy-going people, he was a bit of a bugger when he wasn’t happy. In fact, it was the first time I had ever seen him really angry. Ten minutes later, he had barely drawn breath.

I interrupted him. ‘Tim, this will work. We can’t stage a full-frontal because it leaves us too exposed here, but this might work.’

Help came from an unexpected quarter. Guthrie said, ‘She’s right. I can see this working.’ He looked at me. ‘Whether you’ll still be alive and kicking at the end of it …’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, careful not to sound boastful. Or defiant. Or scared. ‘I’m aware of the risks. None better. I promise you both I won’t do anything stupid.’

‘The whole idea’s stupid,’ said Peterson. ‘What am I going to say to Kal? Don’t tell me she won’t get it out of me in seconds. And what about Helen? It’ll be all right for you – you’ll already be dead. I’m the one who’s really going to suffer.’

Guthrie patted his shoulder. ‘Look on the bright side, Dr Peterson. You might not live that long, either.’

We don’t jump forwards. It’s not a good idea. Going back is easy because you know where and when you’re going, but jumping forwards is a very different kettle of fish. You set your co-ordinates for say, London, one hundred years in the future; but in the meantime, if the earth is destroyed by a solar flare or a meteor strike, where do you land? Limbo? The place where London would have been? Empty space? A radiation hot spot? Or would the safety protocols engage, and the pod wouldn’t jump at all? Despite the Cooper/Hofstadter papers on the subject, no one seems quite sure what would happen, and we certainly didn’t want to find out the hard way. Therefore, we don’t jump into an unknowable future.

Besides, we’re historians. The past is much more interesting.

So this was a bit of a first for us. I still wasn’t completely convinced the pod wouldn’t implode on landing.

I drew two small, silenced handguns. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I was not the important one here. The Boss still wasn’t happy with the plan. Peterson and Guthrie were definitely not happy with the plan. I didn’t blame them. I wasn’t happy with the plan either, but there really wasn’t a lot of wiggle room.

I said encouragingly, ‘It’ll be fine. You just wait and see.’

Nobody replied.

When the Chief’s pod landed, my initial reaction was one of huge relief. Our first jump into the future and the pod was a smear of jelly on the timeline. With that anxiety out of the way, I could now focus on worrying about the next part of the plan. I checked all the visuals and proximity alerts very carefully, said, ‘Well, it’s now or never,’ and activated the door.

I’m not sure to whom I was talking, and since I didn’t get a reply, I suppose it didn’t really matter.

The hangar was on emergency lighting and I could make out only two other pods. One sat on the plinth nearest me. I’d never seen that plinth occupied – ever. My heart began to thump. This must be the long lost Number Four. This was one of our two stolen pods. Clive Ronan had stolen Four and Seven years before I arrived at St Mary’s and killed the crews. Five historians lost. If Four were here, then I was in the right place. There was no sign of Seven. The other pod was right down at the far end. Number Nine. Not one of ours.

My pod was camouflaged, but in this gloomy corner of a gloomy hangar, it would have been almost invisible anyway.

The hangar was deserted, everything shut down, and only the exit lights glowed faintly over the doors. I stood for a long, long time, watching and listening, but I really was alone. The overhead gantry was empty as were the offices at the other end.

I walked quietly along the wall. The floor felt gritty underfoot. Now that I was used to being here, I could smell stale air. This place hadn’t been used for a while. I reached the doors and peered through the glass window. The blast doors were open. It was dark in the hangar and it was dark on the other side of the doors, as well. I wondered what time of day it was. In my St Mary’s, even in the small hours there were lights on and people around. I’d half expected to exit the pod to a ring of armed guards, but there was no one. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad.

The security system was disabled and the door opened easily. The place seemed deserted. God, I hoped not. If Leon wasn’t here, then I had no place else to look. I eased open the door and slipped through the narrowest possible gap. I felt the door close silently behind me. Now I had to make a choice. Did I go forward along the long corridor to the main building? Or turn right to the storerooms and the paint store? Or up the stairs to Sick Bay?