Part 1 (2/2)

EGYPT.

YOU choose the period!

YOU choose the locations!Jack flicked open the brochure, looked at the choices. The Valley of the Kings (2500 BC) Alexander's Empire (330 BC) Anthony and Cleopatra (34 BC). There was no doubt that these people meant business. He turned the page, saw an advert for a burger joint, McDonald's. Underneath the image of a sizzling burger for a dollar ninety was the strapline 'Now open in Giza/2500, Alexandria/330 and Cairo/2500/34!'The numbers had to be the dates. But how...? Jack picked up another brochure. It was just the same, but the attraction was Tudor England. 'Visit the Home of the Rose 1580 AD from only $299!'It seemed expensive. The components for his machine had cost less than five dollars, and most of that had been the valves. He supposed laying down roads and lights and burger joints explained the rest of the money.'We did Medieval England last year. It was boring. And smelly.'Jack jumped. He hadn't noticed that the lobby was filling up behind him. He turned, saw a small girl in what looked like a vest with something written on it, cowboy jeans and tennis shoes on her feet. She was about twelve, and was holding hands with a boy of about five wearing clothes that looked the same. Behind her, the other pa.s.sengers from the bus were milling around.'Hey, are you OK?' asked the girl.'I'm fine,' Jack said, staring at the vest. The writing on it said 'FatBoy Slim'. It didn't make any sense.'We're going to do Egypt next year.'She had an English accent, Jack realised. Or perhaps East Coast: he always got them mixed up. And why was she wearing a vest in the lobby?'Are you sure you're OK?' she asked.'I yes. We were going to do Egypt too.' He wondered why he'd said that. Now she was going to 'Which period? I think the Tutankhamen one's fascinating myself.''Uh yes.' He tried desperately to think of something he knew about Tutankhamen. A violent drumming started, quite suddenly, so loud that it seemed to be shaking the floor. The girl took no notice at all, so Jack decided he'd better try to go on with the conversation. '1400 BC wasn't it?''That's right! They've got a five-star hotel in that period now. We usually go five-star but this time ''Ladies and gentlemen!' It was the tour guide. He spoke into a microphone, his voice booming above the drums. He was English too, by the sound of his voice. 'Welcome to the nineteenth century! In a few minutes there will be an orientation session, but first we'd like you to meet the Apaches!'An inner door burst open and an Apache warrior in full battle-dress burst in. The crowd jumped back, then, as the man smiled and began whirling a very fake-looking axe around his head, they began to clap in time with the drums. The 'warrior' gestured them towards the open doors beyond the lobby. Jack could see a swimming pool, and a stage with some very big loudspeakers.The girl was laughing and clapping. With her free hand she grabbed Jack's arm and dragged him towards the inner doors. 'Come on!'In the background, somebody began playing a trumpet. Jack couldn't see a trumpeter on stage perhaps it was recorded?But the tour guide had said it was the nineteenth century!Suddenly Jack realised how all this might be happening.'Are you from the future?' he asked the girl.'What?'Jack realised that the question didn't make much sense, so he rephrased it. 'What year are you from?''What year is it? 1852! Didn't you read the brochure?''No! You!' He pointed at her. 'What year?'She frowned at him and moved away.They were through the doors now. Four men were on stage, the Apache, a cowboy, but bizarrely also a policeman, a construction worker, a sailor and a man wearing an odd leather costume which looked a bit like a racing biker's.They pointed out at the crowd, started singing, 'Young man, there's no need to feel down...'Despite the gleeful tune, Jack was beginning to feel very 'down' indeed. His young companion had bounced off into the crowd, still holding on fiercely to her kid brother. Everybody else seemed to be dancing, except a few of the older folks who were watching from the sidelines. A banner above the stage, in blue paint on a pale wood, said 'Sponsored by Microsoft.'Who were Microsoft? Another time-travel company? Surely these weren't real Apaches or if they were, they'd stopped being warrior tribesmen a while ago. And the music was far too loud. Jack's ears were ringing. He backed away through the crowd, confused. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, saw the woman in the lemon-yellow dress from the bus. Close up, she looked older. The skin on her face was dry, her eyes grey, like pebbles. Her hand pinched his shoulder.She led him into the relative quiet of the lobby, then, before he could think about objecting, into a small room behind the cash desk. There was an odd sort of typewriter on the desk, flat, without any paper in it, with a wire leading to a TV A half-empty paper cup of coffee sat on a painted windowsill. The blind was open: Jack could see a small moth climbing up the window against the black night outside. A man sat behind the desk, a big man with dark eyebrows and dark gla.s.ses. His suit looked casual, but his manner was tense.n.o.body spoke for a moment. 'Why am I here?' asked Jack. This was too much like an arrest to feel comfortable.The woman replied. 'I saw your rig from the bus window. You need to be careful, you know. Homemade time machines are dangerous things.'Jack couldn't contain his curiosity. 'You mean you have other sorts?''Where do you come from, kid? Mars?' She sounded amused.Jack began to get annoyed. He was sure that wherever he was it was still America. These people didn't have any right to just pull him in like this. If what had been done was illegal well, they could tell him about it. He could apologise. Then they could take him home.'Jumpsville, Ohio, ma'am. I'm an American citizen.''What year?''Two thousand three.''And let me guess you never heard of time travel up to now?'Something in the tone of her voice a slight hardening, as if she might have to do something unpleasant set off alarm bells in Jack.'Well kind of. But I'm the first kid in Jumpsville to actually build a time machine.'The first in the world. But he was no longer so proud of that. Or so sure about it.The woman nodded slowly, glanced at the man, who shrugged.'You'd better come along with us. What's your name?''Jack. Jack Kowaczski.''Mine's Lieutenant Grania Flynn. And this is Sergeant Jim Lamarra.''I guess I'd better get back to my machine now,' Jack said. 'I mean, I've proved it works. I should be going home. I don't want to interfere ' He remembered about the burned-out valves, but at the moment he just wanted to get away from these people. Perhaps there were other people here who could help him.Jack wasn't surprised when Lieutenant Flynn shook her head. 'Your machine's probably burned out, Jack,' she said. 'And those homemade rigs are always one-way tickets. You go back in time, you change history. Every time. It's the first rule of the universe.' She squeezed his arm, not painfully, but hard. 'And I'm sorry to tell you this, Jack, but all the other rules are worse.'They had a car outside. It was silver, and it looked strange. The body was curved as if it had been made in a jelly mould, more like a four-wheeled s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p than an honest-to-goodness car. They put Jack in the back seat and locked the doors on either side of him. Sergeant Lamarra drove.The road widened after a while, became a two-lane highway with strip lights overhead. It was busy, lots of buses and the jelly-shaped cars, most of them silver, a few black.'So you're from two thousand three?' asked Flynn. 'Who was President in '74?'Jack thought for a moment. 'Bob Heinlein, until the election. It was his second term.''You mean Robert Heinlein? The science-fiction writer?'Jack frowned. Had Heinlein written anything? He couldn't remember. 'No, he was General Heinlein before he was President. He was the one who conquered Mars.'Lamarra spoke for the first time. 'G.o.d, this one's way out. D'you think we should ''No. There's no point. There are too many of them.''But we need to know why it's happening.''No we don't.' Flynn glanced at Jack in the mirror. He saw her eyes there, still with that speculative frown. He wondered what they were talking about.'Were there any Martians?'Then Jack got it. Their history wasn't the same as his. They'd never had a President Heinlein. And 'You mean you've never been to Mars?'There was a slight pause, then Flynn nodded. Lamarra said, 'Of course. We sent automatic probes. But there weren't any Martians. There couldn't possibly be, except bacteria, maybe.'Jack swallowed. 'You mean you're from a different possible a different ' He'd thought about this happening, but it had always made his head spin. In the end he'd just decided it was impossible. Now he wished he'd thought about it some more.'The word's ”timeline”,' said Flynn. 'And you're the one who's different, by the way. Did you really meet a Martian?''Uhh we employ one. To do the cleaning.''Oh my Go-o-od!' Lamarra seemed genuinely amused. 'The boys at the lab are going to love this one!'The car jolted under him, and Jack saw that the road had changed. This was more like the roads he would have expected in 1852: a rough mud track with stones on either side, curving between thin white trunks of pines. He stared between the flickering branches, hoping to see a glimpse of a real Apache, at least a tepee or log cabin.After a couple of minutes' driving in silence, Jim Lamarra spoke again. 'What you've got to realise about these timelines, Jack, is that only one of them can survive in the end. It's like companies, or countries, or Red Indian tribes. The one that stays in business has to be the smartest, strongest, fittest. Has to have the most fun. That way, you get the greatest good for the greatest number. See? The greatest good for the greatest number. You don't go worrying about all the little numbers ''Shut up, Jim.''I'm just telling him, aren't I? What's wrong with that? He's got to know.''No he hasn't. Shut up.''I'm just telling him he doesn't have to worry about the numbers.''Stop the car,' snapped Flynn.Jack was glad she'd said that. The way Jim Lamarra was talking was frightening him it was almost like he was nuts.The car stopped, too quickly, throwing Jack against the seat in front.The doors opened. Flynn beckoned. 'Come on, kid. Get out.'Jack got out, stared around at the empty forest in confusion. Had they stopped here just to have a quarrel? 'Where's the lab?''Just kneel down, Jack.'Kneel?Then he realised. Realised just before he saw the gun in her hand. He turned to run, but hit a barrier Lamarra. He struggled, but it was no use. A rough leather glove covered his mouth, strong arms forced him face down against the hard, dusty mud. He felt cold metal against the back of his neck, felt the mechanism move as the safety catch was released.A huge force slammed his head against the ground. He could see a dark tide spreading against the mud. With a dull shock, he realised it was his own blood.This can't happen to me, he thought, I'm an American. I'm an American.And died.

Chapter Two.

Happy Days are Here Again.

'You should live your life in the best way you can. You don't know what day the world will choose for you to die.'The Martian's twin antennae twitched slightly as he nodded. The deep grooves on the bony surface of his skull took up the sunlight from the open window. They looked like the canyon country of his native world in the famous Mary Scott picture: a polished russet with thin lines of black and green. His eyes, silver geodesic domes spotted with the ochre lichen of age, surveyed the plain yellow Formica top of the table he was scrubbing. He didn't look up at Jack.Jack, impatient, cracked his knuckles. 'Does that mean yes or no?'The Martian laughed, a sound like a saw biting metal. 'You are not yet an adult, Jack.' He turned with the cloth and sprayed a s.h.i.+mmer of polish on the front of the refrigerator, then began scrubbing. 'You're asking me for wisdom, but I'm a servant, a member of an inferior species ''You're the oldest person I know!' And the most infuriating, thought Jack, but he didn't say it. Mom had told him to always be polite to Martians. 'And you're not inferior!'Another laugh. 'I'm the one polis.h.i.+ng the refrigerator, you're the one who's invented a time machine.'Jack cracked his knuckles again. He wished Sio'phut wouldn't always avoid the subject like this. 'It's a big decision.''Hmmm.' (A single metallic tone, like a pipe from a tiny church organ) 'Not really. It is a a decision, yes. There are many, many decisions. The resulting paths always seem different. Yet they are also the same path, part of the greater road.' decision, yes. There are many, many decisions. The resulting paths always seem different. Yet they are also the same path, part of the greater road.'Jack frowned. Sio'phut was being even more confusing than usual today. Perhaps that meant 'The answer's no? I shouldn't use the machine? You think it would be dangerous?'The Martian's big latticed eyes darkened from silver to amber, which was better than a laugh.'Not dangerous, Jack-o,' said the Martian quietly. 'I'm certain you'll succeed. But success may not be what it promises to be.'Jack thought a moment, then nodded. 'Maybe. But I'm going to find out for myself.'Sio'phut turned back to the s.h.i.+ning front of the refrigerator and began to polish it again. 'Of course you are,' he said.Jack turned slowly and left the kitchen. He checked on his brother Sam in the front room, but he was still asleep on the couch, his thumb in his mouth. Mom would be home in a few minutes. Sam would be safe enough till then, with Sio'phut just in the kitchen. He tiptoed past the kid and out through the side door into the garage, then shut the door behind him as quietly as he could.The garage wasn't used for cars any more. His dad had built a double garage off from the house, so that he and mom could have a car each. Jack had taken over this old one. It was an ordinary kid's room, with posters of rocket s.h.i.+ps and railway trains on the walls. There was a record player, a radio. He'd been saving up for a TV, but they were still too expensive for kids. Anyways, the time machine had to come first.It was there, next to his workbench with its neat stacks of components and coils of cable. Jack couldn't suppress the rush of pride every time he looked at the machine. This was something no other kid could do. It was nothing to look at, just a breadboard rig lashed to an old wooden kitchen chair, with a car battery and a coil to get the voltage up for the valves. But he knew every wire in that circuit, every ohm of resistance and every pico-farad of capacitance. He could follow the trail of electrons along copper, the track of positrons along the saturnium coils of its QX No.7 valves.It was his idea. He didn't know how anyone could have missed it, but loads of people had. He'd been reading about the properties of QX No.7s and positron flow. The book had said that the positrons flowed backwards backwards in time across the coils just for a few hundred thousandths of a second. And he'd thought: in time across the coils just for a few hundred thousandths of a second. And he'd thought: All I have to do is take that and amplify it. All I have to do is take that and amplify it. He knew how to build an amplifier he'd built his first push-pull two-stager when he was nine. He knew how to build an amplifier he'd built his first push-pull two-stager when he was nine.Now he was fourteen, and he'd built a time machine.He sat in the chair, smelling its familiar stale-wood smell, checked the straps (a left-over car safety belt) and fitted them around his body. He put his hand on the cold smooth metal of the power switch. A few seconds connected to the battery and the coil had enough power for the valves. Jack put his hands on the row of four plastic switches that controlled the power flow.One two three The humming of the circuitry rose, not a brash loud humming like the machines in movies, hardly a sound at all. Jack's view of the doorway lensed as s.p.a.ce-time warped. He felt the fourth switch under his hand. It was the red one. The final amplification stage. So far he'd travelled back in time about two and a half seconds long enough for him to know it was working, but not long enough to be very interesting. The final circuit provided the real power, boosted the interval to a thousand years. A thousand years. A thousand years. He would be able to see the Indians, long before the white men came. He would be able to warn them. Perhaps he would be able to find a way of warning the Martians too. He owed Sio'phut one, just for keeping quiet. He looked at the new, final-stage valve, the bright solder on the mounting gleaming, barely cold. He would be able to see the Indians, long before the white men came. He would be able to warn them. Perhaps he would be able to find a way of warning the Martians too. He owed Sio'phut one, just for keeping quiet. He looked at the new, final-stage valve, the bright solder on the mounting gleaming, barely cold.Jack took a deep breath. Sio'phut hadn't actually said 'don't do it'.His finger pushed down the switch, and with a slight popping sound the world rippled into darkness.Into light.Darkness light dark light darklightdarklight Grey. He thought he could see flecks of black moving inside it, like soot in smoke. He peered at them, leaning forward against the straps in an effort to see better. Some of them seemed to have shapes, like crystals he wished he'd thought to bring his dad's field gla.s.ses. He hadn't thought there'd he anything to see whilst he was actually travelling. Some of them were getting quite big, boulder sized then bigger still, like drifting mountains.Jack felt his fists clench on the familiar hard wood of the chair arms. If there was anything that big he was in trouble. What if he got hit?There were lights on the drifting things, bright pinpoints that sent dazzling rainbow discolorations through the grey like a bow-wave. Jack's machine began to jolt and rock like he was on a fairground ride. He could see some things that looked like fish, or birds time-travelling animals animals? But how?Then one of the mountains was close too close. Jack felt an impact, like he was in a car wreck. There was no light any more and he couldn't breathe something was sucking the air from his lungs. Pain shot through his arms and legs. Desperately Jack reached for the power switch and tried to toggle it back, but it was as if his arm was clamped to the chair.I should have listened to Sio'phut, he thought, He was warning me, not egging me on. I'll never get home now. He was warning me, not egging me on. I'll never get home now.There was another impact, then no sound but the roaring in his ears.Jack was hot, p.r.i.c.kling with sweat, and his head and chest hurt. Was he ill? He was sitting in the chair in the garage, but it felt like he was in the sun. No wait a minute he'd travelled in time He'd travelled in time. Jack remembered the black mountains, the weird animals in what should have been emptiness, the air rus.h.i.+ng out of his lungs but he'd made it. Jack remembered the black mountains, the weird animals in what should have been emptiness, the air rus.h.i.+ng out of his lungs but he'd made it. He'd made it! He'd made it! He opened his eyes, saw blue sky, and green leaves. Cautiously, he got up. He saw row after row of green bushes, neatly tended, curving around the gentle slopes of hills. It didn't look like Jumpsville in any period of history he knew about. Was he in the future? But how? Had he got the polarity wrong? He opened his eyes, saw blue sky, and green leaves. Cautiously, he got up. He saw row after row of green bushes, neatly tended, curving around the gentle slopes of hills. It didn't look like Jumpsville in any period of history he knew about. Was he in the future? But how? Had he got the polarity wrong?He saw movement between the bushes, and realised that there were people. People in dark clothes, all around him, moving slowly. They were picking something fruit? He took a step forward. There was something odd about the people their faces were all wrong, pushed forward like were they apes? No, not quite. But they weren't human either. One looked up, stared into his eyes for a moment with a look that wasn't human or animal. The ape-man face puckered in a frown.'Er h.e.l.lo,' said Jack softly. He took a step forward.The ape-man jerked his face down and began picking leaves frantically.'It's okay,' said Jack.No response, but the pace of the leaf-picking became a little less frenetic. Jack took another step forward. The apeman retreated, bowed down, his face in his hands. Jack could see him clearly now: his body was short, slender, but he could see the muscles under the skin. The skin itself was a dark brown, almost black, with long silver hairs on all visible parts of his body. He wore a loose brown s.h.i.+rt and black shorts, and his feet were bare, and oddly shaped.'You can get up,' said Jack, but the ape-man only s.h.i.+vered. Jack began to feel nervous himself. If the guys were this frightened, what did people round here do do to them? He backed away slowly, then turned and trotted back to the time machine. He needed to power up and get out of here. He'd seen more than enough to know that it worked. He could get the answers to the mysteries later. to them? He backed away slowly, then turned and trotted back to the time machine. He needed to power up and get out of here. He'd seen more than enough to know that it worked. He could get the answers to the mysteries later.There was a rustle of leaves behind him, and a swift footstep. An arm went around his neck, a hand across his mouth. Jack struggled, tried to shout, but the hand only clamped tighter across his mouth.'Keep quiet and I'll let you go.'Jack stopped struggling. The hand moved away from his mouth, though the arm stayed around his neck.'Right. Now keep low. Don't let them see you.'Jack was half pulled down, but gently enough to allow him to keep his balance.'OK, we can talk now, but quietly, right?' The voice had a strange accent, half American, half something else. African?Jack nodded. The man shuffled around him. He was dark, but Latino, not African. Jack tried to smile. 'Where am I?'The man laughed softly, and kept laughing, and laughing, until Jack began to feel uncomfortable. He took in the strange grubby vest and shorts, noticed a long curved knife in the leather belt.'You don't need to know where you are,' said the man. 'All you need to do is tell me how to work this thing. It is a time machine, isn't it?'Jack nodded, then saw the man's greedy smile and wished he hadn't.'It's broken,' he said, hoping it wasn't true. Wherever this was, he needed to get out of here.'It looks good to me. I can't see anything smashed.'Jack shrugged. 'OK, I'll try to get it working. But I need to know where I am and what year this is.'The man nodded. 'Does 2580 BC make any sense to you as a date?'Jack felt his heart lurch. It was nowhere near where he was meant to be. And how come the man was speaking English? There hadn't been any English in 2580 BC and how come he knew it was 'BC'? You could only know that after after 0 AD or more likely after about 300 AD when the new calendar got invented. And 0 AD or more likely after about 300 AD when the new calendar got invented. And ape-men ape-men?But Jack couldn't afford for the man to know he didn't know what he was doing, so he nodded as if the anomalies meant nothing to him. 'And where 'The man started laughing again. 'A coffee plantation, on the far side of the Great Ocean h.e.l.l, what do you guys call it? The Atlantis?''Atlantic,' Jack corrected automatically. He was still in America then. But this was a strange prehistoric America coffee plantations, a modern-looking man who spoke English, who knew what a time machine was and was trying to steal one.'Are you an escaped convict?' he asked the man, careful to be casual about it, as if he met people like that every day.The man grinned. 'More like a potential recruit into the fake Pharaoh game who worked out that becoming an Immortal One might be a health hazard,' he said. 'But you've got the picture. I need out of this place, and I need it right now.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'Picking coffee beans isn't much fun, especially with ape-men for company.'So he had had seen it right! Jack felt his heart thump with excitement. Sure, this was dangerous, but it was a really wild adventure. And the man didn't seem so frightening now. Jack extended a hand. 'My name's Jack,' he said. 'Jack Kowaczski. Who are you?' seen it right! Jack felt his heart thump with excitement. Sure, this was dangerous, but it was a really wild adventure. And the man didn't seem so frightening now. Jack extended a hand. 'My name's Jack,' he said. 'Jack Kowaczski. Who are you?'The man hesitated. 'Just call me Ak.' He didn't offer to shake hands. Instead he sat in the chair of the time machine. 'Come on, how does it go? They're going to notice I'm gone soon, and then we've both had it.'Jack pointed at the switches. 'You push them back, to go back to my time. But I'll need to sit in your lap.''No you won't.' Ak was pus.h.i.+ng the switches home. One two three Jack stared. The circuit was powering up.'You can't leave me behind!''Why not? It seems safer than taking you with me.'There was shouting behind them, and Ak pushed the fourth switch closed. Jack jumped on the machine, but was punched backwards with a force he hadn't expected. He tried to get up again, but the machine was gone. His clothes felt wet: he looked down, saw that they were dark with blood.His blood. It was rus.h.i.+ng out, like water from a tap.He felt his knees give way, felt the p.r.i.c.kle of hot earth on his face.This can't happen to me, he thought, I'm an American. I'm an American.And died.

Chapter Two.

...And Again.

'You should live your life in the best way you can. You don't know what day the world will choose for you to die.'The Martian's twin antennae twitched slightly as he nodded. The knurled buds on his almost flat skull took up the sunlight from the open window. They looked like the canyon country of his native world in the famous James Scott picture: a polished russet with thin lines of black and green. His eyes, silver geodesic domes spotted with the ochre lichen of age, surveyed the red-and-yellow check Formica top of the table he was scrubbing. He didn't look up at Jack.Jack, impatient, cracked his knuckles. 'Does that mean yes or no?'The Martian laughed.

Chapter One.

...Alternative Fitz needed a beer. In fact he needed several beers, but he wasn't sure he would get away with that, with the clients due to arrive at any minute. Anji would go mad if she found out, never mind his supervisor. But he couldn't face staying here any longer: the bland, turn-of-the-century look of his hotel room was driving him stir-crazy. The low wooden table, the pale rugs, the mirror-fronted wardrobe made of s.h.i.+ny white plastic, the gla.s.s bowl on the table with plastic grapes. This could be London, 2003, or it could be New York, 2003, or it could be Singapore, 2003. The fact that it was mid-Western America in 1852, when the place ought to have been full of pastoral Native Americans and fur traders, with the Wild Wild West just getting going, only made it even more dispiriting.For about the tenth time Fitz looked at the briefing notes in front of him, neatly laid out in a blue plastic folder. He'd filmed each page carefully with the tiny camera Anji had bought for him, feeling rather stupid. The listed destinations were represented by codes, with a name and date attached to each: AR501, Nero's Rome; AC624, Mandarin China. This one was WW486/7, the American West, mid-nineteenth century. The bright-faced woman who'd given them their three-hour Induction Training at the hotel had been quite definite about the contents of these folders: whatever the code, whatever the destination, the 'holiday experience' had to be exactly the same. The almost infinite variety of human histories was being packaged like varieties of breakfast cereal (yes, the woman had actually said that), different enough to cater to different tastes, but all manufactured to the same high standard.He shook his head. b.u.g.g.e.r boning up, he'd done enough of that. He definitely needed that beer, and quick, before the tourists arrived. He slung on his leather jacket over the featureless Good Times Inc. uniform, felt his mobile phone in the pocket. Good trick, that, being able to carry a phone around. He decided to call Anji. Her posting had been the Oregon Trail, and she'd gone off with the party at lunch time.After three rings, she answered, a brisk h.e.l.lo.'Thought I'd see how it was going.''Fine. We've just been briefed on Health and Safety.''In the wild west?' But Fitz hadn't really expected anything different: he'd received the same briefing.'Hold on can't talk now, I've got customers. Call you later. See you day after tomorrow!' The phone went dead.Fitz shrugged and glanced at his watch. It was half an hour until his customers were here. He pictured a large gla.s.s of beer with a foamy head, smiled and made his way down the stairs.

Chapter Three.

A Day in the Life of the Time Police 'Just kneel down, Jack.'Kneel?Then Jack realised. Realised just before he saw the gun in Lieutenant Flynn's hand. He turned to run, but hit a barrier Jim Lamarra. He struggled, but it was no use. A rough leather glove covered his mouth, strong arms forced him face down against the hard, dusty mud. He felt cold metal against the back of his neck, felt rather than heard the snick of the safety catch.'Stop!' It was Lamarra who was shouting, right in Jack's ear. 'There's someone coming!''It's too late!' Flynn's voice, shrill with panic. 'We'll have to kill him too!'Kill who? thought Jack. Then he could hear it: the roar of a motorcycle engine, already close, getting closer.'We can't do that.' Lamarra's voice was close to Jack's ear. The gun was still on his neck, the leather glove across his mouth. It was hard to breathe.The motorcycle engine stopped. 'I should put those things down. I don't think you can really kill an officer of Good Times Incorporated going about his lawful business.' The voice was a new one, strangely m.u.f.fled.'We could arrange an accident.' Flynn. 'Riding a motorcycle on this kind of road is dangerous, you know that?''You're well outside your authority. And anyway, I know what you do, and why, already. You think I'm stupid because I'm not a cop?''You think I'm stupid because I am one?'Jack had a weird sense that the stranger and Flynn were enjoying this game, almost as if they were playing out a script. Perhaps it was a script perhaps the guns weren't real He struggled to move, but Lamarra still held him firm against the hard earth.A booted foot appeared in front of his face. The hand moved away from his mouth, the gun was gone from his neck.'You can get up.'The stranger's voice was no longer m.u.f.fled. Jack stood, but was surprised to find that his legs would hardly hold him. He couldn't stop shaking. The stranger took his arm. He was wearing silver leather and a silver helmet, more like an astronaut than a motorcyclist. The visor was raised, showing a pale face which, after a moment's confusion, Jack recognised as belonging to the tour guide from the hotel.'I'm Fitz, by the way,' said the guide. 'And you are ''I I I ' He could think, but he couldn't speak.'It's OK,' said Fitz softly. 'You're in shock.'Am I? thought Jack. He opened his mouth in another attempt to speak, but Lieutenant Flynn got there first.'You shouldn't be talking to him,' she said. 'We're still going to have to kill him. You know the rules.''We'll see about that,' said Fitz. He guided Jack towards a motorcycle lying on its side in the mud. To Jack's surprise it wasn't big, no more than a scooter, like one of those Italian Vespas in the movies, only blue and yellow.'You can't take him anywhere without my say so.' Flynn again. She sounded edgy. Jack wondered if she still had the gun in her hand, but didn't dare look round.'We've already had the discussion about the legality of having me shot,' said Fitz. 'I haven't got time for any more of it now.'He pulled the bike upright, lifted Jack up and put him across the back of the saddle. It was a double saddle, and Jack found that it was easy to hang on to Fitz's shoulders once he'd climbed aboard.The engine started up. As they began to move, Jack thought he felt the gun on the back of his neck again. He almost let go, but made himself hold on. There couldn't be a gun. He could see the speedo, blue and silver like something out of Flash Gordon. They were moving at ten twenty thirty miles an hour. The trees were flas.h.i.+ng by. There was the roar of the engine, there was the jolting of the road, there was the smell and petrol and the sting of dust. He was alive.'How did you know they wouldn't shoot you?''I didn't.' Fitz looked younger out of his leather motorcycle costume, wearing just a rumpled check s.h.i.+rt and black cowboy jeans. He'd put on sandals instead of the boots. 'It's just a trick a friend of mine uses, that play-it-cool stuff. It usually works for him, so I thought it might work for me.''Why were they going to kill me?' Jack knew it was real now. He had nearly died. He had nearly died. He was still terrified: the fear kept coming back, gripping his whole body in a fit of shaking. He hadn't thought he was such a coward. He was still terrified: the fear kept coming back, gripping his whole body in a fit of shaking. He hadn't thought he was such a coward.'You're from the wrong reality,' Fitz explained.'The cop said that. He said that only one reality could win.''Survival of the fittest.'Jack swallowed. The s.h.i.+vers. .h.i.t him again. 'W-w-why 'Fitz glanced at him. 'They're right. Only one reality can ”win”. At least, my friend thinks so. More likely none of them will, the way things are going.' He shrugged. 'But killing people won't help. They don't understand half of it.' He screwed up his face; it made him look like a kid. 'But then, neither do I.'Jack looked around. They were in a hotel room. It was ultra-modern, with a low wooden table, pale rugs, and a mirror-fronted wardrobe made of s.h.i.+ny white plastic.Fitz picked up a gla.s.s bowl from the table and tried to pluck himself a grape. Then he grinned. 'I forgot. They're plastic. Like everything else here.'Jack wasn't interested in plastic grapes, and he didn't think it was funny right now. 'I just want to go home,' he told Fitz.Fitz looked away. 'Well hmm. That could be difficult.''Because my time machine's broken?''No, Jack, because time's broken. Your ”home” probably doesn't exist any more.'Jack stared at Fitz. He looked s.h.i.+fty, his gaze on the wall behind Jack, or the ceiling above him, anywhere but his face. Jack realised he couldn't trust Fitz either. Just because he'd rescued him from death didn't mean that he had Jack's best interests at heart. Hadn't he, too, said that only one reality could win?Jack began to s.h.i.+ver yet again. 'I doh-doh-don't w-' He didn't even know what he was trying to say.Fitz stepped forward, put his hands on Jack's shoulders. 'Calm down!''I don't want thi

<script>