No, only those ones that are on the edge of speech. Any deeper and things get a bit confusing. But tell me, what do you intend to do now? You are in an age you do not know, and I wonder what chances you have of going back to your own era.
‘I’ll survive—and maybe I’ll do better than survive. I made this thing on my arm take me back to here, so maybe I can make it take me forward again. If I can successfully travel in time, then there will be nothing I cannot do.’
Big plans from such a little whore.
But her plans did not take into account the three who awaited her on the jetty.
Lightning ignited over the horizon like the flares of a distant battle, and the low rumble of thunder was constant. Visible through the trees, another glow lit the opposite horizon, as red and ominous as a furnace. Tack guessed there must be vulcanism over that way, but did not consider it worth the risk of seeking confirmation. Soon they were eating from Traveller’s supplies of spicy food, which Tack did not recognize but did not dislike either, then they used melted snow to make themselves hot coffee, which he felt certain he would require over the coming hours. Traveller he noticed, laced his coffee with the contents of a hip flask, but none of its contents was offered to Tack. Shortly, Traveller searched through his pack and came up with a pair of slip-on boots, which he passed to Tack. While Tack pulled them on, Traveller also unearthed two thermal sheets. One of these he tossed over to Tack, and the other he laid out on the ground for himself beside the fire. However, he showed no inclination yet for sleep.
‘Can you tell me more about this Cowl?’ Tack asked, between sips of steaming coffee.
‘Cowl is Cowl,’ said Traveller, something hard entering his voice. Then he shook his head in irritation. ‘I suppose it is best you know… Cowl is a genetically altered being from my own time, superior in intelligence, vicious, dangerous, unviable, and in our opinion not really human. He hates us because we are human, just as he hates everything else that is not of his own creation.’ Traveller stared into the flames, ‘And from beyond the Nodus he is trying to kill us all.’
Traveller made no attempt to hide the loathing in his voice. This man and Cowl had a history. Tack realized.
‘But… you said earlier you can’t travel beyond the Nodus?’ he said.
Traveller shrugged. ‘I don’t know everything.’
Tack decided not to comment on this particular first.
Traveller continued, ‘He shuffles the alternates, seeking to bring to the main line one in which the human race did not evolve and where only his kind is viable. He does this by adding his own DNA to the protomix in the seas. He is constantly experimenting and to test his results he samples the future. Tors, like the one worn by that female you were with, are the way he does that.’
‘She is a sample?’ Tack asked, thinking this explanation too pat.
Traveller met his gaze, and Tack saw that some of the colour had returned to the man’s eyes. ‘A sample, yes, and when Cowl has learnt what he wants, she will be disposed of as such,’ he said bitterly.
Tack was not sure how he felt about that. He had intended to kill the girl himself, but that some monster roosting at the beginning of time would do so, almost negligently, affronted him. He gazed at Traveller and again saw signs of irritation. Nevertheless, he risked one more question.
‘I don’t really understand. How can you travel back in time to stop him? If he succeeds, he has succeeded, and that is in the past. You would now be off the main line, so unable to travel back to him.’
‘Concurrent time,’ said Traveller almost dismissively, and lay back on his thermal sheet.
‘What is concurrent time?’
‘If Cowl succeeds in his mission, say, ten years after his arrival at the Nodus, we—my people—will be shoved off the main line ten years after he departed from us.’
‘But that won’t kill you.’
‘No, but we will no longer be able to travel in time. We’ll be somewhere down the probability slope in a prison of linear time, and closer to oblivion. That would be death to us.’
Tack had an entirely different idea about what was death; it involved horrible gristly sounds, blood and burnt flesh. He gave Traveller a final glance before spreading out his own heat sheet and sitting down on it with his seeker gun ready. At no point did he think to aim the weapon at his captor—it just wasn’t in his programming.
The three men wore trench coats and trilbies. Two of them looked to have been built in a tank factory, but the leaner one seemed to have been fashioned for a more vicious purpose.
‘You’ll come with us right now,’ said the lean man as soon as she stepped off the boat. He was taller than his two accompanying heavies, and good-looking in a cold sort of way.
‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Frank.
‘None of your concern,’ said the thin man, his gaze still fixed on Polly.
‘I’m making it my concern,’ growled Frank.
One of the heavies calmly took out a large revolver and pointed it at the boat captain. Perhaps seeing that things might get a little out of control, the leader turned his full attention to Frank. ‘Fleming, military intelligence.’ He displayed some paperwork from his pocket.
‘Oh.’ Frank backed off. ‘I suppose someone from Knock John got onto you. Look… she’s all right. We dragged her out of the sea…’
Fleming held up a hand to silence him. ‘I’ll get to your story in good time.’ He glanced at Toby and Dave as they too stepped off the boat, and slipped his hand menacingly into the pocket of his trench coat. Indicating the man who had drawn the revolver, he went on, ‘Garson here will return for your statements tomorrow, so I want the three of you here on this jetty at eight sharp. We will meanwhile take this young lady away and have a chat with her.’ He turned towards the shore, where a car was parked. The second heavy took hold of Polly’s biceps and guided her firmly in that direction.
See. What did I tell you?
Polly shot a look of appeal at Frank and the other two as she was marched off, but they just stood staring at her with growing suspicion.
I reckon it’ll be electrodes, and a body massage with a length of hosepipe, then a firing squad at dawn.
‘What about you?’ Polly subvocalized. ‘Will you die with me, or will you continue existing in the head of a rotting corpse?’
Oh… yes …
‘Take the coat off,’ said the unnamed heavy once they reached the car. She did as instructed and he took the garment and tossed it to Garson, who began to search it. ‘Take that off, too,’ the man then ordered, gesturing at her hip bag. ‘Carefully.’ Again she did as instructed and the item was passed on to Fleming this time. As the three men now studied her, their attention came to rest on the object on her arm.
‘Now what is that?’ enquired Fleming.
Polly glanced down at it and could think of no reasonable explanation. Nandru came to her rescue though.
Tell them it’s scar tissue. Tell them you were badly burned. The damned thing looks like part of you now, anyway.
That explanation was only accepted when it became evident to her captors that the strange covering would not be separated from her flesh, and was apparently part of it.
‘Now, hands up on the car.’ Glancing back she saw the still unnamed one pulling on tight leather gloves. She turned her face away as he did an intimately thorough body search and, wincing, she wondered if surgical gloves had yet been invented. The greatcoat was finally returned to her, then she was pushed inside the car, her searcher squeezing into the back beside her. Garson slid behind the wheel and Fleming got into the front passenger seat. Nothing more was said as the vehicle started up and they drove off, but Polly became aware of Fleming’s interest in the contents of her hip bag.