Ian Hocking - Flashback

‘Thinks?’

‘That’s what counts. Now, are you coming back with me? It’s what you asked for in your letter.’

Saskia was not listening. She looked along the length of the plane. Halfway up, a steward was leaning into a row with a coffee flask. The view beyond him was blocked by the first-class curtain. Saskia turned to Jennifer, hesitated, said, ‘Sorry,’ and pressed a nerve beneath her chin. She met Jennifer’s surprised expression with determination, then worked the bracelet from her weakened, quivering arm.

‘Is your so-called Huckleberry going to crash this aircraft? Tell me or the bracelet gets flushed, and you’ll be joining everyone for the ride down.’

‘Last chance,’ said Jennifer, hoarse with pain. ‘Are you with me or against me?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

Before her last syllable was spoken, a storm entered Saskia’s head. The surrounds of her vision sparkled and she felt an intermittent immobility, as though a fundamental connection in her mind were working loose. Her awareness opened and closed, opened and closed. The waves of disorientation reminded her of passing above and below the threshold of sleep.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her breath caught.

‘Let me tell you about stupidity,’ said Jennifer. ‘Complaining about events is like complaining about the weather. Just stop. Enjoy the rain, the thunder.’

Saskia gasped, ‘What have you done to me?’

She tried to move back from Jennifer but her balance was upset. She succeeded in turning towards the front of the aircraft. Her arms were wide, bracing. Ten metres away, the steward was still pouring coffee. The hairs on his wrist moved in and out of focus.

‘The technology in your head is old-fashioned, Saskia.’ There were years of telling in that voice. Years of telling and not being told. ‘Asymmetric encryption went out with the dinosaurs. Now, we’re going to wait here a while longer until I’m ready to make my appearance.’

Dinosaur , thought Saskia. Exactly .

She pictured a huge, lumbering Tyrannosaurus rex clawing through a forest, ripping at branches with its tiny hands. The visualisation brightened. The up-and-down plunging of her awareness steadied to a slow, manageable numbness. Dinosaur . Exactly . She stumbled into the aisle and clawed along, headrest-to-headrest. Jennifer’s attack on her wetware device had to be based on radio communication. It must, therefore, weaken with distance.

Inverse square law , she thought. Interference. From the avionics .

The passengers barely noticed her, but Saskia focused on their details, conjured lives from their scant exteriors. Some were businessmen. Others were boys on first holidays unaccompanied. These mothers and fathers and wanted and unwanted children. Retired, precise ladies and gentlemen. A police officer. A musician. Those who constructed their personal spaces from Evian, iPods, their lap-held fictions. Saskia scrambled along the aisle. Dinosaur . Her fingers groped for gross visual features; seat-backs, armrests. Exactly . She fought her way towards the steward.

The storm in her head redoubled. She lost her sense of orientation. Spokes of sunlight, anchored by the portholes, slit the compartment like swords through a box. It became a shaft down which she stared.

Not enough interference , she thought. More . How many passengers had forgotten to switch off their phones?

Inside her head, she screamed, Answer me!

The first call came through on the phone nearest to her. The woman said, ‘ Preggo? ’

Another phone, two rows back: ‘Yeah?’

‘ Hallo? ’

‘ Si? ’

As the handsets punched signals through the fuselage to masts thousands of feet below, the high-strength defence washed through her. She crouched in the aisle, having regained control of herself, and turned back to Jennifer. Their stares met. Jennifer was frowning.

Saskia hurried towards the steward. As she ran, she transferred Jennifer’s bracelet to her pocket. The steward was talking to a passenger. Saskia put a hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. He laughed, but the noise slurred into a snore and Saskia guided him into an empty seat. She tugged his collar to cover the red marks made by her fingertips. She glanced back and saw Jennifer walking up the cabin.

Three flight attendants in total: two remaining, both women. Are there sky marshals on this flight?

No.

Saskia swept beneath the curtained arch that marked first class. A sense of the cabin became part of her proprioceptic awareness before her second footfall. As naturally as she knew the position of her left hand, she knew that the width of the cabin was four metres. She felt the exits: six, evenly spaced. She saw the halo of a wiring bundle where its current leaked and, from that, she pulled an instant of flight deck sound ( static and a steady bleep ) as it passed to the ( black box ) rear of the aircraft.

There was a stewardess on the other side, and she turned with a bright smile that presaged a rebuke.

In Italian, Saskia said, ‘Behind me, there’s a lady dressed in black. She’s just left her seat and is scaring the other passengers. She won’t sit down.’

Saskia put a firm hand on her arm and pushed her towards the rear of the aircraft. It worked. The stewardess made a soft, placating noise and moved to intercept Jennifer. Saskia continued along the cabin. She smiled at those passengers who met her eyes and concentrated on reaching the captain.

There was a food cart near the door to the flight deck. Saskia glanced at it for weapons. The trays looked like they contained snacks in plastic wrappers, bottled water, and ice. Saskia pulled out one of the trays. Cutlery: plastic. Useless. She took the coffee flask from the top and turned to the keypad next to the door of the flight deck. No time to pick it.

Saskia lifted the wall-mounted phone and pressed the button marked ‘flight deck’.

‘ Capitano, la serratura è rotta. Per favore apra il portello. ’

She looked back once more and saw Jennifer passing through the first-class archway. There was no sign of the stewardess that Saskia had spoken to. Two flight attendants down. One left. The last had to be with the pilots.

Saskia turned back to the flight deck and was surprised to see that the door had opened. An elderly man stood on the threshold, regarding her with equal surprise. He wore a light suit and leaned on a cane. Saskia dropped her glance to the red spatters of blood on his left hand. The man looked behind her, probably at Jennifer.

The time traveller.

Her Huckleberry.

Saskia turned in time to see her nod.

His age belied the fury of his attack. She had room to turn and loop the phone cord around his cane, which cut through the plastic ( How? she thought, angry at this miscalculation) and licked at her ribs. She saved her heart by bringing the coffee flask down on top of his wrist. The flask struck the sword’s handle—for it was a sword, not a cane—and spoiled his thrust. He had the advantage of her, though, and followed through with his elbow, which sent her tumbling into the fuselage at the foot of the exterior door.

‘That’s enough,’ shouted Jennifer. ‘You’ll damage the recall band.’

The man stepped away from Saskia. In a moment, she was submerged into lake-cold paralysis once more. She could not turn, or blink. Her eyes were stuck in their sockets. She watched the man move back from her statue. His form was clear, but the surroundings—beige plastic, a little of the flight deck door, a galley cart—blurred with static, then faded. Saskia became blind.