Ian Hocking - Déjà Vu

She felt David’s breath on her face. Her knowledge of him was once removed. She knew that his words were English but she could not understand him.

‘Your ability to comprehend English, as well other recently-acquired skills, will return in a few minutes,’ said a voice. It spoke flawless German. ‘David just claimed that you are a “bloody idiot”.’

‘Who are you?’ asked Ute.

‘I am Ego, David’s personal computer. But I was once in your possession. I have a message for you.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Ute, you must understand that it is a message from Saskia.’

The name stirred something in Ute. It carried a sisterly feeling, one of protection. And one of loss. It was comparable to the death of a twin. ‘The message reads, “Look in the envelope”.’

‘Which envelope?’

‘The one you found in the West Lothian Centre.’

‘I…I remember. But I can’t see to read it.’

A tile of pale light appeared on the floor. It grew brighter until the faces of Jennifer and David appeared. With their concerned expressions, the connection between them and Ute deepened. She accepted they were her friends.

Ute knelt and shrugged off her shoulder bag. As she opened it, she noticed the dark polish on her nails. She did not like the shade. Her long hair cascaded over her face. She found the transparent wallet that contained the white envelope. It was fastened with a metal popper. She opened it and withdrew the envelope. Once white, it was now yellow and spotted with mould. On the front it read: ‘Do not

She ripped the seal and shook out a laminated ID card in the name of Saskia Brandt, FIB. The photo was her, Ute. On the reverse was written one word: ‘Munin.’

‘Munin,’ repeated Ute. ‘David, didn’t Hartfield use that word?’

The professor’s reply was gibberish.

‘I shall act as translator,’ said Ego.

She heard Ego repeating her words in English and, as David and Jennifer replied, Ego gave the German equivalent.

‘Saskia,’ David said, ‘I’m afraid that you have to follow Hartfield. You have no choice.’

Hartfield. The name conjured the image of a business-like man. Beckmann.

‘It’s true,’ said Jennifer. ‘You are destined to follow him. When Hartfield shot at you just now, he fired point-blank but he missed. When you tried to shoot yourself, the gun didn’t fire. It couldn’t fire.’

‘You built a time machine,’ Ute said as the memory returned.

‘Saskia -’

‘My name is Ute,’ she snapped. But even as she spoke, she felt the gap in her mind: a jagged hole shaped like Saskia Brandt, whose body had been dumped at sea, or in building foundations, or fed to pigs. Hartfield was getting away. He had killed another woman to capture her ghost. That ghost wanted revenge.

Revenge was something that Ute understood.

‘Ego,’ she said. ‘Can you reactivate the chip?’

‘No. It requires a password.’

Ute looked once more at the handwritten word on the reverse of her ID card. ‘Try “munin”.’

‘The chip has accepted the password. Your mind construct been reactivated.’

Nothing happened.

David said, ‘Listen, we need to get after him. We don’t know whether he will make it or not. That’s not certain.’

The English made sense.

‘ Hör zu —’

‘I understand him,’ said Saskia, her implanted skills returning. She crouched to retrieve the gun. Three bullets remained. ‘Let’s go.’

You will return, the witch had said, as you have returned before.

David felt dizzy. The spacious blackness was reminiscent of the 2003 bombing, although there was no undercurrent of panic. Jennifer led the way through the corridors behind the infra-red eye of Ego, whose exterior displayed a crisp representation of the view ahead. Saskia was in the middle and David was at the rear. Saskia bridged the gap by holding both their hands. David stumbled as Jennifer pushed them against a wall. A guard ambled by with a line of high-spirited personnel.

When they neared the base of the stairwell, the infra-red view on Ego’s screen became dark. They stopped. David whispered, ‘Ego? What’s happening?’

Some words appeared on the screen: ‘System is busy. Please stand by.’

‘Ego,’ David said, ‘you have no business but ours. Belt up.’

Nothing happened.

‘Should we wait?’ Jennifer asked.

‘We could reset it,’ Saskia suggested.

There was a beep and the infra-red view reappeared. Ego said, ‘Task completed.’

‘What task?’ David demanded.

Ego did not answer.

‘We’ll discuss this later,’ he said to the computer.

They emerged onto the level zero corridor. Ahead of them was an airtight door. Jennifer located a panel and pressed it with her palm. A dazzling bar of light swept beneath her hand. In the brief illumination, David read ‘Project N83261 (Déjà Vu)’.

‘Wait,’ Saskia said. She withdrew Hartfield’s gun and handed Jennifer her shoulder bag. ‘Me first. I have the training.’

The door began to open on a vertical hinge.

Saskia ran through the door. She found herself in a well-lit, cylindrical chamber with sparkling walls. The floor had been levelled to form terraces. To her left, higher up, was some kind of control room. To her right, she saw two centrifuges. They were rotating in opposite directions. A short gantry led to the middle terrace, which was a reservoir of sand. She double-checked that there was a round in the chamber of the gun and, holding it both hands, swept her gaze around the immediate area. Hartfield was nowhere to be seen. She hurried along the gantry to a metal boardwalk that ran lengthwise up and down the chamber. There, she crouched behind an equipment crate and strained to hear footsteps above the groaning centrifuges.

Saskia put her finger on the trigger and ran in a zigzag towards the lower terrace. She put her back to the safety baffle. Then she rose on tiptoe and looked into the first centrifuge. The gondola and the operator’s cabin were empty. The second centrifuge was empty too. Both, Saskia realised, were slowing.

Jennifer put a hand on Saskia’s shoulder.

‘Too late. He’s already gone.’

Saskia lowered her gun.

‘So what now?’

They hurried to the control room. It reminded Saskia of a lecture theatre. It had been evacuated, like the rest of Met Four Base, but the telemetry on the transparent screen that overlooked the rest of the chamber was a blaring wall of warnings, diagrams, and flashing numbers.

‘Jennifer,’ said Saskia, ‘is there no way that the machine can bring me back to now—to 2023—if I go?’

The young scientist looked at her. ‘Let me be absolutely clear: the insertion is a one-way trip. When you come back to 2023, it’ll be by the usual route. Are you having second thoughts?’

‘You sound like I have a choice.’ Saskia tried to smile.

‘Perhaps you do.’

‘Ute Schmidt didn’t have a choice when she was attacked. I, whoever I am, didn’t have a choice when I was killed. What choice does Saskia Brandt have? Klutikov is still out there, in our time, with orders to arrest me. Beckmann still wants me back. From where I stand, 2003 does not sound like a bad option.’ Saskia folded her arms. ‘Perhaps you should brief me on the procedure.’

Jennifer looked as though she might embrace Saskia, but her expression of pity transformed into something more steely as she turned towards the centrifuge.

‘We don’t have much time. There are automated systems designed to alert us to unauthorised use of the machine, and Hartfield’s jump is sure to have triggered them. Security will soon be here. The short version is this: We will accelerate you to a speed of forty metres per second. That’s one hundred and forty-four kilometres per hour.’