Ian Hocking - Déjà Vu

‘Nothing. Just a feeling of…’

The woman turned. Her hair was darker, she was older, and she had a grace that had escaped her daughter. This was Helen Proctor. The connections formed. Jennifer’s mother. David’s wife.

‘Never mind that. What about the bomb?’

Saskia was about to answer when the floor shuddered. The lights flickered and extinguished. Then emergency lighting washed the corridor red. Saskia heard the infrastructure groan. Dust fell from new cracks.

‘We’re too late,’ said Bruce.

And then the explosions began. They started as distant firecrackers. Then the corridor was shaken by louder detonations. The smell of burning plastic. Heat. Shouts; some stifled, some ringing out.

The floor dropped an inch and they were thrown from their feet. The air pressure increased. Saskia screamed. She was caught in a giant machine never meant for humans; gaps would appear, only to close. The very walls might chew them. Saskia told herself that she would survive. Her God was Time, and It would protect her.

‘Saskia,’ Jennifer said, leaning into the microphone. ‘We’re sending you back one half hour before Hartfield. That will give you the best chance of intercepting him.’

David did not hear Saskia’s reply. He was looking at the target details on the main screen. There was something significant about the time. It was so extraordinarily significant that it took him a few moments to handle the thought. ‘My God, Jenny. Look at the time. That’s half an hour before the explosion. The bomb went off at 3:04 p.m.’

The computer beeped. Jennifer looked at him fearfully.

‘We can’t change anything now, Dad. She’s gone.’

‘Damn.’

He heard the footfalls of the approaching personnel. ‘I think the twenty-year mystery of the bombing is solved. Would his arrival be sufficient, you think?’

Jennifer put her hands on her hips. ‘Let’s do the math.’

‘Maths, love,’ David corrected.

‘An object leaves this centrifuge at one hundred and forty-four kilometres per hour. It enters the wormhole at the same speed. For a mass of, say, seventy-five kilograms, that’s a kinetic energy of almost one hundred kilo-Joules, which is more than enough to trigger an explosive chain reaction if the target is selected carefully. Hartfield must have materialised near a power plant.’

‘How very accommodating of him,’ David said. The circular nature of this business was bewildering. After all this, throughout the trial, the accusations, the damage—even the death of his wife—Hartfield had been the true cause. Ah. That was not an accurate statement. The cause could be traced back to the agent who had forced Hartfield to veer so fatally off course. It was Ego who changed the coordinates.

Jennifer said, ‘Saskia got him, alright.’

A group of technicians entered the control room. Ignoring Jennifer and David, they inspected the consoles and called abbreviated instructions. Syncomp is green. Y-vib is off-the-scale low. David watched without comment as Jennifer tried to explain herself to a stern, suited gentleman.

‘I think,’ interrupted the man, ‘you should talk to Ms Castle.’

David and Jennifer sat at the narrow end of a conference table. Rembrandt’s The Philosopher in Meditation hung behind them. David was tired. He lacked the energy for lies. Half-thinking, he took his daughter’s hand, and waited for the third occupant of the room to speak.

‘Let me summarise,’ Castle said. She was a sharp, professional woman in her early sixties. ‘Jennifer, you used government resources without permission, created an Einstein-Rosen bridge without presidential authority, and aided the illegal entry of two other persons into a secure government property. Professor Proctor, you entered both this country and this property illegally. Those need to be dealt with first. In good time, I would also like to discover the whereabouts of John Hartfield and Saskia Brandt.’

‘Look,’ said David, ‘I could answer most of your questions if you just let me talk. May I?’

Castle sipped her tea, no milk, and raised her eyebrows. ‘You have half an hour.’

Jennifer looked on as David extracted Ego from his wallet. ‘This is my personal computer. Ego, switch to presentation mode, please. I would like you illustrate my story with pictures as you see fit, and audio and video where possible.’ He turned to the women. ‘My personal computer has been recording every step of my journey. It is equipped with iWitness software. The British police use it. It is tamperproof.’

‘I’m aware of that, Professor,’ said Castle. ‘Tell your story. This is a modern facility. It will accept communications from your computer.’

‘Very well. Ego, dim the lights. Thank you. Show Talbert Grove. This, Ms Castle, is where our story begins. The house on fire is mine.’

Half an hour later, Jennifer was chewing her hair. Castle would surely make a decision about their future based on her father’s testimony. She stole a glance at him. He smiled and concluded his story.

‘The time machine’s computer was hacked by my Ego unit just before we entered the cavern. Hartfield thought he was going back in time to save his own mind using the updated nanotreatment, but his insertion was altered to the precise point of the explosion. In other words, he became the cause.’

‘I see. You believe that Brandt carried out her mission after all. She sabotaged his time travelling at source. By all accounts an exceptional woman.’

‘Agreed,’ Jennifer said.

‘Your case would be aided by physical evidence, Professor. After all, even with a plausible story, we must fall back on the available facts: the computer is in your possession. You must accept responsibility for its actions. The 2014 Automaticity Act, I believe.’

David lifted a hand and let it fall. ‘Well, whatever. All I can do is provide you with the information I have.’

A new voice came from the conference speakers: ‘Excuse me. I am Ego, the personal computer involved. I am now authorised to tell you that, one year ago today, Saskia Brandt sent three hand-written copies of her testimony to legal firms in New York, London and Geneva. They are now available for your perusal.’

Castle smiled. ‘Perhaps we could also meet Ms Brandt.’

‘That will not be possible,’ Ego said.

There was a long silence. ‘Well,’ Castle said. ‘I have a meeting.’ She stood and collapsed her computer. David scooped Ego from the desk and dropped it in his wallet.

‘What happens?’ asked Jennifer.

‘For the time being, you’ll stay in guest quarters here. They are quite comfortable. I have to speak to the board about this. At the very least, we need to discuss future funding proposals, if Mr Hartfield’s absence proves to be permanent.’

‘I’ve no doubt,’ David said.

‘I will also need to speak to our legal team. However, I will advise the board that no charges be pressed. Professor, you will be expelled from the USA immediately. You will answer any charges in Britain. I will ask the board to provide legal representation for you. As a recipient of monies from the Hartfield foundation, I’m sure the board will agree that we share some responsibility for your present predicament. Dr Proctor, you will have your security clearance suspended. Again, I’m sure this will be temporary.’

Jennifer asked, ‘How temporary?’

‘Two months. Take a holiday. I hear the weather in Britain is awful.’

‘And my funding?’

‘Jennifer, you have invented a time machine. You’ll get your money.’

Castle shook their hands. ‘The guards will take you to your quarters. You can speak to nobody apart from each other. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, David?’