Alex Scarrow - The Eternal War

‘Please!’ said Sal. ‘I want to see some history too!’

We’re all dead …

At least this wasn’t a huge jump. A hundred and seventy years. Nothing really in the grand scheme of things, she supposed. The shorter the jump, the less the damage. Their jump to Sunday a while back had probably been little more a dose of poison than the normal Tuesday-night bubble reset. She sighed. Why not? Living here in this archway like mole people wasn’t really the sort of dream life a person would want to last forever, anyway. One trip into history … this trip, a relatively safe trip. Why not?

‘All right,’ she sighed.

Sal yelped and clasped her hands together with excitement.

They had some clothes in the archway that they used to travel back to their 1906 ‘drop point’ in San Francisco. The ‘drop point’ was a stash of support-unit embryos held in suspended animation in the safety deposit box of a bank that was due to be reduced to rubble and ashes by the infamous and imminent Californian earthquake. With a little customization and by losing the headgear — hat fashion seemed to move along far more quickly than other wear — they could pass as 1830s clothes. Maddy’s corset and skirts might be a size too big for Sal, but nothing that would attract any attention.

Liam was already nearly good to go in his brown jacket and waistcoat; Bob wore a striped linen shirt and scruffy cotton trousers. Becks was almost in the corset.

‘Becks, you can stay. Sal’s taking your place.’

She stopped fussing with the ties at the front. ‘Is this advisable?’

Maddy shrugged. ‘It’s New Orleans. What’s to worry about? Anyway, she’s got Bob and Liam with her.’

The support unit dutifully nodded and began to undress.

Maddy pointed towards the small archway where their bunks stood. There was a drape that could be pulled across for a little privacy. ‘Best you do that over there, Becks.’

Last thing she needed was Liam getting all hormonal.

‘Sal, you understand this is 1831?’

‘Yuh.’

Maddy bit her lip. Crud, this is going to be awkward .

‘This is a time of slavery.’

Sal’s eyes were drinking in the details of the dress and its corset, eager to get her hands on it, to try it on. ‘Yeah, I know,’ she replied absently.

‘Well … your, uh … you know … your skin is, like, dark …?’

Sal looked up at Maddy. ‘What?’

Maddy shuffled uncomfortably. ‘I’m just saying you may be treated … you may be called …’

‘I’m not black ! If that’s what you’re saying!’

‘No but, what I’m trying to — ’

‘Shadd-yah! Dark means I’m African, now? You can lump us all together simply because we’re not white?’ Her brow furrowed with irritation. ‘I’m Asian!’ She shook her head and rolled her eyes and turned to follow Becks over towards the bunks. The drape swished across the archway behind them.

‘I just meant … people back then might not make the same distinction,’ replied Maddy, her voice fading to nothing.

Nice one, Maddy.

‘Uh … OK,’ she said, stepping back towards the computers. ‘Right, Liam, Bob, the candidate time-stamp is 5 April 1831, and I’m going to drop you in a few hours before the Abraham squashing incident. The paper said “evening”, so I guess that means about five or six. You’ll arrive at four in the afternoon and I’ve found a street map of New Orleans dockside area, circa 1834, which I guess is close enough. We’re opening a window in what looks like a storage warehouse of some kind.’

She checked one of the screens. They had a density probe testing the location for obstructions.

‘Anything on the density probe, computer-Bob?’

› Negative. Nothing has passed through the time-stamp location.

She nodded, satisfied with that. It seemed a quiet enough spot.

‘Young Abe Lincoln gets flattened on Powder Street, which, according to the map we’ve got here, is just a minute or two from your drop location. It’s one of the main streets; I’m sure you’ll find it easy enough. Just follow the smell of horse poo.’

Liam chuckled. Even in 1912 — his time — every busy thoroughfare in Cork was dotted with little molehills of manure waiting to be flattened by a cartwheel or eventually scooped up by a street-sweeper.

‘How do we know which fella to save?’ he asked. ‘I mean … I think I know what he looks like as an old man. A beard and big bushy eyebrows, an’ the like. But he’s young now, aye? We got a picture of him as a young fella?’

‘No, there’s none. Not at the age he is now.’

‘Information,’ said Bob, flexing inside his shirt. It should have been loose on him, but in fact he barely fitted inside it. ‘Celluloid-based portraits were not in common use at this time, even though photographic technology existed.’

‘Right,’ said Maddy. ‘And at this point in time, no one’s gonna think this guy is going to be someone important. He’s a total nothing. Not worth a picture.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, not yet, anyway.’

She glanced at a page of data that computer-Bob had compiled. ‘What we do know is he was described as very tall and thin and scruffy.’ She pointed to a screen showing a JPEG image of Lincoln’s presidential portrait. ‘And check out those freakin’ brows … I mean it looks like he’s got a small mouse living above each eye. Even as a young man, that’s got to be a feature to look out for, right?’

Bob nodded. ‘Information: cranial growth variation around the orbital sockets is limited after a human skull reaches maturity, whereas certain other features — nasal cavity and cartilage tissue, soft tissue around the ears, the lower jaw — continue to — ’

Maddy waved him silent. ‘Which means even as a kid he probably always looked miserable.’ She wiped a runny nose. ‘Anyway, just keep your eyes peeled for a large cart loaded with barrels of booze and Costen Brothers Distillery painted on the side. Any tall, miserable-looking idiot looks like he’s going to step out in front of it, you grab him. Simple.’

Liam lifted his chin to adjust his collar button. ‘Sounds easy enough, eh, Bob?’

Bob rumbled an acknowledgement.

‘How’re you doing, Sal?’ Maddy called out.

‘Almost!’ Her voice came back brightly through the drape, the unintended racial slur already completely forgotten by the sound of it. ‘It’s just a bit big on me.’

‘I am tightening the corset to its smallest setting to compensate,’ added Becks.

‘Hey!’ Maddy frowned. ‘Hey! No … don’t say it like that. Like I’m a butter-troll or something.’ She caught her reflection in the perspex displacement tube. ‘ OK, so I’m not just some skin-’n’-bones clothes hanger ,’ she muttered to herself.

‘Completed,’ said Becks, and pulled the drape to one side.

Liam held back a gasp and Maddy found herself nodding approvingly. ‘Now that looks better on you than a hoody, right?’

Sal ran her hands over the corset and skirts. ‘Feels so weird.’ She grinned. ‘I feel like a … ugh, jahulla! I know this sounds pathetic, but … I feel like a princess .’

Maddy clapped her hands. ‘I know — it’s kinda cool, isn’t it?’ She cast a glance at Liam and Bob. ‘Good … you all look the part. Now undress and bag your clothes. It’s a wet departure.’

Ten minutes later Liam, Sal and Bob were treading water in their underwear together in the displacement tube.

‘So, a nice and easy mission this time,’ said Maddy, huddled on the top step of the ladder. ‘Just find young Abe and grab his collar before he gets himself turned into Lincoln ketchup. You OK in there, Sal?’