Stephen Baxter - Weaver

The troopers hung back uncertainly.

Fiveash advanced, step by step, her pistol held out straight before her in her two hands. 'I knew there was something wrong with you people. The way the Woolers greeted each other – that was more than a mother greeting her prisoner son – I knew there was an agenda! I admit I didn't spot you, Silver-'

With a grunt Doris shoved Ben at Fiveash. He fell against her, tangling her up. And Doris ran at the big calculating machine, the Z3. Fiveash yelled at the troopers.

Suddenly Gary saw what Doris was going to do. He ducked behind a roof joist for cover.

The explosion was a pulse of light, the concussion a punch in the gut. Over the Z3 the roof plaster blew upwards, and Gary tried to shield his face.

He could feel himself rock back and forth, and the breeze on his face was fresh and cold and salty. He opened his eyes. Uniforms, all around him, at odd angles. A grey sky above, heavy with cloud.

He was in a boat. He sat up with a lurch.

'Gary?'

His mother was beside him. He had been lying with his head on her lap. She stroked his forehead, but he flinched, his skin tender. The boat was small, and full of marines. One older man, an officer, sat opposite him, peaked cap, trenchcoat, watching him steadily.

His mother asked, 'How do you feel?'

He grabbed her hand. 'Like one big bruise. And I've a head that's ringing like the Liberty Bell.' He touched his ears; his hearing was muffled.

'I'll get you some water.' She passed him a canteen.

He glanced down at himself, at plaster dust, blood, rips. 'I've ruined my suit.'

'You'll answer to Moss Bros for that,' said the officer, his voice very cultured British.

'Who?'

'Never mind. Bad joke.' He stuck out his hand. 'I'm Tom Mackie. Captain, RN. Seconded to military intelligence for the foreseeable. I know your mother, and I've heard all about you, Gary, but it's the first time we've met. Apart from when I slung you over my shoulder to get you out of Richborough.'

'I'm embarrassed,' Gary said. 'Um, where am I?'

'The English Channel, old chap. Don't worry, you're quite safe.'

His mother said, 'The doctor who looked at you on the shore said you had concussion, you were suffering from shock. It's amazing you found your way back out of that roof space at all.'

'I don't remember,' Gary admitted.

'What, none of it?' Mackie asked drily. 'The marine assault on Richborough, perfectly timed incidentally, the gun fight with those SS goons, the dash to the beach?'

'Sorry.'

'Ah, well. Just your average Christmas Eve, really.'

Gary shivered. A marine threw him a green blanket. 'Here you go, chum.' He wrapped it around his body gratefully, and let his mother embrace him; he supposed she deserved that. The day was darkling, he saw, the light seeping out of a leaden sky.

Mackie leaned forward. 'Are you up to a little debrief?'

'I'll try.'

'Ben Kamen?'

'We found him. He was sleeping. Wired up to a machine, an, um, electromechanical calculating machine", he called it. A Z3, yes.'

'All right. Good. You didn't manage to get Ben out?'

He shook his head. 'Last I saw of him, that SS officer came – Fiveash. I was looking down into the cellar room from the roof space. Doris challenged her. They could all be dead by now.'

'We'll have to assume they're not, until proven.'

'I think Doris must have done for the Z3.'

'Good girl,' Mackie said, nodding. 'She'll get a medal for this, if posthumously. But it may not do a lot of good,' he said to Mary. 'Not if they still have Kamen.'

'What I don't understand,' Gary said, 'is how Doris managed to smuggle in that much explosive. I mean, we were all searched on the way in.'

His mother said, 'It was George.'

'George?'

'That wooden box containing the spear – it wasn't as solid as it looked.'

Gary shook his head. 'I never knew. What happened to George?'

'Sergeant Tanner kept out of the fighting,' Mackie said. 'Sensible chap. Now he's stayed behind to help clear up the mess. He's on our side, fundamentally, of course. Look, you did all you could, all that was asked of you. But the operation will be judged a failure, I think.'

Mary said, 'Why? They have Ben Kamen, but Doris destroyed the Z3.'

'Yes, but they can rebuild. We've been receiving reports of paratroop raids on high-technology establishments. Bletchley Park. Radar research sites. Places like that. We're pretty sure they are planning a Loom Mark II – were, even before the events of today. Bigger and better. We haven't stopped them, just slowed them down a bit. Of course that's something. But the fact that we acted against the Loom might, paradoxically, convince Trojan's SS superiors to take it more seriously. Ben was the key, really. We hoped to save him. That was a mistake. Should have gone in specifically to kill him.' He sighed. 'May be a while before we get a second crack at it.'

'The Menologium,' Gary said suddenly.

They both looked at him sharply. 'What was that?'

'I remember. Ben talked about something called the Menologium. He was terrified.' He stared at his mother. 'Look, what's going on here? What are you mixed up with, Mom?'

'We'll brief you properly in a secure environment,' Mackie said. 'But for now, please – if you are beginning to remember-'

'He said it had been sent back". This Menologium. He showed me a paper tape to prove it. As if I'd understand…'

His mother looked at Mackie. 'It had to have been sent back. I mean, I found traces of it in the literature. Records of it going back to the fifth century. With Kamen's name embedded in it.'

Mackie asked, 'Gary, when was this Menologium sent back? Did Ben say?'

'Two days ago. He was clear about that. He said the bit of paper tape confirmed it. He said I had to be sure to tell you, Mom.'

His mother grabbed the side of the boat, her face white.

'Mom? Are you OK?'

'Yes, yes. It's just – Tom, two days ago. But I was finding evidence of Ben's tampering with the Menologium, I held it in my own hands, I copied it out, months ago. The evidence existed, in a sense, even before the Menologium had been sent – perhaps even before Kamen did his bit of coding in the acrostic – perhaps even before any drafts of the Menologium had been prepared at all. Now you tell me, how is that possible?'

Mackie stroked his stubbly cheeks, pulling his lips. 'Perhaps I should write another letter to Mr Wells.'

'So Trojan saw through his scheme to meddle with Hastings. But he failed – the Menologium didn't work. It can't have. Because Harold lost, didn't he?'

'That's what I remember being taught at school,' Mackie said drily.

'Nothing happened, two days ago, when Trojan closed his switch. No flashing lights in the sky. I remember two days ago, and three, and four; my memories are continuous.'

Gary stared at her. 'What on earth are you talking about?'

'But now we live in a history in which the Menologium was sent back, but failed to deflect Hastings. Maybe there was another history that existed before Trojan threw the switch – gone. It never existed, and never will. And the people who inhabited it – copies of us, but different from us-' She shuddered. 'It could be that way, couldn't it? That could be how the history change works. I don't know if I can deal with this.'

'You're scaring me,' Gary said. 'Ben was scared. I've never seen such terror, and Ben was a Jew in Nazi hands. He had a lot to be scared about. I promised to get Ben out when he was taken from the stalag. I failed. I'll have to go back.'

'Well, you could get the chance, old bean, although it might be a while,' Mackie murmured. 'And while this Menologium may be a busted flush, they'll no doubt start off on some new history-bothering project altogether, and we'll have to start from scratch too. More research on your agenda, Mary. What a bloody show this all is, what a show. We really have got to put a stop to it.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'But that's for tomorrow. Soon be at the ship. Hot cup of tea, that's what we need.' He pulled out a pipe and began to fill it.