Robert Appleton - Prehistoric Clock

It was a hard truth to take, but even Reardon had had to concede that, when it came to time, they were all at sea.

Sunrise on the last day crept up on Verity as she lay wide awake in her bed, planning, hoping, dreading. In her years as a Gannet officer she’d grown accustomed to the wind’s caprice, to the sea’s insidious nature. But she’d always had precedent and knowledge to bear her out, mankind’s millennia of experience lending her vital intuition. Here, Reardon had baited a new, unquantifiable beast. He knew as little about time travel as the first homo sapiens who jumped off a cliff, copying the birds, did about flying. And she was along for the next leap!

Freezing fog and a dank half-light stilled the deck while she wandered out for a stroll. Sleet and rain had washed the snow away overnight. A vague smell of cooked meat, quite pleasant, still clung to the Empress. Though she’d insisted the unused parts of the dinosaur carcasses be buried to remove the scent of blood from the air, predators often had extraordinary senses of smell. Billy’s book concurred. Dinosaurs could probably sniff out a feast miles away. Which way had the winds blown during the night?

Embrey waved to her from the poop deck. He wore an oversized blue slicker and a sou’wester. They were wet. How long had he been standing there?

“Odd, is it not?” He pointed to the vague shape of Big Ben. The hands on its clock face were barely visible. Five past eight. “How time has stopped and carried on? What do you suppose the world made of our disappearance? A great chunk of Westminster obliterated, leaving no evidence.”

“The night-lights will be burning in the Leviacrum for quite some time, I imagine.”

Embrey hmmed, turned to her. “May I ask you something?”

“Uh-huh.” She pinched the ends of the blanket together under her chin.

“Am I all right in your book?”

“Excuse me?” To frown dutifully or give nothing away and inhale his sweet, unexpected surrender-she lost her bearings for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…is there a chance…could you possibly conceive of…with all that we… Oh, Good Lord, spit it out, Garrett!” He gave a deep, self-berating growl. “What I mean to say is, do you still hold me in contempt?”

No outward smile, but her satisfaction lightened her inside like a fresh ballonet. Then of a sudden it fell, and she recalled Bernie’s graveside funeral-the blacks and greys billowing austerely, the droning preacher reciting secondhand testimonies from friends and family, the passing of simple joy from her young world. It seemed only yesterday. So much had happened since then, but in Verity’s eyes, no one had yet atoned for Bernie’s needless death in the Benguela fire.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said. “Were it on personal regard alone, I should not hesitate in esteeming you very highly, Embrey, but-”

“Of course. The dreaded small print.”

“Don’t try and belittle it, damn you! For all I know, you and you father and uncle are the liars, and the Council acted appropriately. Ah, ah, not so fast.” She stilled his vicious temper in mid-huff. “You asked the question, knowing how sensitive this topic is for both of us. So don’t send for your second just yet. Let me finish. What I was trying to say was…inasmuch as your father’s and your uncle’s complicity in the rebel attack that killed my sister, I simply cannot take your word for their innocence. But nor shall I take their guilt for granted either, based on the findings of a court whose veracity is now in question. I’m therefore reserving judgment on the Embrey family name.”

His gaze softened, glazed. He looked away, cleared his throat-his manly pride at stake. “Which leaves your personal regard for me?”

“Aye. And yours for me.” She widened her eyes, batted her lashes. “Tell me, am I all right in your book, Embrey?” Turning to give him a look at her side profile empowered her a little-other men had remarked on how striking it was.

He fidgeted, as though he were struggling to come up with the perfect response. “I say, fluky weather we’re having.”

“Very.” And fluky conversation.

“Tell me. As a Gannet officer, at what point would you disobey an order from the powers-that-be?” he asked.

Again a moment of disorientation. His mercurial questions were really making her dizzy. “Pray clarify.”

“It’s just that, given the sheer ambition of the Council, as we’ve witnessed here-” he roved his hand over the mist in unison with his carefully chosen words, “-do you still consider yourself subject to its corrupt commands? Morally speaking?” He chewed his lip.

“I think I know what you’re getting at, Embrey, and the answer is…probably not, no.” If father could hear me now! “Before Bernie died, I daresay I would have followed any order to any end without thinking twice. That was what my father preached. The might of the empire was a force for good in the world, bringing light to the dark continent, etcetera. But when Bernie died, I did start to question why we were being asked to throw our lives away in countries so far from England we could barely find them on the map. I followed orders, yes, but something changed inside me. I can’t explain it. It was on the bottom of the English Channel when I finally felt-how can I put it? — expendable? Futile?”

“You’d surrendered yourself to a cause you no longer understood?”

“Yes, exactly. How did you-”

He nodded over the taffrail. “That was what my father said. He served in the colonial forces for years before his arrest. And in that one moment, despite his years of blind loyalty to a greater cause, he realized that devotion was not mutual. The empire cared nothing for those who truly sustained it-the workers, the troops, those who sacrificed the most and reaped the fewest rewards. He never profited a penny from those overseas ventures, and it didn’t matter. They scapegoated him all the same.”

“I don’t care about rewards,” she replied, “but I’d rather the Council explain exactly what it is they’re up to building these towers around the world. It costs too many lives to sustain them. That’s where they and I part company.”

“Indeed. I’m glad.”

“And after everything you and Professor Reardon have told me about the Council, I must admit it has shaken my trust somewhat.”

She fidgeted, and found the seditious conversation curiously exciting. But why was her admission of mistrust so empowering? Father had always maintained the opposite was true-fighting for one’s country was the ultimate source of pride.

“And what of you?” She determined the interrogation wasn’t going to be completely one-sided. And she didn’t want to expose too much of her newfound rebelliousness in case he made her say something she’d regret. “What have you learned through all this, Embrey?”

“All this?”

“Hobnobbing with aeronauts, seeing life outside your fancy circles.”

“What a bloody impertinent thing to say,” he snapped.

She sighed. Why can’t I last two minutes without antagonising him?

“But I tell you what I have learned.” He demonstrated his freezing breath with a prolonged exhale.

“And that is?”

“That things happen for a reason. Take my daughter for instance. She inherits everything in the event of my disappearance.”

Wait-what? How could he- “I–I didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m not. Never was. I knew Susan’s mother only briefly in India before I returned home. When I found out she was with child, I offered to bring her to England and marry her, but she refused. Said she’d rather die than leave India. So I’ve provided for them both ever since. Funny how things work out, though, is it not? As soon as I’m declared extinct, little Susan will inherit one of the largest estates in England. It’s in my will, and even if we make it back, I shan’t lift a finger to stop it. With or without me, she ought to have my fortune. She barely knows me but…I’d dearly love to see her one last time.”