Day of Deliverance (4 page)

Inchquin arched his fingers in front of him, deep in thought. “So – Pendelshape has usurped Tom Christie as the leader of the Revisionists. He has a plan to make some intervention in history – in the sixteenth century. Okay, two things to check. First, Carole, what is the latest forecast on time signal availability?”

Carole looked up from her terminal. “We have had no time signal availability for a number of weeks now, but as you are aware, we are forecasting the availability of carrier strength time travel signals over the next forty-eight hours. Of course, forecasts are not accurate – in terms of timing, duration or strength.”

“Time signal forecasting – it’s worse than the weather forecast…” Joplin moaned.

“Shut up, Theo, you’re not helping,” the Rector said. “This is why Christie has chosen to contact us now. The Revisionists will also know that we are entering a period of potential time signal availability… so Christie must think they will use this opportunity to carry out their plan.” He paused. “Do we have any details on the actual intervention in history that they are planning?”

“No. Apparently when Christie left them, there were a number of open scenarios still being analysed, but they were not
complete. He had no final detailed plans.”

“So, Theo, now is the time to say something sensible. You’re the historian, any particular views on why they would choose the period between 1580 and 1600 to make an intervention?”

Theo Joplin looked up from a laptop that he had open in front of him. He was only twenty-seven but looked like a relic of sixties’ hippiedom with his long hair, goatee beard and flowery shirt. But appearances were deceptive and encased within his mop of messy black hair was an encyclopaedic knowledge of history.

Joplin curled his lip. “A good choice if you want to make some structural changes to the future course of history – many, many options. Lots going on. Overall, a very cool period…” He turned back to his laptop assuming that this would be a more than sufficient contribution to the conversation.

The Rector tried to contain his frustration. “Would you mind being a little more
specific
?”

Joplin shrugged nonchalantly. “English Renaissance, Shakespeare, Marlowe, Spanish Armada – or Armadas – I should say, Mary, Queen of Scots, the Babington Plot, Drake, Raleigh, Howard, Grenville, Treasure Fleets, first English colony in America, religious conflict, Ireland… I could go on… and no doubt you’ll want me to…”

“We don’t have time for all this,” Inchquin said irritably. “Jim, are we sure that Christie’s message did not say anything more specific about what Pendelshape and the other Revisionists might be trying to do?”

“He said that Pendelshape had a well-developed theory that if the Spanish dominance of the period could be extended somehow, then it might be harnessed to usher in a period of peace. Perhaps for centuries. A strong Spain would have defeated the Netherlands and then colonised all of the Americas… and also they would have been better able to enforce a single religion – Catholicism. This would have reduced religious conflict.”

“Interesting theory.” Joplin was suddenly enthusiastic. “It’s true that the period was a bit of a turning point for Spain. She was
the most powerful country in the world, but her power declined – gradually mind you – pretty much from then onwards.”

“Since when, specifically?”

“The defeat of the Armada, really, in 1588. The fact that Queen Elizabeth reigned for so long, as a Protestant queen, and the fact that the Armada failed meant that the balance of power – certainly naval power – slowly transferred to England, then to Britain. And by the nineteenth century, Britain was the most powerful nation on earth.”

“So you’re saying that if the Armada Campaign had succeeded, the world would have been a different place.”

“Very different. The common language of the West would be Spanish, not English – just as it is in much of South America today. The influence of Protestantism would have been substantially weaker and we would have many different habits and customs. We might even have had a regular bullfight in Soonhope,” Joplin chortled.

“Theo, this is not funny,” Inchquin growled. “Jim, do you think Pendelshape’s plan is to give power to the Spanish?”

“It’s something along those lines – it marries up with Christie’s communication to us. But the details clearly weren’t fully developed when he left – so I don’t think he knew the specifics. But the main thing he wanted to make clear was that he didn’t want to be associated with any of it and, more than that, he wanted us to know that he was not associated with it so that we would not take retribution on him.” Jim paused and then added bluntly, “Or his family.”

“I understand,” Inchquin said, moving on swiftly. “Well, we really need more data than this. It is all too sketchy at the moment. Tony, can you radio the team up on the hill? Perhaps they have managed to track him down…”

Suddenly, Carole called out from behind her terminal. “Councillor. There is some sort of reading. We have an emerging time signal. It’s faint but it looks like there is a possible deep time disturbance… possibly time-travel initiation.”

“Can you pinpoint it?”

“Difficult to identify it precisely – but the impacted year is 1587. Looks to be early on in that year.”

“Location?”

“England – definitely. South-east. Must be London.”

“Well that decides it then. It looks like Christie was right and the Revisionists are making their move. We must not waste any more time. We need to mobilise immediately.” Inchquin rose to his feet and placed both palms on the table, his voice grave.

“I feared it would only be a matter of time before this happened again. Everyone – security protocol is Triple Alpha. VIGIL is now on high alert. You all know what to do.”

Sixteenth-century Sortie

Jack stood in front of the Taurus. He felt different emotions. Not all of them good. Last time he had been in the Taurus control room, he had thought he was going to die. It loomed ominously behind a solid wall of thick green glass that extended from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. The great machine had been expanded and rebuilt since he last saw it. From their previous mission, VIGIL had learned that the Revisionists’ Taurus was significantly larger than VIGIL’s and had the capability to transport sizeable items of machinery, as well as people. In the last six months, work had been carried out on VIGIL’s Taurus to ensure that it was up to scratch. However, VIGIL would only ever use their machine for emergencies such as this. They were reluctant to transfer equipment that was potentially out of period because of the historical consequences it could have. The Revisionists, they had learned, were not so fussy.

The great machine sat brooding among a complex assortment of engineering equipment – pipes, cables and access gantries. The shell of the Taurus itself was a raised metal platform bounded by a semi-closed arrangement of hefty, black metal struts. There were eight of them. They rose from the ground and
bulged out to surround the platform and then they rejoined each other at the top. The simplicity of this structure belied the wonder and complexity of its function. This machine could take you back in time.

The VIGIL team quickly developed a plan based on piecing together the little information that they had gleaned from Christie’s message to VIGIL. A party of four would be conveyed to February 1587 to attempt to locate and intercept Pendelshape before he carried out the Revisionist plan. This would not be easy, as the details of his intent and his location were sketchy. The search party on the hill had reported back and so far there had been no sign of Tom Christie. It was unlikely he would contact VIGIL again – there was too high a risk that he might reveal his own whereabouts. In any case, it seemed likely that he only knew the outline of the Revisionist plan. Nevertheless, Inchquin had instructed the search party to continue through the night.

The time-travel team had already been chosen: Tony, Gordon, Jim De Raillar and Theo Joplin had been dispatched to the preparation annex for equipment allocation and further briefing. It was not clear to Jack what would be done with Pendelshape in the event that he was found by the VIGIL squad, but he suspected that it would not be pleasant.

Inchquin had issued orders to power up the Taurus and the remaining VIGIL team members had already arrived to support the emergency mission. Everyone seemed to be well drilled – emergencies like this were something that they now practised for repeatedly, following the scare six months earlier. The control room itself had morphed into a fully kitted-out command centre. The nearest thing Jack could compare it to was NASA mission control. Jack and Angus sat in an observation area within the control room. Angus followed the proceedings with great excitement and would occasionally nudge Jack and point something out as the transfer time drew close.

As they watched, a door at the far end of the control centre opened and the VIGIL response squad arrived from the
preparation annex, ready to board the Taurus.

“Best I could do, I’m afraid,” Joplin announced.

The response squad needed to be fully prepared for the Elizabethan period. They had to ensure that they would not inadvertently trigger something, however small, that might have a knock-on effect in the future. If they did, VIGIL might need to return to repair the damage – a risky scenario in itself. They needed to try to blend in. At the basic level, this meant wearing the right clothes. VIGIL had built up an extensive costume archive for this purpose.

The response squad stepped forward, somewhat sheepishly, to display the fruits of their efforts. Tony and De Raillar looked reasonable. They wore snug black doublets with jerkins on top and short cloaks. Beneath their cloaks, each carried a thin backpack that contained a range of equipment for their mission and some basic provisions. Their legs were clad in breeches that were pinned in at the knee. Each had a dagger on a belt. Joplin, however, looked like something out of
The Three Musketeers
. He wore a loose-fitting doublet with baggy trousers that were tucked in at boot level and a long, elaborately embroidered cloak that hung jauntily from one shoulder. On his head was a ridiculous wide-brimmed hat, adorned with a long plume of feathers, and on his feet were riding boots with wide, lace-trimmed turnovers. Finally, from a broad leather belt hung…
a full-length sword.

“It’s about forty years too late for the period – but it’s all we could find in the wardrobe…” he announced.

But the best was still to come.

A moment later, when Gordon appeared, Jack and Angus burst out laughing. Gordon also wore a tight doublet on his upper body, but it was far too small for his powerful frame. The garment had elaborate inlays and patterns and, at the collar, Gordon’s intricate lace ruff seemed to push his chin upwards at an alarming angle. On his legs, Gordon wore enormous baggy breeches that ballooned out from his waist and were gathered in at mid-thigh level. These were also highly decorated in a night-scape of yellow
half-moons and stars. Angus and Jack had to rub their eyes because beneath the flouncy breeches, Gordon was actually wearing tights.
Bright yellow tights
. They encased a pair of powerful legs that were far better suited to pumping iron than mincing around an Elizabethan royal court. To finish it off, Gordon’s white shoes were open on each side and – this was the final straw for Angus and Jack –
flowers
were pinned to the front. A
lot
of flowers.

Inchquin put his head in his hands. Gordon shrugged, “We ran out – had to move onto the aristocrat’s section. At least I’m in period.”

The Rector sighed. “You’ll just have to see what you can lay your hands on when you get there.”

With everything finally in place, the Rector completed the briefing. “Any questions before we initiate countdown sequence?”

Angus nudged Jack. He had a warped smile on his face, the kind that Jack knew typically meant only one thing – trouble.

Jack mouthed, “What?”

But before Jack could stop him, Angus was marching over to the Rector and Inchquin. “What about us?” he demanded.

Jack cringed. Without hesitation, Inchquin replied, “Out of the question.”

But Angus was not about to be patronised. “So why are we in VIGIL at all then? You have always said that one of the main points of VIGIL is to prepare the next generation, you know, to protect history and protect the human race – how can we do that if we are stuck here – just watching?”

Suddenly, support piped up for Angus from an unexpected source – Miss Beattie. “You know the lad has a point. He’s young, he’s extremely fit and has already proved himself on one mission.”

“Yes, Sir,” Angus said, “I thought that was what I was here for, you know, to help.”

Inchquin looked at the Rector and Miss Beattie nervously. “I’m not sure we can authorise… we are not really in a position…”

Angus interrupted him. “But you said yourself – VIGIL can decide whatever it wants.”

Inchquin turned to his colleagues, waiting to see if any would voice an opinion. There was silence.

Angus’s outburst had got Jack thinking – but not quite along the same lines as his friend. He spoke up. “Sir, I’m not as keen as Angus – I mean time travelling again would be pretty scary. But there is one thing. Angus and I know Pendelshape. And we also know that Pendelshape was desperate to get us to join him and Dad. I know Dad has had a bust-up with Pendelshape. But maybe if we were to go back as part of the team, maybe there would be a chance we could link up with Pendelshape and, well, pretend we wanted to come over to his side, you know, because of Dad or something. With us under his control, Pendelshape would think he could get Dad to rejoin the Revisionists. What I am trying to say is…”

Inchquin finished Jack’s sentence. “Your old teacher might trust you… and we could use that to stop Pendelshape and infiltrate the Revisionists…”

“And finish them off for good,” the Rector added. He nodded thoughtfully. “It certainly gives us another option.”

Angus punched the air. “Yes!”

Inchquin smiled. “I guess you can take De Raillar and Joplin’s places – they will form the next wave – your back-up, if it’s needed.”

Jack’s mum had been following the discussion with increasing dismay. “I can’t possibly agree to this…” she burst out.

But the words tumbled from Jack’s mouth before he had time to stop them. “Mum – sorry – I’ve been thinking about it. The Christie family is partly responsible for all of this. If it’s anyone’s duty to help sort this out, it’s got to be ours… mine.”

It was decided.

Thirty minutes later, Jack, Angus, Tony and Gordon stood on the Taurus platform. Miss Beattie’s costumes for the production of
Hamlet
were now period costumes for Jack and Angus. Beneath
their woollen cloaks they each carried one of the thin VIGIL backpacks. Under their doublets, tight-fitting vests secured the
all-important
time phones. The countdown was already under way and the assembled VIGIL team looked on from their positions behind the blast screen. The Rector was completing a short lecture on the workings of the Taurus. Not that Jack needed reminding.

“Remember, the Taurus itself stays put – it focuses the energy and creates the temporary wormhole. But to move through time and space, you need to have physical contact with your time phone. You need it to go… and to get back again. While back in time, the time phones are controlled and tracked by the Taurus. Of course, they will only work when the Taurus is at the right energy state, and also when there is a strong enough time signal.” The Rector had also reminded them of the limitations of the Taurus and its umbilical linkage to the time phones. “You can only use your time phone when you have a signal – and the signals are intermittent. Remember that bar?” He prodded the little greyed-out display inside the time phone. “When it’s yellow – you’re good to go – you can communicate, we know where you are and the Taurus can send you back and forth through time. When there’s no signal, you’re stuck, although the phone’s energy source will continue to tell you where and when you are…” Finally, he said ominously, “Lose your time phones and there is no way back.”

Jack was sweating. He could hear the high-pitched whine from the powerful generators, even though they were well insulated within the underground complex. He glanced across at Angus who stood next to him on the platform, grinning inanely, still not believing his luck. He didn’t seem remotely concerned that he was about to be flushed down a wormhole to four hundred years in the past and a world that they would find totally alien. In front of them, Jack could see the small heads-up display. Taurus was counting down:

Last time this had happened, Jack had been so frightened he had not noticed the physical changes around him in the Taurus chamber as they approached the event horizon – the point of no return. Around his feet he could see shimmering eddies of light. He supposed they were some sort of electrical disturbance, a bit like the ion-charged curtains of blue, red and green, that were known as the Northern Lights. The shimmering became stronger and it was as if he were standing in the rippling waters of an illuminated whirlpool. The atmosphere within the Taurus structure was also changing and the control room beyond appeared darker and fuzzier – as if you were looking at a badly tuned TV screen.

Suddenly, through the blast screen, he saw the Rector draw his hand dramatically across his throat, as if to say “Stop”. He was shouting and waving frantically, and immediately there was a flurry of activity in the control room. The Rector’s distorted words came through the audio feed.

There was something wrong. But the countdown just continued.

Jack felt panic surge through his body and he glanced over at Tony and Gordon for guidance. But there was nothing they could do. They could hear the Rector’s voice, desperately shouting, “Abort system – time fix malfunction… abort this mission – NOW!”

Jack looked down. Suddenly the flashing electrical whirlpool beneath them vanished and they were staring down into a black abyss.

The last thing he heard was his mum screaming, “Jack!”