The Ocean of Time (63 page)

‘Katerina?’

I say it loudly this time, and am answered with laughter. Deep, masculine laughter. And then a man’s voice, mocking, high-pitched. ‘
Ot-to
? Is that you?
Ot-to
?’

I walk across, then stop, seeing him, knowing now why they weren’t here the last time I came. Knowing now who’d taken them.

‘Kolya?’

His eyes smile maliciously at me from where he stands. ‘Meister Behr. How good to see you again.’

Only I’m not looking at him. I’m looking past him, to where six of his ‘brothers’ stand, each of them holding a bound captive. My daughters and my wife.

Seeing me, Katerina tries to struggle, but it’s in vain. They are each of them bound tightly, at wrist and ankle, and gagged. Even my darling little Zarah.

It’s an unbearable sight.

I look to Kolya. ‘What do you want? What do I have to do?’

‘Nothing. I have what I need. I’ve
taken
what I need.’

The gun is in my hand. I raise it, aiming it at him, but he only shakes his head.

‘Try that and they’re dead. I guarantee it. Now throw it down.’

‘If there’s nothing you wanted, then why did you wait here for me? Why didn’t you just steal them away? To gloat?’

His lips form an ugly sneer. ‘You misunderstand me, Otto. I did it because I could. Because I wanted to. Now throw the gun down or I’ll kill them, one by one.’

I throw it down.

‘Good.’ He turns, looks to his helpers. ‘Okay. We’re finished here.’

I cry out. I can’t help it, but I do. Because suddenly they’re gone. Suddenly it’s just Kolya and me and the moonlit emptiness of the room.

‘Where …?’

‘Have I taken them?’ Kolya smiles and takes a step towards me, holding out his hand. ‘Come and find out. Jump with me, Otto. Stay with them.’

His hand is an arm’s length from my own. I stare at it, then shake my head.

‘Very well. Then you will never see them again.’

Slowly, very slowly he retracts his hand, but all the while his eyes are on mine, smiling, like he knows what I’m going to do.

Oh, I know this is a trap, and that if I take his hand something terrible will happen, only what else can I do? If I don’t go with him then they are lost for ever.

Jump back, you say. Get to them before he does? But Kolya is a step ahead of me, remember? He always has been, and I sense he always will. What other choice have I?

And so I grasp his hand and even as his fingers lock around my own, so I feel that sudden sideways lurch in time and know we’ve jumped.

Into a room, sun pouring in through a window to my right, even as Kolya frees his hand from mine and shoves me away.

I go to grab at him, to hang on for dear life, but he’s anticipated that. His knee comes up, making me double up in pain, and then his elbow slams hard into the side of my face. I fall to my knees, and as I do he gives me a snarling smile.

‘Goodbye, Otto. Have fun.’

And vanishes.

I straighten, gasping for air, trying not to be sick, then bring my hand up to my chest.

Nothing.

I try again. Nothing. Like there’s nothing there.

Impossible
, I think.
I’m in a loop. I’m
…

Trapped. The bastard has trapped me here. Jumped me in and snipped me off.

Using the side of the bed, I haul myself up, then lie back, wheezing, the side of my face pounding where he elbowed it. For a moment I close my eyes, my thoughts swirling, unable to believe I let him do that to me. Then, struggling up, I make my way over to the window, wanting to know just where he’s dumped me.

I must be eight or ten floors up, the street below packed with cars and people. I’m in a city somewhere. Only where? And, more to the point,
when
?

I hold on to the sill a moment longer, then slowly turn, looking back into the room. Voices drift through the paper-thin walls. Spanish, or Portuguese, or something like that. Beside the bed, there’s a chair, a desk, a chest of drawers and a small bookcase. There’s one door over on the left, another just past the door in the corner on the right.

Whoever it belongs to, it isn’t mine, that’s for sure. There’s a case under the desk, and some papers on the desk. And there, on the floor beside the bed, is a newspaper.

I hobble across, feeling sick, and lower myself slowly on to my knees, staring down at the paper, amazed by what I see.

It is the
New York Times
for 8 November 1984, and beneath a banner headline is a picture of a man I last saw in West Berkeley, thirty-two years – or was it just two weeks? – ago. I read the headline: ‘DICK, TAKING 49 STATES AND 59% OF VOTE, VOWS TO STRESS ARMS TALKS AND ECONOMY.’

White-haired, and in his fifties now, Phil stares up at me from the page, exuding confidence, like he’s everyone’s favourite uncle. Security men, in dark suits and wearing shades, surround him on all sides, while a snowy owl – his ‘trademark’ so the caption reads – perches on the shoulder of his charcoal-coloured suit. Phil Dick, my old science-fiction writer buddy, and now President of the United States of America.

This one, as you’ll see from the dedication, is for Rob Carter – friend and fellow writer – who spent so many evenings sharing a beer with me and debating the notions that eventually became this strangest of tales. Thanks again. The next one’s on me.

Thanks go once again to my agent, Diana Tyler, and to my dear friends and fellow writers, Mike Cobley, Ritchie Smith, John Kavanagh, Brian Griffin and Brian Aldiss, for their comments and suggestions. Thank you, guys.

Huge thanks, too, to my editorial team at Ebury, Michael Rowley and Emily Yau, for their close attention to detail. Long may we work together.

Love and thanks go to my darling wife, Susan Oudot, and my four darling daughters, Jessica, Amy, Georgia and Francesca, for keeping me sane throughout this weirdest of science fictional trips.

The two quotations from Hermann Hesse’s
The Glass Bead Game
are from the translation by Richard and Clara Winston, published by Jonathan Cape in 1970, and are used here with their kind permission. The passage from Philip K. Dick’s
The Man In The High Castle
is from the Penguin Books edition of 1969, and used here with their permission. If you’ve not read this book, do so now. Finally, the passage quoted from Friedrich Nietzsche’s
Beyond Good And Evil
is from the R. J. Hollingdale translation, published by Penguin Books in 1973 and used here with their permission.

As before, I want to thank the great Al Stewart, whose wonderful song, ‘Roads To Moscow’ inspired me to take this journey into the vast ocean of Time.

David Wingrove, February 2015