Send Simon Savage #1 (22 page)

‘No, not them,’ Hale said. ‘They’re basically good men. A few far-sighted politicians have managed to put the Time Bureau in their hands.’ Hale shrugged. ‘But for how long this will last, I don’t know.’

He stopped by the couch and rested his hand on Simon’s head. ‘Son, I know so much more about time travel than they will ever know.’ His eyes glinted. ‘Its power, its reach across the vast gaps of time. You and your temponaut friends have only just scratched the surface.’

He sat down beside Simon and went silent.

‘Dad, are you okay?’

Hale nodded. ‘Simon, you know how I said I had to get away?’

‘Yeah. Was it those military guys?’

‘It happened at a meeting in Sydney, with international defence personnel. I hinted at my research into moving people across time. Not one, two, or three individuals like you are doing now. But scores, maybe hundreds of people at a time. It was foolish, no, stupid of me to mention it to them. But I was trying to get extra funding for the Bureau. To pay for some other research and development.’

Simon concentrated with every cell of his brain.

‘Some of the military people saw the possibilities of moving platoons and companies of soldiers through time,’ Hale went on. ‘This would give them incredible strategic advantages in battle, and in guerrilla warfare. In fact, in any conflict.’

‘But that’s interfering with history!’ Simon said. ‘They’re always going on about how we’re not supposed to interfere.’

‘Time travel is interfering with history by its very nature,’ Hale replied. ‘The Bureau tries to keep to rules, as we all do. But they sent you here, to the future, didn’t they? To investigate and stop the mysterious Chieftain and his gold-hunting expeditions! How is that
not
interfering with history?’

Simon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s too complicated for me!’

‘I knew they’d get onto me, once they perfected the Timeline Monitoring System,’ Hale said. ‘Son, time travel is infinite in its possibilities and, once it’s mastered, there are no longer any rules. That’s what I learnt from those military people. For them, time is a weapon. And I wasn’t going to give them this weapon. But they demanded all my research data … and they wanted it straightaway.’

‘So what happened?’ Simon asked.

‘It all came to a head the day before I disappeared from that beach,’ Hale continued. ‘These guys contacted me at work and started threatening me. They accused me of holding back information so I could sell it to other governments and to other military powers. They accused me of treason, and worse. They said they’d lock me up and throw away the key unless I handed my research over.’

‘That’s crazy!’

‘They certainly didn’t think so! I had all the data. The only problem was, I’d hidden it some time earlier.’ He waved his arm to indicate the Chieftain’s fortress. ‘I’d hidden it here, actually, on one of my trips to this timezone.’

‘One of those times when you were away,’ Simon said. ‘We thought they were business trips. But they were time-trips!’

Hale nodded. ‘I set up this place as a refuge in case I ever needed it. It was my natural caution, I suppose. It seemed remote, out of sight from a twenty-first century point of view.’

‘So what did the military guys do?’

‘They pressured me hard, but I still refused to release my research. Early the next morning, I got a tip-off that they were sniffing around the Time Bureau asking for my home address. I knew this was serious. I ran like a scared rabbit. And I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair on Mum and Lil. Or on you.’

‘You broke our hearts.’ It didn’t feel great saying it, but Simon was glad he had.

Hale flinched and looked back at the fire.

‘I’m … I’m sorry, Dad,’ Simon said.

‘No, it’s all right. I know what I did. I’ve had to live with it.’

Simon tried a more conciliatory tone. ‘So, how did you manage to get away?’

‘It was easier than I thought, really,’ Hale replied. ‘That morning, I managed to get back to the laboratory building in Sydney. I had time to program a TPS at the Time Accelerator there to materialise at a particular time at a particular beach.’ Hale got up and went to the bookshelf and took down a small black box with a keyboard and press-button controls. ‘Then I got in my car and drove down there. I used this Zone Relocator to remotely operate the TPS and to get me here to the twenty-fourth century.’ He smiled. ‘Another one of my inventions they’re still to cotton onto at the Bureau.’

Simon showed his wrist pilot. ‘They’ve got Zone Activators.’

‘But this is the next advance in that technology,’ Hale said. ‘It’s like a homing device. You don’t have to get back to the location where the TPS is going to appear … you can move the timeline to where you are in the field.’

‘So each temponaut has control of the TPS,’ Simon said. ‘You program a new location, maybe a new pick-up point, whenever you want it. That’d be handy.’

‘I’m impressed with your grasp of the technology,’ Hale said.

He picked up the skull of a tiny marsupial from the coffee table. ‘Anyway, this is the place I escaped to.’ He laughed. ‘I had to make myself look fiercer and more powerful than anyone else. I needed gold to buy my way into everyone’s good books. It’s real survival of the fittest in this century.’

‘I know, I’ve experienced some of it,’ Simon said. ‘But, Dad, did the Time Bureau know you were the Chieftain?’ he asked. ‘Did they know you were here?’

‘Perhaps they suspected it. Time travel is a rare technology and owned only by very few.’

‘It’s just that I found out they red-flagged the timeline from Kiama Beach,’ Simon said. ‘They must have known where it went and didn’t want anyone else to find out.’

Hale nodded. ‘You might be right. And they sent you to find me. Was that a coincidence, do you think?’

Simon didn’t know what to say. Had Cutler and McPhee deliberately recruited him for the Time Bureau, in order to use him for this mission? It seemed more than likely. Or had they had some other reason?

‘Simon, I don’t expect you to be able to answer that. These are questions for other people to answer.’ He shook his head and smiled. ‘Anyway, I want you to know I haven’t been wasting my time here. Come … there’s something downstairs that I want you to see. Catch!’

Simon grabbed the skull that his father tossed to him. He hurriedly put it on the table, and followed Hale into the next room. So many questions were rolling around in his mind. But, for now, he found it best not to think at all.

Damien kicked aside the wrecked remains of a pushcart and jumped over a mess of broken glass. A group of rioters ran down the middle of the lane, shouting wildly, their arms full of clothes, food and other looted goods.

He stood back to let them pass. These people were not from the Underground. More than likely they didn’t have anything to do with the real cause of the unrest. They were just people taking the opportunity to grab a few of the things they needed. Keen to avoid meeting any more of them, Damien darted around the next corner and glimpsed the city wall beyond the lane’s end.

There were only fifty metres left before the end of the lane and the embankment that led down to the tunnel. He paused in the last of the shadows and peered into the open. Then he pulled his head back as a troop of soldiers marched by on their way to their next riot-control job in the city.

As Damien waited for a chance to safely cross the open ground, he glanced up at the red glow in the sky. The flames were now engulfing some of the dwellings on the far side of town, near the air tower that Bigdad had just captured and where they had successfully taken control of the airship.

But now, doubts flooded Damien’s mind. Should he go with his family to the Far Lands? Was that their best chance of survival? Or should he stay? He suddenly felt unsure as to whether he wanted to leave the Chieftain and the work that had kept them fed all the long months since Bigdad was taken to the city. The time-travel work was exciting. And maybe there was a better chance of survival to be found in exploring other times than there was in escaping to the Far Lands.

Damien eventually shook his head. The way ahead was finally clear. There was no point wondering about time travel. His duty was to make sure Mama and Alli were safe, and that meant preparing them for their journey. After that, there might be time to think about his future.

Damien dashed across the open ground and down the embankment. He opened the waste tunnel’s metal grille, checked that no one had seen him, and crawled inside.

30

T
he old electric elevator clanked deeper and deeper into the ground. Through the gaps in the steel-mesh cage, Simon watched the sedimentary layers of rock pass—yellow, orange, clay red, brown and even a few flashes of brighter crystalline colour. After what seemed like forever, the elevator lurched to a halt and Hale opened the door and stepped out.

‘
Phew
, it’s freezing!’ Simon said. ‘I thought it was always hotter underground!’ He followed his father into a long, dark tunnel carved into the solid rock. ‘Is this where your Spin Box is located?’

‘No, we passed that level on our way down.’ Hale flicked a switch and a sequence of lights flickered on.

‘I get it,’ Simon replied. ‘This is where you keep your gold.’

‘Some of it, yes, but that’s not the real purpose of this place,’ Hale said. ‘The gold has only been a means to an end, believe me.’

Their footsteps echoed loudly in the cold tunnel as they walked towards a thick steel door at the end of the rocky passage. Lumps of broken rock were scattered over the ground and Simon kicked a chunk out of his path.

‘Dad, is this area safe?’ he asked. ‘The place is falling apart.’

‘Just bits of the tunnel wall coming loose,’ Hale said. ‘Lots of these underground walls were rendered in a mixture of rocks and concrete. They’ve been repaired over the years, but they’re wearing away. I do what I can, but maintenance is expensive.’

They reached the steel door and Simon watched as his father punched some numbers into a code lock. With a heavy grinding sound, the door slowly rumbled on rails into a recess in the side of the tunnel. Simon’s father stepped inside and Simon followed.

Beyond the door was a huge rectangular room with a concrete floor and walls, measuring about fifty by thirty metres. A dozen rows of floor-to-ceiling steel shelves stretched down the length of the space.

‘This was once a storage room for a Particle Accelerator built about a century ago, just after they constructed the power station,’ Hale said. ‘I was able to get the Accelerator working again and to build my own Spin Box, but I decided to use this room for something else,’ he continued, grabbing a thick overcoat from a hook beside the door.

‘Why’s it s-so cold?’ Simon asked. His travel suit was adjusting his body warmth, but he still felt the icy air on his face.

‘I’ve had it refrigerated to four degrees below zero. It’s the ideal temperature to keep things safe and preserved,’ Hale replied.

‘Keep what safe and preserved?’

Hale crossed to a row of shelves and lifted the lid from one of hundreds of large, solid plastic containers.

‘Those are eskies!’ Simon exclaimed. ‘Where did you get so many of them?’

Hale grinned. ‘I got a factory up in the city to copy one I brought with me. They’re not nearly as good as the ones you get in twenty-first century Australia, but they serve their purpose.’

Hale reached inside. There was a tinkle of glass against glass. ‘Here, this is what I’m keeping safe.’

He held up a sealed glass storage-jar filled with thousands of tiny, dark seeds.

Simon looked around the vast room. The fact that his father had gone on collecting seeds was not surprising. What made it staggering was the sheer size of his efforts. ‘Dad, are you telling me this whole place is filled with seeds?’

Hale spread his arms to encompass all corners of the room. ‘This is my World Seed Bank. Millions of seeds, tens of thousands of different species. The seeds of trees, of hundreds of grains, of a myriad fruits and vegetables.’

He took out several more jars from a selection of eskies. ‘Thousands of species of plants have disappeared in the last three centuries, during the wars, as well as from Earth warming up.’ He shook one jar of light-brown grains. ‘This is a strain of wheat, a high-productivity grain that has long been extinct.’