City of Shadows

Alex ScarrowEpilogue

2069, W.G. Systems Research Campus, Pinedale, Wyoming

Roald Waldstein stared out of the broad panoramic window of his boardroom. The lemon-tinted sky over the steep slopes promised another downpour of acid rain, further stripping the last vestiges of green from the dying Douglas firs and the hilly landscape.

His forehead pressed against the plate glass, his hands leaving fingerprint smudges. He felt emotionally void. Utterly spent. The last three days of his life had been spent in a desperate panic to get those embryos speed-grown and ready. He was far too old for this damned level of stress. He’d begun to hope it was all long behind him. That his project, the agency, was something he could forget about.

Fourteen years ago.

Fourteen years ago almost to this day it happened. Almost an anniversary. The day Joseph Olivera had turned on him and demanded to know what Pandora was all about.

Back then Waldstein had begun to look on the young man almost as a son. A son to replace his boy Gabriel. (So long ago now that he’d lost little Gabriel and his wife Eleanor. A simple vehicle accident. If his wife had done just one of a thousand inconsequential little things differently that morning, she and Gabriel would still be alive and with him today.) But Olivera had pushed and pushed and pushed, asking questions Waldstein couldn’t possibly answer and then coming to his own paranoid conclusions all by himself.

He’d never had Frasier Griggs killed. The poor man had simply been desperately unlucky. Took the wrong route home one night. But Joseph had been convinced, hadn’t he? And he wanted to know… wanted to know why Waldstein needed to steer history this way.

Why? Why do you want mankind to destroy itself, Mr Waldstein?

If only he could tell the poor young man. But Olivera had gone and panicked. Olivera had garbled something about Griggs being killed because he’d found out too much.

That day back in 2055, poor young Joseph Olivera had convinced himself that Waldstein was going to have him killed. Nothing could have been further from his mind. He wanted Joseph out of that lab, away from the instrumentation panels before he did anything stupid. But Joseph had panicked and hurled himself into an open portal without any preparation, without any density checks. Nothing. God knows what horror happened to him.

Waldstein had cried for him that day.

And then there was the alarming event a few days later. A group of anti-time-travel activists managed to break into a project being secretly developed by the Russians: activists who hero-worshipped Waldstein, regarded him with his anti-time-travel message as some sort of a prophet. It turned out the Russian time-displacement project was a one-way-only technology with a severely limited range. But it was enough for the activists to send a lone assassin back to 2015 in an attempt to kill a young Chinese-American boy called Edward Chan. The young man who would soon write a thesis that would change the world. A thesis Waldstein would read as a young man himself. And there it would be: how time travel could actually be possible.

The assassination attempt was successful and Waldstein had watched from within the safety of his lab’s protection field as the ensuing time wave changed everything outside.

That was the final straw. Too much to handle. Too much stress. He’d beamed a warning back to the 2001 team. But that was it — the last thing he wanted to do with this. That day, fourteen years ago, was the day he decided to finally close the doors on his special little project. To mothball it. Put locks on it and walk away. The agency was back there in 2001. They now had everything they needed to function — and that was always his intention anyway. For them to be self-sufficient: entirely on their own and working to preserve this timeline.

They certainly didn’t need a heartbroken old man like him keeping tabs on them.

He’d closed those doors and locked them with a few final solemn words.

I’m sorry… you’re on your own now.

Fourteen years ago.

And, since then, most days he thought of them: those three hand-crafted genetic products, so carefully designed for their roles. Liam with his robust, quick-witted mind. Sal with her enhanced visual acuity. Maddy with a mind designed for data sifting. In a way, they’d almost been like his own children. Like two daughters and a son. They were back there, all on their own with an older copy of the boy as the closest thing to a mentor for them. If they could just hold things together, prevent anyone else unseating this timeline for just a little longer, just until 2070… then it would all have been worthwhile. Job done.

Mission accomplished.

Waldstein had even begun to believe it was all working out. There’d even been days when he hadn’t bothered to routinely check that tatty, yellowing page of newspaper with the personal ads on it. All, it seemed, was fine, going to plan. They were back there doing their job… and mankind was counting down its last few months and years until Pandora happened. Before they wiped themselves out.

Then all of this exhausting stress. Three days ago, out of the blue, that message from the Maddy Carter unit demanding to know all about Pandora. Demanding… and threatening.

His three ‘children’ were rebelling against their father. Like Joseph Olivera, demanding to know what Pandora was and threatening to come off-mission if no satisfactory answer was returned. With that brief message, they’d switched from being part of his plan to being a very big problem.

Oh God help me… Opening up that dusty old lab again after all these years, pulling those military-class foetuses out from cold storage, growing them, ‘hatching’ them and briefing them — briefing them to execute his own children — had been one of the hardest, most painful things he’d had to do in his entire life.

He’d sent them back to 2001 little more than an hour ago and he’d just realized something. He was probably never going to know for sure if they’d been successful. Most probably they had. Six lethal killing machines arriving right inside their archway without any warning whatsoever? His poor children wouldn’t have stood a chance. The kill team had instructions to terminate the TimeRiders, destroy every item of equipment in the archway, then terminate themselves.

He should have thought to instruct them to send a final message when they had completed those objectives. Just before they self-terminated… a simple message to let him know the deed was done.

TimeRiders successfully terminated.

But in his panic and haste he hadn’t.

Waldstein looked out of the window as gentle spots of toxic rain began to spatter heavily against the glass. Well… it was almost certainly done and in any case, there wasn’t much time left now for anyone to steer history from its proper course.

‘It’s nearly time.’ He sighed, leaving a small cloud on the glass. In a few months’ time a virus was going to be released by either the Japanese or the North Koreans; no one was ever going to know who. Mankind was going to be almost completely wiped out in the space of a few short weeks.

‘Nearly time.’ His words echoed across an empty boardroom. W.G. Systems was a shell of a business now. A few caretaker staff left, but most had been let go eighteen months ago; there really was no more need for his business empire to be making any more money. Far better his employees spent what little time left with their families and loved ones.

‘It’s nearly time,’ he whispered once more.

I’ve done all that you asked me to do… please, now, let this be enough.