Time Riders

CHAPTER 64

1957, woods outside Baltimore

The soup sploshed into Liam’s bowl from a ladle smelled and looked almost asunappetizing as the gruel he’d grown used to eating in the prison camp.

He looked up at the man who’d served him. ‘Thank you.’

The man offered an awkward smile and tugged his cap politely. ‘Is there anything I canget for Captain Bob?’

Liam considered that for a moment. Bob was clumsy with a spoon. Chances were he’d endup dribbling the soup all down his front.

Not very inspiring. Not very saint-like.

‘Our leader would like some bread, if you got any.’

The man smiled, delighted to be of service. He rummaged in a backpack and produced a longloaf of stale bread. Liam nodded a thanks, tucked it under his arm and began to head back tothe tent before hesitating and turning back round to face the man.

‘Uh… our leader sends his blessings for the food.’

The man grinned broadly. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ crossing himself as he spoke.‘God bless him.’

Liam made his way across the camp, illuminated by the glow of a crackling fire and silvershafts of moonlight, lancing down between the branches of the forest. He nodded politely tothe others he passed, offering blessings from Bob along the way. Over thelast couple of days, the camp’s atmosphere seemed to have changed from being that of thesecret den of a band of patriotic freedom fighters to that of some kind of a monastery. Menwho’d exchanged bawdy jokes one day seemed pious and reflective now.

They believe Bob is some warrior angel sent down by God. What do youexpect?

Finally, reaching Bob’s modest lean-to, he ducked under a flap of cloth and steppedinside. ‘I picked up some bread for you. I’m afraid it’s not that usualhigh-protein vomit-like gunk that you normally ingest back in the field office.’

‘I have consumed this food type before,’ said Bob, reaching for the offered loafof bread and biting off the end of it. After chewing on it for a moment, his saliva breakingit down, his on-board computer analysed the protein content.

He nodded. ‘This is adequate.’

Liam sat down on a wooden crate opposite. ‘You know, I thought I was going to be stuckin that camp forever. I thought I was going to die in there.’

He shuddered at the memories of those months inside, the faces of prisoners he’d grownto know well. Wallace, he wondered, what had become of him in the chaos? Did he survive themassacre? Had he escaped? Liam hoped so.

He slurped noisily on the soup. ‘I found myself wondering if I’d have been betteroff staying on the Titanic. Drowning to death would’ve beena lot quicker than starving to death, eh?’

‘Correct,’ announced Bob. ‘Death by oxygen denial takes approximately threeto five minutes.’

Nice. Soothing words.

Liam put down his spoon, reached out and patted one of Bob’s meaty shoulders. ‘Iknow this probably won’t mean much to you, since Foster says your mind is just a littlemachine filled with codes and programs and stuff. But… Isuppose… look, I just want to say thank you, Bob. Thanks for coming and gettingme.’

He saw some kind of expression flicker across the support unit’s rigid face. Was itsome sort of involuntary muscle twitch, or was it a smile? Whatever it was, it almost lookedconvincing.

They ate in silence for a while. Silence that is, except for Liam’s soup-slurping andthe grinding of Bob’s teeth — sounding not unlike the grating noise Liamremembered his Uncle Diarmid’s cows made as they chewed on their winter maize.

‘So you’re suggesting we stay here indefinitely until we get amessage?’

‘Negative.’

‘Just say “no”, Bob. It sounds more natural.’

‘No.’

‘Then how long for?’

‘We wait another seventy-eight hours, fifty-seven minutes.’

‘Uh?’ Seventy-eight hours and fifty-seven minutes seemed somewhat specific. ‘Bob, why exactly that long?’

‘By that time, I must have self-terminated.’

Liam dropped his spoon in the soup. ‘Excuse me? Self-terminate… what exactly does that mean?’

Bob stopped chewing on the bread and turned his cool grey eyes on him. ‘Basicoperational requirement: six-month lifespan in the field. If I fail to return from a missionafter six months, I must self-terminate. They know this. So they will not attempt to send meany messages after six months. If we are to receive a message it will occur beforethen.’

‘Six months? But… but you’re telling me you’re going to destroy yourself in… in… in…?’

‘Three days, six hours and fifty-seven minutes’ time,’ answered Bobhelpfully. ‘I must terminate by then.’

‘But why?’

‘To prevent my computer technology being used.’

Liam suddenly realized he felt something for the big automaton in front of him. A fondness?He knew it didn’t make any sense that he should care for what was basically ameat-and-muscle weapons platform with a personal organizer stored up top. Perhaps, in a way,it was because they were both new to this timeriding thing. Bothnew boys. Or maybe it was the thought of being alone in a world that should never have beenwithout Bob to watch over him, to protect him.

‘Bob, can’t you decide not to destroyyourself?’

‘Negative.’

‘What if I were to give you a direct order? As the mission operative, I’m incommand here, right?’

‘This is correct.’

‘So if I were to order you to cancel — ’

‘This protocol cannot be countermanded. It is firmware.’

‘Firmware?’

‘Built into the computer’s design. It cannot be overridden.’

Liam looked up at his expressionless face. ‘But that’s stupid!’

‘It is unavoidable.’

Liam looked down at his soup, growing cool in its bowl. ‘Doesn’t the thought ofdying, well… does it not scare you?’

‘Negative.’

‘Bob, say “no”… not “negative”.’

‘No.’

‘You don’t have any strong feelings about… about terminating yourself?’

‘My consciousness is merely procedural code; my memories are stored on my internal harddrive. My body can be regrown from a single cell. I can be endlessly duplicated, LiamO’Connor. I have no concept of death. So I have no concept of fear.’

‘No fear,’ Liam snorted humourlessly. ‘Jay-zus, I wish Icould say that. I’ve spent the last few months spending every waking hour in fear.Afraid I might be picked on by a guard to be made an example of. Afraid they’d decide tofinish us all off. Afraid that — ’

‘I wish…’ rumbled Bob.

The words stopped Liam’s self-pitying ramble in its tracks. He set the spoon down inhis soup bowl and looked up to see the support unit’s eyes were glazed over, focused onsome far-off, unattainable desire.

Did he just say ‘I wish…’?

He remembered Foster saying the computer was linked to a small organic brain. Perhaps thattiny wrinkled part of Bob, that undeveloped nub of brain matter, was able to wish forsomething, to desire something, in an indefinable way?

‘Tell me,’ Liam said softly. ‘What… what do you wish for, Bob?’

‘I wish… I was… like you, Liam O’Connor.’

Liam cocked his head. ‘Like me? Jeez! Look at me. A weedy little runt. I’msixteen and I still don’t have any bristles I can shave. And the best I ever managed toachieve, before I was supposed to have died, was to become a ship’s steward. Just aflippin’ waiter. Great, huh?’

‘You were recruited because you have essential skills.’

‘Essential skills? You kidding? I can tidy a cabin, make a pot of tea and deliver itwithout spilling it on a napkin. Big deal.’

‘Your data records indicate you have a very high intelligence quotient, fast mentalreaction times and creative cognitive skills.’

‘Really?’

‘These things are listed in your personal profile records.’

‘What records?’

‘I have your complete profile on my hard drive. This includes WhiteStar Shipping’s personnel records, details on your family, your home town, your schoolreports — ’

‘You’ve got my school reports up there in yourhead?’

‘Affirmative.’ Bob’s eyes flickered momentarily, a sign that he wasretrieving data.

‘Liam O’Connor is quite clearly a clever lad,’Bob began reciting words Liam recognized as being penned by his old headmaster, FatherO’Herlihy, ‘perhaps one of the brightest in his academicyear. However, he is also prone to gazing out of the window, wool-gathering at the slightestopportunity and not applying himself as much as some of the other promising young boys inhis year. Liam is something of a loner; it seems he does rather enjoy his own company duringbreak times, not joining in — ’

Bob stopped dead. Frozen for a moment.

‘You all right there, Bob?’

‘One moment… one moment.’

The muscles in Bob’s face flickered and tensed, his eyes blinked rapidly as, inside hishead, every thought process came to a sudden grinding halt.

[Transmission particles detected]

His computer sifted the data coming in, sub-atomic particles winking into existence as if bymagic and passing through solid matter as if it was air. Enough tachyons were appearing in hisneural net — caught like flies in a web — for him to begin to decode some partialmessage fragments.

[… time cont… complete devastation… low energy…for one on… as follows: Lat: 38°54′24…]

‘Bob? What’s up with you?’

‘One moment… one moment,’ he replied tonelessly.

More particles arriving, more fragments of message assembling. He waited until the passingwave of particles appeared to have finally ceased. Another minute in silence, waiting for a possible second wave of tachyons to be ensnared inside his head. But thereseemed to be nothing more now. The signal beam from the future had briefly passed this way andmoved on.

‘I have just received a weak signal from the field office,’ he announced.

‘What?’ Liam’s face lit up. ‘Just now?’

‘Affirmative.’

‘Oh… thank Mary-mother-of-Jay-zus they’ve found us! And they’re OK,right? Of course they are.’

Bob became unfrozen and took another bite out of his bread.

‘So don’t keep me in suspense, Bob. What’s the message?’

His eyelids fluttered. ‘Message from field office: timecontamination in present. Result is complete devastation. Very low energy. Unsure of windowsize. Perhaps for one only. No second chance. Time-stamp as follows: Lat:38°54′24.35"N — Long: 77°2′33.94"W — Time 23.50, 03-03-57.’

Liam stared at Bob. ‘I… I’m not sure I understood much of that. Didyou?’

Bob nodded. ‘Their timeline has experienced a significant shift resulting in muchdestruction. As a result, their external power feed has become compromised.’

Liam’s eyes widened. ‘So what does that mean? Their time machine doesn’twork?’

‘Incorrect. It works, but they have a limited supply of power.’

‘Window for one only… That means…?’

‘That means they have only enough power to return one of us,’ Bob answered.‘That must be you.’

Liam shook his head. ‘Surely they can get us both backsomehow? If they fiddle around with their dials or something.’

‘Negative. Body mass affects the energy required for timeriding. You are very small,requiring much less energy than myself.’

Liam sat in silence for a moment, then finally shook his head.‘I… I can’t just leave you here on your own to… to terminate yourself,Bob. I just — ’

‘That is an illogical assessment.’

‘Surely something can be done to boost the energy their end, or lighten the load ourend? Something, surely?’

‘There is something that needs to be done,’ said Bob. ‘The data on thistimeline is stored in my hard drive and must be transported back with you.’

‘Uh… I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’ Liam swallowednervously. ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’

‘You will have to break open my cranium and remove the soft tissue inside, including myorganic brain, to access the computer. Disconnecting the computer and removing it will requireme to provide detailed instructions before you do this in order to prevent you from triggeringthe self-termination firmware as you extract the computer.’

‘Ugh… no… I’m not sure I can do that, Bob. Really… I’m-’

‘You have no choice. It is a mission requirement.’

Liam shook his head, already feeling sick at the thought of hacking open Bob’s head.‘So… so when would I have to perform this operation?’

‘The extraction window is set for twenty-five hours’ time.’

‘And where is it?’

Bob blinked, retrieving data. ‘The co-ordinates are for a street called JeffersonPlace, in the city of Washington DC. It is approximately one mile from the location of ouroriginal arrival window.’

Liam’s eyes widened further. ‘A mile from the White House? But that’s justcrazy! That whole area is going to be thick with soldiers and those buzzing air-jetthingies.’

‘We must make for this location within the time left. Once there youmust extract the computer from my cranium, or alternatively remove my head and take that withyou.’

‘Cut your head off?’ Liam blanched, his face turning sickly pale. ‘Ican’t do that, Bob. I’m… I’ve never been good with blood and ickystuff. I’ll faint… I’m telling you, I’ll keel over and faint, so Iwill. And then I’ll miss this window and we’ll both bein a fix.’

He looked down at the tepid remains of lumpy soup in his bowl and put it to one side, nolonger feeling hungry. ‘Is there really no other way?’

‘If you were smaller. If I was smaller. If the extraction window was opened geographically closer to the field office. If the extraction windowwas not so far back in time. These factors all affect the total energy required.’

Bob looked at him with his calm grey eyes. For some reason Bob tried out one of those pitifulsmiles he’d picked up from Sal. As far as Liam was concerned, that didn’t helpmatters. Didn’t help at all. It made him look strangely vulnerable, like an oversizedtoddler.

‘You will need to acquire a bone saw or blade with a serrated edge to remove myhead,’ Bob continued. ‘Also, you may need to acquire a power drill with-’

‘Jay-zus Christ!’ Liam blurted suddenly. ‘Enough! I need some air — think I’m going to puke!’