Time Chase

Your warm breath condenses before your eyes, the frigid air stinging your nose. Flo's voicemail was rather insistent, and you hurry down Victoria Embankment, turning your collar up against the gale sweeping across the shimmering expanse of the Thames. The hulking Ministry of Defence building greets you as you turn into Horse Guards Avenue, a scattering of its many windows still lit, yellow light spilling out into the night.

Flo waves at you from the foot of the stairs, an entirely unnecessary gesture as her garishly striped leggings are unmissable. It looks like she's perched atop two enormous stacks of liquorice allsorts. Government scientists don't seem to have a dress code, you think to yourself, seeing that she's wearing a denim jacket over a white teeshirt. You've never visited Flo at work before, and are surprised she dresses so casually.

“What's so urgent?” you ask, exchanging kisses on the cheek. “Why am I here?”

“I'll tell you inside,” Flo replies, pushing her glasses up her nose. Her thick, wavy blonde bob bounces as she turns and leads you up the stairs. You can't help noticing how Flo's leggings cling tight to the slightly plump curves of her buttocks and thighs. Though your long friendship with Flo has remained purely platonic, you can't escape your physical attraction to her.

The squeak of your shoes on the patterned marble floor reverberates around the atrium. Flo flashes her security pass to a bored-looking guard, who, after exchanging a few words with Flo, sights your identification and hands you a temporary pass to hang around your neck.

You clear the security gates and Flo summons a lift that takes you to a basement several floors below. You lose your sense of direction as she leads you through a labyrinth of corridors, twisting and turning more times than you can remember. Finally she ushers you into a small office and closes the door behind her.

The office is unremarkable, you think, looking around. Against the wall to your left is a desk, and another is against the wall opposite. A computer monitor sits atop each desk. There are no windows, but a door is set in the far wall.

“I've never told you much about my work, have I?” asks Flo.

“You work for the MOD,” you reply. “I assumed you couldn't.”

“I shouldn't, but I don't think I have a choice. Take a seat.”

Flo wheels a swivel chair out from behind one of the desks and motions for you to sit, then crosses over to the other desk and unlocks the top drawer, pulling out a bundle of papers. She passes you a newspaper clipping. Crown Jewels Stolen from Dublin Castle!, the headline reads, and a glance at the masthead gives you the date: July 7, 1907. “What of it?” you ask, lifting your eyes briefly, then returning to the article.

“I know who took them,” Flo confesses.

You look up again and raise your eyebrows. “You know where they are?”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head gently, her forehead creased and a look of trepidation in her eyes. “I don't even know _when _they are.”

You open your mouth, but she continues. “This is a photograph taken at the 1907 Irish International Exhibition in Dublin on the day before the burglary was discovered.” The black-and-white picture she hands you shows a crowd gathered in front of a bandstand, a white pavilion looming in the background. She points to a face in the crowd, a striking woman whose sleek black hair contrasts with her pale, pointed face. “And this,” she adds, handing you a government pass like the one around her neck, “is my colleague.” You bundle up the lanyard and gape in surprise at the photo.

“She's the spitting image!” you exclaim, examining the pictures side-by-side, and bringing them close to your face. “But Flo —”

“Eva and I were developing a stasis pod,” Flo interrupts. “Soldiers would enter, be put into a chemically-induced sleep and be revived later, with no physical or mental deterioration. A permanent standing army that doesn't age and doesn't need retraining.”

You can't help letting out an impressed whistle. “Ambitious,” you acknowledge.

“It was. We developed a prototype, but there was an anomaly. Whatever we put into the pod disappeared when it was activated, then reappeared when it automatically deactivated. We eventually put a clock in there. The hands didn't move while the pod was active.”

The implications slowly dawn on you. “Flo … are you saying you invented a time machine?”

“That was my hypothesis. Whatever we put inside the pod was being plucked out of time at the activation point, and returning at the deactivation point, effectively skipping over the time in between. That hypothesis turned out to be correct. With some modifications we were able to change the direction of travel, going both forward and backward in time. Then we realised we could reverse the temporal field and send the entire pod through time. That eliminated the need to have a pod at both points.”

“But this is insane! You're pulling my leg, surely?”

“I wish I was.” Flo flicks a switch by the door opposite the entrance. “Let me show you something.”

Harsh fluorescent lighting illuminates an austere room, about the same size as the first. The walls here are bare brick, rather than plasterboard, and there is no carpeting on the cement floor. On the right are two wooden pallets sitting side-by-side as though something would usually rest on them, an impression that is reinforced when you look to the left and see what looks like a tanning bed sitting atop another pair of pallets. A large, LCD display and keypad are set into the lid of the appliance.

“Eva's taken the other pod,” says Flo, nodding to the empty space, “and she's used it to steal Crown property. We have to stop her before things get out of control.”

You look at Flo, worried that she's gone mad.

“Look,” she continues, appearing to read your thoughts, “I know it's a lot to take in, and I know it sounds crazy, but I'm going to try to stop Eva and I'd like your help. You can have me sectioned if you think I'm mad, but at least humour me. Let me prove the ‘time machine’ works.”

After pausing to think it through, you agree to give Flo a chance. “Will there be enough room for both of us?”

“It may be a little snug, but we designed it with soldiers in mind, so they're fairly spacious inside.”

Flo presses a button and the lid of the pod slowly opens, swinging from a hinge on the side. She's quite correct about the size; the pod could fit a man almost twice as broad as yourself.

“You'd better get in first,” says Flo. “I'll set the date for 6 July 1907. That's when the photo was taken. According to the clock on the pavilion, it was about one thirty-seven in the afternoon. We'll arrive a little earlier.”

“How will we get to Dublin from here?”

“Objects travelling through time have no mass,” Flo explains, as though the answer is obvious. “Their spacial coordinates can be changed instantaneously.” Apparently Flo considers that enough explanation. “I've chosen an abandoned mill for our destination. It's secluded. We won't be seen, and won't cause any damage. Now, get in.”

You decide it's best not to press for more details and slide into the pod. Flo taps at the keyboard, then slips in beside you, pulling a bag in behind her. It's a slight squeeze, but she manages to fit. You can smell the mint on her breath and feel the warmth of her body pressed against you as you cradle her in one arm. She pulls the hatch of the pod closed. For a moment nothing happens.

Thwump! The noise is sudden and brief. It sounds like something getting stuck to the nozzle of a hoover. There is a flicker, as though the lights had been quickly switched off and back on, and then nothing again. Flo reaches pushes the hatch open and wriggles her way out. “We're here!” she calls. With a sceptical mind, you climb out.

You and Flo are standing in a large, empty warehouse that has little in common with the office, apart from the concrete floor and austere interior.

“Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore,” you say, finding your voice. “Pinch me.”

Flo does you one better and thumps you playfully in the arm with her fist. “We'd better get changed,” she says, opening the bag. “These are for you.”

A pair of brown woollen trousers gets thrown in your direction, followed by a jacket, shirt and waistcoat. Still uncertain, you open your mouth to say something, but can't find the words. “Get changed,” says Flo. “We'll talk later.”

You do as you're told and strip down to your briefs. As you're pulling on the trousers, you glance over at Flo. She her back to you, and you watch her tugging off her leggings, exposing her creamy thighs. She adjusts a pair of unflattering white knickers, then shrugs off her denim jacket and pulls her shirt over her head. You feel a slight swelling in your briefs at the sight of the nearly-naked Flo, and you look away, busying yourself with the rest of your clothes.

When dressed, you see that Flo has changed into a brown dress and is lacing up her black bodice. “There,” she says, putting on a brown jacket. “How do I look?”

“Every part the Victorian woman,” you reply. “And me?”

“You'll do.” Flo smirks. “Put this on too.” She tosses a grey woollen flat cap at you. “Perfect,” she says as you pull it on over your hair. “Let's go. We'll intercept Eva at Herbert Park.”

Flo links her arm in yours. “Remember, we're just a husband and wife out for a stroll in Victorian Dublin.”

The smell hits you first. It's earthy. Rustic. In the distance you think you can hear horse's hooves on flagstones. You suppose that explains some of the smell. The two of you stand in an empty alley, and you allow Flo to lead you by the arm, joining a throng of people moving along a wide street. She has chosen your costumes well, and you blend seamlessly into the crowd.

It's a short walk along a river — the River Dodder, Flo informs you — to a bridge, where the bandstand from the photograph comes into view. “Let's just mingle in the crowd and wait for Eva,” says Flo, withdrawing a pocket watch from inside her jacket. “She should be along any moment.”

A small ensemble occupies the bandstand, but you don't recognise the tune they're playing. Parents struggle to control the children scuttling among the crowd gathered around the bandstand. An old man with a long, white beard, contentedly smokes a pipe on a bench nearby. A photographer has set up nearby. There's no sign of Eva yet.

After a few minutes of combing the crowd, Flo squeezes your arm. “There!” she whispers, nodding her head. Eva, looking rather out of place in her modern attire, hurries through the crowd, a large bag slung over her shoulder.

Flo pulls you in Eva's direction, hoping to cut across her path, but there are too many people in the way. “Eva!” Flo shouts, and the black-haired woman turns, her eyes widening in shocked surprise. “Stop!”

Eva doesn't stop. Instead, she breaks into a run. “Quick, after her!” yells Flo.

Flo releases your arm and the two of you speed toward Eva, but it's difficult to run in your new clothes and Eva pulls out a significant lead. She runs toward the river, and down a stairway beside the bridge, disappearing underneath. You and Flo follow, some way back, but arrive in time to see Eva sling the bag into a pod concealed beneath the bridge and scurry inside, pulling the hatch closed behind her. With a thwump, the pod disappears.

Gasping for breath, you turn to Flo. “We were so close!”

“It's okay,” Flo replies, catching her own breath. “We know where she went.” She holds out her phone, and you see she's snapped a picture of Eva's pod before it vanished. “We've got the time and space coordinates.”

You're impressed by Flo's quick thinking, but another thought pops into your mind. “If we've got a time machine, can't we just go back again and stop her? We can go back earlier.”

Flo shakes her head. “No. I thought this would happen. We don't stop her now. It's already happened.”

“What do you mean? Didn't we come here to catch her?”

“You can't change history; you make it — the newspaper shows Eva succeeded. If we stop her, it's by intercepting her sometime else.”

Who are you to argue the rules of time travel? “Well, what now?”

“We'd better get back to the pod and punch in these coordinates.”

Flo navigates the way back to the warehouse and you change into your old clothes. “We can't carry a wardrobe with us, so we'll have to make do from here,” says Flo. “Oh, and you'd best take these.” She passes you a small earpiece and what looks like a large, transparent sticking plaster, with a web of tiny flesh-coloured wires between its layers. “One goes in the ear, the other on the throat. They'll translate what you hear and what you say, for most languages and dialects, even extinct ones, though not perfectly.”

There's a slightly uncomfortable feeling as you stick the patch to your throat, not unlike nettle rash, but it quickly goes away.

“Alles gut?” asks Flo. Everything good?

“Ja,” you're surprised to hear yourself say.

“Then let's go.”

You hop into the pod. Flo punches in the coordinates, then gets in beside you, pulling the hatch closed.