Déjà Vu: A Technothriller Hocking, Ian (online e book reader .TXT) 📖

“We don’t know that, Saskia,” she said.

“We don’t know very much,” said David, walking over. The dark circles under his eyes had begun to recede. His balance had improved. “But we know we’re grateful.”

“David, I know I have been hard on you in the past week. I suppose that now is a good time to apologise.”

David put his arm around her shoulder. “Come back and see us, will you? When you’re older? I for one would appreciate a visitor in jail.”

Jennifer looked up. “Are we going to prison, Dad?”

“Actually, I don’t know. Ego has recorded everything, including my journey and Hartfield’s confession. Maybe we can talk our way out.”

Michaels called, “You have to go now, Saskia. The computer is configured. This place will fill up with personnel soon.”

Saskia stood and took their hands. “Here I go. I hope Hartfield didn’t leave a banana skin somewhere.”

“Don’t worry,” David said. “Hartfield isn’t the kind of man to plan for failure. As far as was concerned when he left, this whole research centre would disappear like the tributary of a river diverted at source.”

Saskia looked at the two of them. Jennifer had David’s nose, but it was less easy for her to smile. She lacked his energy. Saskia considered asking them, as a favour to her, to stay together, but it was a decision they had to make for themselves. “Auf Wiedersehen,” was all she could say. She did not cry, although these people were last friends.

“Wait,” David said. “I almost forgot.” He passed her a folder from a nearby table. It contained several pink sheets that were covered in diagrams, equations, arrows and blocks of hand-written text. “These are the instructions for the computer-controlled glider. Should work with any computer with the same programming language and hardware. Everything you need is mentioned. Of course, you could find this information anywhere. But I’d prefer it if you use mine. I know it’ll work.”

“Where did you find this?” she asked.

“I just wrote it. Only took ten minutes. They’re the same sheets from the church in Scotland. I saw them just before you busted me out. I recognised my handwriting.”

Saskia unzipped the map pocket on her thigh and pushed the papers inside. “You’re talking about something that is twenty years in my future. I hope I don’t forget.”

“You’ve got twenty years to remember.”

Michaels shouted, “Hurry up, Saskia.”

She smiled one more time and walked down the gantry to the gondola. It rocked as she clambered inside and closed the outer door. The seat was nothing more than a seat-shaped bag of water. She hoped it wouldn’t burst. The door closed with a flimsy click.

She heard Jennifer’s voice in her ear. “Saskia, personnel are starting to come back. There are guards too. We have to start immediately.”

“OK, go,” she replied. The gondola lurched forward and she fell awkwardly. The motor for the arm was as loud as a jet engine. The compartment began to accelerate. Through tiny windows, Saskia watched the world tilt. The gondola still felt upright.

She lay down on the water couch. The stresses left her body. She reached over and tapped her wrist computer. The hood flipped over her head. The arch-like sections melted together and formed a seamless, transparent bowl. The noise muted. She heard Jennifer say, “Are you reading me, Saskia?”

“Reading you, yes,” she said. The muscles in her jaw ached. The back of her head pressed painfully into the bowl.

“Fifty per cent speed,” Jennifer said. “Remember: feet together, roll.”

“Reading you.”

It was difficult to take a full breath.

“Seventy-five per cent speed.”

“Reading you.”

Her vision began to lose colour. The ceiling of the gondola blurred.

“Saskia,” said another voice. It was Professor Michaels. “We’re sending you back one half hour before Hartfield. That is,

2:34 p.m. on the afternoon of May 14th 2003.” “Rea’ing you.” Saskia begin to lose consciousness. David’s voice: “No, no, that’s –”

The Scene of the Crime (II)

It was a disappointingly mechanical affair. A hatch opened in the bottom of the gondola and she fell not into the wall of the centrifuge but into cold, loud air. It was a bright day. She tumbled. The ground and sky swapped. She opened her arms and legs to form an ‘H’ as Jennifer had described. She noticed a bat-like webbing that stretched between her upper arms and her chest.

The tumbling stopped. She was still falling, but certainly slower, like a leaf, body-surfing her way to the ground. Operational Flying Squirrel was Go. To her left and right she could see the curve of the earth. There was a head-up display in the inner rim of her helmet. Some text read:

Attempting to contact GPS...stand by.

Without the Global Positioning System, she would not know where to land.

Saskia looked down. The earth was rising.

New text:

Contacted. Logging on...stand by.

It was difficult to judge her height and speed. The ground seemed to stretch out rather than get bigger. The edges of the horizon flattened.

Logon successful.

The display changed. Her landing point was marked by a green circle. Surrounding it were red arrows indicating predicted wind direction and strength. Also projected was a small diagrammatical figure that represented herself; a blue arrow indicated that she needed to tilt in a north-easterly direction. She did so and the arrow disappeared.

It was her first skydive. That had not perturbed Michaels, however. “The pragmatics of time travel, Saskia. We don’t want you appearing in solid rock.”

Seconds later, the parachute opened. Gravity pulled her blood into her boots. The air became calm. She aimed for the green circle but she was clumsy with the cords. They were poor for turning. As she pulled one, she dropped towards that side. She had barely enough height to curse the design before her boots connected with Scotland. Remembering Jennifer’s instructions, she held her feet together and rolled to one side. After the silence of the slow parachute descent, the sound of her impact was deafening.

She was sitting on a gentle hillside. There was no sign of anyone. The sky was clear above and some birds sang