Time Watchers: The Greatest of These

By Julie Reilly

Robert, a keen young time-travelling historian from the year 2361 AD, is out of his depth. His mission is to spend six weeks learning about a community of Mesolithic humans living near ancient Kents Cavern. Dropped into a world of violence, rape, ugly death and harsh retribution, six weeks suddenly seems like a very long time.

Yana, devastated after the death of her beloved father, has a bleak future before her. A mating to a man she despises, a baby every year, ending only with inevitable death after a short and brutal life. But when charismatic stranger Robert comes to her village, her life changes irrevocably.

Expressly forbidden from intimate contact by Chrono-HQ directives, Robert must try to suppress his unwelcome and unexpected feelings for Yana. When the six weeks draw to a close, heart-broken Yana can't live without him. She goes after him, only to see him step through the time portal and vanish. Uncomprehending, she follows, only to find herself in the twenty-first century, bewildered, lost and utterly alone.

Now Robert and his contemporaries must find her and send her back before irreversible damage is done to the timeline.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Words'n'Music
• Release date: Mar 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458158680

Book preview

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Torquay, circa 7,000 BCE

Heart thudding, mouth dry, eyes slitted, Yana inched forward, never taking her eyes off her intended prey. Dry brown twigs and leaves littered the forest floor, each one a potential traitor to her presence. An ancient oak tree stood just a handful of arm-lengths away, beyond which the small herd of red deer grazed unconcernedly in the sunlit grassy clearing. It would be the perfect hiding place to prepare her shot. A cautious step. Another. She glanced down as her foot brushed against something hard. A large branch lay in her path, cushioned with damp green moss. Silently she lifted her foot over it and very carefully slid the foot underneath the mound of dry leaves which lay on the other side. A rustling came from the bushes to one side of her and she froze, her pulse pounding in her ears so hard, she felt as if the deer could hear it.

A doe lifted her head and sniffed the air. Yana barely breathed, but the fresh dung she had smeared on her hands and face did its job – the tell-tale scent of humans was not detected and the doe relaxed, dropping her head to feed once more.

Yana balanced, one foot on either side of the large log, and scanned the ground for her next step. A bare patch caught her eye and she lifted her second foot over the log and placed it noiselessly in the leaf-free patch of ground.

From her new vantage point she could now see that the ground between her and the intended oak tree was thickly carpeted with crisp dry leaves. If she even attempted to go that way, the deer would not be there by the time she was ready to take her shot. She bit her lip and considered her other options. There was a large bare patch to one side of her, but that would put her in direct sight of the deer, should one glance her way. There was no choice. Making her decision, she dropped to her knees, hoping that her rough skin tunic would provide sufficient camouflage in the shady brush, and crawled slowly over the cold bare ground toward the clearing.

Just before the edge of the grassy area, Yana stopped and sat back on her heels. Keeping her eyes on her prey for the slightest sign that they had detected her presence, she very slowly reached behind her and gradually drew out a slender fletched arrow from the quiver strapped to her back, its business end bristling with tiny flint barbs glued, harpoon-like, along both sides of the shaft and tipped with a razor-sharp arrowhead no longer than the end joint of her forefinger. A half grown fawn, still bearing the faintest dappling along its back moved away from its dam as it grazed. Yana unhurriedly raised the light bow in her hand, set the arrow to the bow and sighted on the fawn. Slowly she pulled back her arm.

The sudden crack of a dry branch resounded through the undergrowth. Heads up, the red deer bounded away as one, a crowd of birds erupted from the tree tops and the young woman hastily let fly the now-useless arrow, knowing even as she did so that the deer were out of range and cursing as it fell short. Letting out an inarticulate cry of frustration, Yana leapt to her feet and flung herself around. The source of the commotion was not difficult to find. A tall handsome young man stood behind her, looking at her with deep brown eyes full of embarrassment and apology.

Davek! You idiot! she shouted, stamping her foot in the dry leaves with rage. I nearly had that half-year fawn! Her cheeks burned with fury and strands of her long dark hair escaped from the leather thong which tied it back and whipped in the stiff northerly breeze. Davek reached out an apologetic hand to gently smooth the locks but she slapped it viciously away with the tip of her bow.

Davek exclaimed in pain and looked in surprise at the blood dripping down the back of his hand. He grabbed for Yana but she twisted away from him, jogging across the sunny clearing to retrieve her precious arrow. She had traded several finely made wooden cooking bowls and a string of matched sea shells with the old toolmaker’s mate for the last batch of arrows he had made, and she didn’t plan on losing any if she could help it.

Yani! Davek called after her. Wait! He caught her up and grabbed her arm, pulling her round to face him.

My name is Yana! she spat at him. Only my friends call me Yani! Let go of me! she said angrily, brandishing the dangerously sharp flint-tipped arrow in his face, and tried to pull away from his grip.

Oh, Yani, you don’t mean that, he said, caressing her cold-reddened cheek with his free hand. You would have got your deer if I hadn’t trodden on that branch, he said, glancing down at his large feet encased in their wooden-soled sandals and pulling a face. You’re a fine hunter. He spoke appeasingly and Yana thawed a fraction.

Well, you’re a liability, she retorted grumpily, trying again to pull away. Will you let go of my arm!

You don’t really want me to, do you? he said, taking her precious arrow out of her hand and dropping it carelessly on the ground, suddenly arrogantly confident. He pushed her back against a tree and smoothly, with the ease of practice, undid the thong that held her tunic closed. Yana struggled and tried to push his hands away as he pushed the worn leather aside and closed one hand over her firm young breast, brushing her cold-hardened nipple with his thumb. Now, no playing hard to get, he said teasingly, as he pinned her body in place with his, as he leaned in for the kiss. As he closed his eyes, Yana took her chance and, taking a deep breath, brought up her knee as hard as she could, wincing in sympathy as it connected. Davek staggered to the ground, groaning and swearing and Yana swallowed, slightly taken aback. Although her mother had always told her that was the best way to fend off a man, she had never actually tried it before. She quickly schooled her expression to one of disdain as he opened his eyes and looked up at her, shocked and disbelieving. She bent down and retrieved her arrow from the ground where Davek had casually tossed it.

Don’t do that again, she said, casually fingering the wickedly sharp tip of the arrowhead.

But, I don’t understand! he wheezed. What did you do that for?

Let me explain it in words even you can understand, she said sweetly. I don’t like you. I don’t want you! Now leave me alone!

But, all the girls want me! he said, still lying curled around his private pain.

Not this one, she shot back. Next time, take no for an answer. She stalked off across the clearing without a backward glance.

Yana was furious. That deer would have made a fine contribution to the Cave’s winter food stores. Coming back empty-handed, whilst it happened to every hunter now and again, was frowned upon by the Mothers. Even a rabbit or an otter was better than nothing, but to have come back with a half-year fawn to contribute, would have increased her personal standing in the Cave considerably. Damn Davek and his one-track mind. He might be working his way steadily through all the girls in the Cave, but she wasn’t about to be the next one. She knelt by the stream and washed her face and hands, the scent camouflage no longer necessary now her prey had fled.

As she dried her face with a handful of moss, her trained eye caught a motion in the bush and a flash of a white tail. She quickly grabbed the arrow from where she had laid it and without bothering to fit it to her bow, sighted along her left arm and flung it with deadly accuracy. The rabbit dropped, mortally wounded, the barbed weapon sticking out of its shuddering side. Yana loped over to retrieve her kill and finished the job with a sharp stone to its head. At least they had their evening meal, but she bitterly regretted losing the fawn. If she had even been slightly tempted before, and he was attractive, there was no denying that, there was no way she was letting Davek get his hands on her now!

~

Davek watched her leave, hair flying, stunning in her anger, her luscious body clearly outlined through the soft leather of the tunic. He would have her, he thought, whether she liked it or not. Once the ache in his groin subsided sufficiently, he managed to get up off the cold ground and hobbled furiously out of the clearing. His balls throbbed and his ego was battered. He tripped and almost fell over a broken branch that was blocking his path. Enraged, he picked it up and whacked it repeatedly against a nearby tree, a cloud of turning leaves fluttering down with every pound. Once the tree had been sufficiently beaten into submission and the branch broken into several pieces, he dropped the remaining shards into the grass and stood for a second, his anger mostly assuaged. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to remember the feel of Yana’s soft breast in his hand, the warmth of her skin, the hard tip of her nipple tickling his thumb. He felt his manhood stir in response to the memory, accompanied by a stab of pain. He winced and forced the image from his mind with difficulty.

A rustle from behind made him turn around. A young blonde woman stood behind him, a light, bone-tipped spear in her hand and mud around the hem of her outfit of woven cloth.

Hello Mata, he said, turning on the smile he knew she found irresistible. We don’t often see you out here.

She shrugged. I spend so long working in Old Weaver’s hut, sometimes I just need to get out in the sunshine, she said. Besides, there’s no harm in keeping my skills sharp.

Did you get anything, he asked out of politeness, although he could see she had no kill slung over her shoulder.

No. She raised her eyebrows at him. Seems someone has been banging about in the woods, scaring away all the animals.

Ah, he said. That would probably be me. Sorry. He pulled a rueful face at her and shrugged apologetically.

Never mind, she said, moving up beside him and slipping a hand through his arm. I didn’t really come out to hunt anyway. She looked up at him, smiling invitingly. I saw you leave some time ago and thought you might like some company. She caressed his arm with her finger but he stiffened.

You followed me? His mind raced and his heart thumped. How much had she seen? He and Mata were all but mated; as Old Weaver’s apprentice, she was one of the highest-ranking young women in the Cave. Granted, Yana was desirable and he wanted her beyond all measure, but to lose Mata and the status she would bring him was unthinkable. Some women did not mind if their mate’s eyes wandered and some even enjoyed the freedom an open mating brought to both parties, but Mata was not one of those women and had made it very clear to him that, if they mated, it would be her and no one else. Davek had readily agreed, confident that he could keep his liaisons secret but if she found out about Yana, she would never even speak to him again, let alone mate with him.

Well, not followed. I just walked the same way you did hoping I’d bump into you. You weren’t exactly hard to find. The yelling and the banging and the birds flying out of the trees did rather give it away. What was that all about anyway? She raised an amused eyebrow.

Davek relaxed and smiled. Of course she hadn’t seen him. If she had, he had no doubt she’d be ranting and screaming, not caressing and flirting. Um, he scrambled for an excuse. Oh, I missed my shot. I was tracking a herd of deer but I trod on a branch and they got away. So I was annoyed with myself.

Ah well, it happens to us all sometimes. Soooo, Mata drew the syllable out, walking her fingers seductively up his arm and tickling the sensitive skin on his inner elbow. As you were out here, I thought I’d join you. She emphasised the word ‘join’ ever so slightly and Davek felt his body respond to the oft-used innuendo, and then tensed for the stab of pain that came with it.

Under normal circumstances, the offer to join from his promised girl would have had her naked on the forest floor in seconds and Davek knew that hesitating now would seem odd, but there was no way he would be able to perform. He thought furiously for a second. Uh, Mata, I’d love to join with you but I, uh, I fell and, uh, hit my, myself on a log, back there, he gestured back the way he had come, and I hurt my, uh, my, um, I can’t join with you right now because it . . . hurts, he finished lamely.

Mata sighed. Davek shot her a guarded glance to see if she was buying his story. He knew that his clumsiness was known throughout the Cave. His strength and accuracy with a bow were legendary – no one could shoot an arrow as far or as fast. However, it was a long-standing joke that he had had to develop this skill as he was too loud and clumsy to get anywhere near an animal and the bow was the only way he could ever make a kill. His bow was the longest and thickest of any man’s and his range the furthest. But he was forever falling over his large feet or tripping over logs, and now and again it came in handy as an excuse.

Come on, she said, shaking her head. I’ll take you home. Maybe the healer can give you something. She took his hand as they made their way slowly out of the forest.

~

Yana walked slowly up the hill and past the twin entrances to the vast cave system that gave their community its name. While the people no longer actually lived in the caves, their legends told that once they had and they still used them both for storage and for meetings. There were many sacred places within the caves and some that were forbidden to most of the people, and open only to the Mothers, the group of women who were the ultimate authority and justice system of the community. Their leader was the Halig Modor, the wisest of the Mothers and she had her own private sanctuary within the cave system where even the Mothers dared not step. It was said that there she communed with the Goddess herself and performed sacred and arcane rituals that somehow brought her into the Presence of the Goddess. Yana shuddered at the thought. While she venerated the spirit of the Goddess, as did all the people, it was She after all who gave them their sustenance, their shelter and their very lives; Yana had no wish to actually meet the Goddess in her spiritual form. Seeing her Presence manifested in the world around her was sufficient for Yana and for most of the people. Let Halig Modor and the rest of the Mothers deal with the spirits.

The people themselves actually lived in an array of huts arranged in a rough circle on the flat top of the hill which was honeycombed by the chambers and passages of the cave system. A track led past both entrances, and round up onto the hill-top, up which sloping trail Yana now wearily pulled herself. Some huts were private dwelling places while others were the domain of certain crafts. Community meetings were held either outside in a large space deliberately left clear in the centre of the huts, or during cold or inclement weather, in the larger of the two entrance chambers of the cave system.

Yana moved aside the leather windbreak sheltering the entrance to the hut which was her family’s home and walked down the four stone-flagged steps to the floor of the sunken hut. A strong herbal odour hung in the air. Ignoring it, Yana dropped her kill by the fire, and made her way to the occupied sleeping platform at the back of the hut.

How is he? she said to the older woman kneeling beside the sick man on the bed.

Her mother turned tired eyes to her. Maylen came by and gave me another packet of herbs to scatter over the fire. His breathing seems a little easier but that’s all really. She drew her daughter away from the bed and spoke softly. He said there’s really nothing more he can do. He’s so ill and lost so much weight, all Maylen can do is try to ease the pain. A hacking cough from the bed made them both whirl round and Tanari rushed with a piece of soft leather to tenderly wipe away the bloody sputum from her mate’s mouth.

Yani? he called weakly. Yana knelt by her father’s bedside and laid her hand on his forearm. He smiled and brushed the loose tendrils of hair off her face with his other hand, trembling with the effort of lifting his hand off the bed. Yani, my little precious. He stroked her cheek.

I got a rabbit for us, she said. I can make a nice broth for you that should go down easily. She looked hopefully into her father’s tired brown eyes.

I don’t want anything tonight, he said wearily. I’m not hungry.

But you must eat, she said, her eyes bleak. You’re so thin – you’ve barely touched anything since the last full moon. He held her hands in his.

Yani, precious, I don’t think it will help. I don’t think anything will help anymore. He held her hands tightly, although his tightest grip now was not even as strong as her baby brother’s, sleeping on his feather-stuffed pad at the other end of the hut. It’s my time – the Goddess will be coming to take me soon. Halig Modor came to see me this afternoon while you were out and she said she had seen it in her meditations. It won’t be much longer.

Yana bowed her head to the inevitable, although tears dripped down her cheeks. Halig Modor always visited the dying and she was never wrong. The only exception was when a death was unexpected, although it was said that Halig Modor always knew, but sometimes chose not to reveal what the Goddess had shown her. Many a grieving mother or mate had confronted her, tearfully angry when a mate or son died unexpectedly. They would claim that if they had been warned, they could have prevented it. Halig Modor always said the same thing, that what she had seen, must happen. She could neither prevent it nor change it, only minister after the fact. But Yana had suspected for some time that her father would not recover from the illness of his breathing sacs. She had watched him deteriorate from a strong, healthy man capable of single-handedly dragging home the carcass of a full-grown stag, to a frail shell whose legs could barely support his own weight. In a strange way, she was almost relieved that the pronouncement had finally come. She could not bear to see him in pain. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, suddenly desperate to get out of the hut and away from the aroma of death.

I’ll be back, she promised her father, who simply nodded and smiled before closing his eyes and laying his head once more on the feather-stuffed leather pad that served as his pillow. Tanari moved to take her place and she and Yana held each other briefly before Yana grabbed her rabbit and took the steps two at a time out of the hut.

~

Davek glared at the Healer who was obviously trying to conceal a smile at his predicament.

I came here for treatment, not ridicule. Do your job! he declared, standing up to his full height over the smaller man. Maylen smiled wryly, not in the least intimidated by the younger man’s bluster.

That Promised one of yours, does she know how to make willow bark tea? he inquired mildly, prowling his racks of dried bundles of herbs and leather pouches.

Davek shrugged. How should I know! he said.

Well, I’ll make you some while you’re here but if she doesn’t know, send her to see me and I’ll show her. Everyone should know how to make willow bark. Even as he spoke Maylen was transferring hot stones from the fire into a wooden bowl of water standing ready. As soon as the water started to simmer he deftly dropped in a measured handful of dried shredded bark.

Is that all you can offer, willow bark tea? Davek was almost contemptuous.

Maylen raised one eyebrow slightly. No, he replied calmly. I can also make you a wash from the juice of nightshade berries. Soak a piece of leather, or cloth in it, and lay it on the, uh, the affected area. That will ease the pain. Here. He handed Davek a rough wooden cup of steaming tea he had scooped directly out of the wooden bowl. Come back before the sun sets and I will have it ready for you. Davek rose to leave. And don’t forget to bring back the cup. He raised his voice to make sure Davek heard, as the younger man let the leather drape fall down behind him as he left the hut. Don’t mention it, Maylen said to the empty hut, shaking his head. Now where did I see nightshade recently, he wondered to himself. Ah yes, underneath that stand of hazel by the stream. He pulled on his leather cloak and took up his digging stick and collecting basket.

It didn’t occur to him to be annoyed because Davek was less than grateful. Unlike the other crafters in the settlement, who traded for their services and goods, Maylen’s duty as a Healer was to treat all those who came to him, no matter what. In return he was entitled to anything he wanted from the community stores whether it was food or leather, or anything else he needed. If there was something in particular he needed which was not in stores, he would approach the appropriate crafter and request that it be made for him. He was never refused. It was understood that at some point in their life, everyone needed the services of the Healer and no one was ever turned away from him, so no one ever turned him away. It was an equitable arrangement, which suited all parties.

Maylen spotted the common nightshade bush growing about a foot high under the old hazel tree. The profusion of green berries gave mute testimony to the warm spring and lush summer they had recently had. Maylen considered the extent of Davek’s injury and plucked sufficient berries to make enough of the anti-inflammatory lotion to last a few days.

~

Yana wandered unseeingly through the lively hum and chatter that accompanied the Cave’s daily round of activities. Barely aware that she still clutched the rabbit in her hand, she noticed a breathless jogging beside her. She looked down. A young boy was desperately trying to keep up with her. She smiled, recognising the eldest son of her friend Fien, who lived two huts along from her.

Hello Jonta, she greeted him cordially.

Do you need that skin? He nodded at her rabbit. She looked at it and shrugged.

No, not particularly. Would you like it? She held it out to him. His eyes lit up.

Can I? Really?

We have plenty of skins. You’re welcome to it! She handed him the rabbit and watched as he gleefully rushed to the butchery area. Any meat brought into the Cave usually belonged to the hunter who made the kill, but the hide always belonged to the one who skinned it. The hunter had first choice but if they chose, they could let someone else skin the animal, the job done in return for the hide. The meat then went either to the hunter’s fire, or to the community stores, to which all hunters were expected to contribute a proportion of their successes. The stores were used for community festivals and feasts and for storage against the winter.

Children learned how to skin and cure skins from an early age and were often to be found begging skins off hunters from as young as three years, long before they were old enough to hunt their own animals. It was so much a rite of passage from toddlerhood to childhood that children would often be heard resisting pampering with the phrase, I’m not a baby! I can skin! Skinning a kill was one of the first acts of independence a child could have, the subsequent leather and furs belonging to the child and could be used to make small items of clothing or toys or simply for the thrill of possession. At four, almost five, Jonta was an experienced skinner and he soon came jogging back to Yana with the excoriated and bloody carcass in one hand and the rolled up pelt in the other.

Thanks!

What will you make from it? Yana asked, curious.

I’m making a winter hat and mitts for the new baby. But don’t tell, it’s a surprise! Jonta beamed with the anticipation of surprising his mother with birth gifts for the child she was carrying, due in three or four more moons. Jonta had learned the lessons of the society in which he lived very well. Selfishness had no place in a community such as theirs. Everyone had to work toward the common good. They relied upon each other for their very survival.

~

That evening as Mata tenderly soaked Davek’s groin in an offcut of cloth dipped in the cooling nightshade lotion, in a hut across the settlement Tanari watched her despairing daughter as she tried to persuade her dying father to take some of the rabbit broth she had made for him. Unlike other women, who seemed to pop out a baby each year, Tanari had conceived only four times during the last sixteen years. First had been Yani, the brightest of children, constantly inquisitive, with dark brown, almost black hair and long curling eyelashes, longer at birth than any baby had a right to. Yana idolised her father, and her father her, from the instant they set eyes on each other. She had skinned early, one of the youngest in the Cave, her first being a rabbit her father had caught especially for her to practise on. Shortly afterwards, she had begun accompanying her father on his hunting forays, learning quickly the skill and stealth required for tracking and ambushing the prey. Her first kill had been, what was it, Tanari searched her memory. She had come home with a smile so wide and proud. Tanari gave up. It had probably been a rabbit too; most small children started with rabbits.

She had had Joharin at the breast by then, Tanari recalled. Joharin had been such a sweet-natured baby, happy to be with anyone who would cuddle him, unlike Yana, who was fiercely loyal to her father and would sulk if left with anyone else. Even Tanari herself was second best, merely tolerated until her father came home. By contrast, Joharin had been anybody’s baby. Her brow creased with the old pain as she remembered how they had lost him to the fever twelve winters ago, the last fierce winter they had had. Halig Modor had visited them then also, she recalled. It had been one of her first duties as the new Halig Modor, the old one having been put to rest only days earlier, a victim of the same fever. Tanari had refused to believe her, had said terrible things to her, had accused her of being inexperienced and downright incompetent, unworthy of the role. Halig Modor had taken the abuse unflinchingly but was quietly and sympathetically adamant. The following morning Tanari had awoken to find Joharin’s cold body next to her.

Tanari kissed the warm head of her newest baby, who was so like Joharin in temperament. Baby Johanen was every bit as sweet natured and friendly as his older brother had been.

After Joharin had died, she had been barren for ten summers before her monthly courses ceased and life stirred again. But the birth did not go well and Tanari had nearly died. The baby, a girl, was born dead; the cord round her neck had strangled her. When Tanari had found herself once again with child last summer, she had almost gone to see Maylen to take the briony to dislodge the baby. She was worried about being too old, that things would go as before, that the baby would be deformed, as happened occasionally to babies born of older mothers. Yana had calmed her, reassured her and convinced her to see the pregnancy through. And now here they were, a girl barely a woman, an old woman with a baby at breast and a dying man. Yana was a good hunter but one day she would leave to mate and where would she and Johanen be then? She cuddled the baby closer to her, kissing his soft downy head.

Yana, her mate’s cracked voice barely penetrated past the bed but Yana, tuned to the barest whisper from her father, scrambled to his side. Play for me Yani! Play me to sleep.

Tears sprang to Yana’s eyes but she obediently retrieved her reed pipes from the high shelf where she kept them. Music was the craft of Yana and her father. The secret of making and playing the multiple pipes tied together with grasses was passed down from parent to child. Her father had taught her to make her first set of pipes and then taught her all the traditional songs of the Cave, plus a few of his own devising. Yana too had begun to craft her own songs and it was one of these that her father now requested.

One could not play reed pipes with a chest tight from weeping. Yana centred herself, calmed her diaphragm and began to play. The liquid notes passed out of the grass thatch of the hut, carrying easily on the cool night air.

Mata paused in her ministrations to her Promised as the music filtered through the roof of his parents’ hut. She laid her head on his chest and he kissed the top of her head.

Two huts away, Fien heard the music stop abruptly mid-phrase and then a wild keening duet arose from Yana’s hut as both mother and daughter mourned the passing of the man they both had loved. She stroked her belly sadly, feeling the baby jump inside her and hugged Jonta as he came to her for reassurance, disturbed and a little frightened by the anguished sounds coming from nearby.

CHAPTER TWO

London, Thursday June 1st CE 2361

A gentle feminine voice inserted itself into Robert’s conscious mind. Good morning Robert. Time to get up now. Robert grunted and turned over, flailing an arm in protest against the summons. The voice repeated itself, growing ever louder in intensity, tireless in its insistence.

OK, OK, I’m up! Robert insisted, yawning and swinging his legs out of the bed. See, I’m up.

What would you like for breakfast today Robert? the voice continued conversationally as Robert wandered into the eating area and toward the food distributor.

Whatever, yawned Robert, still half asleep, rubbing his eyes and running his fingers through his bed-rumpled hair.

That is not on your list of prescribed food choices for breakfast, Robert, please re-state your request.

Robert mentally ran through his options. Have I got any eggs left this week? he queried the computer.

Yes, you have two eggs left from your weekly allowance.

Scrambled eggs then. And a cup of coffee. Black. And two slices of toast. With jam and butter, Robert ordered. The tray materialised in the distributor unit and Robert carried it to the table.

Would you like to run through your schedule for today, the computer enquired.

No, Robert smiled, feeling that inward clenching of his gut he felt prior to every field mission. I know exactly what I’m doing today!

~

Robert jogged through the quiet London streets, preferring the more traditional form of exercise over the modern technology-driven types. After all, he had reasoned, what better way to get used to walking or running long distances than actually to do it? As he ran, the miniaturised speaker and receiver array implanted into his ear and linked to the global computer network via a vast array of satellites orbiting overhead, kept him up to date with the morning’s news and played stimulating music to keep his pace up.

Time, computer, he gasped as he came to the end of the eleven-mile run to the Chrono-HQ building in Greenwich.

You beat your personal best, Robert. One hour, forty-one minutes and forty-three seconds! Well done!

Well, it’s hardly record-breaking, but with any luck I won’t be required to do any eleven-mile runs on this mission! As he spoke he wiped his sweaty thumb on his running shorts before pressing it to the lock-plate.

Good morning Robert! the male voice of the Chrono-HQ’s computer said, as it recognised his thumbprint and allowed admission. The door slid open to reveal a small featureless grey room.

Showers, Robert spoke tersely and the transfer unit carried him rapidly up and across, the motion barely perceptible.

Sonic or water, said the computer as it neared the specified destination.

Water, said Robert and the door slid open. Robert stepped into the anteroom and undressed quickly, depositing his sweaty running things in the laundry repository, where they would be cleaned and ready upon his return.

Inside the shower cubicle, the voice spoke again. Which service do you require?

Aqua-massage. Instantly the infrared scan calculated Robert’s height and blasted him with hot water from all sides, to just below his chin. Robert groaned with pleasure and closed his eyes, feeling the aches drain away with the hot water. Increase strength, he requested and the intensity increased almost to the point of pain, massaging his tired muscles. Cleanse, and the water that came out was now mixed with liquid soap, foaming on his body and washing off the sticky sweat. Rinse, and the water flowed clear again. Overhead, and the water stopped instantly, cascading now from above. Robert repeated the process with the overhead shower to wash his hair. He dried off in the hot air room and dressed in one of Chrono-HQ’s standard white suits before returning to the transfer unit and proceeding to the briefing room.

A single junior researcher sat on a chair, hunched over one of the chrono-viewer units in a corner of the room. His head snapped up at the opening of the door and he began fiddling feverishly with the controls as soon as he saw Robert.

Er, hello, sir, he fumbled, clearly nervous.

What are you watching? Robert asked, curious, wandering over and glancing at the screen, which showed ancient 2D moving images of a sweaty woman fighting some blobby creatures in a grey corridor.

It’s Star Trek! The young man’s eyes lit up as he caressed the corner of the screen.

Star Trek, Robert repeated blandly, belatedly remembering that this particular researcher, there were so many he could never keep track of their names, was their resident 20th century expert, with a particular interest in popular entertainment. Now he came to think of it, he had been warned never to get him on the subject of television if he wanted to leave the room at any point within the following three hours.

Yes, the classic 20th century science fiction show set in the 23rd century, although this episode is actually from Star Trek: Voyager, which was set in the twenty fourth century which, of course, is our present. It’s an extremely interesting socio-historical study of what the people of the time thought their future would look like and, he snort-sniggered, it’s pretty amazing how far wrong they were, for instance . . . Robert raised a hand.

I’m sure you’re right, but we really need to get on.

Sorry sir, the researcher flushed miserably. I was waffling again wasn’t I?

Just a bit. Robert raised an eyebrow. Where’s your partner? he said then, looking around for the senior member of the team who should have been in the room with him. Junior researchers were rarely trusted alone in a room with a chrono-viewer. The voyeuristic possibilities of these windows into the past were far too tempting. Ever since the early days of the technology, when researchers had been caught using them to spy on couples in private, use of the chrono-viewers for such purposes had been highly illegal. Even though this researcher seemed more interested in Star Trek than sex, he should not have been left.

She’s gone to the john.

The john? Robert frowned.

Yeah, you know, the bog, the loo, the khazi, making a call on the porcelain telephone.

Robert rested his forehead on his fingers briefly. Look, er . . .

Tim, sir.

Tim, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about!

It’s slang, innit!

Is it? Robert narrowed his eyes.

Yeah, dude!

Robert tried to swallow his exasperation. Just tell me where she is! he bit out, with a little more irritation than he had intended to show.

The er, the recycling unit, Tim stammered, crestfallen. Sorry sir!

It’s alright. Robert tried to smile.

Groovy, chief! Robert turned to impale him with a glare but at that point, his colleague, an attractive brunette in her early 30s, returned. Robert’s face creased in a genuine smile at the sight of her.

Claudia! He walked over, smiling warmly and kissed her cheek.

I see you’re all set, she said, ruffling his long shaggy hair, grown with stimulants to match the prevalent style of his destination. Nice beard!

So, have you found a good place to set me down? he asked. They sat down at a chrono-viewer and Claudia called up the view of the Mesolithic settlement that they had been observing for some time. The display on the chronometer above the viewer showed September 22nd 7024 BCE, 11.08am. What am I seeing? he asked, observing the figures slowly processing away from the settlement, heading south east towards the sea.

It seems to be a burial ritual. We’ve been watching this particular period in time for a few days and after the ceremony they come back and have some sort of community gathering.

Like a wake?

I suppose – their equivalent of anyway, Claudia shrugged. We’ll be putting you down at a point about a mile south west of the village so you’ll have plenty of time to get yourself acclimatised before you meet them. Claudia briskly pulled out her checklist then, all business. Have you been maintaining your fitness level?

Oh yes, Robert said, rubbing his aching calf muscles.

Broad-spectrum inoculations all administered?

Yes.

Survival skills refresher course complete?

Yes!

Flint knapping course with emphasis on microliths passed?

Yes.

That’s very important you know!

Yes, I know. Robert sighed.

Don’t sigh at me!

Sorry!

You know I hate it when you sigh at me.

Sorry.

Aural implant removed?

No, not yet. Claudia tutted and produced an instrument from a desk drawer. She inserted it briefly into his ear and removed his link to the global network. Robert felt a sudden spike of panic at being bereft of his constant link to the Globe-net, receiving news updates as they happened, having his vital statistics constantly monitored for aberrations. He firmly pushed it down.

You know you can’t take it back with you. Imagine if you died back there with one of these in your head. ‘Futuristic technology found in Mesolithic skull!’ she headlined.

Don’t worry – I don’t plan on dying!

You never know though.

Yes, I know, I know! It was an old argument and both knew their parts well. Claudia dropped the tiny implant into a box marked with Robert’s name.

It’ll still be here when you get back. She got up and walked to the slot in the wall. It resembled the food distributor at his apartment but was far more sophisticated than a standard home distributor. It was certainly used for food but also for much more. Claudia tapped a code into the keypad and a set of clothes materialised in the unit, along with a supra-dermal applicator. There you are, get yourself into those and I’ll administer your lingual booster injection.

Leather? Robert queried, feeling the clothing.

Simulated. But close enough to fool the casual observer. We’ve copied the style from a community who live near what’s now Calais. Your story is that you’re a traveller from there, you’ve crossed the land bridge and made your way down the coastline. Robert nodded – he knew all this anyway, it had all been planned out in advance but it was useful to go over it again. The mind was a fickle creature and small details could easily be forgotten. A briefing was necessary to refresh the memory. He took the clothes and went to get changed. When he emerged Claudia smiled. Hello caveman! she said, winking at him.

Ha, ha! he said sarcastically. Anyway, they don’t live in caves.

Here’s your pack! She opened a cupboard and pulled out a hefty sim-leather backpack on a rough timber frame. That contains your basic survival kit for a Mesolithic traveller plus some spare clothes and some items for trade. He took it off her and fumbled with the thong which