Tempus Fugit

By Michael Braunton

What do a security guard, a T.V. reporter, an overly-intelligent internet geek, a 19th century lord, a bee and a giant beanstalk all have in common? They're all in this novel. Worlds are colliding, Timelines are changing, And not in a good way. And our heroes? Well they're flawed, to say the least, But they're all that we've got. Will they succeed in restoring reality to what it should be? What do we define as reality? And for that matter, who says what it should be? Read on and find out. . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291861563

Book preview

Tempus Fugit

Tempus Fugit

(Or ‘How many Time-Travellers does it take to break the Continuum?)

This book is dedicated to NaNoWriMo, and all those who put up with me whining about how much hard work writing a novel is. Especially Rebecca.

This book is based on a true story. [1]

All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

This book © Michael Braunton 2011

ISBN: 978-1-291-86156-3

WARNING

This book contains language.

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[1] Depending on your definitions of the words ‘Based’, ‘True’ and ‘Story’.

One - Just another night at work

Date - Friday 6th November 2009

Time - 4:32 A.M.

The worst kept secret in the building was that the boss had a time machine in his office. It was all the rage nowadays, private time machines for the rich. They allowed travel to any time and destination imaginable. Time travel was available for everyone else too, but they had to go on a TimeCo Package holiday, which were horrifically expensive and pre-programmed. Therefore the most common visits were to important historical events, and the top three destinations for package holidays were the Birth of Christ[2], the Jurassic Period[3] and the Summer of Love[4]. Sam looked down at the TimeCo advert in the magazine he was reading and sighed. He remembered the days when time travel had been a government secret, before the great realisation that everyone’s theories were wrong and that you couldn’t change the present by altering the past. 

Two years ago, time travel had been unveiled to a sceptical public. This instantly provoked a lot of discussion with regards to how it could be possible to travel to the past without altering the present. However, the government-funded TimeCo had the good sense to stay out of the discussions, and as all of the scientists involved were kept under strict non-disclosure agreements, no-one would confirm or deny any of the concepts or theories discussed.

Sam had taken an interest in time travel when it was launched, and spent an embarrassing amount of time trawling through websites which all claimed to know the secret. However, these were normally full of adverts, conspiracy theories and, in extreme cases, pornography.[5] As no official comments were made and no conclusive articles ever written, it seemed that time travel would be a secret that would die with the Government, TimeCo, and the inventors of time travel. This lack of public information left a gap in Sam’s knowledge, which annoyed him more than he thought possible. Sam collected knowledge in the same way that some people collect stamps, or records, or ex-girlfriends, and the fact that this gap existed enraged this normally placid man.[6]

Apart from this giant ‘Theory of Time Travel’ sized gap, Sam was a very knowledgeable person, with a pointless fact for every occasion, and it was often suggested by people who knew him, although never to his face, that this was because of his cat-like nature. Just to clarify, I am not suggesting that Sam is a cat, far from it, as a cat would probably not make a brilliant Security Guard in the head office of a well-respected law firm. On the other hand, Sam also did not make a brilliant Security Guard in the head office of a well-respected law firm; relying instead on the tried and tested method of being an average worker who was willing to do the hours that no-one else is willing to. Also, cats have great night vision, and Sam does work on the night shift, so that would be handy. Plus they’re agile, which Sam is not.

Anyway, Sam had a great deal of knowledge because he was full of insatiable curiosity.[7] This curiosity manifested itself in many areas of expertise, and therefore Sam was a fountain of knowledge, which endeared him to some, alienated him from others, and ensured he was always picked first in pub quizzes.

The downside to his overtly curious nature, however, was that once he had discovered something, he had to see it for himself. And this is why, ever since he had heard the rumour about the time machine hidden away upstairs, he had been determined to examine it more closely. The problem here was that he was not the sort of person to break the law, which was a significant problem. So Sam would spend whole shifts intently studying the monitor which relayed the CCTV from outside that particular office as, if anything even remotely strange were to happen around there, it would give him an excuse to go up and check it out.

On the evening in question, as his shift rolled on, his enthusiasm waned, as it usually did. Whilst he was very interested in seeing the time machine, it was apparent to him that this miracle would not occur tonight. He had therefore resorted to his usual techniques of wasting time by sitting back in a chair and reading his book, whilst listening to Led Zeppelin IV, and vaguely glancing at the monitors every so often.

It’s a shame that he relaxed like this, because if he had been paying attention, he would have noticed the drunken, suited form of Victor Lapel, the head of Lapel, Parish and Welch – Solicitors at Large[8], who unlocked his office door and slid inside. Sam might have even noticed the door being left ajar, and heard the yell of surprise from inside. He might even have noticed Victor leaving a few minutes later with two other men, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. But by that time, Sam was focussed on trying to throw screwed up bits of paper into the bin on the other side of the room, and therefore all of these occurrences went unnoticed.

At 4.12 a.m., Sam’s silence was shattered by the arrival of seven armed officers and an easily irritated captain, whose face lit up as if Christmas had arrived early when he realised that there was a lowly security guard onto whom the blame could easily be shifted. He approached Sam aggressively, moving urgently through the officers, until his face was inches from Sam’s.

Captain Nugent, Metropolitan Police, he barked, I was wondering if you could indulge my query and kindly inform me what the hell has been going on here!

Sam backed off a little, puzzled, but maintained his polite façade. What do you mean?

Listen little man, I don’t have time for any of your games. We need to know who’s been in and out of the building, and we need to know now! Now did you see anyone or were you too busy attempting to beat your own personal rubbish bin basketball record? he asked with a sneer, casting his eye over the balls of paper strewn around the bin.

Offended by the insinuation that he hadn’t been paying attention, and equally panicked that he had indeed missed something he should have noticed, Sam straightened up and attempted to face down the pushy Captain Nugent. This plan may have worked better had Sam not been five foot four and, to put it politely, lacking in muscle, whereas Nugent was six foot three and worked out in the police gym every evening. All Sam could do, therefore, was stare straight ahead at the tip of Nugent’s chin. As this was the only course of action remaining to him, he did so. And boy did he do it well.

If a chin had been able to feel fear, then Nugent’s chin would have done, as Sam was staring so intently at it that any lesser chin would have given up, packed its bags and headed for Hawaii in order to catch some surf. Unfortunately, this had little effect on the mood of Captain Nugent, who coughed pointedly. Sam finally looked up at the captain’s face and attempted to speak authoritatively. Sadly, his voice didn’t comply with this attempt and the end result saw Sam replying slightly squeakily.

As far as I know, no-one has been here.

Nugent swept him aside and instructed one of his officers to access the recordings of the evening. Pretty soon they had found the video showing Victor entering his office, and then leaving with the two strangers.

Pause it there, Nugent barked, turning back to Sam, We know your boss, but who are these other two?

Sam stared closer at the screen. The two men seemed almost identical in nearly every way, even down to the suits. They must be brothers, he opined, They look very similar, although the one on the left looks a few years younger than his counterpart.

Nugent smiled and produced an old photograph from his inside pocket, showing it to Sam. Does this look like either of them?

Sam studied it carefully, Yeah, it looks like the elder of the two.

And this? said Nugent, passing another photo to him.

Well this looks like the younger one, but this can’t be right. This photo looks as if it was taken in the 60’s.

1964 to be precise. And the other was in 1971. smiled Nugent. Now turn over and read the names on the back of the photographs.

Sam did so and was astonished to see the same name on the back of each. A name he was exceedingly familiar with.

Victor Lapel.

Nugent reached into his inside pocket and brandished a complicated legal paper in Sam’s general direction. This is a warrant to search the office of Mr Victor Lapel. Could you show us up?

Sam nodded and walked out of the room, followed by Nugent and all of the armed officers. He climbed the stairs, moving ever closer to the office he had never entered. Finally, they reached the locked door, which proudly displayed ‘Mr V. Lapel’ on it. Sam fumbled with his keys, unable to believe his luck. He was going to see inside. See the time machine. As he turned the key in the lock, the door smoothly sprang open, and his eye was drawn to the inviting blackness behind.

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[2] See the miracle of Your Lord’s birth!

[3] Experience the terror and adventure.

[4] Special student deals available!

[5] This was, therefore, no different to the rest of the internet.

[6] Well, when I say it enraged him, he was as enraged as Sam ever got, which meant that he was outwardly calm, but inwardly he was a bit miffed.

[7] See, Cats are curious, that’s what kills them. Therefore my analogy was at least partly correct. Or at least, not totally incorrect. What? You have a problem with this? Oh shut up. I don’t care if you disagree, this is my book, not yours. You don’t like it, go write your own. Or better still, go and try and write your own, give up, and return to this one a wiser and better individual. Back yet? Good. Now keep reading and we won’t mention this again.

[8] I don’t mean that they were particularly large in stature, just that they were

important. Except for Wendell Parish. He was large both in size AND importance, but this didn’t apply to all three of the solicitors. In fact, Aaron Welch was a surprisingly skinny man, and Victor Lapel was of an average build. But all three of them were important.

Two - Alone…

Date - Unknown

Time - Unknown

As the sun rose over the vast red plain, the bearded figure stood and looked at his work. There, scratched in the sandy floor of the desert, were a jumble of figures, numbers and symbols. He leant over and gently dug his finger into the red dust completing the curve of a number six. Suddenly he heard a sound, and whirled around.

There was nothing there. Carefully, he turned the full one-eighty degrees, to check the other direction. There was nothing there either.

He looked around one last time. He was still all alone, in a red desert that stretched to the horizon, a dull red sun permanently hanging in the sky, and nothing else for as far as the eye could see.

Sighing, he knelt back down, his ragged and dishevelled clothing flapping in the breeze as he continued to scrape his finger through the dull red sand. The grumbling that emanated from his stomach had been a constant annoyance for as long as he had been stuck in this desert, but so far, it had been liveable with.

Time passed. It was impossible to say how long, as his watch had succumbed to the invasion of sand particles, and now hung loosely on his wrist, useless in everything but ornamentation. This was a shame, as it had never been an aesthetically pleasing watch, and the severe exposure to sand and high winds had not done it any favours in this regard.

His finger, still dragging through the sand, was shaking now, causing the symbols to be almost unintelligible. He sighed and stopped, standing up and wavering in the breeze. In the corner of his eye he saw a flash of iridescent light. As he turned to look around, his body finally embraced the malnutrition and dehydration it had been battling against, and he tumbled forwards into oblivion.

After a while, his eye flickered open again. He could feel his surroundings cooling. Ignoring the pounding in his head, he opened both eyes, and saw the red sun setting for the first time in what felt like weeks. A moment of bliss followed, as the temperature briefly stabilised at a comfortable level, replacing the blistering heat. This moment was short-lived though, as he realised that the temperature was continuing to fall, and that it would progress through the various stages of cold, starting at uncomfortably cold, pausing for a while at bloody cold, and then inevitably plummet into lethally cold. Dragging himself to his feet, he looked at his work, and was alarmed to see that he had fallen across part of the equation, smudging it. He began working again, every so often looking up at the setting sun, mumbling to himself

This had better work; I don’t have much time left…

Three - The trouble with Jack

Date – Thursday 5th November 2009

Time – 2:32 P.M.

As the train traipsed slowly across the country, the conductor sighed and reluctantly went about his business, viewing and scribbling on tickets. He looked up and down the carriage and, as he wandered past, he considered to himself that every day there were the same types of people travelling on the train.

The businessman, looking uncomfortable in his suit, tapping away on his posh new MacBook, the two old women[9], still taking the time to marvel at the view on a route they’ve travelled countless times before, the students, trying to con him by mysteriously vanishing into the toilets when he arrived to check the tickets, the holidaying families complete with annoying whiny children and the new lovers who noticed nothing but each other.

Suddenly, a flash of colour brought him out of the daydream. He looked ahead, and saw it again, a flash of red and green near the front of the carriage. He edged towards it, assuming it to be a child separated from its parents, either by accident or on purpose. However, upon reaching the seat where this colourful figure had paused, he was forced to re-evaluate his assumption. This was no child. He appeared to be a man of medium build, but with the innocent yet mischievous face that you usually only see on a particular type of eleven year old boy. The stranger looked up at him and grinned.

The conductor regained his composure and launched into his everyday routine.

Ticket please.

This was greeted by a look of utter confusion from the colourful man, who opened his mouth and spoke in a soft, gentle tone.

What?

Ticket please, the conductor re-iterated.

What for?

The conductor sighed. ‘Oh dear,‘ he thought, ‘We’ve got a live one here.’ He spent a moment mentally checking that his fake smile was still attached to the front of his face, and then continued.

You must have a ticket to ride the train, he re-iterated, hoping against all hope that this information would sink in.

I see, said the colourful man.

The conductor relaxed and held out his hand expectantly. There was a long pause.[10] Suddenly the man reached out and shook his hand vigorously.

I’m Jack! he exclaimed, Pleased to meet you!

May I see your ticket please, Sir?

The conductor was speaking as politely as it is possible to when you are communicating through the solid barrier of gritted teeth, but it was no use. The information that he had politely imparted earlier in the conversation appeared to have left Jack’s mind as quickly as it had entered it, and instead, Jack was jumping around, from seat to seat, circling the conductor and looking at curiously at him.

I told you my name, now you’ve got to tell me yours! said Jack, in a childlike, singsong voice.

May I see your ticket sir! exclaimed the conductor, losing patience with this annoying man.

That’s a long name, said Jack, I’ll just call you Ticket. With that, he sat back and smiled, the conversation, as far as he was concerned, at an end.

The conductor was not having any of this, and grabbed Jack roughly by his collar, lifting him up until they were face to face. He began to speak again, very slowly.

If you do not have a piece of paper like this, he held up a train ticket and continued, Then you must buy one from me now.

O.K., said Jack, I’ll buy one.

The conductor let out an audible sigh of relief and asked Jack where he was heading.

Anywhere, said Jack.

Deciding not