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  Felix’s parents entered a hallway. They walked arm-in-arm and chatted together. Felix followed, his eyes studying the scene. The spoke they were in had see-through panels and offered a stunning view outside. Drones were everywhere, assisting people with their baggage: two were handling his mother’s trunk. Travel Bots were scanning passengers’ eyes and directing them to their proper port. The place was beautiful and stunningly efficient, but, as was the case with modern spaces, had very little soul.

  No. That wasn’t quite true. The passageway had ended and they were entering the Welcome Hall. In addition to its vaulted ceiling, Titex dome, and high-tech comforts, the hall offered something else. At its centre, on a piece of rock, was a statue of Poseidon, god of the seas. The figure was three metres high, bearded, naked, and wielding a trident. It was twenty-three centuries old at least, yet its marble hadn’t lost its shine and was carved with such breathtaking skill that the god seemed on the verge of moving. As his dad had predicted when he’d proposed this statue to the Space Hub’s builders, it lent the hall both dignity and warmth. It was appropriate, too, that this god of the seas should be the custodian of outer space.

  As Felix stood admiring this work, he saw that his dad was consulting a drone to check if the transport was leaving on time. Seeing he was busy, Mrs. Taylor left his side and walked over to Felix. As she drew in close, her face betrayed a look of worry.

  “I have to make this quick,” she whispered, pointing to her husband who’d finished with the drone. “I’d rather not be leaving home, but I don’t have any choice in the matter. While I’m gone, I want you to watch your father. I hate to say this, but his mood is black and he could do something desperate.”

  That said, she gave Felix a kiss, smiled widely and rejoined her husband, clasping his hand in hers as if everything were normal.

  They were returning from the Space Hub. They’d said goodbye to Mrs. Taylor, who’d cried while kissing them both farewell. Felix had managed to hide his tears, but just. His mom had headed to the heavy transport where (he assumed) she’d engaged her ERR and put an end to her sadness.

  Felix and his dad were riding in silence. They were thinking how empty their house would be, even as they took in the beautiful view. The shuttle was flying toward the Earth, whose surface was spread out wide before them. Its colours were magnificent, a blend of greens, browns, and blues. The lights, too, were breathtaking, the way they were sprinkled across each continent, like icing on a wedding cake. Eyeing the planet, Felix thought it looked old. Through the course of its history it had witnessed so much, the birth of the seas, continental drift, the start of life, the dinosaurs’ extinction. Nothing could unfold that would take it by surprise, not even the moment of its own demise. “You miss your mom already?” it asked. “Don’t worry. The feeling will pass. Like everything else.”

  Felix was going to wink in reply when, abruptly, the lights went dark. As if a veil had been drawn across the face of North America, every sign of modern times went black, only to return a few seconds later.

  Felix looked at his dad and shivered slightly. In contrast to his earlier gloom, his dad was grinning, like someone who’s glimpsed a rare and beautiful sunset.

  Chapter Five

  He was seated in an alcove in Pompey’s Theatre. Senators surrounded him and were taking up his elbow room. He barely had any space to breathe. One grabbed his toga. When he told him to let go, the figure drew a knife. As if that were a signal, the other senators brandished knives, as well. Their eyes were cold and spitting death. Had all of them undergone ERR? But how could that be? There was no ERR in ancient Rome and…? The senators stared and shook the alcove with their laughter.

  Felix started and opened his eyes. He’d been dreaming. The strange part was his room was shaking and a roar-like laughter filled his ears. No, it wasn’t a roar so much as an insistent buzzing, as if bees had constructed a hive in their unit. He sat up straight and glanced around. The dark enfolded him because his night light was off. How…?

  “Mentor! What’s happening?” he cried, struggling with his pants and shirt.

  No answer. Felix shivered slightly. It didn’t worry him that the lights were off — the power had probably failed again — but the auxiliary cells should have kicked in. The only way these could fail was if Mentor was disabled and why would anyone…?

  Felix blanched. This had happened before. Last year, when the plague was raging, a Medevac had broken into the house, “murdered” Mentor and snatched Felix away. There’d been a reason then; there was a reason now.

  “What’s going on? You have no right…!”

  That was his father speaking! His voice was raised and he sounded angry. Running from his bedroom, Felix rushed down a hallway.

  “Citizen 967597102-364,” a metallic voice rang out. “We are arresting you, under Section 17A of the Global Criminal Code!”

  “Dad!” Felix called. He’d reached the living room. Hovering outside the picture window and blocking the view of the skyline, three cruisers had their flashers on. An ultrasound wand had cut the glass on the windows and two Enforcement Drones had entered the unit. They were four feet high, cylindrically shaped, and bristling all over with switches and sensors. They were floating waist-high and flashing beams of light. They also had their stun-rods out; these could deliver a powerful shock.

  Mr. Taylor was in a sleep suit. His feet were bare, his hair was a mess, and his hands were shielding his eyes from the lights. He glanced Felix’s way.

  “Go to your room, fili mi. There’s been a mistake. Did you hear me?” he told the drones. “There’s been a mistake!”

  “Citizen 967597102-364,” the voice repeated dully, “we are arresting you, under Section 17A of the Global Criminal Code. You are not entitled to legal counsel and will be kept in captivity until further notice….”

  “This is nonsense!” Mr. Taylor cried. More EDs streamed into the room along with a floating one-man stretcher, its clear lid open and arms upraised. “Stay away!” he threatened, backing into a book case.

  “You heard him!” Felix yelled. Groping in the dark, he found a stone that his mother had brought from Ganymede. It was rough and weighed a kilo at least. As an ED made its stun-rod ready, he hurled the stone and heard it strike the drone’s surface.

  The machine issued a high-pitched shriek. The other drones swarmed Mr. Taylor and there was a zssst sound as a stun-rod made contact. His dad’s eyes widened and his body slumped forward as the arms from the stretcher reeled him into its hollows. Felix wanted to help, but he himself was under attack. The drones were turning their sights on him.

  “Citizen 967597102-366,” one spoke. “We are arresting you, under Section 12G of the Secrecy Act. You are not entitled —”

  It couldn’t finish. The family Entertainment Complex lay to Felix’s right. He kicked it over and detached its metal tripod — it was two feet long and very solid. Swinging it hard, he hit the drone above its “neck” and crushed its CPU. There was a squawk as the drone shook out of control and knocked into the other EDs, blocking their efforts to apprehend Felix. Making use of this chaos, he ran to his room and sealed its heavy door behind him. Locating the lock’s circuit, he slammed it with the tripod and saw a blue flame emerge. He smiled in satisfaction. The lock was “non-negotiable” for the next few minutes.

  He wondered what his next step was. He wanted to rescue his father, right? That meant handling the drones, hijacking a cruiser, and piloting the craft to a safe location. The task was hard, impossible, even. “So what are you waiting for?” he asked aloud.

  He drew near the window. Swinging the tripod, he slammed it into the pane several times in rapid succession. The Duroplex couldn’t take these blows. It cracked then smashed into a million fragments. Impressed with this destruction, Felix laughed aloud.

  Tucking the tripod into his pants, he stepped onto the window frame and ignored the drop below. He leapt onto a nearby wall. It marked the east side of the terrace, which, with its trees, shrubb
ery, and bust of old poets, was in some ways the heart of the Taylor household. Felix had spent long hours here, reading and discussing texts with his father. And Carolyn had learned Latin here.

  But never mind that. Felix proceeded along the wall until he was immediately below a security cruiser. His timing was perfect. The stretcher bearing his dad was being loaded on board, escorted by a dozen EDs. Gripping the craft’s landing gear, Felix swung himself upward and slammed into the foremost drone. Caught off guard, it flew off at an angle and struck a window on the floor above. Before the other EDs could react, Felix shoved the stretcher onto the craft.

  A drone on board took its stun-rod out. Felix ducked and swung the tripod hard. Again he struck its CPU and utterly crushed it. The drone sputtered briefly and went offline.

  A drone outside tried to enter the cruiser, but Felix engaged a switch by the exit. With a whine of power, the door slid closed. He dodged around the stretcher, ignoring his dad’s pallor, and twisted his way to the ship’s controls, his tripod raised in case the “pilot” attacked. Before he reached the cab, there was a rush of movement.

  Six BISDMs lunged out — Brain Interference Signal Delivery Mechanisms. They were fist-sized spheres equipped with neuron disruptors. Felix dodged two spinning orbs and swung out at a third.

  It was hopeless. Avoiding the tripod easily, the orbs closed in. A blue wave erupted from their surface “bristles.” It swept over Felix, freezing his muscles and disabling his senses. There was a whoosh in his ears, the lights grew blurry, and he slumped against the stretcher with his dad. A horrible taste filled his mouth, metallic and salty. Was that blood? Who would have known?

  Keep going! a voice in his skull kept shrieking. Stand up! Don’t surrender! But a veil took shape, impossibly black, and settled about him like a favourite blanket.

  Within seconds he was lost within its endless folds.

  “You can open your eyes,” a voice addressed him. It was familiar-sounding, but impatient now. “All your readings are normal, Felix. Stop wasting time and look at me.”

  Felix forced his eyes open and shook his head. A flat, grey ceiling was poised above him, its dullness barely brightened by a rust-coloured light.

  “That’s better. Now sit up.”

  With a colossal effort, he sat himself straight. He was in some sort of cell. If he jumped, his head would strike the ceiling, while the walls were close and tomb-like. He was lying on a bench that was fixed to one wall; in front of him was a picture window.

  General Manes was staring in; he was Carolyn’s father. More to the point, he ran the TPM and had worked with Felix the previous year. While he found Felix odd, he’d always been friendly. Just then, however, there was nothing friendly about him.

  “Where’s my father?” Felix groaned. “Why did you arrest him?”

  “I’ll ask the questions,” the general growled. His green eyes studied Felix coldly. It was clear from his hard-set features that, like Carolyn, his ERR had been upgraded. Formerly quite personable, he now had all the warmth of a service drone.

  “There’s been a mistake —” Felix started to say.

  “At 3:04 a.m.,” the general barked, “someone broke into the Station and made a time projection.”

  “Hang on,” Felix said, holding up a hand. His head was ringing still. “Are you saying someone’s gone back in time?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Don’t tell me this is news to you.”

  “This is crazy …” Felix began. Despite his grogginess, he was growing impatient.

  Cutting him short, the general listed the facts. An unauthorized “guest” had entered the Station and aimed a gun at Dr. Lee, the TPM’s chief scientist. Against his will, Dr. Lee had charged a range of ancient landmarks, creating time portals in all of them. With this done, he’d been forced to enter four dates into the TPM’s console. The “guest” had then led a third party forward, a masked figure roughly the size of a child. Again, at the threat of being shot, Dr. Lee had planted a tracer in this “child”: it was programmed with the same four dates as the ones in the console. The “child” had stepped into the TPM and been swept to the first date entered, dissolving like an object that had been struck by a laser. The “guest” had knocked Dr. Lee unconscious, abandoned the Station, and flown back to Earth.

  “All of this,” the general added, “was beautifully planned. Those blackouts we’ve experienced these last two weeks? This ‘guest’ was responsible. He’s been siphoning off power to make this time jump possible.”

  “Even so,” Felix said, “I still don’t see how my dad’s involved. Nothing you’ve said incriminates him … or me.”

  “A CosmoComm craft went missing last night,” the general went on, with a smile so sharp he might have used it to shave. “It was the one your family took to the Space Hub. Its log says it left your home at 1:13 a.m. and flew directly to the TPM. Some three hours later, it returned to your place….”

  “What?” Felix cried.

  “Zacron fibres were left in the Station — these come from the suit that the intruder was wearing. I made a few inquiries. Do you know how many people dress in Zacron? Remarkably few. I discovered your father’s name was among them.”

  Felix’s mouth was open, but he didn’t dare speak. How often had his mother begged her husband to change his taste in fashion?

  “And this happened to slip from one of his pockets.” The general held up an object. “There aren’t a lot of people who write with pencils these days. Again, I discovered your father does. Putting all these facts together, the shuttle, the suit, and the tell-tale pencil, I assembled holograms of possible suspects. Among them was your dad’s. When Dr. Lee spied his portrait, he identified your dad as his attacker.”

  “That’s impossible!”

  “Are you calling Dr. Lee a liar?”

  “No, I mean …” Felix was thunderstruck. This didn’t make sense. His dad collected books. He wasn’t able to cause blackouts or hijack shuttles. As for the TPM, he didn’t even know the facility existed!

  “I know what you’re thinking,” the general crooned. “Your dad loves books and is hopeless with technology. So it might interest you to know that he’s a first-rate engineer. With his training, such stunts would be a piece of cake.”

  “This is insane!”

  “I can show you his diploma,” the general snapped. “But never mind that. What bothers me is how he knew about our project. But I think I’ve got that figured out. You’re familiar with the TPM. You either told your dad about it —.”

  “I did no such thing!” Felix interrupted.

  “— or you divulged it indirectly, through a careless remark. One way or another, you gave him ideas,” the general went on calmly. “And once the seed caught fire, he organized this venture.”

  Why, Felix wondered, why would his dad…?

  Again the general was ahead of him. “You’re wondering what he’s up to, right? The answer’s pretty simple. He’s a scholar, addicted to ancient stuff. So he’s probably chasing some hidden text, monument, or artifact. That ‘child’ he dispatched? If this ‘kid’ buried some precious relic in a cave or pit or somewhere safe, your dad could dig it up right now and study it first-hand. He’s conducting research, in other words, and at other times I wouldn’t give a damn, only he’s broken the law, threatened violence, breached our security, and consumed mass quantities of power …”

  The general’s rant continued, but Felix wasn’t listening. His mind was awhirl. His father was an engineer. Who could have known? And the shuttle, the pencil stub, the Zacron suit, as well as Dr. Lee’s ID: all of these pointed to his father’s guilt. Except that Felix had never mentioned the Station, nor had he referred to it even in passing. So how…?

  Wait. There was the ring that Spartacus had given him. While Felix seldom wore it, his dad had spied it some months back and asked where it had come from. Felix had said it was from Italy, but his dad might have guessed there was more to the tale. There was also the du
st that Mentor had scanned. Felix had brought it back from the past and Mentor had dated it to Roman times. Had his dad picked up on this information?

  Felix squinted hard. There was something else. Last year he’d been “bumped” to 2001. His only way back to 2213 had been the portal in a temple that his dad would excavate in 2203. Unfortunately, Felix had left a laptop behind. If his dad had found it in the course of his dig, he’d have wondered what a laptop was doing on a site that had been buried for over two thousand years. Along with the dust and Spartacus’s ring, it might have led him to infer the TPM’s existence. Finally, Felix had often met Carolyn at the Station. If his dad had slipped a tracker in his clothes, he could have learned of the TPM’s location.

  So maybe his dad had put two and two together. And maybe he’d siphoned power through those mini blackouts, piloted the shuttle to the TPM, and dispatched that “child” back in time. The question remained … why? Why on earth had he gone to such lengths? Was this really part of some “research project,” as the general maintained? But what was he researching? And why keep Felix in the dark? Why use this so-called child instead of his son, who knew Latin and could navigate the past more effectively? Come to think of it, why hadn’t his father worn a mask? Why had he revealed his face to the doctor and multiplied the odds of getting caught?

  Unless …

  Felix remembered his mom’s parting words, how she felt her husband could do something desperate. His face turned pale.

  “What’s the matter?” the general sneered. “Is your conscience troubling you? Is there something you’d like to tell me now that the horse has left the stable?”

  Felix didn’t hear him. He was thinking how bitter his father was, that the world had turned its back on the past, and the Repository was in danger of being closed. Was he angry enough to want to teach it a lesson?