

Tempus Genesis

Michael McCourt

Tempus Genesis

By Michael McCourt

Copyright 2012 Michael McCourt

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1.

Humiliation is like a car crash, it tends to take place in slow motion. Oliver's was almost complete. He stood before a lecture hall of some of the countries premier neuroscience students, who looked on sneering and sniggering at him. His memory would distort the low level disdain being offered by his peers into full blown howling ridicule. All encouraged by the Professor Emeritus Sir Leonard Blooms.

Oliver had not planned to show his hand during the end of term Professorial lecture at UCL. He had arrived late having overslept, drawing his first unwanted stare from Blooms. Oliver's navigation through his PhD had already been troubled, treacherous at times, and he knew he needed to be off radar for a while. However, he had slept late as he had spent the night until eight am unlocking what he believed to be a discovery greater than Ferrier in 1873, Dale and Loewi in 1936, Katz and Fatt in 1950. In fact he knew none of the enigmatic UCL hall of fame could come close to the magnitude of what he believed he had unearthed. Three things were to conspire against Oliver, the amphetamine he had taken at 3.53am, the bottle of champagne at 6.11am to both celebrate what he thought he had found and to help him get some sleep. Lastly the ever present sense he had of a life extraordinary that would be his in time to come. Oliver slid into the theatre seats shuffling across and past others, to sit close to his frowning friends.

"Where the hell have you been?" Mary whispered across to him.

"Studying late," Oliver replied rubbing his tired face.

"You look like shit," Mary said and sat back to continue listening to Blooms.

"Thanks," Oliver muttered.

He tried to focus on the lecture. He was tired and wired at the same time, he had been asleep for a little more than one hour. He sat there and for a moment was troubled by the restless sleep he had. During that semi-conscious state, neither asleep nor awake, images and thoughts had swirled around his mind. In those moments of phantasmata he had sensed both euphoric optimism and perilous danger in equal amounts. He had experienced a weakening connection with his own mind in that half-sleep hour and this disturbed him.

Blooms lectures were notoriously dry affairs. Age had not mellowed him, if anything his bitterness had crystallised and this was played out in his words and manner. Blooms stood with his nose proudly in the air, by the lectern on a stage in the three hundred seat lecture theatre. With rising tiers and rich wood finishes it was both austere and scholarly.

"Let me remind you once more as I do all students, every year at this time of year, what it is that makes University College London a world leader in Neurosciences. It is because those who have tread the halls of this great institution never forget or lose sight of our mission in life," Blooms drew a slow pompous breath then exhaled, "We seek to make fundamental discoveries about brain function and behaviour, to teach and train the next generation of scientists and clinicians, and to transform our ability to diagnose and treat neurological and psychiatric disease."

Blooms paused and looked around the room, holding his gaze with members of his audience long enough to unsettle even the most confident student in the room.

"And so here you all are," Blooms continued, "Clinicians and scientists, future surgeons, consultant psychiatrists, professors, well possibly professors, scientists from bio-molecular studies, statistical computation, from Oxbridge to Harvard the future of neuroscience is in your hands. Not mine yours. So ask yourself this question, in thirty years time what will my contribution have been? What will I have added to the body of knowledge or added to the good of mankind? That is why you are here, why you have been selected and don't ever ever lose sight of the expectation upon you as graduates and alumni of UCL. Remember fundamental discoveries or to transform our ability to help others, that is why you are a part of this programme and hopefully a part of UCLs future."

Blooms paused once more and smiled a sneering lofty smile, "and if you are not up to the challenge, you know where the door is."

Whether the students were anyway inspired by Blooms words was hard to tell, but not one was without a clear message. Deliver or you're out.

Minnie, Oliver's oversized and unusually tall close friend, whispered in his ear "I suspect our Professor has never had a blow job."

Oliver smiled and whispered back, "He is definitely missing something from his life, I thought companionship Minnie but it could be the blow job."

Minnie leant back in his seat and tapped his nose knowingly.

"Right, current research," Blooms yelped with a slight bark, inducing a jittery jump in each student. He stuck with the term student to maximise his position over the attendees in the hall, despite some of them holding higher clinical qualifications than even him. He read through thick lens glasses citing the papers in front of him on the lectern.

"Neurobiological mechanisms of the placebo effect, Presynaptic and Postsynaptic Interaction of the Amyloid Precursor Protein Promotes Peripheral and Central Synaptogenesis, Antidepressant Actions of Histone Deacetylase Inhibitors," Blooms continued through a dozen or so topics and accompanying synopsis. His enthusiasm matched by few in the hall. Even Blooms in his cold world with little feeling sensed a restless crowd, though only after several minutes.

"Right, enough of others good work, you are now facing year two of your four year doctorate and I'm expecting great advances through this groups work over the next few years. You have been working with your supervisors, well most of you have," Blooms glanced towards Oliver over his glasses, "and by now should have some hypothesis forming, so for a change this year, let me hear some of your bright ideas."

Blooms stepped forward and gestured to his audience with beckoning arms, to share their fledgling ideas. It would be hard to know if he did this to make up for losing their interest or to punish them for ceasing to listen to him.

"Jones, come on, I know you are close to an area of study, what say you kick us off."

A cheap shot was the general view in the room, for Blooms to pick probably the most vulnerable yet equally bright student. Inevitably Jones stammered out some incomprehensible answer.

"Great, another," invited Blooms, smiling expectantly. Eventually a small number chipped in brief comments and a short run of sharing was underway between the thirty or so in the room. This closing section of the final lecture of the term would have limped to it's conclusion without bloodshed, until Blooms saw Oliver's arm raised enthusiastically.

"Ah, Harris, so pleased you have joined us," Blooms had not seen Minnie pull Oliver's arm back down several times already.

"Professor Blooms, I'm still working on this but have a general area, examining memory, sir," Oliver smiled.

"Good, tell you what Harris, why not come down here and share what you have so far?"

If the next six minutes were indeed a car crash then the car had flipped and rolled several times, leaving Oliver with only a disorientated memory of the incident. One minute in and Oliver felt he was talking through a giant marshmallow, in Chinese, such was the look on Blooms face and many of the faces in the hall.

Oliver scribbled with chalk on the blackboard that Blooms preferred to retain over modern fangled devices.

"Imagine memory bundled up like a ball of elastic," Oliver slurred and then sped up erratically in his speech.

Oliver drew a long curved line by a tight chalk scribble, "What if you could unravel that memory and stretch it, out of the hippo campus area and back, far back."

Oliver made no sense at all for a further minute. Minute three and Oliver was trying to recover his explanation on a theory that he acknowledged was 'out there' and re-explain with more detailed thoughts.

Minutes four and five were Blooms turn to deliver a red faced tirade at Oliver, something about the good name of UCL, respect for others in the room and the absolute discrediting of the work of Professor Robert John Dyer. Oliver had not recalled referencing Dyer.

"I accept the professors theories were eccentric but I think I may have found some causal evidence that could substantiate them," Oliver had in fact said 'casual evidence' and 'substishiate'.

Towards the end of minute five witnessed the arrival of sniggers and laughter. Then a final comment and a most pointed comment on the only acceptable substance to help prepare for lectures was coffee and Oliver entered minute six. This was the longest minute as Blooms dismissed the hall and Oliver had to endure thirty eminent students file past him as they left. Blooms had kindly invited Mr Harris to stay behind.

Oliver waved as his friends, Minnie, Jamie and Mary filed past, Mary reached out and stroked his clammy hand.

Finally, one of the last students to leave smiled at Oliver and commented, "Ziggy says there is an eighty percent chance you are fucked Harris."

Oliver wavered where he stood, thinking that remark was actually very witty, seconds before he passed out.

2.

Mottram Hall, Prestbury, Cheshire; 1862. Lord Elliot Mottram sat stiffly in the saddle, atop his best steed. A noble grey with an immaculate black hand stitched leather saddle and brass furniture, all the hallmarks of the best kept horse in the stable. A low dense mist hugged the woodland floor, drifting across the hooves of the magnificent beast as it shifted from foot to foot, restless of its master's pause. The Lord had taken his charge for its usual ride that morning, returning through the woodland route to the rear of the large imposing hall. It was still first light and the dew rested heavy on the woodland grass. He sat erect in the saddle, appearing emotionless whilst watching his men work. They had paid him a respectful but brief glance of acknowledgement then continued digging, uncomfortable under his lordships gaze.

Six days out of seven, most weeks of the year Lord Mottram would rise at five and be on his horse by five thirty, with Black his loyal gun dog by his side. The three would cover seven miles, returning for breakfast at eight. This was a remarkable hound, never missing a step in seven years, never tiring nor waning in its pace. Black would be by the Lord twenty hours out of twenty four. Once more Black was by his side this morning, but this time his beautiful companion lay motionless beneath a soft hessian sack. The work men continued to dig the grave that would lie to rest the closest friend Lord Mottram had ever known. Looking away from the grave being prepared, he stared toward the hall as he managed his emotions and retained his authority and composure in front of his staff. Only one light glowed from the many windows at the rear of the hall. The kitchen, where Molly Sanders his favourite and most senior cook of twenty years, was preparing the mornings breakfast. For seven years he had enjoyed a perfect breakfast with his dog at his feet and his two favoured men by his side. For all Lord Mottram's formality he would sit with his staff, break bread with them over breakfast in a manner very different to others of similar breeding. None of the three men were looking forward to this meal today but Molly had decided, against Lord Mottram's instruction, to rise at five and prepare the finest dawn meal for the Lord's return.

Lord Mottram looked at the house with its sole kitchen light glowing warmly and allowed himself to smile softly at Molly's disobedience. He returned his gaze to the men, with the grave prepared they each took an end of the hessian sack and lifted the departed Black together. Still surprised that Black was gone and confused as to why a healthy dog would collapse in the kitchen where Molly cooked yesterday, Lord Mottram breathed deeply as he watched his men lift the large filled sack towards the grave.

"Steady with her lads," he said, "She deserves the finest of goodbyes."

Nervously the men eased her across from the mist covered grass, lifted the dog up and then lowered her into her final resting place.

"Goodbye Black," whispered Lord Mottram.

In the kitchen, in her simplest of ways, Molly endeavoured to prepare the best breakfast ever. Molly was a large woman, the product of her quality cooking which was irresistible even to her. She wore a large white frilly cook's hat and an unfeasibly large apron was tied around her ample waistline. In her heart Molly knew little would be consumed at this breakfast, at least while the Lord was present. Molly suspected Jack and Charlie would eat little and shift food around their plate while Mottram was there, eating more than ever before once he had gone upstairs. On the stove she cooked gammon steaks, mushrooms had been added and she had six eggs ready to grill. On her large kitchen table she had twelve balls of soft elastic dough waiting to be baked. Molly sprinkled them with flour and seasoning, then slid a large oven tray under the dough balls and lifted them to place in the already open oven.

Molly bent over, her giant rear pointing to the ceiling, and deftly deposited the dough balls into the oven. She straightened up and closed its heavy steel door. Molly rubbed her back, aching from the effort of bending, then reached for her meat slice and leaned over the oven to flip the gammon steaks. Placing the meat slice down Molly turned moving to wipe down the flour covered worktop. She barely managed two steps when Molly suddenly stopped, frozen in time, immovable. Her skin and hair traced with effervescent white and blue static. Around her the kitchen was alive with heat from the stove, the sizzling of hot pans and the lively aromas of fresh cooked breakfast. But Molly was still, motionless, the skin on her arm reacted to the electric energy that crawled and fizzed over her body. Firstly her arms, then her neck, her fat jowls and chin rippled as the unknown power entwined with her own life force. As Molly regained her own control she interpreted this experience as a dizzy spell, a consequence of too much drink the night before.

"Bloody hangover," she said, "I'll kill those lads for it, drinking games my bloody arse."

Molly had not the slightest awareness that she now was host to a visitor, one who was woven into her very being and a witness to her world view, a spectator taking a grand stand seat to watch Molly's life experience through her own pudgy eyes.

"Oh my god, this is incredible, I cannot believe I am actually seeing this," a female voice hollow and distant observed Molly as she continued her tasks. Molly paused slightly, looking up to her right, wondering if she had just heard a voice.

"Is this real, am I actually seeing this or remembering, what happens, which is it?" the female voice continued, a wild curiosity in her tone and pace of speech, "what? Look I know the drill and I am just looking forward not moving as you ordered, give me a break darling."

The visitor paused and then once more enthused at what she was witnessing, "It's a woman, a cook, a big woman judging by her fat hands and chubby arms."

Molly stopped and shook her head, she put down the fist of cutlery in her hand and the napkins she held in the other, "Oh dear, that doesn't feel right," Molly rubbed her gargantuan stomach and grimaced.

The visitor continued to observe the scene, unaware of Molly's pain and discomfort, "It's a kitchen, I'd say nineteenth century, it's amazing, a vast kitchen, huge pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, big thick bacon on the stove, still dark outside, it is so three d, am I really here? Are you serious? You have been naughty keeping this to yourself. What? I am not moving, hold on, she is sitting down."

Molly was perspiring and her eyes narrowed, confused and now anxious as she thought she could hear voices. Despite her discomfort she instinctively knew she should still be alone at this time.

"Hello," Molly called out with a whisper, "Is someone there?"

Molly leaned forward and listened, she strained in the silence only hearing the sounds of the kitchen and even they were muting in her ears. Molly strained to hear, her face grimacing with pain. Then the first wave of uncontrolled force within her struck her own physical system. Molly collapsed back on to her chair, her cheeks flushed red with pain, she groaned slightly and held her midriff tightly.

"Oh bugger, I don't feel right at all," Molly tried to stand only to stagger forward and then propelled by the surging force in her, she collapsed over the large kitchen table. Crockery and cutlery scattered either side of her falling bulk as she hit the table top with force. Molly screamed out as plates smashed to the floor and knives and forks clattered across the sandstone tiles.

"Oh god, she's ill, this cook woman, she's sick" the visitors voice was now hesitant, anxious, "Look I've told you I am keeping really still, only watching," the visitor paused as she listened, "I think she's collapsed, it's making me dizzy, what should I do now?"

Molly groaned and flipped her entire vast body onto her back with a violent twist, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, her groan deepened into a low guttural animalistic moan. She tried vainly to lift her head up in one last effort to seek help. Molly's effort was brief. She clutched at her midriff her fat middle splayed out onto the table. The pain was intensifying where she clawed at herself, her apron began to smoulder and blacken, then glow an orange red. Smoke rose from the increasing heat from within her gut and body, burning out and into her cooks' uniform, quickly transforming into small dancing flames licking the apron she wore around her middle. As the flames increased in size and intensity Molly's eyes began to flicker as she tried to resist the sickening death that was upon her.

"Help me," Molly whispered, "help." She did not finish another word as blood bubbled over her words and trickled out of her mouth. Molly's head fell back sharply making a heavy dull thud as it hit the wood table.

"I can't see anymore," the female visitor spoke with increasing panic, "Okay I'll come back, how do I do it again, I can't see, I'm not sure what to do now, oh god please don't let this go wrong. What? Okay, no I'm still here, god I feel hot and sick, pull me back please, please HELP ME."

The visitor's voice rose as it went from panic to a wail to a scream. Within Molly, almost dead Molly, her bloodied mouth opened and she gurgled a wail that formed into a scream. As the flames became white hot and sheared at her skin and bone, carving like a hot scalpel a red fissure across her midriff, Molly's scream grew louder.

The visitors scream amplified and entwined with the cook's becoming so loud and unearthly the table shook and the remaining crockery and cutlery vibrated across and off the table, smashing loudly on the floor.

The large grey horse reared up at the scream that pierced the woodlands, the shrill sound twisting its way from the house through the trees to where Black's grave was.

"What the hell is that?" questioned Lord Mottram as he pressed his charge back down to its four legs and steadied the horse.

"Come on, quickly men, that was Molly," he turned his horse towards the house and readied it for a gallop, "bring those spades with you."

Lord Mottram pushed forward his horse quickly into a trot and in seconds reached a gallop, weaving between trees and woodland shrub. His men quickly and dutifully followed with spades in hand, though falling distant from the speeding noble and his steed. They all made towards the only lit room in the house, the kitchen. As the men ran towards the house, slipping in the wet grass and damp earth of the woods, they watched as Lord Mottram and his horse broke free of the trees and charged straight towards the warm red light from the lower corner of the mansion.

The flames had stopped as quickly as they had started. Molly lay dead splayed across the kitchen table. A wet sound, a heavy fleshy sliding hiss came from Molly's cadaver. The intensity of the heat had cauterised her entire twenty two stone body across her middle and gravity was now easing the lower section from the upper. Her lower gut, pelvis and legs suddenly slipped quickly from the table, bounced off a kitchen chair and with a damp sloppy thud, hit the floor.

As Lord Mottram entered quickly into the kitchen and loudly, for he feared an intruder was at work, his raised arm with whip in hand came down as quickly as he stopped moving. He stared at Molly's lifeless white eyes and her half torso outstretched on the table. His eyes followed the wet brown sludge that trailed from her middle, off the table and down to the floor. His eyes widened and his sickened face paled as he saw her dismembered lower half ungainly positioned on the stone tiled floor. The grotesque scene too much for him he turned away, he looked towards the approaching men outside and raised his hand signalling them to advance no further.

As he caught some air at the door, his back turned from the horrific scene in the kitchen, he did not see the feint trace of static sparkle over Molly's dead eyes, which crackled quietly across her face and then evaporated into the ether.

3.

Oliver decided it was fear that he was experiencing. He had awoke from a disturbed nights sleep anxious and confused, uncertain as to quite why he felt that way. The day ahead of Oliver was potentially the start of the most exciting chapter in his life so far, turning the corner on years of unfulfilled potential. Today could open a door that would provide a way out from the chains of his medical work and neuroscience studies. Oliver looked at the ceiling and then across his walls, looking at pictures and posters as he tried to collect himself and his jumbled thoughts. He searched for meaning in his uneasy experience.

It wasn't a dream he knew that but something dreamlike had happened during the night, possibly only a short while ago. He had experienced something, someone possibly and had been left with a message, or a feeling and it was important. `How psychotic is that?' he thought. Oliver sat up in bed and pulled off his night shirt, stretched his arms and yawned loudly to try to exhale his odd senses. Message? In the future he would die at his own hands, what did that mean? Suicide? No, he would take his own life but would not be murdered. That's just stupid he thought. And why was he sat there trying to make sense of this when it will have been a dream, as odd and as different as it felt. Today was a pressure day and an anxious night's sleep would make dreams and thoughts more vivid and bizarre. So get up Oliver and get your arse into gear and get focused on the day, which he did.

In the shower Oliver let the hot spray pummel his head, soaking his hair and creating a constant stream of soapy water that ran off his face. He thought about the day ahead and his presentation, or pitch to the FTSE 100 Company. He still could not believe his idea formed at the V music festival last year, might be about to be backed by a squillion pound organisation. He had been at his most inspired during the summer break last year when Professor Blooms had threatened to throw him off the course. One year on and as a new summer approached Oliver believed his own personal investment of thousands of pounds on patent applications may well deliver him financial success and recognition. Rinsing himself off he switched off the shower and stepped out. He wrapped himself in the largest towel he had, which portrayed a giant green `Hulk' face.

Oliver walked from his bathroom down the hall of his flat to the kitchen. He went to the fridge, poured an orange juice, sipped a little and then returned to his bedroom. As he walked he muttered to himself a range of opening lines for his presentation; `it is with great excitement', I cannot thank you enough for the opportunity', ` Together I believe', `Good Afternoon'. On the last one Oliver stopped and looked up, one hand on the door handle to his room.

"They are all shit, I am going to crash and burn, no stop, no negative thoughts, stop, stop them, no, I won't think like that, no," Oliver looked ahead and then down, took a calming breath and entered his bedroom.

Oliver dropped his towel and went to a large set of wooden drawers, opened his drawer after three attempts (he really should fix that drawer he thought) and pulled out a pair of Billabong boxer shorts, which he put on. Oliver took two steps towards his walk-in-wardrobe door then stopped, suddenly feeling fearful once more. He looked around the walls of his room. Less than one half hour ago, when he had laid in bed with a nagging fear he had searched the walls, not looked around but searched. With increasing anxiety Oliver walked slowly to the door of his cupboard, he gripped the handle and opened the door. It wasn't the darkened small room that Oliver looked at, eyes wide, heart racing. Pinned to the inside of the door with four coloured pins was a large sheet of paper. On the white piece of paper Oliver looked over its drawings, a diagram, a sketch of the human brain, arrows showing directions, indicating actions and many numbers, lines and formulae.

That paper and its contents were from last year and that fevered night before his public flogging the next morning at the end of term UCL lecture by Blooms. Now mostly forgotten by Oliver, suppressed even he would occasionally recall this 'work' with embarrassment. He felt none of the original excitement or passion he had held for some time before. But now this archive of wishful thinking and naive ambition held him gripped in fear. His fear upon waking was because of this, an old fanciful idea, prompted by his rising invention of today. In making progress with his latest big idea, he had forgotten this original biggest and most outlandish idea of all.

Somehow in the night he had recalled this original proposal as his mind swirled around the possibilities of the next day. On the cusp of real success he had revisited his primary creation. One for which he had suffered ridicule and scorn from his University. These stirring recollections were a trigger, disturbing something. That something was looking for him.

4.

"At a time when money for fun is an ever reducing luxury, you know and I know that the climb for increased ARPU is becoming steeper and steeper. I am here today to provide the board of Emap with a proposal that will create something completely new and so compelling that the mobile phone user will not be able to resist joining in, and in turn spending more and increasing revenue for this company."

Oliver unbuttoned the jacket of his suit and pressed the remote to reveal the second PowerPoint slide. He took a drink of water, placed down his glass and smiled warmly at the Board members. The Board room of Emap was a vast expanse with floor to ceiling windows on both sides. On one side Oliver could see the most fantastic views across London Docklands and towards the City. Almost as impressive on the other side the window overlooked a four storey atrium, with walkways and balconies connecting classy office accommodation and meeting rooms. The whole set up communicated success and reflected Emap's status as a FTSE 100 company, a highly profitable world leading multimedia publishing house.

"What is more this will appeal to every mobile user who takes a car journey, everyone of them across the globe. Think of the profit margins in this new income stream. We all know the mobile phone is a modern day miracle of communication, but we also know it is pretty much dead in the water, 3G, Bluetooth, video, downloads, music, yes they make money but new money? More money? No. What I spend on my phone and my friends on their phones is pretty much static, there is some recycling but the industry is like two dogs gnawing on either end of the same bone. To make money now I would put to you, young men and young women need a new reason to pick up their mobile and make a call. Put simply we need a craze ladies and gentlemen, a fad, something that will be all the rage and _we_ will want to be on board. I present to you CarTalk."

Oliver was blown away that his invention had got this far, the Board seemed warmed up and as much as he tried to resist it, he had a good feeling today. Oliver was encouraged by the smiles from his silver haired tanned sponsor, Jack Splinter. Jack was not a full Board member but the head of the motoring group within Emap.

Oliver had first met Jack eight months ago, pitching the idea that CarTalk could flourish if targeted at the modified car community. Oliver had set out his idea of using the Fast Car magazine to 'place' the CarTalk product within a specific community, it could grow from there. Modified car enthusiasts were obsessed with the whole scene and the specification of their cars and their hi-fi systems and the girls. It was their culture and the opening of a new line of communication, with its underground feel, would seize the imagination of the modified car enthusiasts. Jack Splinter and his team were so taken by the innovative and novel invention, in fact blown away by it, Jack recommended it to his CEO for a full company wide launch. It couldn't have been better placed as an idea backed by the well regarded Jack Splinter.

Now all Oliver had to do was convince the fifteen board members staring at him from around the giant modern glass and beech wood table.

Oliver continued, "So what is the essence of CarTalk? What would be its brand? This is an invention that opens the door to a new culture of on-road and on the move communities. Emap has a strong brand image with the aim of bringing people together at its heart. CarTalk shares that aim and the service provided connects people in a novel and groundbreaking way."

Oliver thought he might be talking like an American. He had never pitched for anything before and in his head Americans pitched for things. An American accent might be a good thing he thought, yanks are always so confident and today was a day to be brimming with a confident sell.

"Given the potential global scale of the impact of this invention, it needs a large media partner to provide the platform for the exploitation of this proposed product. This invention presents an opportunity for mobile phone users to connect, make friends and communicate across on-road communities. This invention exploits a global market place as yet unrealised by mobile phone and service providers, media providers and mobile phone users. Think of where we are now. The web chat environment is full to bursting. Why not establish between cars, an on road chat room environment? That is what CarTalk creates in essence."

Oliver took another sip of water and then using the remote moved on the presentation into an impressive, well timed, rolling slide show. He took the board through the simple process behind his invention. Through creating a database and web based registration process CarTalk users could sign up to the service. Once signed up the users' car registration would be linked with their mobile phone number using a call ID database. Put simply a user could dial up another user's car registration plate and chat with the occupants between cars whilst out on the road.

"This invention brings together two of the worlds continually expanding user essentials, the car and the mobile phone and adds the ingredient of the need to belong and the need to be witnessed. It is a fact that car usage and time spent on the road has vastly increased in recent decades, with more than 100 million more cars on the road worldwide since 1991 and over 600 million cars currently in circulation. This figure may well exceed a billion in the next decade. The number of mobile phone users is expected to reach 2.6 billion in the next few years. The car is an essential extension of our every day lives. From the mundane of the daily shop, through to the weekend break, for holidays, for sporting events and rock concerts or for the youth just to cruise, from single occupancy to groups of friends and whole families, the use of the car presents vast opportunities for CarTalk. This invention answers the question 'With all those cars and all those people with phones, passing each other every day in their car without connecting, what are the possibilities if they could communicate with ease, with each other?'"

Oliver flicked his remote to show a slide with algorithms which set out how his product linked people between vehicles.

"As I have said earlier in simple terms the license plate is dialled with the use number option and CarTalk's database connects the user with the registered passenger or driver in the car they wanted to call up. Registering this identifier in this way protects all users from giving out their actual mobile number, protecting privacy. It also adds a safety factor connecting the caller to an identifier i.e. the license plate. It further creates a sense of anonymity, a chat room mood if you like, that will increase an individual's confidence to engage in the process. This is MSN chat on a motorway, in a traffic jam for a rock concert or on the way to a football match."

Oliver checked the room, looked at each board member briefly, lots of nods and warm smiles. This could just be working he thought. Older chap over there, sat furthest away looked a bit puzzled Oliver thought but nothing that couldn't be sorted through questions. Jack Splinter was nodding lots and seemed to be engaged, he was confident looking. Surely he was getting through. Oliver felt he had got the possibility across, the main point was the possibility, the doors it opened. Time to sail this baby in he decided.

"This will be a vast market place that brings the attraction and reward of chat rooms, dating and friendship services and the nineteen seventies phenomena of CB radios, into the modern age of communications and out on to on-road communities. The marketing potential is expanded upon in your papers. In the CarTalk environment it will facilitate connection between people driven by key aspects of human nature; think of the possibilities for forming friendships, dating and relationships, flirting, humour, sharing music and interests, motoring enthusiasts, sporting events." Oliver looked up and gave his biggest smile of the day.

"Finally, I will share with you where this started," Oliver adopted a more personal tone, as if recounting a story to an old friend, "I was at the V festival last summer, you sponsored it, it was great, I had a great concert, with three mates, the event was awesome, a blast of a day. It's midnight and I am in a queue that will take three hours to reach the motorway and a further two to get us home. For over one hour my car was driving in parallel with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. For all that time we exchanged glances, a few warm smiles and without speaking I think we connected. After one hour her lane went left, mine right, never saw her again. I have never seen her since. If CarTalk was around I could have simply called her up. Who knows? We could be together today."

Oliver joined his hands together somewhat symbolically, but he thought it worked. He definitely was speaking with an American accent.

"I'd like to thank you for your time and for listening to me today, many thanks," Oliver opened his arm towards a final slide with CarTalk emblazoned large across the screen and its slogo below, smiling once more he stated simply, "CarTalk."

And with that Oliver stepped back and held his breath for the response of the Board. Jack Splinter smiled at him, slightly nervous in the silence that now fell over the Board meeting.

When Jamie arrived at the Firkin pub he could not see Oliver straight away. The old style interior was dark and gloomy and stepping inside from the bright sunshine of the day had left Jamie struggling to adjust his vision in the shadowy interior. He moved around the pub, which was busy for two o'clock on a Friday afternoon. Jamie had received Oliver's text an hour and a half ago, it didn't look good news. Jamie was pretty sure that 'Fuck, shit, bastard, suicide' wasn't a text trying to say 'I clinched the deal, I'm gonna be rich!' Jamie found Oliver slumped and swallowed up within a large leather sofa, tucked in the most private corner the pub had to offer. He was glugging a pint with his eyes firmly fixed on the contents of his glass. Three more empty glasses looked like the diary of Oliver's last hour or so.

"Hey there pal," said Jamie calling to Oliver, who stopped drinking and held up a weak arm to greet his friend.

Jamie eased himself in by the table and fell into the deep sofa next to Oliver, "Not good then?"

"Nope, not good, great idea, fantastic presentation, thought I had the board, did have the board, most of them, pretty sure most all of them were bought into it."

"What happened?" Jamie looked at Oliver. It was a reasonable guess that the glasses on the table were not the only ones Oliver had drunk from, he was drunk. Jamie helped reduce his hangover of the next day by taking Oliver's' current pint and drinking from it.

"A ruiner of my life opened its mouth and then another breaker of dreams chipped in," Oliver slurred.

Jamie listened to Oliver's broken words. He spoke slowly to his friend, "Okay, so there was two, er, dream ruining peeps who spoke and what did they say?"

"Well one shit, this one here," Oliver pointed in the direction one board member had sat from him in the presentation, "an old bastard, crusty old fucker, crusty, crusty fucker, big wrinkly nose, smelling of stale urine I suspect."

"I can appreciate you are upset but if you don't mind me saying you're, um, upset, is kind of stopping you saying what they said or indeed what has gone on today," Jamie offered to nudge Oliver into more explanation.

"Right mate, well the old guy, remember this is my baby of the year, four grand in patents, all my time and effort, one of their own recommending me, really good presentation, I know it was, well he pitches up," Oliver adopted an old persons voice, a particularly posh and sniffy older person, "Surely young man, this 'product' as you call it, is nothing more than a sordid tool for the dogging community?"

Oliver looked at Jamie, "Can you believe that, all my hard work, time, money, marketing stuff, deconstructed down to a cheap porno tool, I mean I've thought about his point and it's actually a possible market, instead of all that in-car light stuff they do, but heavens sake Jamie, what the fuck was he doing dragging it down like that, anyway the whole mood turned."

"You said there were two dissenting voices?" Jamie checked for more detail.

"I did, I did, well Bluetooth Charlie piped up then, apparently he dislikes, hates Jack, my sponsor, great, so this young thin weazily looking heshe character starts waffling about how Bluetooth is the phone to phone method of the young, so I disagreed with him and tried to say, in a really nice way, how you couldn't build my idea through that technology. Anyway by then old git man had killed the mood, others who had nodded like Churchill during the presentation went quiet. The CEO was cool I suppose, didn't try to rescue it though, just said if I could get a more established partner, to spread some of the risk, they might have another look, like fuck they will," Oliver sipped his pint again.

"But isn't that quite positive?" asked Jamie.

"I don't know, I don't know, I've tried to get partners, backing, this was my only real opening in seven months of touting the fucking thing round all and sundry," Oliver sighed and ran his hands through his hair, "I mean I still believe in it but I'm not sure I can get as big a bite ever again as I had today, I've not got any other leads so I don't know. I don't know."

"It's still a really good idea Ollie, chill for a week or two then have a rethink?"

"I should I know but I'm pretty sure it's fucked, it just doesn't feel good to me now. That old man, with his smug eyes and smug face and smug look as I walked out, he was loving it I'm sure."

"Have you eaten?" asked Jamie deciding practical intervention was all he could offer of any use to Oliver just now.

"Nope."

"Let's go get you some food and sober you up a bit, otherwise you'll have a rotten evening and an even worse day tomorrow. What do you think?"

Oliver paused in thought, rubbed his eyes and brow, "You're probably right, I was going to get absolutely hammered, but it's not the answer is it?"

"No mate, it isn't, come on I'll buy you a big bowl of pasta at Valentino's."

"Sounds good," Oliver leaned over towards his mate and put his head on his shoulder, "I just want to escape humdrum medicine and brain studies Jamie, there has to be more for me out there."

Jamie put his arm around Oliver and hugged him in to him,

"You'll get there Ol, you're a bright spark mate, you're a success in life without this, you might hate medicine but if you could learn to like it even a little bit you would fly my friend."

Oliver didn't need his success so far right now. He had spent his life believing he could pull out an idea, make it into a shape and sell it. Oliver had a decent career, okay income with locum work as he studied for his PhD, cool apartment, female company when it felt right, but he was sure that couldn't be it for him, that was okay for many but Oliver believed he belonged amongst a few. With drink inside him and rejection swimming around his mind Oliver thought he should go home to his flat. Once there he thought, he would open his wardrobe door, take out the paper pinned behind the door and reincarnate his first and grandest idea. Perhaps that was it, he was letting the reality of life distract him, divert his energy, confuse his brilliant mind. Perhaps the genius of his original thought needed reawakening.

5.

It was six am and a sunny bright spring morning. Oliver was waiting for his three major friends to join him at Victoria station. The railway concourse was lit with a light so clean it gave the station a freshness and crispness, a calm soothing air so different to the London commuter mayhem it hosted during the week. The station was quiet with only a handful of people walking with quick steps for the earliest trains. Following his rejection by Emap and his sponsor, Jack Splinter, quickly turning incommunicado Oliver had drifted downwards, left alone reflecting on his failure with no feedback or chance to rebuild his proposal. Big business was ruthless he knew that but Oliver hadn't prepared himself for the impact of its cold dispensing of him. Jamie had stayed closest knowing that Oliver possessed only the most fragile of brilliant minds. It was Mary, Oliver's oldest and dearest female friend that had suggested the Brighton 'fun and convalescence' day to recharge Oliver's ego. So dutifully, for his friends of many years who knew him well, he trusted their judgment and he had turned up. The fact he had arrived one hour early by catching the first tube further evidence of his disrupted egolibrium (a made up state of being especially ascribed to Oliver by his third friend of many years, Minnie).

Oliver stood square to the 'Tie Rack' kiosk, one of several small shops on the concourse itself. He stared at the booth which specialized in neck-wear. Whilst not yet open, a thousand ties were on display through its glazed frontage. Oliver was almost constantly reflecting at the moment and had been since CarTalk had abruptly crashed. Resisting further reflection Oliver was still drawn by the ties and the spectacular gaudiness on display. Working through each tie one by one, he reviewed each silk or polyester item. He suspected some would be a polyester/silk mix. The ties ranged from lemon to lemony hue, spectrums of blue, reds, pinks, beige to brown, stripes and patterns and a small section of novelty but not funny ties. All put together with what could only be a passing consideration for taste, fashion or compatibility with the commuters who filed by the kiosk in their hundreds of thousands. Oliver could not find one tie him or his friends, or people he knew with half decent dress sense, would wear. Yet there stood the 'Tie Rack' kiosk. Rent would be high for this central London station he then thought. For the seven years he had been in London this Tie Rack kiosk had endured various market fluctuations. People had to be buying the ties on offer and in sufficient number to justify its continued life as part of the stations 'community' of businesses. Oliver had seen many come and go and he wondered how Tie Rack had survived with such shit hanging from its racks. No fancy idea, no big idea, just ties and it was doing just fine thank you Oliver. Oliver's patronizing assessment of the relative worth of its product was an impotent view, for he had never secured any entrepreneurial success. Nor scientific endeavor he thought. Oliver realised he was still very much ruminating.

Oliver tried to make sense of his frustration, wondering why he couldn't settle with the successful career he was establishing outside of ideas and schemes. Many would envy a career in medicine, and with his locum practice, he could work and study for his PhD flexibly. And he could take time out to indulge in other interests. Oliver had worked part time in the first three months of developing his CarTalk 'invention'. But despite the prospects on offer for Oliver's work life and studies, he knew that in the last few years he had done little more than drifted. Qualified and very able he resisted various pushes and pulls into full time practice or particular specialism's. He had turned down at least two firm offers for decent academic positions. This was in spite of his quite appalling reputation at UCL and more a result of his high regard at Oxford where he had studied medicine at foundation levels. Instead of seizing his career and making it a vocation, Oliver kept his head above water with well paid but part time locums and consultancy work in medical practice and public health. Oliver wanted to escape it all, even his light touch approach aligned him too closely to people and a society he felt at odds with. Oliver yearned for the most private of lives where he could absolutely control his contact with everyday life. He found the responsibility and exposure to people suffocating but he was too tied to his career development come jobbing work to break through the surface and escape. He also needed the income his work brought him. He felt guilty and self indulgent right now but still couldn't understand why he was unable to make the break, find a jumping point to something different. CarTalk was meant to be that but its ultimate effect was to add to his false sense of failure. Failure measured against a desire for some form of high level achievement, above the usual, kicking against the norm. Success that would bring him wealth and recognition, which would in turn give him choices and conversely privacy. Choice to dip in and out of life as he felt comfortable with. For it was Oliver's anxiety and fear of life and people that drove him to try to find ways out, to be separate from life's pressures. He was bright, able, at times exceptionally confident, humorous and gregarious. But if he was a stick of Blackpool Rock he would have 'chronically fragile' written right through him.

"Oliver."

Oliver jumped and turned at the sudden voice which had startled him. He sighed with relief at the big bulk of his friend, Minnie, towering over him. Oliver had drifted so far into himself he had not noticed his friend's arrival.

"Fucking hell Ollie, I've been calling your name since I saw you from way back there," Minnie said with a big grin and pointing to the station entrance, "you're a fucking weirdo, staring at ties."

Minnie paused, studying Oliver, "are you wanking, your hand is in your pocket, you're wanking over ties, oh shit that is just sick."

Minnie turned away covering his eyes in mock repulsion.

"I was deep in thought," Oliver smiled, protesting, "I didn't hear you."

Minnie put his arm around Oliver and with a more serious tone drew Oliver nearer to the shop window, "Which one turns you on the most Ol? I kind of like the Homer Simpson one, he's so cute."

Oliver shrugged Minnie off, "Sod off Minnie, I was simply thinking about stuff, you are the weird one. Come on let's get a coffee."

Thirty minutes later Oliver and Minnie had been joined by Jamie and Mary. All four sat drinking coffee in the McDonalds that fronted the station concourse. Mary had purchased breakfast and handed out each individual order. Mary was distinctively beautiful, with an English and South East Asian mix driving her delicate and distinctive attractiveness. Bizarrely she was single, though her continued friendship with her three male friends probably informed the equation which equaled no guy.

"Bacon roll, sausage and egg Mcmuffin, five hash browns Minnie, are you sure you won't be sick before we get to Brighton?" Mary asked.

"I don't get travel sick," Minnie replied, whilst stuffing a good half of the bacon roll in to his mouth in one greedy bite.

Jamie looked across the concourse towards the train information boards, "Shouldn't we take these with us, the next train leaves in ten minutes?"

"We're not getting the train," replied Mary nonchalantly.

"What?" Jamie put his hash brown down in rising shock. Jamie was posh and looked posh, with thick black hair and refined features. He suspected bad news.

"As your tour operator I have opted for alternative travel, which has saved us a collective fifty pounds, which in turn means we now have a well endowed beer kitty," Mary smiled sweetly at her friends.

"Alternative travel arrangements?" Jamie asked tentatively. Minnie and Oliver smiled at the growing look of horror on Jamie's face.

"Yes," Mary fixed Jamie a stare holding her smile.

"Come on then Mary, spill," demanded Jamie, "Chauffeur driven hummer limo perhaps?"

"A coach trip boys, it awaits us around the corner, leaves at seven thirty, returns six am tomorrow," Mary looked exceptionally pleased with herself.

Jamie stuttered over the opening words of his reply, "A coach trip Mary, you mean a coach, with wheels and seats?"

Mary nodded still wearing her happy to help smile.

"But I don't do coaches Mary, my family doesn't do coaches, we only do trains, first class of course and planes, business class. But not buses, there is only one class on coaches, working class," Jamie looked at the group somewhat pleading with his eyes.

"You are such a fucking snob Jamie," Minnie chipped in, "it will do you good to mix with the little people."

"The only coach I have ever done was a tour of Lake Garda for Christ's sake," Jamie ruffled his posh hair once more.

"Come on you snobby dick, we need to go if we're going to catch it," Mary stood up and helped Jamie ruffle his hair, "I'll give you a blowjob on the way down."

"Really?" Jamie smiled and stood up.

Mary turned and gave the sexiest arse wiggle imaginable.

Oliver laughed at her provocation, he whispered to Minnie, "six years of teasing, that's got to hurt."

Jamie dutifully stood and followed Mary's gorgeous bottom as it wiggled off in the direction of the coach. Oliver walked behind them, with Minnie as his escort with a big ape-like arm warmly around Oliver's shoulder.

"So how are you doing my friend?" asked Minnie.

"Okay, so so, ultimately I know I'm a selfish bastard wanting more than I probably deserve. But I've got this itch Minnie, there's something ahead of me, more than I am now, different, unique," Oliver sighed, "I just can't seem to catch it up."

Minnie listened intently to Oliver's words and offered an understanding look, "You are one very weird guy Ollie, but I love you all the same."

And with that Minnie gave Oliver a big kiss on his forehead.

6.

The 'Brighton Belle' was a hidden secret, an underground experience known only to forty two people once every month. It had been running for seven years and had become the whispered urban myth of London and Oxbridge universities during that time. Was it true that a coach existed that was solely about a hedonistic weekend, whisking party seeking under graduate and post graduate revelers from London into Brighton's club scene? Was it true the coach stretched the law and the journey was as much fun as the night out? Did boys and girls get up to no good from seven in the morning until eight the next day? Mary knew it was true. She had been a reveler and a regular for all of those years. This was her hidden secret, the private thing she did, never having shared the 'Belles' existence with her three male friends.

Oliver had a mood so low she felt that allowing him into the urban myth that was in fact a reality, of a pleasure-seeking coach tour to buzzing Brighton, was just the tonic he needed. Convincing Jamie would only take as long as it took for the first group of gorgeous girls to arrive at the steps of the coach.

"My god," Jamie declared as the gang rounded the corner to see the coach in full view, "That coach must be fifty years old. I can't travel on that for fucks sake, it's a wreck."

The coach was in fact thirty years old and a classic, it had been lovingly restored by Eric the owner and a surprisingly 'with it' old guy. Eric had established the Brighton run when aged sixty he decided to do something that was a bit out there. With his retirement money he bought and restored the coach. He never advertised but just turned up one day seven years ago, parked outside the university campus near Victoria and smiled as students left college. This he did for three consecutive Fridays. On week four a group of irresistibly curious students, Mary amongst them, stopped at the open door of Eric's bus. He sat there in his resplendent green goddess of a coach, smiling at the passing students. The group who had dared to approach this oddly warm looking grandfather type of a guy, asked him what he was doing. A conversation was held that went something like, 'what would you do if you had your own bus for the weekend?' This led to the suggestion of a Brighton run, Mary and about fifteen others went along the first time, the second time it was full, the third time Eric had to turn students away and by the fourth time a legend was born. Eric now made nearly as much with the 'Brighton Belle' than he ever did working as a London bus driver.

Seeing Mary approaching Eric raised an arm saluting her, "Wotcha Mary," he called from the drivers' seat of the bus through the open door at the front.

"Hey Eric, it's been a while," Mary called back. Eric nodded and smiled warmly towards her.

"You know him?" asked Minnie.

"Yup," answered Mary, "I sure do, known him for seven years on and off, Eric is an unofficial fun bus tour operator. Not licensed, very underground, he runs this incredible buzzy trip to Brighton. Once a month, by invitation only these days. You boys are my guests today."

"I thought this was an urban myth," Oliver said, "so why haven't you told us before Mary, in the six years we have known each other? You've had all this fun while we did quiz nights at the firkin."

"It's always been my thing Ollie, my private Idaho."

"This is wank," commented Jamie bowing his head towards his knees in annoyance, facing away from the direction of the coach.

"No," interrupted Minnie, lifting a pointed finger gesturing over and behind Jamie, "that Jamie is wank, pure unadulterated masturbation, on an old fashioned coach stick. Mary I love you."

As Minnie hugged Mary, Jamie stood and slowly turned to look towards the coach and the direction Minnie had indicated. He adjusted his eyes, studied the scene and then began to smile, a smile that widened out into a Cheshire cat grin.

Approaching the coach, waving and hollering towards Eric, wearing the sexiest, skimpiest, most provocative outfits were {at a minimum} twenty very gorgeous girls. All just about around university age with a few maybe a little older.

"Am I going to be on a coach with them?" Jamie asked.

"You are Jamie," Mary replied.

"That is more beautiful than Lake Garda, of course I like coach travel, I love coach travel, come on Mary what are we waiting for, lets go," Jamie strode out boldly towards the coach hand raised, "hey Eric my dad, it's been too long."

"He's a bastard," smiled Mary to Oliver, "but at least I won't have to be the one giving him a blowjob."

Oliver laughed and put his arm around Mary, following Jamie and Minnie who had both strode on ahead.

Two hours into the coach journey as it approached Brighton Minnie, Jamie and pretty much all the girls were loved up together. All were nicely merry on the champagne provided as part of the tour. Eric knew this was illegal but he had built up the trust of his customers over seven years, with that trust passed on through several generations of carefully selected fresher's and graduates. Jamie had four girls and himself squeezed into a seat for two, Minnie had the entire back row and many girls kissing him and sitting on top of his big frame. Laughter filled the coach, only slightly less noise than the club music playing on the high quality sound system Eric had installed five years ago.

"Why don't you join them?" Mary asked Oliver. Oliver and Mary also drank champagne from small plastic cups, but together they sat much nearer the front. Mary was approaching a time in her life where chatting to Eric was as interesting as cavorting around further down the bus.

Oliver looked back smiling, "I'm okay, it's a long day, those gits always peak too soon."

"You rarely peak, as it were, Ollie." Mary gave him a look and raised her eyebrows.

"I may well peak more than you know Mary, might choose not to say."

"Yeah sure."

"Well you seem no better, from where I'm sitting, Mary, ha."

"What do you think I do on these coach trips?"

Oliver was puzzled, then it dawned upon him. Mary had kept these trips secret so she could indulge in pure fun without the paternal gaze (or interference) of her male friends.

"You bloody minx," smiled Oliver, he looked up and down the coach which was wall to wall women, "though it's a bit light for you this time."

Mary shook her head, she gazed at the women all around, slightly biting down on her bottom lip, "I see plenty to interest me."

Oliver's eyes widened, "Nooo, you're not, are you, no, you had that boyfriend what was his name, then the other guy with the big hair, no." Oliver sat back a little shocked. Albeit in a friendly way.

"Let's just say," explained Mary, "I can kick with both feet."

"You're just greedy."

"So are you over your disappointment with the whole car chat thing?" Mary asked.

"Not really, I can't believe it's slipped from my grasp to be honest. I thought it was in the bag."

"Well you can console yourself you have completed one more year at UCL. This time last year you thought Blooms would throw you out. One more to go and you're free."

"I know but I'm not sure it's a freedom I want, all the choices are ultimately the same, a job, the ties of life," Oliver could be so morose as so drag others into the black cloud he wore as a hat.

Mary sat back smiled hopelessly and sipped her champagne, "My whole point Oliver, bringing you here and giving this intimate disclosure, letting you see a bit of my life you didn't know, is saying to you, you know, bloody live a little. Your head is always pointed towards some unknown future with your heart in your boots, maybe just lose yourself a bit. We have nearly four months off from UCL this summer, none of us are working so let's enjoy it. Go crazy. Get drunk today, go wild, blow a guy for fucks sake, we're in Brighton."

Mary stood up smiled and bent over Oliver and gave his shocked head a kiss, "Only kidding, blow two guys, I have on these trips and it was great."

"I don't know you Mary, you're not Mary, you've been taken, you're not her," Oliver held up crossed fingers and thrust them towards Mary's face. She pushed his hand down and leant forward to him.

Mary pressed into Oliver's ear with her lips and squeezed his arm, then whispered, "and you don't have to be you Ollie, you really don't. I love you my friend."

Mary walked away slowly, held Oliver's eye contact and then turned to join the fun.

Oliver turned back, suddenly deeply thoughtful, he gazed forward and a single tear left the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek.

7.

Oliver did have a fantastic night. He did let himself go and was wilder and more out there than he had been for many years. He got very drunk. He just about avoided indulging in stimulants that came in pill shapes with smiley faces. Oliver declined to entertain Mary's suggestion that he perform falatio on one or two guys. He did kiss and dirty dance with girls from the coach trip, as well as get close and hot with others from around the bars and clubs of Brighton. Oliver was surprised that once he had got his head up and noticed his surroundings, how successful he could be. He was being told by many how good looking he was. This was something he had forgot, lost touch with.

By three in the morning the gang and associated men and women from the day and night out, had taken refuge in 'Fat Fred's' a seafront vegetarian café, open twenty four seven. Halfway through the meal, which was being eaten amidst loud and continued raucous behaviour, Oliver slipped out of the café into the cold night air closing the door and moving from surround sound noise to a virtual silence. As the effect of the days drinking had slowly begun to wane, along with the reducing influence of the single ecstasy tablet he had taken, he had felt compelled to take a walk. He would not be missed.

Oliver walked away from the seafront towards Brighton's old town, up into the towns' heart, until he found the lanes. Now almost deserted, he looked down the south lanes and then up through the north lanes. The Lanes were Brighton's oldest section of the town, a warren of narrow streets preserved from the past and providing a Jacobean townscape. A web of inter-twining lanes, intricate to navigate with bars, restaurants and shops of all imaginable types. Approaching four am the lanes were now empty, no cars could access the narrow alleyways. The lanes dated back to the seventeenth century having become increasingly compact as the town built up, away from the seafront and the centuries of defence against the invasions of the French and Spanish.

Oliver left North Street and into the tightest of the alleyways and walked towards Brighton Place, deep within the complex of streets. Vibrant and bohemian by day the lanes now hosted the deepest of shadows and overflowing solemnity within the silence of the night. Whilst very drunk, around twelve hours earlier, Oliver and Minnie had careered their way through the shops and bars of the Lanes. Oliver had stopped briefly, squinting at one shop in the distance, which displayed a word he had once been very familiar with and now rarely, if ever, came across. Curious as to how such a word could be presented in the window of any small business, his curiosity had sobered him enough to make the return walk.

Oliver felt conflicted, he was fearful, not from the shadows and silence, but at the prospect of seeing the word once again. He reminded himself of his treasured paper inside the door of his wardrobe and its connection with this word. Oliver stopped as he neared the end of the narrow street he was in, standing at the junction with Brighton Place. Opposite him, but still a short walk away was the shop he had seen earlier that day, No.5 Brighton Place. Above the small Tudor window, sculpted from iron the shops name hung; 'Other World'. He had stopped to take in the shop from a distance because against the darkness of all the other closed business Other World stood out, its lights were on and it looked open.

Oliver approached the shop until he was facing its window, with its haunting lights twinkling over a display of gothic jewelry, angel figurines and small pocket books on tarot reading and psychic investigation. They were all presented on a cloud of cotton wool bathed in shadows and light from the shimmering fairy lights. Oliver smiled at the type of shop this was. He then read the 'offers' the shop presented etched on its window, in a calligraphy script;

Psychic Healing

Tarot Readings

Rune Stones

Colour Healing

Raiki Counseling

Group TA Therapy

Then Oliver read the word he knew so well, he read the fancily written word, etched in a script that presented the word in a unique form he had never really considered seriously before. It was being offered as a therapy, this in itself was curious. He studied the two words together;

Regression Therapy

Oliver did not see the face within, beyond the display, basking in the shadows, staring at him. Her face was pale, ghost like with translucent skin, she had almond eyes and fine blonde hair. Her dark brown eyes had emerged from the darker recess of the shop and drew closer to him as she watched Oliver read and re-read the 'Regression Therapy' sign.

Oliver focused on the words, he did not see the pale hand, the spindly thin fingers stretch from within the shop and over the display towards where his eyes studied the glass. With two sharp taps she struck the glass.

"Jesus" Oliver recoiled in shock and fright, he moved back three steps and was gripped with fight or flight when he saw her face. He saw her pretty face smile, place three fingers over her mouth in an 'oops' gesture. She called from within the shop.

"Would you like to come in, we are open?" she asked in a manner more 4pm than 4am.

Oliver studied her, her invitation was both innocent and intended. He nodded and approached the shop door. The apparition of a pretty young woman floated across the shop, for she was as graceful as a ghost, and opened the door as he raised his hand for the door handle.

"Hi," she whispered, "I'm Jenny, welcome to Other World." Jenny beckoned him in.

Oliver entered, the shop like the display was a bizarre of contrasting light and shadow, it had cloth, jewelry and artworks hanging from the ceiling. To move through the shop needed care and attention.

"You open long hours," Oliver commented as he looked around, "Is that usual?"

"No," She answered smiling, watching him, "please do look around."

Oliver did, he looked and touched, everything was soft or smooth, fine and delicate, he felt enveloped in the shadows and kissed by the light. The scent was violet and the experience of this shop at this time, surreal. He knew she watched him intently and occasionally he would return his gaze to the words, now written in reverse;

'Regression Therapy'.

Oliver moved slowly around the shop he was minded of something futuristic, a scene from a movie he couldn't quite recall. A moment of poetic calm tainted by a modest foreboding. His curiosity with the word regression overcame any slight unease he felt and Oliver allowed himself to drift around the articles on display.

Jenny spoke softly to him, "All those memories will be lost in time, like tears in the rain."

Oliver looked at Jenny for a moment, then the light came on, "Blade Runner," he acknowledged the line.

"Lots of people are reminded of that closing scene in the Bradbury Apartments, when they come in here."

"Especially in the dead of night?" Oliver smiled at Jenny.

"What's your name?" Jenny asked with her head cocked to one side, she didn't look unlike a naive 'replicant' herself at that moment.

"Oliver, it is, um, atmospheric, is that deliberate?"

"Not really, it just reflects me, I'm here and not here, if that makes sense?"

"Kind of, you said we, 'we are open'?"

"Me and the cat, if I'm honest, that's the we in Other World."

"Do you mind me saying I'm not sure it's wise being open at this time?"

Jenny smiled, "Maybe not, but I thought you would come back."

The direct comment made Oliver stop his circling of the shop, "I'm sorry," he said, "I don't think we've met before, have we?"

Jenny laughed, "No, I just thought you would come back, you looked in the window yesterday, you were very drunk."

"I'm wondering if I still am. I looked in the window?"

"Yes, you traced your fingers over the word 'Regression' in Regression Therapy, nobody has ever done that before. You looked so curious I thought you'd come back, read the word again," Jenny smiled at him.

"And here I am. How did you know?"

"I just know things, read people, but rarely do people fix on one thing here, psychic people are a broad church, you are just interested in that," Jenny pointed to the words on the window.

"Very perceptive, I am, well was, interested in regression, but never really looked into it too much as a therapy. The stuff I read about the therapy bit, couple of things I looked into, seemed, well, a bit charlatan to be honest."

"Many people see it that way but for many more accessing a past life can be very," Jenny breathed in, "healing, empowering. Understanding what has gone before can help bring closure in this life, it can be, liberating."

"I guess it could be," reflected Oliver though not quite getting the point.

"And your interest?" Jenny asked.

Oliver felt he had been drawn here for a purpose and a new chapter in his life was opening, or he was returning to a half read book, he wasn't sure which it was.

"I used to study regression, not the therapy but the possible science behind it, whether there is any actual biology to explain or inform how people access past lives through regression. Whether it is an actual memory, a connection with the past or just another psychic trick?"

Oliver stopped short he hadn't said that much about regression since last year, it was a subject that now left him tongue tied.

"I can tell you that for a few it is no trick Oliver, believe me," Jenny had a more earnest look about her, "I know that for a fact."

Oliver studied her, she was beautiful he thought but you wouldn't know it unless you were this close, she had an energy that radiated through those near her, who she allowed this close.

"You can regress?" Oliver asked.

Jenny nodded and stepped back away from the limited light in the shop, retreating into almost darkness. She lifted up her arms, palms facing towards Oliver and closed her eyes. Her smile relaxed and her face acquired a look of concentration. She took one last look at Oliver and closed her eyes. The shop was warm but when Jenny exhaled a cold blast of air left her mouth, the noise a hiss.

Oliver took a short step back, he had lost track of how long he had been there, but it was only a short time he thought. Yet in those brief moments this weird, yet wonderfully quirky woman had held him spellbound.

He was not prepared for the sudden crack from her every bone, like splinters of glass onto a stone floor as she suddenly arched and her graceful body extended and stood erect, her body tensing. Oliver watched as she almost appeared to levitate, tendons in her neck played like piano wire.

Oliver drew in breath and his heart quickened, Jenny did not present any threat but she seemed to posses a power Oliver had never witnessed. This was no trick.

Jenny's eyes opened, but only the whites revealed, she was held in a self-induced trance like state.

"Are you curious Oliver?" she whispered.

"Very," Oliver replied in a quiet tone.

Then, most amazingly of all, Jenny closed her eyes and arched back her neck, blue white static energy began to build up around her face and shoulders. Swirling, fizzing it danced upon her translucent skin. Then it stopped.

Jenny relaxed, her body returned to its normal state, one of grace and she opened her beautiful brown almond eyes. She smiled.

Oliver wondered if a bad pill was playing with his brain.

"I never regress all the way with a guy on the first date," Jenny said, her wit breaking the moment that had engulfed them. They both smiled and then laughed.

"I really should close up the shop now," Jenny said.

"Right yes," Oliver studied her then checked his watch, "Shit, I should go too, I have a bus to catch, that was, amazing."

Jenny smiled and for a moment he wanted to hug her, as he thought it she raised one eyebrow, one knowing eyebrow. He sighed and smiled and turned and opened the door.

"Look there's a party next week in London, would you like to come?" Oliver asked.

"I'd love to," smiled Jenny, she took a business card from her counter and handed it to him, "I'd love to go to a party."

"Great," and he turned and left. As he walked away down the lanes he kept looking back, twice Jenny waved. On the third occasion Oliver could only see a feint blue light deep in the shop.

8.

Eric eased the dustbin lid sized steering wheel clockwise, requiring some strength, as he steered the 'Belle' onto the main promenade in Brighton. It was first light, a bright sunny morning and the sight of the sea made Eric smile. It always did. A handful of people populated the seafront, some early to rise, joggers and dog walkers, others yet to retire to bed after a long night out. All noticed and admired the gleaming green bus and its reminder of simpler times.

Eric felt fresh and lively. He had slept well. Eric took his driving responsibility seriously, even though he was 'relaxed' regarding behaviours' on the coach. Passenger safety was important. Eric always made sure he consumed little alcohol on the night of his Brighton weekends and he would sleep well in his regular bed and breakfast digs.

Eric loved Brighton and the once a month visit was a joy for him. It was a break from a largely loveless marriage. He wasn't unhappy but after forty years he disliked the routine of later life. As far as his wife knew Eric's monthly trip was a pensioners night out by the sea, he had decided she was better off ignorant of the truth behind his 'work' in retirement.

Eric had spent his evening at the theatre, watching a John Godber classic; 'Bouncers'. Being Brighton the doormen and women were working the door of a gay club. The play had outlandish gay, transvestite and lesbian characters and Eric found it surprisingly good fun.

Eric steered the bus towards the bus stop, the usual meeting place, he smiled at the waiting crowd. The big man 'Minnie' stood head and shoulders above the women, Eric liked the young man from what he had seen of him. Eric waved to them, stopped the bus and opened the door. The party staggered onto the bus, flopping into seats with exhaustion. He noticed Minnie slide out of sight at the very back, with one young woman sliding in with him. Eric smiled and then turned to greet Mary, who rolled her eyes at Minnie's behaviour.

Oliver ran down the hill towards the seafront. Oliver could see the coach as he rounded the corner onto the promenade. He was breathless and his heart was pounding. Unable to run another step he slowed to walk, waving his hands in the hope the coach would see him and not leave without him.

"There he is," Jamie tapped Mary on the shoulder and pointed for her to look out of the rear window of the bus. Mary turned her head to see Oliver waving.

Jamie went to the door of the bus and hung out of the front step, waving an arm back to Oliver, "Come on Ollie you're holding us all up. Run, god you are so unfit."

Oliver was still a distance away and responded to Jamie's call by picking up his pace to a light jog. Eric smiled.

"He is useless," offered Jamie in observation.

"Where has he been?" asked Mary of no one in particular.

"Other World I bet," the muffled call from the back of the bus was Minnie. He sat up, hair all ruffled and smiled at Mary, "It's one of those alternative places, hippy therapy, fairies and stuff."

"What?" Jamie and Mary asked in tandem.

Minnie stood up, smiled at his female friend who was out of sight, tucked into their love seat, and walked down to Mary and Jamie, "When we disappeared for the afternoon, we zipped round the lanes, he found this shop and stared in its window for like half an hour," Minnie explained.

"Why?" asked Jamie.

"I think he'll have gone back, maybe knocked up the owner, the shop had 'regression' written in the window, he was odd from the minute he saw the word."

Jamie didn't make the connection straight away, "Regression?"

Mary did recognize the word and instantly recalled its connection with Oliver, "Shit," she whispered to herself.

Oliver hopped on the bus, gasping he spoke to Jamie "We have to hold a party next week, at your place, it's the nicest pad."

"What, why?" replied Jamie.

"I've just invited someone to it," smiled Oliver, who then flopped breathless into one of the front seats. His friends swapped familiar looks of confusion at Oliver's unusual approach to life.

The shiny green bus made good speed along the M23 motorway, which was all but deserted. Holding a steady line on the inside lane, Eric checked his mirror and relaxed into the straight stretch. This was effortless motoring and enjoyable. He barely noticed the tightening in his left wrist and hand, nor the firmer grip it took of the left side of the steering wheel.

Nearly everyone slept on the coach, Minnie cuddled his girl, and Jamie had found one female friend to sleep against. She too slept. Mary looked at Oliver who sat on the nearside of the coach. He did not sleep either but stared out of the window, preoccupied. Mary had tried to talk to him, he would only offer that he had met a very interesting girl. Mary asked him about the regression sign in the shop window and Oliver conceded he had been curious, as it was offered as a therapy. It worried Mary that he said he might read over his old papers on the subject. She remembered the time at medical school when he had immersed himself in study, obsessing with his hypothesis on past lives regression. Mary also remembered the ridicule, Oliver's dénouement and subsequent depression and mental ill health. Mary had watched Oliver nearly fall again last year and hoped he was not stirring up his ideas once again today.

As if sharing Mary's memory bank Oliver too was recalling the time when he had spectacularly failed in front of the whole medical school. He couldn't let himself recall the Deans name, nor the professor at the time. Just their names made him feel sick with anxiety. Oliver watched the world pass by outside of the bus window, he remembered how ill he became. Chased from the faculty within the fervor of a twenty first century witch-hunt, he had become depressed. It took him nine months to find himself and to establish an effective pharmacological and talking therapy regime. It then took another two months to find a university that would allow him to complete his medical studies. Oliver recalled of this and he especially could not believe he had once again exposed himself last year scribbling out his hypothesis in front of an eminent post graduate class. But even these painful memories couldn't prevent him from once again ruminating about his one big idea having seen Jenny's performance in 'Other World'.

Eric's left hand tightened on the wheel one more notch. He subconsciously compensated for the increasing anti-clockwise force by pulling slightly more with his right hand. Eric was not conscious to the opposing forces rising between his right and left hands.

Oliver sighed and tried to shake off the anxiety rising in him. He could not let himself get ill ever again, but he had seen, witnessed, Jenny induce an altered physical state of some kind. He was convinced she was genuine in her assertion that she could regress to past lives, but what he witnessed was unique in the physical visceral access she partially revealed. Less an experience, more an ability, possibly even a power. It was this possibility Oliver could not shake. As a minimum, but with caution, he would read over his old papers later that day.

If Eric had the time he would have noticed his left hand tremor as it built up its force and strength. He would have seen the skin on that hand ripple, move, as the hand took control of the wheel. Eric had barely a moment to wonder if he was having a stroke, before his left hand violently pulled the wheel down, aggressively taking the bus away from its straight line. He gripped his right hand over his left and desperately tried to correct this action, pulling back against his left. Eric had a vague sense that behind him his passengers were screaming and bodies were falling between seats. The bus struck the barrier at an angle almost ninety degrees with the line of the road.

A modern coach would absorb much of the impact at this speed within its roll cage, an invisible frame that formed a ring of protection for occupants. A thirty year old bus was paper thin in comparison.

The green bus hit the barrier, ripping open the vehicle from the front wing, across the door and creating a tin can gash up to the first two nearside rows. Had anyone been sat there, they would have instantly been ripped apart. If Eric had not secured some correction and applied the brakes as hard, the gash would have ripped on two more rows and sliced into Oliver.

The coach leaned on its two nearside wheels, and slid screaming along the roadside steel barriers. Sparks fired through the morning air. The tyres on both wheels blew out and the drop of the bus onto hard metal rims shuddered through every passenger. It looked likely that the bus would flip across the barrier and roll down the steep embankment on the other side. This would kill many if not all inside the old bus.

Oliver's experience of the crash was less than slow motion. He sat there in a surreal quiet, with the distant echo of chaos some way off. He had become aware something was not right and had looked across the aisle to see Eric fighting to control the bus. When it hit the barrier he had watched the metal side of the bus rip open and the jagged violent gash of razor shards of steel, slice slowly towards him. Like a snake stalking its prey he felt sure it would strike and rip into him. Unable to act against the forces that pinned him to his seat, the gravity of a bus about to roll and his own arms gripping the seat in front, he closed his eyes expecting a grotesque death.

A combination of experience and good health and strength came together enough for Eric to turn the wheel, even without tyres, one important inch. This was the fraction of difference between dozens of corpses or life. The coach crashed down as it corrected itself, the front axel collapsed, the force smashing the front windscreen peppering Eric with fine glass. The wrecked vehicle screamed to a halt on the hard shoulder. Eric sat shaking breathless at the wheel still gripping it tightly. Blood trickled down his face from many small cuts inflicted by the spray of glass. Eric pulled himself to his feet, stepping painfully from the drivers' seat.

"Is everyone okay?" he asked, selfless of his own injuries.

Oliver's head had struck the side window with force when the bus corrected itself. He had then lurched forward as it stopped quickly and his neck jarred as he fell back upright. Concussed he had watched Eric stand, perceiving more of a fuzzy outline than a clear picture of him. He could hear Eric talking but not the words. He sensed moans and the dull sound of shock behind him. Yet as Oliver tried to focus on Eric, to help regain his senses, he was drawn by something around Eric's soft image. Oliver thought he could see a bright blue hue surrounding Eric, enveloping most of his upper body. It weaved and danced and Oliver felt the blue ghost was not around Eric, it was leaving him. Oliver tipped his head stiffly to one side. He watched curiously as the cloud of energy, like departing cigarette smoke, faded to nothing above Eric's bloodied face.

9.

They used an ancient word to describe this place; The Coffin Room. It was three hundred years or more since anyone had witnessed a coffin enter the earth, or slide towards the incinerator of a crematorium. But the word had continued use in common language, synonymous with death.

It was a dark room, lit only by several dull orange lights which were fixed around the walls. The Coffin Room was a processing plant and its design practical. It paid little homage to death. At the highest point of the triple height room an octagonal human sized 'pipe' entered into the room. The metal pipe had heavy thick rubber junctions which provided turns and drops between the sections of metal tubes. The piping system was suspended by thick wires fixed to the ceiling of the vaulted room. Each section of metal pipe was connected to thinner metal pipes which extended from a central column. This column pumped chemicals and gases through the small pipes, into each large metal section. The larger sections had in each one oval window. Eventually, the complex piping wound down around the central column which ended at head height. Here the metal piping was connected, by the last rubber junction, to a large square steel tank. It had several portholes revealing a stark interior. At the far end of the battered and stained tank an extractor pipe slowly whirred ready to fire up.

The whole structure was dull, worn and in parts rusted. It dripped condensation from the glass in the pipes, residual chemicals leaked through the worn rubber junctions raining onto the floor of the room. Gases escaped through cracks in the glass and filled the room with a cloud coloured orange by the lights. The structure pumped and heaved, like the organs of a great metallic beast, making a regular and consistent thrusting sound.

Many corpses moved through the piping at regular intervals of fifty feet or so.

Each corpse was sprayed and smoked with both gas and chemical, treatments to stymie any infections a rotting body might present. These cadavers were mere husks, their horrific deaths had disfigured each person beyond recognition. Sunken faces with gaping mouths and hollow sockets where eyes once looked out, crisp skin covering each body like parchment. Limbs thin and hollow with a little rotting soft flesh left in each corpse. Each cadaver was twisted and crumbled in its own unique death sculpture.

At the final junction to the tank, the pipes joining the last metal section blasted hot dry air, evaporating any residual moisture in the corpse. At the point of entering the steel tank the cadaver was not unlike beef jerky in its look. Each body would then slide into the tank, through a steel portal, which would close behind the dead person about to be processed.

The steel tank, with its mottled walls plastered with a fired concrete resin, would vibrate. A coil around the inside wall glowed and increased the heat in the vessel. The husk that was once a person quivered as the tank whirred into life. The heat reached a thousand degrees Celsius, no flames just hot energy building inside the tank. Each corpse would rapidly dry and begin to crumble. The large extractor after a short time would kick into life, accelerating from its steady whir to a thirty three thousand revolutions per second rotation. The spinning blades of the extractor were dotted with steel holes, each hole razor sharp.

A red light on the outside of the tank would indicate the process was complete in its preparation of the corpse. Unceremoniously the extractor would be opened and the corpse vacuumed from the steel tank. The fine dust would be collected beyond the coffin room. This would be screened and released to family, if requested by the relatives.

At the highest point of The Coffin Room a gallery, screened by thick protective glass, overlooked the pipe and tank structure within the room. In the gallery room control panels and touch-screen regulators were monitored by the uniformed operatives.

Two men stood in silence watching this procession of death and the systematic administration and disposing of innumerable bodies. Looking into the room for some minutes and a score of corpses would be processed, after thirty minutes a man would lose count. The two military uniformed men shared a brief exchange.

"This has to stop, so much death."

"I know, too much death and no more time, we must prevail."

10.

Jamie's parties were legendary. He was not cautious with his wealth nor constrained by parental control of his inheritance. His parents were alive but once he had reach the age of a young man they had not sought to influence Jamie. Following fights, a fire and a police raid Jamie had become stricter on an invitation only basis for any party he now held. He even paid for the largest guy in college to run the door to his loft apartment. It was modern, vast and enjoyed great views towards the Thames. It was now full of pre and post graduate students, his Bose music system filing the room with loud but clean indie sounds. He loved his Bose like a faithful pet.

Oliver and Minnie sat on the floor on large Moroccan cushions, drinking the free and flowing champagne. Oliver tipped a glass towards Jamie who was playing with some younger, ever so impressed, female students.

"Thank you Jamie my good friend," Oliver called across, already slightly merry on bubbly, "you have surpassed yourself."

Minnie, who was very drunk and wearing a collar brace from the accident, raised a whole bottle and smiled a wonky eyed smile for Jamie.

"It's been too long, we study too hard now," Jamie called back, "Where is your friend then?"

"Don't know, she'll be here soon I'm sure," Oliver finished his glass with a big confident smile. Life was good and he was happy.

Oliver was still sore all over from the accident. It was a miracle nobody was seriously injured, though there were many cuts and bruises. Eric had multiple lacerations to his face, his reactions had saved the lives on board the old coach. Regardless of his heroics he was now being investigated for running an unlicensed tour operation. Mary was supporting him, such was their closeness, and had secured him the free services of a lawyer friend of hers. So it looked very much like it had been Oliver's first and last Brighton Belle experience. The one trip had connected him with Jenny and despite his near death experience he had no regrets. His texts with Jenny were awash with concern, warmth and when they spoke on the phone he felt they connected. He had grown very fond of her in a few short days and he thought she liked him too. Yet Jenny had not arrived and it was now nine pm.

During his week of sick leave from college Oliver had quietly revisited his original papers. What he had witnessed with Jenny had re-fired his curiosity and importantly his confidence. Blooms represented every sour and dead handed person in life, whose bitter self-importance and withering assessment of others could drain the very lifeblood of inspiration from you. Oliver had decided this would not be him, he would discover, he would create. He could see only sunshine ahead.

"More champeroony Minnie?" Oliver was trying to speak to a distracted Minnie who was removing his collar brace. As he unstrapped the thick padded collar, he pointed towards three short skirted women half way up the stairs to the apartment's internal mezzanine balcony.

"The collar is stopping me from seeing up their skirts," he advised Oliver rather matter of factly.

Oliver smiled, it would be a yes to more drink he was sure. Oliver navigated his way across the fifteen metre open plan living space, weaving through the party crowd, and turned a sharp right to the kitchen area. It had one full wall of floor to ceiling glass. This part of the apartment was quieter and the sound of the music marginally duller. Two guys passed him as they left the kitchen, Oliver smiled and nodded, they each had a bottle of champagne. Jamie's parties, if you possessed a coveted invite, were truly the best.

At the window facing out, looking across to the park below was the thin silhouette of a woman, wearing a flowing dress. She appeared impassive to the social proceedings around her.

"Jenny?" Oliver asked curiously. She turned and smiled.

"Hello you," she replied with a familiarity that had grown quickly between them.

"I never saw you arrive, you should have come over,"

"People rarely see me arrive, rarely see me leave, I am a bit of a social wall flower."

"An attractive variety though."

Jenny laughed gently, "That is very cheesy Oliver, but sweet."

"You should have sent me a text or called, I'd have looked out for you then."

"I forgot my mobile and was too close when I realised, I can be a little bit vacant at times," Jenny said smiling. She approached him and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek.

"What are you like?" Oliver smiled enjoying the up front affection from this woman he had known for less than seven days.

"Well I'm here now. So how is the patient today?" she placed her hands on his shoulders. Oliver was struck by the degree of comfort he felt in her presence.

"Still a little sore, but okay, really okay actually, considering."

"You were lucky."

"We all were," Oliver took Jenny's hands from his shoulders and held them, "It's good to see you."

"Same here."

They both enjoyed a moments silence, a bizarrely, strangely pleasant silence.

"Drink?" Oliver asked breaking into their quiet moment.

"Ooh yes please, is there any champagne left?"

"Oh yes," Oliver walked across the kitchen and opened a Smeg wine cooler, with smoked glass frontage and a soft lighted interior, revealing a well stocked champagne store, "at Jamie's place always champagne, plentiful champagne."

Oliver took a bottle and smiled as he held it up for Jenny.

In the living space, Minnie sat with Jamie, they had been joined by Mary. She poured champagne for them both.

"You've had enough," Mary commented as she poured Minnie a half glass. He pushed his glass back at the bottle.

"Fill it up tight wad."

"Tight wad," Mary retorted, "What does that mean in human?"

Mary duly filled Minnie's glass.

"I am so getting laid tonight," Jamie commented quietly as he looked across at a girl who was giving him the strongest of smiles and inviting looks, he smiled and raised his glass to her. She did the same in return.

"You are so shallow Jamie," Mary said. She then struck Minnie on the leg, he had slowly leaned his head back to once again view the 'upskirt' scene provided for him halfway up the stairs they sat beneath.

"What?" he asked innocently, then turning to Jamie, "one black lacey thong, one full pair brief soft cotton, dark purple, one black string with a diamante jewel at the back type thing," Minnie emphasised the word diamante to demonstrate his abilities as an underwear connoisseur.

"Thanks for the report sergeant," Jamie saluted Minnie. Mary rolled her eyes, though it was nothing she wasn't used to.

"Time to move in," Minnie grabbed his padded collar brace and refitted it onto his neck.

"Is your neck still stiff Minnie?" Mary asked.

"Talking point," he replied and slowly dragged his huge frame to stand. He allowed himself a second to steady and then climbed the stairs.

As Minnie reached the three girls, Jamie and Mary observed his 'moves' as he always called them. He offered a 'hi' and an excuse me as he made to pass them. Without being able to hear over the music, they could lip read one of the three girls ask 'what did you do to your neck?' Minnie put his hand to his neck, as if he had forgot the support was there, then began what would be an overly elaborate account of the crash. Somewhere in his tale he would do something heroic, recalled modestly of course.

Mary shook her head in dismay, "He is such a Shallow Hal."

Jamie laughed, "He didn't even hurt his neck that much but wanted the brace, he describes it as a shag magnet."

Jamie stood up, "Come on, let's mingle." He helped Mary up with one hand and they moved towards the group where Jamie was getting all the right smiles from.

Jenny and Oliver sipped champagne whilst looking out across Battersea Park from the kitchen's panoramic view. The park was often described as a place of hidden secrets, with its lakes, wildlife, sports facilities and family attractions. From the window they could see the old fashion style lamp lights weaving a path through the deserted park. A mist had begun to descend across the many variety of trees that filled the park, swirling to a rest over the undulating grass areas.

Jenny and Oliver had discussed all manner of things to do with the crash, her small business in Brighton, her interests in many things 'other worldly', his studies, an exchange on musical tastes. But they had not yet broached the subject that had brought them together one week earlier. Despite their connection Oliver could not bring himself to raise regression once more.

They had texted on the subject in the week. Several times. Oliver had referred to study papers on the subject he possessed. He did not say he had read and re-read them late into the night, every night since. Jenny had expressed interest in reading them. Despite this he felt reluctant to say 'so tell me more about this regression therapy'.

Perhaps he knew they stood on the precipice of something wondrous, that there was one great discovery he was destined to sit atop of. The enormity of the possibilities had always consumed him. He also sensed that this wonder had a dark side, a portent of danger he suppressed. He also knew in the simplest of terms he feared the tormenting pain of another failure and the lasting damage on his creativity. Each failed attempt at something big, was another door closed to a fantastic life. Each time he was worn down a little more which took him a step closer to the dreaded resignation of a normal life.

"This is an amazing apartment," Jenny commented.

"It is very cool, Jamie leads a charmed life."

"So who are Jamie, Mary and what's his name?"

"Minnie."

"Minnie, that's it, so who are these three musketeer friends of yours?"

"Ok," Oliver sipped at his champagne, "Here goes for a cooks tour of my three best mates, take a seat."

Oliver pulled a highly trendy glossy red stool across from the breakfast bar and gestured for Jenny to sit. She shuffled into a comfortable position. Oliver moved the chair a little with her on it so she now had a view of the party and the open plan space full of guests.

"Jamie leads a charmed life, very handsome," Oliver leaned over Jenny gently and placed his cheek near hers to match her eye line and pointed to Jamie. Jamie was entertaining the pretty girl he had shared smiles with earlier.

"That's Jamie, white shirt, sort of spiked dark hair, with the girl with long black curly hair," Oliver located him for Jenny.

"Very handsome? I'm not so sure," Jenny interrupted pulling a questioning face.

"To most sane females," he smiled at Jenny, she smiled back, "he is a good looking smooth guy, dress sense understated, conversation cool, sophisticated, very knowledgeable on most things. He is very rich, but still studies and wants to be a neuroscientist in the pharmaceutical industry. Even though he will earn less than he could as the qualified medic he already is. His parents are rich, their parents are rich, his parents' parents were rich and so on. Old money. Dad was an ambassador, now a government advisor on international relationships, helped broker the deal with Yemen between the UK and America."

Oliver finished his champagne and poured another and topped Jenny's.

He raised his glass "I give you Jamie."

"To Jamie," replied Jenny and they gently chinked their glasses.

"Who next?" asked Oliver.

"Mary." Oliver located Mary for Jenny, she stood next to Jamie talking to a short haired young woman. Oliver thought briefly, with what Mary had suggested to him that Mary might be chatting her up.

"Okay, Mary is a briefer story. We know very little, her beautiful face suggests euro-asian decent, but she is adopted," Jenny put her hand up quickly at this point.

"Me too," she said.

"Wow," remarked Oliver, "but she doesn't know who her natural parents are."

"Me neither," smiled Jenny, a simple smile.

"Double wow," Oliver shook his head, "Shall we talk about this?"

"No. More on Mary please."

"Ok, more Mary. Mary has the sweetest accent, adopted at eight from foster care, then she lived in different countries with her adoptive parents, he was a sergeant in the army, she has a really eclectic accent. Mary is from a modest background, worked her way through college, qualified as a doctor, she has completed her senior psychiatry exams, at a very young age but wants to major on neuro psychiatry so is doing a second PhD. She will be Professor of something some day. And she is a dark horse, we only know as much of her as she wants us to."

"To Mary," Jenny led the toast this time, "And so to Minnie."

"Minnie," Oliver drained his glass again and poured another, "Minnie is an enigma, if you look halfway up the stairs the very tall big lug of a guy is Minnie."

"Big guy with the three girls," commented Jenny, "Very big guy."

"Minnie is a clinical psychologist, from a pretty simple working class background. Despite his laid back appearance he has worked hard, as have his parents, to get him here today. He wants to work with patients with acquired brain damage and study brain disease genetics. He excelled as a number eight in Rugby Union, almost made it professional. Still plays. Sexual deviant, compulsive masturbator, voyeur, very funny, outrageous, so many words yet he remains indescribable."

Jenny laughed at this pen picture of the giant halfway up the stairs. They toasted Minnie.

"After this drink, maybe one more, I'll introduce you to them," offered Oliver. Jenny smiled, nodded, drunk a little with one hand and slipped her other hand into his. He gently squeezed her hand in response.

Minnie held court with two of the three girls half way up the meandering glass and wooden staircase. The third female only just tolerated his tomfoolery and was less gullible to his 'charms'. Her friends seemed to like him so she patiently witnessed his 'act'.

"So Emily, Fay, Gina, tell me more about you," Minnie mocked an exaggerated laugh, "I feel like I've spoken about little more than me all this time."

"That's because you have spoken about little more than just you," retorted the less than impressed Gina.

"I'm sorry," Minnie sucked in a burp from his champagne, "Gina, I really am truly sorry."

"Well, we are all post graduate students studying speech and language at Kings," interrupted Emily to keep the peace.

"Oral studies, now I am getting interested," Minnie commented, "So you know how to teach someone to make the most of their mouth?"

The two girls laughed.

"You see," Minnie added, "when it comes to cunnilingus, I suffer with the equivalent of a stammer."

This comment elicited shocked shrieks from Emily and Suzanne and a shudder from Gina.

"I'm sure we can help do some improvement training with you," laughed Emily.

"I'd be most grateful," sensing he needed to seal the moment with Emily or Fay, he cared little which, Minnie stepped up his game as it were.

"You know ladies I feel I know you well enough in this brief time, to share a certain skill with you that I possess."

"And what particular skill is that?" asked Fay.

"I can ascertain the types of under garments you might wear or indeed you are wearing now, from a basic personality assessment that I have been running whist we have been talking."

"That's bollocks," Gina said, dismissing Minnie.

"For example, Gina, you want to be an open sexual woman, attracting the guys with the sports car and the Caribbean hideaway, living the high life. You won't allow yourself to consider ordinary guys like me. Your underwear for example would reflect this, it's likely to be bling and the type you would wear whilst succumbing to the seduction of say Jay-Ze."

"Excuse me?" offered Gina, "Are you some kind of perverted Derren Brown?"

"Minnie, you are such a gimp, go on, what knickers has she got on then?" asked Emily, with both her and Fay enjoying this analysis.

"I would guess," Minnie pondered, head in his hands, deep in thought, "Black, string, sheer lace front, and a heart shape diamante jewel holding the string together at the back."

"No way," said Fay, "Gina, those are you're nix, and you said tonight you were going to bag yourself a premiership footballer one day, he has got you so right."

"Fuck off," Gina refuted the suggestion, "he's got a camera in his shoe the dirty bastard."

Minnie slowly removed each shoe. He gently, for such a big man, took Fay by the shoulders.

"Fay, you are a fun girl, you are broad minded about who can bring fun into your life, conscientious, you've chosen a career that gives something back, you're patients mean something to you. But once work is over you want to be simply understated, sexy not tarty, classy even. So you would choose a simple black lacey thong."

"Oh come on, you could guess that loads of girls here will be wearing black thongs," Fay said, willing Minnie to prove himself.

"Possibly, to maybe add a little sexiness on a party night, a silver tiny bow and the lace a flower pattern."

"How are you doing that, it's just guess work," Fay said whilst pulling her skirt tight against her.

"Ok, this is weird I don't know how you are doing this but you'll never get me," Emily interjected, also pulling her skirt tight against her.

"But Emily, you are probably the simplest of all," he moved to hold Emily, enjoying the hold he had over the two and managing his timing to ditch the naysayer named Gina.

"Emily, you are more modest in your outlook. Your thoughts are to the future, settling down, building a home, a plush modern home, lots of warm colours, aubergine velvet sofas, children, you will want a family."

"How do you know these things?" Emily asked, head on one side curious, fooled.

"You don't wear underwear to make a statement, it doesn't mean you're any the less sensuous or loving, just less up front with your sexuality. I suspect a brief over a thong and you'd choose a colour that you liked, um, purple, yup dark purple."

"That is sick," laughed Emily. Fay and Emily both hugged Minnie.

"You can see right through us, you're like a mind reader Minnie, we love you," said Fay drunkenly confused and wholly entertained by the big guy.

"Well I don't," Gina said dismissively. Emily and Fay frowned at her negative comments, they loved this man.

Minnie leaned over the two coquettish girls, wrapped his big arms around them both and whispered across to Gina, "You need to ease that string out of your arse, it's making you uptight."

Emily and Fay broke into hysterical laughter, sufficient to compound Gina's offence, try as they might they could not help but laugh at her. Having lost her skirmish with Minnie she muttered something about needing the toilet and descended the stairs. Minnie had broken the moment and now it was a matter of choice he thought, Emily or Fay, possibly both.

By four am the apartment had emptied and the place was quiet. Up on the mezzanine space, a large tiled seating area adjacent to the four bedrooms, Oliver and Jenny sat on large cushions. Jenny had met Oliver's three friends, they had spoke albeit relatively briefly. Minnie was on a mission and had disappeared into one of the bedrooms with both Emily and Fay. Jamie had gently cleared the apartment at around three, himself soon retiring with his companion. Mary had chatted the most but had retired herself twenty minutes earlier.

Jenny rested a head on Oliver's shoulder. He held her in his arms and they looked out at a different vista from this raised area, towards the Thames and Battersea Bridge.

"I have never been in a place like this in my life," she commented.

"I still pinch myself, for two years Jamie gave little away about how bloody rich he was. He lived in a small two bed flat round the corner from here, he bought this place around a year ago."

"It must have cost a bomb."

"Nearly seven figures, but forty percent less than the asking price from a year before. You can do well in a recession if you are cash rich."

Jenny sighed and gently rubbed her tiring head into Oliver's shoulder.

"So, you're regression thing," Oliver tentatively asked, "how does it work? What was that trance thing you did last week?"

"Oh, and there was I waiting for the 'we could go to the spare room line', whereas you're thinking of me as an experiment," Jenny dug her fingers into Oliver's ribs, "what a boffin you are."

Oliver flinched and then tried to recover his ground, "Ow, no, no, you've got me all wrong, I was asking that to then say and if we were to go to bed together would there be a risk of it happening, you know, while, if we were to you know, do, it," Oliver breathed in, "it was a caring question, kind of."

"You lying little shit Oliver," Jenny moved away laughing. She slid a cushion a few feet from him.

Oliver was uncertain whether she was still playing or whether he had screwed up entirely. He was completely unprepared for what Jenny did next.

Quietly, smoothly, Jenny moved onto a cushion, folded her legs across each other, arched her back, placed a hand on each knee and closed her eyes. She breathed out. Oliver was captivated watching her in a yoga seating position, he said nothing.

Jenny breathed in. When she next exhaled, a slow hiss of icy blue air left her mouth and swirled around and above her. Oliver jumped at the speed of her regression. Jenny straightened sharply, her body snapped into a rod like pose with an audible crack. As she sat there her body creaked and groaned as her bones appeared to stretch. A blue static crackled briefly around her, Jenny began to shudder and her eyes rolled back revealing clear blue white ocular spheres. Jenny then eased into a more relaxed state, her bones and cartilage realigning, the accompanying noise of splintering glass falling onto a tiled floor.

Oliver looked around in disbelief to see if others had heard what he had.

The corners of Jenny's mouth turned upwards into a gentle smile, "So what do you think?" she enquired of her shocked friend. Her skin looked paler, a moon dust grey with a translucent glow.

"I don't know what to think?"

Jenny laughed lightly, "If only you could see what I see, hold on."

Jenny's eyes closes and she leaned back a little, her brow furrowed with concentration. Her tiny frame vibrated as if she was travelling. Which, in fact, she was. Oliver's heart thumped hard and loud as he watched, one part curious, one part fear.

"I'm back," she said.

"Back, is that it, you've finished?"

"No, I am back in time, I have regressed, found someone to host me," Jenny's eyes opened, her blind white eyes appeared to be watching Oliver, "I am looking out across a meadow, as a young woman walking through grass, bear feet, I look down, simple clothes, peasants clothes, my skin is grubby, this is the life of a poor young woman, feudal times. Up ahead I can see a house, a cruck house, outside my family, chickens, pigs. I am carrying a basket with fruit, apples, freshly picked apples. Everyone, I'm closer now, yes I'm sure this is my family they are greeting me. They look worried. Their life looks hard, brutally hard, around the house it is muddier, harder than that soft meadow she just walked through so different."

Jenny paused, she took in a sharp intake of breath.

"What is it, are you ok?"

"I can see why they are worried, at the rear of the house stands a dark horse, a powerful stallion. It bears a crest probably of the Duke or Earl, in front of the horse a man. He is staring at me, nothing more, passively watching me. He has a dark face, fixed dark eyes, black mustache and he just stares. I don't like it, he has started to walk towards her, me, his steps quickening, ugh I'm coming back."

Jenny's body straightened and her eyes closed. Her return was none less dramatic than her departure. The static built again slightly but then her body in one loud shudder recoiled, with a bang as loud as a door being slammed.

Oliver jerked back, "Jesus," he whispered tightly.

Jenny smiled, she opened her eyes, briefly white then the beautiful almond eyes rolled back down to look at Oliver and she smiled, "Freaky isn't it?"

"Fuck me it's freaky. What happened? Where were you? What is it you do? How?"

"So many questions, it's a gift, I can just travel, pretty much when and where I choose, but only back, regression you see."

A door to one of the bedrooms opened and a blurry eyed Mary peeked out, "What was that?" she asked Oliver, whilst offering Jenny a friendly smile and wave.

"Nothing," replied Oliver in a quiet voice, "I, er, knocked something over downstairs, sorry, go back to bed."

"Okay, good night." Mary retreated back into her room. Minnie was probably too drunk to wake to any noise and Jamie too preoccupied to care.

Oliver went up to Jenny and put his arms around her, "You're cold."

"It's a physical thing, I physically go back, or my energy does, it takes it out of me," she held him close for warmth, "Is there a bed we could go to."

"Sure, there's a room still spare, come on," Oliver stood and helped a stiff and slow moving Jenny stand. She appeared genuinely weakened by her demonstration.

Oliver smiled at her and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"No sex though," Jenny said.

"It didn't cross my mind," Oliver smiled.

"Yeah sure, no you missed the sex boat with your regression question," she held onto Oliver as he guided her to the fourth bedroom of the apartment. He opened the door and they entered the room.

Oliver opened his eyes. He had barely slept and couldn't remember drifting off. Perhaps an hour, maybe a little more had passed since they had laid on the bed. Oliver was sleeping almost upright, leaning back on pillows and large cushions. Jenny had curled up on his lap, with a pillow and a quilt pulled almost entirely over her for warmth.

Oliver tried to focus on what had woken him. A rasping sound? A grating guttural rasping. The morning light broke through the blinds and illuminated the room with striped rays. Oliver's sense of fear sharply rose as he located the sound of desperate gasps.

"Jenny," he pulled back the quilt and was immediately sickened by what he saw. Jenny lay on his lap, her body arched back in some form of stasis. Her skin was tight to her bones, stretched so tight it looked like it would tear if he touched her. Her eyes were open but he could only see the blood shot whites of her eyes. Jenny's body trembled, he shook her gently but feared she might snap so brittle she seemed.

"Jenny, oh please god, Jenny," he cried as he held her fading frame.

11.

Another recruit. There could never be enough recruits. Head shaved and wearing only a soft light surgical gown, prostrate on the operating table. Despite his 'abilities', despite all their abilities, enhancement implants were always needed.

Leather straps of a kind bound his hands and feet. Another faceless recruit, now no longer of a family or a place. Now part of the great movement.

The robotic surgical arms whirred into life. The room was white, lit by ceiling high lamps. The robot had two arms, one dormant holding the black box implant, the other a small drill. It extended towards the recruits skull. He was neither asleep nor awake but immobilised by the powerful sedative injected moments before.

The drill burst into life, spinning at several thousand revolutions though the technology was so developed it made little sound. The drill was made of the brightest silver metal, sharp as a blade at its finest point.

The robotic arm positioned the drill exactly one millimeter from the recruits' temple. It then quickly and finely drilled into his skull, through the bone and into the soft tissue of the brain. It heated to two hundred degrees and cooled again in a split second, enough to cauterize any bleeding. It did this twice then retracted.

The second arm lifted the small black implant and guided it towards the two neat holes in the side of his shaved head. As it closed in on his skull the implant activated, two electric conductors extended, one with a fine syringe running down its length. The robotic arm guided the device into the holes. Clamps appeared from inside the implant and gripped the skin either side of the holes. The robotic arm released the implant and it automatically sealed itself into place.

A second passed. The implant switched itself on, lights down each side flickered green and red. It then delivered its first enhancement shot, engendering a jarring fit like reaction in the recruit. His eyes opened and he stared impassively at the ceiling lights. The procedure complete he was now prepared and able to support the cause.

12.

Oliver sat on a plastic chair which was attached to a metal frame, part of a row of chairs firmly bolted to the floor. His head was held in his hands, his upper body stooped over. Mary sat next to him stroking his back whilst looking around the Emergency Department of St Thomas's hospital.

"Jesus look at this place, I hope she is okay," Mary scanned the packed ED.

The waiting room was overflowing with the injured, the sick, the mentally unwell and the disadvantaged. Two police officers, wearing protective body armour, stood by a beat up coffee machine. Each officer sipped at coffee whilst watching the area. Usually they would enjoy good coffee in the sisters' office but this Sunday morning they needed to be vigilant. The ED room was chaotic and several exceptionally drunk and pained patients made the scene much more threatening. The officers' presence was intended to maintain some sense of calm and order. Two dedicated security guards stood by the automatic doors of the entrance to the hospital department.

"This is awful," mumbled Oliver.

"Come here," said Mary sitting him upright and hugging him.

"I don't even know who she is, I can't tell her family, let someone know, I only know her second name, that she runs a shop in Brighton and her favourite band is Mumford and Sons, shit, what if she dies?" Oliver held Mary tight.

"Stop, she won't die, it is probably some kind of epileptic stasis, they'll administer IV diazepam, give her oxygen," Mary wasn't wholly convinced in her own diagnosis.

"It's more than that Mary, you saw her, I saw what I saw, there's a lot of unexplainable stuff going on, she was so frail, like she had been drained of her life," Oliver pulled back and breathed in, "and I don't even know who she really fucking is."

"Minnie and Jamie are on their way to her shop in Brighton, they have her keys, she'll have a driving license there, bills, family photos, they might find the mobile you said she'd forgot, or a phone book, something in the flat with contact numbers. You're sure she said she lives in an apartment above the shop?" Mary asked.

"Yes, very sure, we talked so much about that place, she is different, very different," Oliver stretched his stiff neck and rolled his shoulders to straighten himself out, "I need a drink, a coke or something, my mouth is so dry."

"Champagne leaving your system? It is mine, get me one too, have you got the change?"

"Yeah, plenty of change, crisps?"

"No thanks."

"Nor me."

Oliver walked across the ED room, passed by the two police officers and the coffee machine and walked by two 'trolley waits', both older people. As he walked towards the soft drinks machine, some distance down the corridor, the chaotic sounds of ED softened. The drinks machine was near a closed out-patient area, in semi-darkness and lit by a failing strip light that buzzed above the area. It was distant enough to not feel a part of the Emergency Department.

To Oliver's surprise, shock even, by the drinks machine he approached, one further trolley was positioned there. On the trolley waiting for further intervention was an old guy, who laid asleep on this neglected trolley. Oliver looked at him and then looked back at the ED room. He was thin, grey hair, grey skin, white surgical gown, a yellow pallor overlaying his aged flesh. His eyes flickered slightly under closed saggy eyelids, probably a register of the pain he suffered. He had a closed cannula hanging from his hand, held in place by grubby surgical tape. This guy was some distance from the hub of the ED, Oliver wondered why they'd leave him here and how pathetically uncaring it was they had. Whatever the reason was.

"Coke it will be then," Oliver said to himself as he placed a pound coin in the slot, switching his gaze between the drinks on display and the old man.

The light above them both flickered and faded. Light then partial darkness, the halogen tube emitting a buzz as it struggled to maintain its illumination duties.

The machine shuddered and rumbled and dropped a single cold can of coke.

"That was easy," said Oliver, "and one for Mary," Oliver placed another pound in the slot. He suddenly felt alone and isolated down here with this near dead man. He wondered whether he was a doctor now or a student, whether he should say something about the old man discarded there.

The machine strained to release the can, it shuddered, and then paused. Oliver hit the drinks dispenser at the side.

"Come on fuckwit machine, where's my coke?"

It rumbled into life again. Oliver did not notice the static fizzing around the plug, behind the machine and near the old mans trolley.

Oliver leaned down and pulled at the flap hoping a can would appear.

"Just walk away from this Oliver."

Oliver froze at the sound of speech, when he knew he was clearly alone. Except for the dying old man. Oliver slowly straightened up. Whilst attending to the machine, Oliver had not seen the static dance across the old mans arms, absorb itself into his skin. He had not seen his skin ripple and his body gain a little more life from the force within him.

Oliver looked at the old man. He laid there without movement, as motionless as if he were dead.

"I'm sorry, did I disturb you hitting the machine, sorry" whispered Oliver, slowly moving towards the old man, "did you say something, my name? Can I get you a nurse?"

Oliver stood over the man, fuck, he didn't even know if he was breathing. He hesitantly edged forward towards him.

The old mans eyes flashed open, black, bloody eyes with a blue trace across them. When the old man spoke once more it wasn't just what he said that scared Oliver but the sickening disembodied voice that was projecting the words. Oliver froze at the un-natural life in the man.

"Let it die with subject Jenny," the old mans mouth barely moved as he spoke. He followed this with a spluttering cough and turned onto his side, his breathing rasping and shallow.

"What?" Oliver asked incredulous at what he had heard. The old man remained motionless. Oliver slowly stepped back, retreating from what he had witnessed.

Two sets of hands grabbed Oliver, preventing him from departing any further. Oliver jumped and yelped, twisting quickly.

"Whoa, steady fella," said the first porter catching Oliver as he backed into them.

Oliver stood back from them, focusing his eyes to register porters' overalls.

"You need reversing sensors mate you backed right into us," explained the second porter smiling, "sorry if we spooked you, it's a bit isolated here."

"Harry our patient was getting really disturbed by the noise back there," the first porter said, at once making Harry's positioning in the secluded area an act of kindness not neglect, "hopefully he has got some kip down here."

"Sorry guys, I wasn't looking where I was going," Oliver pointed in the direction of Harry, "lost a pound in the coke machine, it was bugging me."

"Never use that machine," said the second porter, "it's always jamming, anyway if you could excuse us."

"Yeah, sure, sorry," Oliver put his head down as they walked by him, he began walking away. As he walked he could hear them speaking kindly to Harry, waking him and explaining a bed had been found for him in the hospital.

"Where's my coke?" Mary asked as Oliver returned with just one can. He looked edgy and walked quickly toward her. Mary had watched him repeatedly look over his shoulder as he returned.

"What's up with you?" she asked.

"Nothing, just one can, machine is a piece of crap, the other can is stuck somewhere in it and it's got my pound," Oliver opened the can and took a long thirsty drink, "we can share."

He handed the more than half empty can to Mary.

"Thanks," she said as she weighed the can in her hand, feeling the little fluid left, she sipped at the remnants, "we should hear something soon."

Oliver listened to her, but all the while stared into the distant gloomy corner where the old man had laid on his trolley. Harry was now being maneuvered away by the two porters

"Ring Minnie or Jamie, we need to know more about Jenny."

Mary knew Oliver was twitched by the drastic collapse of Jenny, a woman he was clearly very fond of. But she couldn't work out why he had suddenly become acutely spooked.

13.

Oliver walked down Ramsden Road a tree lined street which had large Victorian semis and detached houses either side. In either hand he carried two very full bags for life. He looked tired but was showered, changed and clean. Oliver had risen early. He arrived at the front door of a large octagonal shaped detached house, the top floor of which formed his residence. Oliver had done enough locum work to put down a substantial deposit on the apartment in Balham.

He took out his keys, unlocked the large stained glass and blue painted wood front door and entered the hallway. As he walked to the foot of the stairs across a large tiled hallway the heaviest bag, which contained a number of wine bottles amongst other things, clipped a precarious stack of metal gardening tools. Two spades, a pair of shears, a rake and other gardening implements, clattered to the tiled floor making the loudest of noises. They fell to the floor and bounced making the noise reverberate around the converted house. Oliver muttered a curse and put down his shopping. The din lasted for just over a week, well it seemed that way Oliver thought as he tried to replace the tools. This just made more clanging noise.

"Whose there?" called an elderly voice from behind the large white door of the ground floor apartment number two.

"It's just me Albert," called back Oliver in a loud whisper, "sorry, knocked the tools over again."

"Third time in the last few weeks you clumsy prat," Albert called back.

Oliver smiled, "But this is the first time sober."

He heard Albert laugh, "You youngsters, I'm going back to me bacon buttie."

Oliver picked up his shopping bags once more and made his way up the stairs.

Once inside his flat and with the shopping put away Oliver sipped on a cup of tea. He too had made himself a bacon sandwich, which he ate while he fired up his PC. Brown sauce dripped down his fingers, which he licked away.

With the PC booted up Oliver clicked onto his Mozilla Firefox icon (much fewer viruses) to open the internet and started a Google search (still the best search engine).

Oliver typed in 'Professor John Dyer', 'regression studies' and pressed the search button.

Oliver sat at an old writing desk, it had his laptop PC on top, a printer, paper and pens. Strewn over the desk were exercise books, papers and on the wall, held in place by blu-tac, Oliver's posters which had diagrams and many formulae depicted upon them.

Oliver's study area was one of three 'stations' in his flats main living space. The living room was large with vaulted ceilings that followed the eves of the roof. A large window with top lights of stained glass enjoyed a view across the wide avenue where he lived. A lounge, his relaxing area, formed the main part of the room, with widescreen television, ps3 and surround sound system. Behind a chunky dining table with six chairs was a long book case full of literature covering medicine, science, fiction and various autobiographies. The room had five doors off it, down a long hallway to the lounge, a kitchen door (with no actual door just the space where the door had been opening to the kitchen), two bedroom doors, a bathroom door and the main entrance door.

Oliver searched, studied and moved his papers around to read different pieces of data and information. He made notes. He also kept a diary in a hard backed journal. Oliver was fastidious about keeping a log of his life, his thoughts, musings, hypotheses, tales of drunken debauchery, where he had been and who he had been with. He was also very private about his diaries and kept each volume, he now had six, behind his medical text books and novels by Stephen King.

He continued to study and search. One of the bedroom doors opened and Jenny gingerly stepped out. She wore soft pink, girly pyjamas.

"These are mine," she said.

"You're awake?" Oliver stood up and walked towards Jenny, "How are you?"

"Much, much better, thank you, how did I get my pyjamas, here?"

"Minnie and Jamie went to your place, in Brighton. We didn't know who you were or who to phone, you had no mobile or identification. They took your keys for 'Other World' got your mobile and picked up some clothes, night clothes and stuff for you. We thought they'd keep you in hospital."

"Thank you, I don't remember putting them on."

"Minnie changed you into them," Oliver said with a very straight face.

"What?" Jenny asked horrified.

Oliver laughed, "I'm teasing, Mary helped you, you were so groggy. That was a large dose of diazepam."

"It's the only way they can ever get me back, not that they know that's what they are doing. I have many diagnoses from epilepsy to schizophrenia, I am a classic, I suffer from differential diagnosis paralysis."

"A medical pun, nice one, you have had a lot of attention from doctors. I'm glad you're okay."

Oliver stepped closer to Jenny and took her in his arms. They embrace.

Oliver whispered into her ear, "I thought I might lose you before I ever knew you."

"It looks worse than it is," Jenny said and she stood back from Oliver, but still held his hand.

"How long has this been happening?" Oliver asked.

"My regression ability, if you can call it that, I have had forever, all my life. The stasis, getting stuck regressing, regressing without choice, that's the last few years," she smiled at Oliver and stroked his arm, "so what are you doing?" she asked looking at the PC, the papers, the posters.

"I'm just searching the internet, blogs, chat rooms, paranormal places, I've found a few blogs, a facebook page, a twitter account, where regression is mentioned. I'm going to see if anyone has any papers or heard of that Professor I mentioned to you during the week."

Oliver sat back down and continued on his laptop.

"I can't remember his name," Jenny Said.

"Dyer, Professor Robert John Dyer," Oliver said without looking up, he had told Jenny about Dyer in the week to see if she had heard of his work, she had not, "Have you ever told the medics about your ability to regress?"

"Yes, twice and each time I attracted a psychiatric diagnosis, so I've stopped now and let them tell me I'm epileptic." Jenny pulled a chair and sat down. She watched Oliver surfing various sites, she studied his desk, his papers, formulae and annotations.

"You really believe this don't you, about regression?" she said.

"I do and have done for a good few years now. But I'd buried it, canned the ideas I had. I got into difficulty with the University, they didn't share my views, it was a grim time to be honest," Oliver paused, reflecting briefly, "anyway from what I know of Dyers work he may be able to offer you some help, if he is still alive that is."

"What happened to him?" Jenny asked.

"I don't know Jenny and I've never been able to find out," Oliver was busy typing while talking, clicking the mouse at regular points, "but I can try again. That's about a dozen messages asking about Dyer and regression. He disappeared about twenty years ago, his papers have never been online. There was rumoured to be a book or at least the manuscript for a book, which collected all his work and some alleged experiments. I can't get anyone to talk to me about it, not at UCL, nor Oxford where he was also a lecturer."

"My cat," Jenny suddenly yelled.

"What?" Oliver jumped at her yelp.

"I've not fed it since Saturday afternoon, oh my god."

"It's okay Minnie and Jamie fed the cat and cleaned the litter tray and arranged for it to be fed, with Grant from the flower shop next door."

Jenny, relaxed, "Grant. Oh good, Grants lovely, the cats very special to me."

"Obviously," Oliver said.

Jenny yawned and stretched. Oliver looked over his shoulder suddenly realizing he was neglecting her, she had been grotesquely frozen in a form of stasis for seven hours and slept or dozed for nearly twelve.

"Are you hungry?" Oliver asked recognizing he was neglecting the basic building block of Maslow's hierarchy.

"I am starving," Jenny replied rubbing her slender tummy.

"What food do you like?"

"What do you have in?" she asked.

"Eggs, bacon, cereal, toast."

"I'm vegetarian, do you have pasta?"

"At nine in the morning?" Oliver smiled, Jenny looked back impassively, "yes I do, tagliettelle, with a cheese and jalapeno sauce?"

"Ooh unusual, yes please, crusty bread?"

"Fresh this morning." Oliver stood and headed for the kitchen.

"Mind if I go on the laptop while you cook?" Jenny asked.

"Sure, work away," Oliver called back as he went through to the kitchen.

Jenny went onto the PC and began surfing the net.

Within twenty minutes Oliver was setting the table and putting two hot bowls of pasta, with creamy sticky cheese sauce peppered with green jalapenos, onto the table.

Jenny stood up and smelled the cheesy and mildly spicy sauce, "Mmm that smells delicious," she said taking her seat, "Do you have any wine?"

Oliver laughed, "white or red?"

"White of course, who'd drink red this early? Anyway regression throws your body clock out."

Oliver went and collected the wine from the fridge, unscrewed the cap and shared a glass with Jenny. He loved her left of field aura. They sat down at the table to eat together. Jenny placed a print out from her surfing by her dish.

"I still can't quite believe I've met you," said Oliver, somewhat seriously.

"Fates fickle finger seems to be pushing us together," Jenny said.

Gesturing with an extended index finger, Jenny pushed the print out which had website addresses and e-mails on it, across to Oliver.

"What's this?" Oliver started to read the list in front of him.

"In your rush to find out more about Dyer, to help me, which is sweet, you've missed one obvious area to research." Jenny looked at Oliver to check if he would catch on.

"What areas that?" Oliver asked, puzzled as he read the list again.

"Me," Jenny laughed, "You haven't thought of me as a source to help, look, all these are associations, some of which I am affiliated with, all who offer regression therapy."

"But how many actually can regress, or induce actual regression like yours?"

"Um, at a guess, I'd say, none," Jenny took a mouthful of pasta, then speaking from the corner of her mouth continued, "but they are a community, a sub-culture, a network, they know each other, know things, they'd never respond to random requests on blogs, they are very serious about the therapy, make a living from it."

"And they may have heard of Dyer, will have if they are serious or long standing?"

"Exactly, especially some former hippy type therapists I know. They're in their sixties now but have been around this alternative therapy scene for decades, I've never told them about my gift, to them I'm just another therapist. But I'm trusted and they may know of this Professor chap."

"I might get some responses," Oliver offered in weak defence against Jenny's strong line on finding Dyer.

"No, you won't," Jenny poked his hand with her fork, "but nice try and thank you, pasta is really good. Jalapenos, I'd never have thought of that, delicious."

Jenny ate hungrily, sipped her wine and shared warm eye contact with Oliver. For the first time in her life she felt hopeful of learning more of her condition, which in recent months she had begun to fear might be terminal.

14.

Another recruit. Always more recruits. This one was weak, death was approaching. However, there was still life left and where there was life there was hope and a contribution that could be made.

There was a need for replenishment, a boost to extend life, build strength. Sufficient strength to make a contribution, to support the cause. Even one mission could make a difference.

The surgical robot approached the faded figure on the DRE surgical table, which hovered in the centre of the white room. Though weak there was a need to strap the recruit into restraints. The boost was painful, the surge of energy could induce rage or madness. A large syringe extended and aligned to the arterial vein in the crux of the elbow. Sensors scanned the area. The husk that was a person was emaciated, the vein here inaccessible. The robot glided down the naked torso and aligned with the saphenous vein in the lower leg. The sensor bathed the area in red light, detected the vein, a strap below the knee tightened to achieve more prominence and the syringe rapidly and accurately inserted its hypodermic needle into the vein.

Blue fluid was pumped into the vein, around a litre entered the venous system. Through osmosis the treatment washed through the body.

Whilst this recruit would live longer than expected at that moment they would have wished they were dead. If they had been capable of rationale thought. The body went in to shock, the flesh filled out, the muscles pumped up as the whole body engorged from the treatment. The heart enlarged and pumped at over one hundred and fifty beats a minute. The recruit screamed, and screamed, and would continue to scream for around thirty minutes. The pain so severe they should pass out, the treatment so powerful they could not.

From outside the room two men observed this latest recruit. They were charged with leading for hope, to finding a solution to the ills that had befallen upon them all. The elder more senior of the two spoke.

"The stock is getting weaker and the contribution less, we will be lucky to get two missions from this one."

They both watched impassively as the recruit endured unimaginable pain. They did not care, they had one single goal, which had to remain their exclusive purpose.

The younger (though still very old) colleague offered reassurance, "we are stepping up recruitment, the legislate are considering enforcing conscription for those whose test confirms their status. Not just the sick anymore. We need numbers, an incremental expansion to make our army vast."

"Can we influence the law makers further? Do they understand the risks of not making progress?"

"Yes I believe so. They are increasingly possessed of greater understanding, more now than ever, even the High Dean for the Legislate."

"The High Dean?" the older man asked incredulous, "what has changed his hardened mind?"

The younger man out stretched an open hand toward the screaming figure, writhing on the table in the room.

"This recruit," he explained, "is the High Deans grandson."

The older man raised a pleased eyebrow, "Good, good, it is just something like this that will aid our quest to expand."

They both watched impassively as the fifteen year old boy on the operating table emitted a never ending desperate scream.

15.

"Oh my god you two," Mary said pulling up from running with them, "I don't believe how gullible you are."

Mary bent over holding her knees to catch her breath.

"We all saw what we saw Mary," Minnie said in his and Jamie's defence.

It was early, just after seven in the morning and they had been running for nearly an hour. They had taken their favourite route around Battersea Park, entering the park from Queenstown Road and running parallel with the Thames. They had passed the ornate Peace Pagoda and the now taken for granted view of Albert Bridge over the river. Following the park Carriageway drives anti-clockwise, north, west and then south, they had pulled up in front of the park lake.

"Look Mary," Jamie continued to try to resolve the argument that had been brewing for the last two kilometres, "Jenny's reaction or fit was not any typical medical condition I would recognise. The pallor of her skin, how taut it was, the duration of the episode, the occasional static for Christ's sake. This was not epilepsy Mary."

"No, maybe not," she said, but by now Mary had had enough and was too angry to hold her self back she yelled at them both, "But it wasn't fucking time travel either."

Mary straightened up, shook her head and pushed her hands back over her tied up hair. She looked at them both "Dicks," she said and ran off.

Jamie and Minnie looked at reach other, Minnie offered a 'what?' shrug, Jamie sighed.

"She called you a dick," Minnie said.

"Dicks, plural, she called us both dicks," Jamie retorted.

"No, Mary wouldn't speak to me like that, she likes me too much. I think it was like you're a double dick Jamie, both for you kind of thing," Minnie tried to add some light to the tension that had been building in the ten days since they last saw Oliver.

"Yeah, right Minnie," Jamie set off at a very slow paced jog, Minnie joined him. They ran towards the southerly exit of the park, towards the exit nearest Battersea Park rail station.

"I just don't think Oliver's entirely lost it," offered Minnie as they ran slowly together, "whether he is or isn't right I think he genuinely believes he has witnessed full on regression. You know to almost time travel proportions. Sounds bonkers to me but who are we to question him trying to find out more? He's always had this hypothesis eating at him."

"But Mary's right the last time this happened he got ill, then he had that CarTalk idea thing last month. That made him wobble and he had only just been stabilising after nearly a year. But I agree with you, we saw what we saw and it was fucked up weird."

As they past the fourth bench from the exit they picked up to a sprint, out of habit and raced to the end of the park.

Upon leaving the park, they saw Mary outside the station kiosk, across the road from them. She was sipping a lucozade and under her arm had two more.

On Battersea Park Road, after the station, but before the Latchmere pub, there were several attractive restaurants and cafes. Aunty Roisin's was the favoured café of Oliver and his friends. Inside the café the three friends, still in running gear, continued their argument. Mary's Lucozade offering as some form of an apology hadn't created peace in their time. Given how preposterous the content of the discussion was they argued in a whisper.

"Look," said Mary, "I'm not having a go at Jenny she seems perfectly nice."

"But she is manipulating Oliver you think?" challenged Jamie.

"That's too strong a way of putting it, but she has drawn him in," Mary said.

"He's not drawn in," Minnie joined in, "He is looking for anything that feeds into his ideas on these things."

"But time travel for gods sake Minnie, it's not there, it's just a wild idea and to be frank, I worry about Oliver, you know his," Mary swirled a finger towards her temples.

"Mind, mentally ill?" Jamie shook his head, "nice Mary, he is a bright guy, he has an eccentric idea, he meets someone he likes who is also a bit out there, he hooks up with her and they get carried away with the possibilities of what they might be discovering together, yes it is odd but mental, no."

Minnie leaned in to speak a little quieter, "Whatever we say or think to rationalize this, we saw Jenny in that state. Don't forget that, a spindly woman, arched in some form of stasis, pale blue glowing eyeballs, fuck me if that's just an idea."

"So you believe Oliver, you think Jenny has a gift a power like some time travelling super-heroine?" Mary hissed albeit a restrained one.

"Now you're being flippant Mary," Minnie leaned back not prepared to be drawn by her sarcasm.

Jamie leaned in and spoke quietly, providing further evidence for his adopted view on the subject, "I've spoken to Oliver every day nearly, he is rational, no pressure of speech, no flight of ideas, out there ideas but no alliteration, no psychosis. He is not mentally unwell. He genuinely wants to help Jenny and she clearly has some bizarre condition. Right or wrong he is desperate to speak to Dyer."

Mary tried to speak and Jamie blocked her with a gentle hand to continue, "I know, I know, everything around Dyers work and Oliver's interest smells bad. But Oliver is not ill, nor a fool."

"But he's disappeared from us, we haven't seen him. How can we know he is not ill? And Dyer he had the reputation of a witch doctor I heard," Mary said.

"I don't know about Dyer, Oliver thinks he was a misunderstood genius who had a fall from grace. Anyway Oliver isn't ill I can tell from talking to him. And he has only disappeared down to Jenny's so she can keep her business going, while they try to find Dyer," Jamie explained.

"But what are the chances of that? The fallen academic hasn't registered on any radar for twenty years according to Oliver. Oliver could be searching for a ghost," Minnie said.

"I don't know," Jamie leaned back, "Jenny knows lots of psychic types and freaks in this field, if you can call it that. Oliver says they have made some interesting contacts. Met a few people, he believes Dyer is still alive and is starting to truly believe he can track him down."

"Okay, well we'll see. I'll help where I can, he's still a top mate," offered Minnie in support.

"Mark my words," Mary said having listened quietly to the exchange, "this is bad, was bad, still is bad, will be bad, and I know for certain, this will not go well, it isn't just some fanciful dalliance with a kooky girl, Oliver is putting himself in harms way. I don't know exactly how, but he is. And it will get ugly, very very ugly."

Mary sipped at her tea and chewed off a corner of her cold toast. Jamie sighed once more and run his fingers through his hair. Minnie picked up his last half a sausage and examined it, trying to get lost in the half burnt breakfast item, to escape from the tension at their table.

16.

Come at one pm for lunch he had said. Bring said lunch with them he had suggested. A lunch of chicken madras, tarka dall, two paratha and some onion bhaji. And a few beers. With all this agreed David had said he would be more than pleased to meet Oliver and Jenny. Could he borrow twenty quid as well? Great.

Kennington Park Flats were clustered off the Kennington Oval Road, behind the famous Oval cricket ground. Each post-war block was six stories high and all built exactly the same from the same brown-black brick, synonymous with some of London's less salubrious areas. This council estate was imposing and warren like. Oliver and Jenny felt conspicuous by them obviously being lost, not least because they wandered around with a large bag of hot take away from the nearby Kennington Tandoori on Kennington Park Road.

"Where is his block?" Jenny asked Oliver.

Oliver stood at the entrance of the block named 'Mandela House', "It's this one sixth floor number forty eight, I think."

They stepped inside the main entrance, it opened into a hallway, with access left and right to the ground floor flats. In the middle where they stood flights of concrete steps with black metal railings weaved upwards.

"Where is the lift?" Jenny asked Oliver.

"Doesn't look like there is one," Oliver replied, head arched back as he looked up and around.

Exchanging looks of resignation they began to climb the stairs.

Oliver and Jenny, after a tiring climb, arrived at the top floor and commenced knocking on the door and ringing the bell at number forty eight for several minutes. While they had climbed the stairs, Oliver with greater ease than Jenny, she had questioned the absence of a lift and mused on how the furniture for all these flats had been carried into each home. They had passed several people from a melting pot of backgrounds, all of whom had studied them to a highly uncomfortable degree.

"After all this, he is not in?" Jenny sighed, frustrated, "and I really thought he was our lead."

"Hang on," said Oliver. He stepped in nearer to the door and with his mouth close to the glass he called into the flat, "David, David Brown. It is Oliver Harris and Jenny Combes, from the e-mail exchange yesterday."

Oliver looked back at Jenny, she shrugged and looked around increasingly uneasy.

"You're curry is getting cold," Oliver called.

From behind the door a response came, "Did you remember the onion bhaji?"

"Yes," replied Oliver.

"Chicken Madras?"

"Yes," Oliver further confirmed, "the full curry works David."

"Few beers?"

"Yes," Jenny called in to David and she gave the carrier bag she was holding a short shake, to provide some reassuring chinks of beer bottles.

Silence.

"And the twenty quid?" David asked.

"Yes," Oliver and Jenny both replied in tandem with bemused smiles on their faces.

From inside they could here David moving around, then the sounds of bolts being undrawn in the door, three locks unlocking and eventually the door opened, on a chain. Through the opening of around six inches they could see David. He was white skinned and had matted thick black hair and a long black beard. He was portly and his white t-shirt grubby. He wore pyjama bottoms and slippers. He studied them briefly and then looked at the take away bag.

"You both look alright," he commented after observing them, "curry smells good, come in."

And with that he unfastened the door chain and invited them in.

Mary had chastised Oliver once they had finally spoken. She hadn't spoke or swapped a text with him in over a week. He knew from Jamie she disapproved of him becoming immersed in his regression theories once again, he also knew she felt Jenny was not the genuine article. He saw no value in this view and felt irritated with Mary for sharing it with Minnie and Jamie. However, their friendship was long standing and rock solid. They would argue, fall out but never had they stopped being friends. Oliver also understood Mary's concerns, he had become ill before, strained under the humiliation of exposure. He had been ridiculed as a mad professor character, studying fanciful science fiction and had become marginalized from the course. He was the number one student Professor Blooms frowned upon. Mary was instrumental in retaining his place on the course and the closest to him as she nursed him back to health.

Mary had tried to be understanding and supportive with Oliver, as he shared with her the email exchanges, phone calls and meetings with various people from the alternative therapy community. Some were therapists, others had undergone regression therapy. None had offered any insight or reveal that shone new light on the area, nor had they any offer that might help Jenny with her 'gift'.

It was when Oliver talked about their latest and strongest lead yet, that Mary became firstly concerned then frustrated. David was unknown to them but claimed to have met Dyer as a young man. Mary was one to resist snobbery but she knew the Kennington Park estate and its news worthy reputation for drug dealing and gang violence. Oliver was unmoved by her concern and at that point she knew she had lost him until this episode concluded, if it ever would she thought. She couldn't stop herself from calling him a bloody fool, warning him of how unsafe some places were and finally advised Oliver Jenny had him wrapped around her finger. Mary had then hung up and instantly felt dreadful.

Oliver had smiled and felt warmed as he approached the estate, as he received a text from Mary. It was a safety procedure and the code word was 'Help' to be sent to her by text if they got in trouble. She made Oliver text her the address they were visiting.

David ate his curry in probably the most unpleasant fashion either Oliver or Jenny had ever seen. As they sat down Oliver was at once dejected by the scene in front of him. David's house was a mess, with clutter and hoarded objects strewn everywhere. The furniture was worn and battered, the kitchen off the hall was filthy and had dirty crockery piled high in the sink. David was disheveled and his communication at first was stilted.

In the brief time Oliver had worked as a section twelve approved doctor (under the mental health act) he had assessed and detained several people with severe and enduring mental illness. Whilst there was no suggestion of David needing this drastic intervention today, it was clear to Oliver they were meeting someone with a long standing psychosis. As such he expected nothing now from the meeting.

A small piece of spicy chicken hung from David's beard. It quivered as he ate greedily, sauce ran into his beard and down his fingers.

"This is lovely, thank you very much," David commented on the food in a warm and surprisingly clear way.

"You're welcome," Jenny said.

"I know what you're thinking," David said looking at Jenny and Oliver whilst removing the chicken from his beard, "this place, me, that I'm just some nutter whose mugged you into giving him a free meal."

"No, David, you seemed genuine enough on the email," Oliver tried to sound genuine himself.

"Schizophrenia is very debilitating, but I'm not daft or mad. This is lovely. I haven't had a curry from them in nearly a year. Partly because I am so skint and partly because I get paranoid thoughts," David took a drink of beer, a long drink, "the voices kept telling me I would be poisoned."

"But you trust us?" Jenny asked with some uncertainty.

"You know of Professor Dyer, then I trust you," David opened a second bottle of beer and held it up to them both.

"Cheers," David said and he drank some more.

"So how did you know the professor, how long ago?" Oliver asked.

"Over twenty years ago, you see I was detained under the mental health act at the age of nineteen. My delusion was that I was Haile Selassie, who had died in seventy five, this was nineteen eighty something. Anyway if you don't know he was a living god to many Rastafarians, so how I could be him I do not know. So anyway I'm detained and I also tell them I can regress, access past lives and went on about who I could see who I had been."

"Can you regress David? Could you really regress?" Jenny asked.

"Look I was mentally ill, am mentally ill, that stuff about regression therapy, it's just the same as herbal medicine, if it works for you, all well and good. I was case conferenced until I was blue in the face, because my regression accounts were very accurate, and they couldn't get it. They assumed I was very well read, which I was, but not on all the stuff I came out with."

"So how did you meet Dyer?" Oliver wanted to move this on.

"He came to see me, not as a doctor, but as a visitor, he wore a baseball cap, casual clothes, he didn't want to be recognised by the staff. He was very agitated but said he had learned of my case and quizzed me about the past life stuff, but unlike anyone else he spoke to me like he believed in it, which freaked me out to be honest. Then he asked me to join him."

David chomped on an onion bhaji, he dipped it into the raita and put it in his mouth. He chewed on the large mouthful with great pleasure.

"Mmm, love bhajis."

"Join him doing what?" Jenny asked trying to refocus David.

"In his experiments, said he was studying the subject and would I privately, secretly join his study, he offered to pay me."

"And did you?" asked Oliver, excited at the discovery unfolding.

"Just once," David replied. Oliver's expression of optimism faded, "Just once and then it all went tits up for Dyer and he disappeared."

"What went wrong for him?" Jenny asked.

"A scandal of some kind, a tragic break up of his family, though I don't know who they were, a suspicion he topped his wife, though I'd never believe him capable of that. Police interest in his dark studies, a complete mess, and then he was gone. And that's twenty years ago."

Oliver was dejected, "I thought you could help us trace him David?"

"Oh, I can, he is in Vietnam, was in Vietnam, if he is still alive."

Oliver looked up, "What? How do you know that?"

"He contacted me about two years ago, with some advice, he had been contacting all those who had worked on his studies, with advice. Most have died since with one tragic thing or another. He is on the Mekong Delta, has a simple life, a reclusive life, does a bit of voluntary work, there is so many poor people in Vietnam still. He looks good, considering he is in his sixties now."

"You've seen him?" Jenny asked.

"He sent me a photo of him, on a boat on that delta river, big expanse of water, he looked well but a bit thin."

Oliver studied David, "What advice David, what advice was he giving people?"

For the first time David looked solemn, "I can't tell you, but I'm not doing very well with his advice speaking to you two at all to be honest."

"So why have you?" asked Oliver.

"Because I think one of you needs help, from what you've said, probably you Jenny, help to understand regression more. He won't talk to you though, you can try the e–mail address I have, but I've done my best telling you what I know. I like to help."

With that point made the unusual meeting ended. David saw them to the door, he paused before he opened it. At this point Oliver felt very threatened. The pause was uncomfortable and sustained, David stared at them. Oliver wondered if he might need his text SOS in the next few moments. David stared at them eyes fixed forward toward them.

"Twenty quid," David smiled, "I feel awkward asking but we also agreed twenty quid. I am really strapped for cash."

"Oh god, of course," and with much relief Oliver got his wallet and gave David twenty, with such relief he added in another ten.

"Lovely," David said as he opened the door, "I'll send the photo and the email address I have to your inbox Jenny. But he hasn't answered me in eighteen months, not sure if it is still a valid account, but it is the best I can offer."

Oliver and Jenny stepped out into the concourse that ran in front of the sixth floor flats. The bright sunshine hurt their eyes, contrasting from the dark dingy place they had been in.

"Look," David whispered, he now looked less relaxed, even regretful, "I'm just trying to help you but Dyer would say leave this alone, it's a subject not to be tampered with. He swore me to silence when he gave me my advice, and look, it left me frightened, still does, so just think carefully, okay?"

With that he returned into his flat and the loud noise of chains, bolts and locks echoed out into the summer's air. Oliver and Jenny shared a look of confusion and uncertainty as to the value of what they had just heard. Oliver was taken by how self possessed David was in closing their meeting and how uncertain he felt about going any further.

Jenny took his hand and they walked to the stairs. As they descended the stairs Jenny squeezed his hand affectionately and he remembered why they should continue.

17.

Singapore Airlines flight SQ317 sat awaiting clearance for take off on the runway at London's Heathrow Airport. Its white fuselage with mustard and dark blue stripes glistened in the fading light as the sun set. The heat from the whirring jet turbines distorted the distant view of the runways and service areas of the busy airport.

Inside in economy class, having resisted Jamie's offer of paying for a business class upgrade, Jamie, Oliver and Jenny sat side by side. Enjoying their comfortable seats they talked quietly waiting for the plane to gun down the runway and accelerate into the sky. Jamie could hardly take his eye from the beautiful 'Singapore Girls' the airlines air stewardesses. Dressed in Malay style Sarong Kebayas, with their rich and vibrant colours, they all looked beautiful and servile. Jamie already had the eye of one particularly beautiful girl. She sat three rows away, facing towards Jamie, in position for take off, strapped in by belts that looked infinitely safer than the ones that held in the passengers.

"We should have gone business class?" Jamie whispered, marginally frustrated.

"Why?" asked Oliver, "these seats are really comfy and the leg rooms not bad at all."

"I can't have sex with a stewardess here, can I?" complained Jamie.

"And you would in business class? Yeah right." Oliver said dismissing Jamie.

"Have before," Jamie smiled and raised his eyebrows suggestively at Oliver.

Jenny leaned over, "Jamie, did your mum ever tell you it's rude to stare?"

Jamie smiled, "Sorry," he leaned back and breathed in.

The Captain announced they had clearance for take off and the plane accelerated down the runway, pushing all passengers gently back into their seats. Within twenty seconds the nose lifted and the large Airbus A380 climbed into the air. As it gained height and began to turn and level slightly, the talking between passengers returned.

"Thanks for this," Oliver said, continuing to talk to Jamie. Jenny read the in flight magazine.

"Its okay mate, I just want to help you get this shit out of your system," he ruffled Oliver's hair, "and keep a fucking eye on you, you fucking lunatic."

Oliver smiled, "I haven't gone mad Jamie, I've explained to you what we have heard, what this David guy told us and about Dyer's email address."

"That he has never answered," Jamie said.

"But the account is still live, so I think that means so he is," Oliver countered, "anyway I'm grateful to you, I just wish Minnie and Mary had come. We can make this fun as well."

Jamie thought about this, "When we land phone Mary or email her, she is really worried about you," he spoke even more quietly, hopefully too quiet for Jenny to hear.

"You know what she thinks about Jenny, so there is no way she could do this and Minnie felt, well he felt Mary shouldn't be left alone. Look I think she seems lovely Oliver and I can see why you want to help her with this thing she has" Jamie looked Oliver in the eye, more somber in tone, "so I want you to do this but don't break the team up Oliver."

"I won't mate, I promise, you will all see. This is going to be a blast, an adventure," Oliver said and he said it seriously.

Jamie couldn't help but smile, "I don't believe you, you've become Tin Tin. You crack me up."

Oliver blushed, "well you know what I mean."

Once the plane settled into its flight path, the plane began to bustle and the passengers indulged in the flowing at seat service, enjoying the in flight at seat entertainment and the attention of the gracious Singapore Girls.

A little further into the flight, somewhere over Eastern Europe, Jamie, Oliver and Jenny sat watching a simultaneously selected movie at their personal screens. They watched 'The Hangover', whilst drinking champagne (thank you Jamie) and laughed heartily at the crack pot comedy.

Life at number 48 Mandela House, Kennington Park Estate, Kennington, was far much less fun. Two police officers stood either side of David Browns door and neighbours looked on from either side. All listened to the violent commotion from within his flat. The two officers tried to communicate with David, from the dimly lit landing outside his door, but they could not enter in such low numbers. The wail of a police siren faded into the scene as a riot patrol group van screamed onto the estate. Its bright headlamps and blue flashing lights illuminated the poorly lit estate, which was mostly shrouded in darkness with occasional glowing patches of orange street lights. Several officers poured out, fully garbed in riot gear and with shields. One officer carried a large nylon rucksack, which contained a large tactical ram and door breaching tools. Two officers carried semi-automatic Heckler and Gock MP5s and two more carried Glock pistols.

"I'm not involved," screamed David from within the flat, followed by the sound of more smashing of furniture, glass and household objects, "just get out and leave me alone."

Given the officers had given up calling in to the flat to try to negotiate with David, he wasn't responding to them.

"They know nothing, this is nothing to do with me, you can't include me, I am a simple fucking madman, no harm to you, so," and he screamed so very loudly, "just fucking fuck off out of my private space."

The officers exchanged glances of concern, one returned to the top of the stairs and watched a snake of black suited riot officers stomp up the stairs.

The young PC returned to the doorway of number 48, "they're just here, god knows what they'll find."

His colleague placed a single finger to his own lips to hush his colleague as he returned to the door, "He's gone quiet, I can't here anyone else speak."

"Neighbours say he hardly ever has any one call, so we just have to assume it's an intruder, dealer maybe?"

In that quieter moment, just before the noise of boots hit the landing, both officers thought they could here a low submissive wail.

Weapons were not unusual in these situations, the estate regularly entertained the firearm response unit visiting its residents. Three people had been shot, with one dying, in the last three months alone as a result of gang related violence.

On the order of the senior officer now in attendance, the two young beat officers gladly returned to crowd control duties. Then following a short briefing by the senior officer on the scene, with lots of pointing and signals to the faceless officers, who wore balaclavas, helmets, protective glasses, all the response team moved into position. Two officers positioned against the door, one with a breaching tool, which he (or she) fixed into the door jarm quietly and efficiently. The second leaned into the door and steadied the tactical ram as they had done so many times before.

One firearm officer crouched down low beneath a window by the door, another crouched against the concrete wall that formed the balcony frontage for the sixth floor flats. He steadied himself and readied his Glock pistol.

The senior officer held up a hand with fingers out-spaced. He withdrew a finger a second, five, four, three, two, one, go. On that hand signal the officer at the door withdrew the ram to shoulder height and then swept it down hard and fast. As the ram struck the door, the second officer applied the door breach tool and with one loud bang the door burst open, ripped off its hinges and fell into the now quiet flat. They both stepped back into safer space. The officer with the pistol took aim into the space where the doorway was. From the flat there was only darkness and silence.

The officer with the semi-automatic weapon crouched by the door, signaled for silence, as even a shuffling boot made it difficult to hear. He did not realize that David Brown was about three feet from him, David too crouched down in the darkness. The officer could hear the glug of fluid, the wetting of cloth he thought. As he computed the possibilities, the one that came to mind made him gesture to his colleagues to retreat five metres. As he gestured he thought he heard a low mutter from within.

"One nil to David Brown."

As they reached a distance of four metres each officer jumped at the sudden zipping sound from the doorway.

The zip was followed by a whoosh and the crouching officer turned his back and moved away, as a loud bang fired flames bursting from the doorway. The orange and red flames, with grey and black gaseous swirls enveloped the doorway and licked out onto the walls surrounding the entrance to the flat. The heat was intense and the officers shielded their eyes. They had not had time to reconsider their tactics when a burning David Brown emerged from within the flames that now formed a door to his flat. He staggered two steps and then accelerated, screaming as he forced his body forward at speed.

The on-looking neighbours gasped in shock, if it could have been heard each officer also took sharp intakes of breath.

David reached the concrete balcony wall and in one movement hurtled himself over the precipice. His burning body fell six floors and crashed onto the pavement below. His bones and flesh shattering and ripping on impact. No blood flowed. A foul smelling steam was emitted from his body as blood evaporated as it came into contact with the hot flames that were still burning his very dead body.

Jamie, Oliver and Jenny all had their mouths open at the same time as they laughed at the funniest moment of the film. Oliver and Jenny held hands. Jamie had extra attention from Faith one of the beautiful stewardesses. They were having fun and enjoying the start of what Oliver had described as an adventure. Jamie and Oliver had an agreement. The trip was for ten days and this included five days to find Professor Robert John Dyer. Oliver was confident, he knew Dyer was somewhere on the Mekong Delta and whilst the delta was a vast area Dyer was an elderly English man. He would stand out and Oliver also had the photograph of Dyer from David Browns email. Oliver felt sure he would find this man, someone Oliver regarded as a genius. He felt sure Dyer had the key, the detail and the insight, to the puzzle that was Jenny's regression. Oliver had developed feelings for Jenny, deeper and stronger than he had known before. He feared the regression fits she experienced, she had had one further seizure, milder and shorter lived than the first he witnessed. Oliver did not take her to hospital but waited for ninety minutes as Jenny had planned with him. Jenny was unharmed when she recovered. However, he could tell that beneath her breezy, dizzy, jolly exterior she was frightened. Jenny asked much about Dyer and Oliver told her all he knew. Her keenness to find him barely hid a sense of desperation. Oliver suspected her condition was potentially far graver than Jenny revealed. Having found her he did not want to lose her now, or ever. Anyway, Oliver had the best lead, a firm lead, a location and a photograph, they would find both Dyer and much needed help. And David Brown had provided the first key to begin unlocking the mystery deep within Jenny's very being.

Oliver sipped some more champagne as the credits on the film rolled. Once this was all over and Jenny was stabilised, he would return to David Browns flat he thought. Oliver would thank him with the gift of another curry and some Carlsberg lager, and a couple of hundred pounds. Why not Oliver thought, David had been very generous with what little he knew.

18.

The yellow taxi made its way down Vo Thi Sau, surrounded by hundreds of motorbikes of all descriptions. Some shiny new and brightly coloured but mostly older scooters carrying multiple passengers, some with three generations on one scooter. This was just a small sample of over two million motorbikes in Vietnam's capital Ho Chi Min City that swarmed around its parallel streets and intricate roadways. The most impressive feats of scooter riding that Oliver had witnessed so far were four people on one scooter (mum, dad, daughter and baby in arms), a large wardrobe balanced across its rider and a young woman sleeping against her boyfriends back.

The taxi had collected Oliver from the Rex Hotel on Nguyen Hue Boulevard fifteen minutes earlier. They had slowly made their way on to Thi Sau and were now heading towards the outskirts of the city. It was hot, steaming hot at thirty three degrees and nearly eighty per cent humidity. June was the second month of the rainy season and enjoyed the second highest rainfall statistics. The rain would come later in the day Oliver thought, it would be torrential rain and he looked forward to seeing it. Vietnam was a country that had dragged itself from the bowels of poverty into striking economical growth. Its success could be seen in Ho Chi Min city with line after line of elegant shops, small businesses and many restaurants and cafes. At the outer edges of the city and in the country's rural areas, poverty still haunted millions of its eighty seven million population.

Oliver was heading for just beyond the Hong Bang district to a social work café run by the mother of social work in Vietnam, Madame Nguyen Thi Oanh. Oanh was an elegant seventy seventy year old woman from a wealthy family background. Along with her brothers she had been educated in America. Whilst they had remained in the United States, both now featuring in departments at the highest levels of American politics, Oanh had returned to her country of birth. Madame Nguyen had dedicated her life to campaigning for a fairer social welfare system and for better health care and provision for the many millions in abject poverty. Oanh had fought to raise awareness of the mental illness, drug abuse, wife beating and rape that the communist regime tried to ignore. She was both loved and revered.

Oliver had spent the morning at the British Embassy on La Duan Street, where he had managed to secure a brief meeting with the ambassador's wife. The embassy was a short walk from the Rex Hotel and Oliver had chanced his luck by pitching up there. Michelle Atram was a very elegant English woman in her early forties. She had agreed to come to the reception to meet Oliver, following the receptionist having made enquiries about the ambassador's availability. Michelle was very sweet with Oliver, who spun a tale of trying to look up an old colleague of his fathers, a professor from the same medical school, a 'Robert John Dyer'. Oliver said he and his friends were travelling South East Asia and his father had mentioned that the old rogue Dyer had dropped out on the Mekong Delta. Michelle said it was not usual for the embassy to provide a 'friends reunited' service but helpfully told Oliver she knew of no one from the UK who had settled on the Delta. That didn't mean they hadn't but she thought it would have come to her attention in the three years they had been in Southern Vietnam. More helpfully she suggested Oliver spoke with Madame Nyueng at her social work café. Every weekday afternoon was a drop in and Oanh and her colleagues knew the Delta better than she ever would. They had regular outreach missions onto the Delta to work with the poorest areas and to help people to build social businesses there.

Oliver had returned to the Rex to lunch with Jamie and Jenny and now found himself leaving the taxi, and standing in a quiet hot street, having paid probably four times the local rate for his journey across town. Oliver wanted to manage the search largely on his own, Jenny was tired from the long haul flight and did not look well. He was more mobile on his own. They would all travel together to the Delta but Oliver was trying to use the first one to two days to try to narrow the area they would search.

Madame Nyueng's social café was held in the volunteers building and courtyard on Binh Thoi. Oliver tentatively opened the white gate and stepped into the white buildings courtyard. It was a quiet peaceful place with palms and exotic plants and tables with jugs of juice and plates of fruit. Each jug had a small plate on top to prevent unwanted creatures swimming in the sweet drinks.

Oliver could see inside that three women were cooking in the kitchen. He immediately recognised Madame Nyueng as she was some thirty years more senior to her colleagues. Oliver stepped into the hall in front of the café and open kitchen.

"Madame Cheung," Oliver called hoping he had captured at least an approximation of how to pronounce her name.

"Hello," she smiled back waving, "Can I help you young man?" she clearly wasn't fazed by a stranger arriving at her café. On the contrary she was used to regular drop in visits, often international visitors, from the social care profession as she enjoyed worldwide fame in her field.

"I hope so," Oliver replied, "Would you have five minutes of your time, I'm trying to find an old friend?"

"Yes," Oanh replied checking with her colleagues that they were okay, "Please take a seat, we don't open for half an hour. I always like to help if I can."

They exchanged pleasantries, Oliver spoke with Oanh about her life and her current work. He was genuinely interested in her remarkable work and taken by the presence she held. Oanh was a noble principled woman and he felt sure she would help him if she could. She asked about his travels, his work and his family and a little about London.

"So you are looking for someone, a Vietnamese person?" she asked.

"No, an Englishman who settled out here some twenty years ago, who lives out on the Mekong Delta I've been told." Oliver paused, there was no reaction from Oanh where he thought there might be.

"The Delta is a big place," she said smiling kindly.

"He was a friend of my fathers, they both lectured at the same medical schools in Oxford and London, he is quite a distinguished man," Oliver reached into his pocket, "here I have a photograph of him."

He handed her the photograph, "It is a few years old."

Oanh studied the photograph, "Where about is he supposed to live on the Delta?"

"I don't know, sorry."

"It is a big place," Oanh smiled again, less warmly than before, "I know only of a few Europeans in the whole region, eco tourist workers, red cross volunteers, twenty at the most."

"His name is Robert John Dyer, he was, is a professor."

"Sorry, I don't know him, he may not be in Vietnam, the Delta begins in Southern China, through Thailand then Laos, runs through Cambodia, it is a very big river, how do you say, yes, you're looking for a needle in a haystack." Madame Nyueng handed the photograph back.

"Thank you anyway, we'll try the Delta ourselves, do a small tour, you never know." Oliver said.

"I wouldn't bother," Oanh said, "if I were you I'd head for the coast, more beautiful, superb beaches, nicer for young people like you."

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind, you've been very kind with your time."

Madame Nyueng Thi Oanh stood as did Oliver and she shook his hand as they said goodbye. Oliver left the courtyard and she waved him goodbye. She watched him cross the street to the waiting yellow taxi, climb in and then drive away. Oanh didn't believe the cock and bull story about his father knowing Dyer, she knew when someone was being less than straight. So what of it, they had both lied, no harm done.

The Rooftop Garden and Restaurant on the fifth floor of the Rex Hotel is regarded as one of the must do attractions for travelers to Vietnam. Infamous for being the favoured location for journalists during the Vietnam War and famous for broadcasts from its terrace, whilst the Vietnam War raged in the background.

Oliver, Jenny and Jamie were drinking cocktails. They lounged in large comfortable padded bamboo chairs. The evening heat was much more pleasant and the torrential rain an hour earlier had eased the humidity. It should have been a very pleasant moment but Oliver was frustrated.

"I think she was lying, she knows Dyer," Oliver said.

"I don't think so, she sounds very sweet," Jenny replied.

"She is sweet, a very honest woman, which made it much harder for her to lie, but lie she did."

Jamie sipped his mojito, "But there's nothing you can do about it, unless you're suggesting we go turn her over, drag the information out of her?"

"Of course not, it just means Dyer is still out there, otherwise if he was dead she would say so, if he'd moved on she would have said. No for her to need to lie means he is somewhere on the Delta," Oliver deduced.

"You could be right, but where do we start?" Jenny asked.

"Yes there is still the small problem that the Delta is thirty nine thousand square kilometers, we could take," Jamie did a quick mental calculation, "thirteen thousand kilometers each?"

Oliver smiled, "More cocktails will get our creative juices going, it can't be impossible."

Oliver waved a hand and an ever attentive waiter glided over to them. The terrace was very classy with fine furniture, elegant statues and a gloss black grand

piano.

As the three chatted they didn't notice the young man in smart white trousers and white polo enter the room. He carried a black leather shoulder bag and held a clutch of business cards. He worked around the room engaging guests and handing out business cards for his eco tours. Oliver first noticed him when the round of cocktails he had ordered, were being placed at their table. Four Americans (Oliver assumed this from the prejudicial stereotypes he held in his mind) laughed loudly at the young man, who was very animated in manner. Oliver heard him say something like 'you guys crack me up' and then he turned around. Seeing Oliver looking across the young Vietnamese man dressed all in white raised a finger of engagement towards Oliver and walked over.

"Well done," Jamie said to Oliver having also noticed him and seeing Oliver had caught his eye. Jamie shrunk down in his seat. Jenny smiled.

"Hey guys, how you doing?" Van Cong Son said, "call me Van." Van vigorously shook hands with each of them. Jamie was less enthusiastic. Van spoke excellent English with a Vietnamese/American blend of accent (due to much of his learning being from USA programmes and cinema). He had a slightly effeminate drawl as he spoke.

"My god," Van observed Jamie, "Would you look at this guy, how good looking is he?"

Van checked out with Oliver and Jenny as he pointed at Jamie, "my god you are a looker, best looking guy in the Rex, no in Ho Chi Min City, hell no in Vietnam, how long have you been in Ho Chi Min handsome guy?"

Oliver and Jenny were laughing, Jamie as cool as he thought he was, was blushing.

"Just one day," Jamie answered.

"You're going to have a great time with the girls with that face my friend, much fun," Van swayed his hips, "and you won't have to pay either."

Van then placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder, "Unlike you're friend here, I hope you have plenty of Dong."

It was Jamie's turn to laugh and Jenny almost roared at Van's comment.

"Hey," Oliver protested.

"I'm only kidding, you're not bad, is this you're girlfriend?" Van asked.

Neither Oliver nor Jenny knew how to answer this direct question. They had become close, formed a partnership even, but hadn't discussed or examined what they meant to each other. Jamie intervened.

"So what do you do Van?" Jamie asked.

"Tour guide good looking guy, best tour guide in southern Vietnam, you are English?"

"Yes," Jamie answered.

"Manchester United, that's my team, Rooney, Roooneeey," Van chanted gently.

Oliver laughed, "Leeds United here, Good looking guy is Spurs and Jenny?"

Jenny answered Oliver, "Brighton."

"I've not heard of Brighton," Van paused and then looked at Jamie again, "are you a movie star, or a model or something?"

"No Van, I am not," Jamie said a little straight laced.

"You make Brad Pitt look like a rats arse," Van smiled at them all, "So what brings you guys to Vietnam?"

"Just a holiday," Jenny answered.

"Holiday, good, so you want to have a look around, see a bit of Ho Chi Min, maybe go to the coast?" Van asked.

"What about the Mekong Delta?" Oliver asked.

Van turned to answer Oliver, not noticing Jamie's waving arms making gestures of protest, "Mekong Delta? Yes, very interesting area, vast waterways, vibrant floating markets, wonderful small businesses and eco guest houses, would you like a few nights there?"

"No," Jamie answered for Oliver, "we were going to travel independently."

Van laughed loudly, "independently. How the hell are you going to do that? Travel in Vietnam is murder, no, you guys need a guide and you're luck is in as Van has a window over the next few days."

Van handed them out a card each. Jamie took a long drink through the straw of his cocktail.

"We were trying to track down an old friend of my fathers," Oliver suddenly said, "He lives on the Delta, but it is such a big place."

"Vietnamese guy?" Van asked.

"No no, English, older man, in his sixties a former Professor," Oliver clarified for Van.

"English guy on the Delta, I should be able to help you there, what's he look like? You see I'm there all the time doing my tours, by the way I am fully qualified, licensed and my transport is luxury, you'll do well with Van."

"Thanks," Jamie said waving the card, "we'll think about it and call you, Van."

Oliver had reached into his back pocket and pulled out the photograph of Dyer, he handed it to Van, "We think he must be over sixty now, but I think he is a bit of a recluse. Dad would just like to get back in touch, he was a family friend for years."

Van studied the picture, "Hey, I know this guy, travels round the Delta on his own, I've seen him at the floating markets at Cai Be, sure I could find this guy for you."

Jamie looked at Jenny disbelievingly, Jenny just shrugged. She knew Oliver was becoming impatient even though this was still their first full day.

Oliver wanted a lead badly, "Okay Van, so how would say a three night tour work? Including you helping us find our friend?"

Van smiled, he had sealed the deal, "You have a good eye for a quality service sir," Van said sitting down, "look I was only joking before, you're a good looking guy too."

"Thanks," replied Oliver flatly, Jenny smiled and edged forward on her seat.

"And you're girlfriend is very pretty, very angelic face," Van smiled at Jenny, she smiled back.

Jenny looked across at Jamie who was looking less pleased and less engaged by Van's charming business patter.

Van unzipped his black leather bag, he took out a large shiny map and a well thumbed brochure, "Okay we have many options, but if you're friend is around the Cai Be area, he would have been shopping there if he lives that way, he won't live further away than this," Van took a pencil and drew a circle around an area of the vast Delta river on his map.

"How would you know that?" Jenny asked.

"Because," Van pointed at four other points on the map, "here, here, here and here are other floating markets, outside of this circle and you'd go to one of these, inside and Cai Be is you're local market. See you're getting good value from me already and I haven't even had a dollar from you." Van laughed loudly again.

Even Jamie smiled and felt there was some plausibility to what Van said if indeed he had recognised Dyers picture, which Jamie doubted.

"Cai Be it is then," Oliver said, throwing himself headlong towards Van's lead. What else did he have to follow, thought Oliver.

19.

The Sampan Tour Boat traversed the vast expanse of chocolate brown water, heading towards the town of Vinh Long and the floating market of Cai Be. The three friends were the sole occupants of the simple thirty seat wooden cruiser. They all sat under the canopy that covered the boat. Jamie laid across his seat, head on the rucksack he carried with him. Jenny snoozed with her head on Oliver's shoulder, whilst he took in the view. Houses of vastly different condition lined the banks of the Delta, from smart and neatly built brick houses to shacks made of corrugated iron and tarpaulin.

Van stood at the back, by the boats pilot, with his fixed beaming smile on display. He had an enlarged photocopy of Dyers picture pinned to the wooden frame of the boat. It fluttered and curled in the early morning breeze that whipped across the river.

"I am still drunk from last night's cocktails," Jamie muttered from under the baseball cap that covered his face, "what time is it?"

"Nearly six a.m." Oliver replied checking his watch. Jenny opened her eyes and stretched.

"Why so early? I missed the point of why we have dragged ourselves out of bed at four?" she asked.

"Van says the market is busiest between five and nine in the morning," Jamie took the cap from his face and sat up, "and the most likely time for Dyer to be shopping. It's as easy as that."

"It's a start," Oliver enhanced his opening word to counter Jamie's sarcasm, "and maybe Dyer won't be there but the regular traders will, they'll recognise him."

"Hey don't doubt me good looking guy," Van called from the rear of the boat.

"God," Jamie muttered placing the baseball cap over his face and laying back down, "stop calling me that, fucking homo."

"I ain't no gay man Jamie," Van replied surprising Jamie that he had heard and understood, "just know a good looking guy when I see one."

Jamie held up his hand and spoke more loudly, "Sorry Van."

"Hey no problem," Van walked towards them where they sat at the front of the boat, "Early starts are always best to leave Ho Chi Minh and to cross the My Thuan Bridge, after seven the hour trip would take three."

Jenny pointed back down the Delta towards My Tho, "You can still see the towers of the bridge from here, it is a beautiful structure."

"It was the first bridge to cross the Mekong Delta and it has opened up road connections with Ho Chi Minh for the sixteen million who live south of the river."

"We crossed a bridge?" Jamie asked sitting up.

"Yes," Van replied, "It was built by the Australians, our closest friend in the west, I would have told you all about it Jenny as we crossed but these boys were sleeping."

"Thank you Van," Jenny said.

"No problem, I know all there is to know about Vietnam but so far I have told you nothing, one of you always sleeping," Van smiled, "You are pretty shit tourists."

He turned and walked away, "Once we get to Cai Be we can have breakfast."

Oliver called after him, "I thought Vietnamese people were shy and humble Van?"

"They are Oliver, but not me, that's why I make such a good tour guide," Van tapped the picture of Dyer as he arrived back at his place at the front, "I'll find you this guy, but you better give me a decent tip."

"We will Van, though how we will find him out here I do not know," Oliver turned back to look forward. Jamie had pulled out his water bottle and was pouring it over his face to wake himself up. Jenny tucked herself back into Oliver's shoulder. Jamie looked across and winked in recognition of their intimacy.

Oliver continued to scan the wide expanse of river and endless banks busy with houses and adjacent roads running parallel with the river. He noticed the increased number of motorcycles and vans that were zipping up and down as Vietnam buzzed into life for another day. Oliver stroked Jenny's hair. They were intimate in that they were now some kind of item. Joined now by this quest, a pursuit he did not question. They had embraced often, kissed occasionally but though they shared a bed they had not made love. Yet it was entirely comfortable and things would progress if and when it was right for them both. This aspect of their relationship was different to what Oliver has experienced before, he was used to attraction being closely followed by sex. But he did not feel the need or desire to try to make moves towards a greater level of intimacy than they were currently enjoying. He rested his head upon hers.

Cai Be floating market is a beautiful spectacle at any time of day but it was at its best in the early hours of trading. At six fifteen a.m. the residents of Vinh Long and surrounding areas swarmed the market in small boats. The market comprised of boats and junks of different sizes. Some were simple flat bottomed wooden boats, with large flat pans full of colourful spices covering the decks or baskets of fruit and vegetables. Larger boats sold cooking oil in five litre drums, dried fish and cured meats, second hand clothing, refurbished electrical goods but mainly food goods. Some of the boats were moored together with ropes.

The market bobbed gently against the backdrops of Vinh Long and the main delta tributary. It was a colourful spectacle with tropical fruit hanging from pillars on the boats, all types of spices and snake whiskey bottles, each with a dead snake inside. Some sold trinkets and objet d'art that would interest foreign visitors. A number of the floating wooden vessels were houseboats with other houseboats floating nearby. Jenny was humbled by the simple wooden structures suspended on the muddy waters, with worn wooden planks holding them together. The bedrooms were open on three sides with simple blankets draped over to provide minimal privacy. Inside she could see clothing and underwear hanging on wooden frames that acted as wardrobes.

As their tour boat neared Oliver searched the scene expectantly. Rafts of water hyacinth floated by. The market was busy, very busy, with much haggling and selling between traders, locals and tourists. The sound of Vietnamese and French languages echoed over the water lapping against the boats. There was several tour boats surrounding the floating market and several dozen western tourists stretching over from boat to boat to buy goods. Not goods they necessarily needed, more to experience this unique Vietnamese scene. Oliver walked to the front of the boat and peered across the busy market. Van looked from the photo to the market and back again.

Jamie shook his head unable to take the search seriously. Dyer was a recluse, this was not a scene any recluse would entertain.

Jenny stayed under the canopy but also stood and looked across the market.

On the far side, buying cayenne pepper, paprika and lemons an older man stood on the edge of a trader's junket. He wore a large straw hat and shades to protect him against the rising sun, which was already providing notable warmth in the morning air.

Van spotted him at the same time as Oliver, who looked back down the boat towards Van.

"It could be," called Van, "first time lucky?"

Jenny moved to the front, "What is it Oliver?"

Jamie turned back from watching fishing boats through binoculars, which were chugging some distance away in the middle of the river.

Van spoke to the tour boat pilot in Vietnamese, pointing across to the other side of the floating market where the older man shopped alone.

"I've asked him to take the boat around," Van called to Oliver.

"What?" asked Jamie generally wanting to know what was causing the sudden activity.

The bow of the Sampan, where Oliver stood, veered away from the first market boat they had been approaching. Oliver looked over again at the old man, he also looked at the distance they had to traverse to get in and around the jam of tourist boats, small local boats and single man canoes. It would take several minutes to navigate.

"They've seen an old man, might be Dyer, can you see him," Jenny explained to Jamie, "over the far side on his own."

Jamie lifted his binoculars and scanned the floating boats and junkets, "It's hard to say who is under that hat and glasses."

As the boat began to straighten the bow came within inches of the first flat bottomed boat selling fruit. Oliver hesitated, looked at Van who was urging the tour boat pilot towards a gap in the tour boats, and then jumped onto the first market boat.

"Oliver," called Jenny surprised at seeing him jump.

Oliver had decided that he would not keep the old man in sight whilst they toured around the maze like floating market to reach where he stood buying spices. He wasn't certain it was Dyer but the older man held a close resemblance. Oliver wasn't going to let the chance pass him by.

The flat boat rocked as Oliver balanced along its side, the owner smiled and called to Oliver, but then yelled as Oliver ran down the side of his boat. As Oliver jumped off the boat the final sway toppled a basket of bright fresh oranges, sending them rolling down the deck.

"Xin lỗi." Van called to the owner of the boat, an apology which he would shortly be repeating to several traders.

Oliver landed on another flat bottomed boat, completely laden with bright green melons, but only for a few short steps and then jumped onto a larger junket.

"Sorry," he called to the owner, who smiled and seemed very accepting of Oliver walking down his boat from bow to stern.

At the end Oliver held onto a rope, he looked across the market, he wasn't even a quarter of the way but the old man seemed engrossed in buying more spices. Oliver countered his weight with the rope and eased himself down onto a smaller junket, selling rice wine and snake whiskey.

Jamie lowered his binoculars, "this is embarrassing."

Oliver took quick steps and jumped from boat to boat, by now attracting the mild ire of traders and the amused gaze of western tourists. He looked up as the old man made his final purchase. The man in the straw hat placed all his bags of spices into a smart rucksack and placed this on his back. Oliver saw a small canoe with an outboard engine moored to the spice boat. He had seen locals travelling around in this type of vessel earlier. He now felt sure the old man was Dyer, shopping for food not trinkets, travelling alone in local transport, the resemblance. Then the smile, the older man smiled as he paid. The same smile Oliver had seen in the photograph. Oliver quickened his steps.

"Mr Dyer," he called as he ran, "Professor, Professor Dyer."

The old man stood motionless. Oliver arrived at the next boat, tip toed along its edges, which was a persons height above the boat where the older man in the straw hat stood. Oliver crouched down and, gently this time, lowered himself onto the spice boat, which was the furthest point away from the first boat he had started from.

Breathless, he spoke gently, "Professor Dyer?" then he softly laid a hand on the mans shoulder, he wore a beige brushed cotton safari jacket. The old man turned and looking puzzled and slightly nervous, he tried to smile.

"Professor Dyer? I'm sorry are you Robert John Dyer?"

The man spoke, but it was German words that came out from his mouth. Oliver had not noticed the tourist boat at the opposite end to the small motor boat, such was his focus on this elderly man. A younger man had dropped down from the tourist boat and was walking quickly along the edge of the spice boat to join them.

"Can I help you?" he asked in clear English but with a soft German lilt, "my father doesn't speak any English I am sorry."

Oliver breathed out, beads of sweat trickled down his brow, "No, it is me who is sorry, your father looks so much like a family friend, I was convinced, so I rushed over, please give him my apologies."

The young man spoke in German to his father, who first raised eyebrows and then smiled, then laughed and spoke back to his son. He turned and shook Oliver's hand.

"He says no harm done, he is surprised there is anyone as good looking as him living in England," the young man offered a weak smile, while his father laughed loudly.

As Vans tour boat cruised past the many flat bottomed boats and junkets Oliver had ran across, he waved and apologised at the traders, "xin lỗi," he repeated and when one complained back, "I know, I know," Van said acknowledging their complaint in English.

Oliver re-appeared into view, climbing up onto a junket above the traders boat where he had encountered the elderly German man. He waved a thumbs down to communicate his mission had failed. Jamie shook his head and walked back down the boat to Van, where he stood by the pilot and the picture of Dyer pinned to the wooden pillar. Van acknowledged Oliver and guided the boats pilot towards him. Jenny stood on the bow and smiled and waved at Oliver.

"You've never seen this man here," Jamie said to Van tapping the picture, "have you Van?"

"No," Van confessed, "but it doesn't mean we are in the wrong place, look." Van pointed at the picture where Dyer stood smiling on board a small canoe on the delta. Van pointed into the background where a large church stood.

"See the church?" Van said.

"Yes, I can see the church," Jamie answered.

"Well look behind you," Van pointed over Jamie's shoulder.

Jamie turned and on the far bank, at the front of Vinh Long town, facing out over the water, stood a large Roman Catholic Church. The same church as in the picture. Dyer had had his photo taken here, probably within metres of where their boat was now. Dyer had frequented Cai Be market even if it was some years before, this probably was his local market.

"I am not a bad man Jamie," Van said, "if you're man is in the area I will find him, my family home is on the Delta, I know my way around."

Jamie smiled, "Okay Van, I believe you."

Oliver dropped down onto the tour boat and Jenny put her hand around his waist and her other on his chest sympathetically.

"Come on you guys, I'll show you where you can get the best breakfast on the delta," Van said to them all, his smile unswerving.

Jamie, Oliver and Jenny sat in the Phưồng Thủy restaurant in Vhin Long, with spectacular views out towards the floating market and out across the Mekong. Jamie and Oliver ate a breakfast of banh mi, a French baguette, with scrambled eggs and grilled sardines, sprinkled with spring onion and soy sauce. Jenny had the same minus the dead sardines. Van had explained how the French colonial occupation had created wonderful fusion foods, none better than this breakfast roll.

They now watched Van as he delicately went from boat to boat, talking to traders, showing the photograph of Dyer, trying to secure a lead. Jamie had shown Oliver the church on the banks of the river, and its place in Dyers picture. This had the effect of immediately lifting Oliver from his disappointing encounter with the old German tourist. They drank fresh mango and orange juice and spoke little they were so hungry, hung over and tired.

Van spoke to his last trader, shook his hand and hopped onto the tour boat. It made its way to the quay side which served the restaurant. After a short while Van skipped into the diner and sat down beside them.

"Food good?" he asked.

"Fantastic," Jamie said with his mouth full.

"Really tasty," Jenny said.

"Any luck?" Oliver asked.

"Of course, our trail gets warmer." Van handed the photograph back to Oliver, who returned it to his pocket.

"Several of them have seen your guy, one as recently as last month," Van explained, "he speaks pretty good Vietnamese but makes little small talk, he is a nice guy but they don't know where he lives. One thought he might be from just the other side of the Co Chien River, about a kilometre that way," Van pointed out westerly beyond the floating market.

"That's excellent Van," Jenny said excitedly, "it means Dyer is still alive and still here." Jenny put her hand under the table and squeezed Oliver's hand tightly. He smiled and nodded.

"Even better," Van continued, "Mr Song, who has the large junket with the electrical goods, says he has seen the old man talking with Mr Hai Hoang, who runs and owns the big ceramic factory on the delta. My family knows Hai and he is the guy who knows everyone, does some work for the Government approving social enterprise licenses, he will know where Dyer is."

At this point even Jamie believed this was true this time and they might find Dyer after all.

20.

It was late afternoon and the tour boat cruised down the narrower waterway Co Chien River. They had confirmation that Robert Dyer lived in the area and they had his address. Van was singing and dancing.

"Money talks, mmm-hmm-hmm, money talks  
Dirty cash I want you, dirty cash I need you, woh-oh  
Money talks, money talks  
Dirty cash I want you, dirty cash I need you, woh-oh"

Van was thoroughly enjoying his murderous rendition of Dirty Cash by Stevie V, even giving a solo on sax for the instrumental section. Thumb in mouth and his other hand splayed out, the international gesture for saxophone playing, he was in full swing. Young girls on the bank laughed as they watched him jigging down the aisle of the boat.

"Enough Van, you win," Oliver said, raising both his hands in surrender, "I bow to your superior local knowledge."

Jamie laughed, "I'm sorry Oliver but you really did make an arse of yourself, I thought we would get our backsides kicked, well done Van the man," Jamie high fived Van.

Van smiled and ruffled Oliver's hair. Earlier he had saved Oliver from a compromising incident amongst garden ceramics and hot working kilns. Oliver was insistent on fronting up the search for Dyer at Mr Hoangs ceramics and brick factory. Oliver had approached Mr Hoang who would never deny a tourist a conversation and tried to spin the tale of Dyer as a family friend. Mr Hoang had sternly said he knew of no such man in the area, even saying no Europeans lived on the delta. Oliver could be over bearing in his determination to progress, this was his mission and the solution for Jenny was his responsibility. His manner was softened by the warmth behind his intentions and this made his doggedness acceptable to his close friends. But not to Mr Hoang.

Oliver kept up his badgering of Hoang but had not seen the slow approach of four or five muscled brick workers. Jamie had pulled Oliver out and let Van in. Van took a hundred dollars from Jamie and asked them all to wait outside. Jenny worried about Oliver and how his judgment was becoming more fragile within his quest to help her.

Seven minutes later Van returned without the hundred dollars and with Dyers address and location.

"Money does talk in Vietnam," Van explained to the three on the boat, "if you were better tourists you would have had my tourist speech, the country suffers with endemic corruption and bribes are everyday occurrences. Blah Blah. But you are too lazy to get the full Van effect," Van hummed to himself more 'money talks' and walked off to the back of the boat again.

Van exchanged comments in Vietnamese with the non-English speaking pilot of the boat. The boat operator was a friend of Vans Fathers, ex V.C. He made just one comment to Van, he thought the family friend story was bullshit and he told Van he should be careful.

This river brought tourists more up close and personal with the more rural outreaches of the Mekong Delta. The affinity of locals with the water was plain for Oliver and friends to see. Young boys swam and played in front of their houses, women washed clothes and men cooled off from their work in the chocolate brown waters. A teenage girl brushed her teeth in the river, she was dressed fashionably, western style, yet her actions were third world. This captured Vietnams contrasting fortunes, from Ho Chi Mins cosmopolitan tale of success and excess, to the poor in the rural and farming communities. Each house was different, the best were simple concrete structures but most were a combination of wood, corrugated iron and canvas or tarpaulin for shelter. Many houses were built on wooden frames and stilts sited in the waterside that extended out over the river. The delta's economy, despite its vast harvest of rice three times a year was highly dependant on its tourist trade.

The dense foliage that enveloped the houses and land of the region was striking. Green thick bushes with palm trees stretched out from the ground to great heights. The deep green forest was interspersed with fruit orchards providing bursts of colour, from papaya, banana and mango trees. It was tropical but not jungle, the greenery was relatively young having grown out of the ground devastated by napalm and Agent Orange five decades earlier.

The Sampan docked at a wooden jetty that jutted out into the river. It came to a halt bumping gently against a moored small motorized canoe. The jetty led to a grander house that would be the homestay where Van had booked his tourists in for three nights. It sat proud at the junction of the Co Chien River and one of the numerous canal waterways that branched off the main waters of the Mekong Delta.

As the boats pilot moored the tour boat Van pointed down the canal, which meandered into the distance. It was criss crossed with bamboo built monkey bridges.

"Down there is the French Colonial house where Hoang says Dyer lives. Beautiful place. I have passed that house a few times before on tours. I thought it was owned and run as a homestay."

The heat and humidity were almost unbearable. Jamie wanted to take the wet sticky shirt from his back and shower. Jenny wiped her face with her t-shirt and Oliver removed his soft walking shoes. They walked up to the house together with Van leading the way. Four wooden gondoliers, small water taxis, had arrived at the jetty hoping for business from tourists. The women who steered the boats in were surprised to see only three tourists. They were dressed in traditional clothes and wore 'non la' conical hats. The ex-V.C. pilot strolled over to the women and began conversing with them, within a moment they were laughing at some flirtatious comment he must have made.

"Van, visitors, welcome to my home, call me Jimmy." Nyueng Cong Chien introduced himself. He was small, even for a Vietnamese man, dark skinned with cragged features. Van shook his hand and they embraced.

"Jimmy?" asked Jamie.

"It is easier to say and remember than my Vietnamese name, I have spent too much time repeating my name to so many tourists I decided on Jimmy. It makes life easier, believe me," Jimmy gestured for them to follow him.

"You must be hot, even for me today is a hot day," they didn't enter the main house as Jimmy led them down the side of the house, "we will have very torrential rain tonight for sure, I have fresh juice for you and showers, later I could take you for bicycle ride into the forest, fruit orchards, watch the sunset over the delta. Then my wife and daughter will make you a beautiful dinner."

"That sound's lovely Jimmy, thank you." Jenny said.

"No problem," Jimmy said as they walked around to the rear of the house they entered a large garden which had mature palms and areas of dense foliage. Between the botanical gardens plants and trees were bamboo constructed cabins. Five simple square huts with bamboo dining furniture in front of each. In the middle a painted white concrete toilet shower block.

"I can normally accommodate up to twenty five tourists, but you will have the place to yourselves," Jimmy looked to Van, "you usually have bigger groups Van."

"Business is slow, global recession isn't it Jimmy? I managed to rustle these three up at the last minute. They are poor tourists," Van smiled at his travelling companions, "I'm kidding you're nice people, they are trying to find an old family friend, his name is Dyer."

"Robert Dyer, I know him, he lives in the French house two miles down the canal, how do you know him?"

Oliver coughed, he hadn't rehearsed any more than a headline, "He is my fathers friend, from twenty years ago, they lectured together, medicine, in London."

Jimmy raised his eyes and nodded, "I would be very surprised if he agreed to see you, he is a very private man, a good man but he keeps himself to himself. We all respect that."

"I thought I would try this evening," Oliver said drawing looks from both Jenny and Jamie, "we're only here for a short time," Oliver offered back in defence.

Jimmy turned and walked them into the centre of the garden and showed them to their accommodation.

Jamie had one large cabin to himself and Oliver and Jenny shared another. They were basic but comfortable, each hut had several beds and could sleep up to five. Lilac coloured mosquito nets were draped over each bed.

Jenny was first to enter the shower block, there were four toilet cubicles and five shower cubicles. Each provided only minimal privacy. Jenny had clean clothes which she placed on a chair, she slipped in behind a thin curtain, undressed and stepped into the shower. The water was cold, which was heavenly. Jenny took soap from her travel bag and felt instant relief as she washed.

Jamie joined her in the next cubicle and also commenced showering. He felt awkward knowing his best friends' girlfriend was naked a few inches away.

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears," Jamie said to break the uncomfortable silence.

Jenny laughed, "Don't be doing anything disgusting through there," She commented back.

"I'm not Minnie thank you very much, if he was here you'd just get grunts and groans, he couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"Nice," Jenny said then paused while she thought, "I can't believe Oliver's going to try to see Dyer today. I thought we would all go in the morning."

"Did you suggest that to him?" Jamie asked.

"Yes, but he is adamant he wants to go tonight and on his own," Jenny replied.

"Well that tactic worked in the Brick factory," said Jamie, "he becomes very single minded and blinkered when he fixes on something."

"I've noticed," Jenny said.

"He genuinely thinks he can get help from Dyer then?" Jamie wanted to understand a little more behind the reason he found himself in basic accommodation in the rice bowl of Vietnam.

"I know Mary, Minnie, you, doubt me Jamie, but I do have some kind of gift I'm not some con artist. Sometimes it expresses itself as an illness. I don't claim to understand it but it is a physical condition. I'm hoping the Professor has carried out the research we think he did, he may be able to help," Jenny said opening up to Jamie in a way she had not before.

"Ok, but its not like you're going to die from it sometime soon," Jamie flipped back at her. Jenny's silence said more than she could in any spoken answer.

"The others you know," Jamie tried to pick up the discussion from the awkward atmosphere he had just created, "these regression therapists and their, er, patients, don't they have problems like yours?"

"No, I've never met one who can actually regress," she answered.

"And their patients?" Jamie probed further.

"Never known it, look for them it is an alternative therapy business, their patients find it relaxing, healing. I connect with them as it is my business too, how I make a living, along with the other kooky things in my life. But my regression, it is a physical connection with the past, I travel, actually travel back."

This time Jamie was silent for a moment, "Sounds fucking freaky to me," he said breaking the silence.

Jenny laughed, "I'll have to give you a demonstration, and then you'd believe me."

Jamie smiled, maybe he would he thought.

Oliver left his new girlfriend (closest approximation to describe their relationship) and old friend to enjoy Jimmy's bicycle tour of the fruit orchards. Van had negotiated a wooden gondolier taxi and identified the location of the French colonial house with the young woman. She knew it well but no one ever visited she said. Oliver sat in the taxi in the heat of the late afternoon. The woman punted the boat along the canal, standing at the stern to steer the boat along the canal. They crossed and were passed by many similar boats, some tourist but mostly working boats with fruit and goods. The young woman greeted each boat as it passed. Parallel with the canal ran a make shift road, many cycles and some motorbikes zipped about the local area. The journey to Dyers home would take about thirty minutes Van had advised him.

Oliver leaned back in the boat and drank bottled water provided for him by Jimmy. He was tired and felt he should have rested, but he didn't want to lose one single chance to meet Professor Dyer. He closed his eyes and drifted to a half sleep, encouraged by the gentle rocking of the gondolier and the almost silence that surrounded him, save for the lapping of water as his taxi glided down the canal.

Oliver woke to the sound of the young woman's voice.

"Mister, sir, mister, we have arrived at the house," she said gently.

Oliver opened his eyes slowly, then wider as the boat bumped against the steps that joined the canal where the gondolier was.

"Thank you," Oliver said blinking his eyes, "that was very relaxing, thank you."

"French house," replied the young woman, easing her hat back and pointing to the colonial residence, "old English guy live here, no one really know him much."

Oliver stepped off of the boat gingerly, with a slight jump, and stood at the bottom of the steps. The young woman moved into the boat and sat down to wait.

Oliver climbed the wooden steps. As he reached the top he was taken aback at the sight of the house. Van had explained the history of French rule up until 1948 and the one hundred and fifty year history that preceded it. This house, Jimmy had told Oliver, was one hundred years old and built by the French at the time. It was the grandest house in the area and, Oliver thought, twenty years ago was probably bought by Dyer for a song. It was built in mahogany and was ornately carved and decorated. Almost pagoda like the house had intricate Vietnamese writing and etchings of rural scenes. Oliver wondered what history lied within its design and what stories the house could tell over its lifetime. Others like it had been destroyed in the various wars Vietnam had been in for over a hundred years until the late eighties.

The house was almost black, with striking reliefs of gold, red and silver. Its windows were shuttered and they were closed. The door had a large glass pane with stained and leaded patterns. A dim light glowed from within. It was the end of the day and the light was beginning to fade, Oliver walked along the stone path that crossed a highly manicured lawn. The house was beautifully kept and whilst Dyer was a recluse, he clearly maintained the splendor of this property with exacting precision.

Oliver looked back, he could no longer see his taxi driver from this raised position. He drew in a deep breath and walked towards the large grand door of the property. This was it, a grandiose gamble lived or died in then next few moments and the next few days. What if Dyer would impart no knowledge? Oliver had no stock whatsoever with this man, though he could trade on a likely shared hatred of Blooms he thought. He was here though, he had found the residence of Professor Robert John Dyer, which was an achievement in itself.

A large iron door knocker hung on the middle wooden panel of the door that rested below the huge glass pane. Oliver lifted the iron piece and paused, he then struck it hard twice against its fitting. Against a silent backdrop of forest and isolation the knocker made a resounding noise. Oliver took three steps back and waited.

Two minutes passed with no response. He knocked again.

No response.

Oliver swallowed, "Professor Dyer," he almost whispered and knocked again, "Robert John Dyer, please sir I would like to speak with you," Oliver raised his voice more towards the end of his sentence.

Nothing.

Oliver struck the door hard, "Please Professor, I know you live here, I think we might share a similar interest, I know I am being presumptuous arriving here uninvited but I've traveled from Britain to try to speak to you."

Oliver dropped his head, feeling like a prize arse. What single reason would someone who had chosen to live such a reclusive life have to speak with him? Oliver stepped back from the door.

"Professor, Mister Dyer, I am going to sit down, over here," Oliver pointed to the first step down to the canal, "please think about opening the door and speaking to me, I think we have much in common."

Oliver walked backwards.

As he approached the top step he saw a feint shadow pass behind the glass panel of the front door.

"Professor," Oliver yelled. Nothing. Oliver knew Dyer, or somebody, was in there but they were not prepared to engage him.

Oliver sat down on the top step, dropped his head into his hands and let out a long frustrated sigh. The young woman in the gondolier looked up and smiled at him. He returned a half smile and then closed his eyes and drifted away, so exhausted he was.

"It is a long time since someone visited this house," said the elderly Vietnamese woman, as she strolled towards Oliver across the lush green lawn.

Oliver opened his eyes, he turned his head to see the elegant lady approach him. As she neared he stood.

"Are you a journalist?" she asked. She was probably over seventy but looked remarkably fit and well.

"No, I am not. My father is a family friend," Oliver offered in explanation of his presence.

"Bullshit," the woman said clearly and pointedly, "that is the line every journalist has spun for the last twenty years. His history is no longer a story. The gentleman of the house said 'fuck off'."

With that said she turned and walked away.

"No, sorry, look, I'm not a journalist, honest," Oliver stood up and pursued her, "I have made that up, the family friend stuff, but I'm desperate. Please, I'm a doctor and a student." He caught up with the elderly woman and very gently took her shoulder to slow her departure.

"Well?" she said, "What's you're story?"

"I am," Oliver felt very exposed all of a sudden, "a student, well a doctor who is studying neuroscience, brain studies," Oliver tapped his head.

"I know what neuroscience is you dip shit," she said back sharply, "I lived in America for twenty years."

"Sorry," Oliver held up his hands, this wasn't going well, "sorry, look please tell Professor Dyer I would really appreciate even a brief conversation, I am no journalist."

The older woman looked coldly at Oliver.

"How do you know the Professor?" he asked curiously, "are you his wife?"

The woman let out a loud laugh, "Shit no, I am far too old for him, I am his housekeeper. Look, where are you staying?"

Oliver didn't in fact know where he was staying, "About a mile or two towards the Co Chien River on the edge, um, Jimmy is the host," Oliver shrugged.

"Okay, you go back to Jimmy's, I know Jimmy, good guy, nice place. If and this is a big if, if the Professor will see you I will come and get you. Otherwise enjoy your stay and then go home."

There was no other avenue for negotiation, the older woman turned and walked away.

Oliver watched her walk away and around the side of the house. He dropped his head in despair and walked back to the wooden stairs. He took one last look at the house and then descended to the waiting water taxi. The servile young woman gave him a beaming smile, he smiled back and stepped down each stair and into the wooden gondolier.

21.

When the storm came it was indeed a tropical spectacular. It had begun with little warning just after they had finished dinner on the lawn. They had enjoyed several dishes of rice, noodle, fish and pork. Jenny had enjoyed exquisite paper thin omelets filled with tiny button mushrooms cooked in chilli pepper and soy sauce. They had sipped on green tea and drunk beer throughout. Oliver, Jamie and Jenny had eaten with Jimmy's family, his daughter, son-in-law and two grand children. Once the snake whiskey came out Oliver had retired to bed. He had got soaked through to the skin just making the short journey across the lawn to his cabin. Oliver had insisted Jenny stayed up to drink with Jimmy and Jamie, he could see she was enjoying herself. Jamie was surprisingly upbeat about Oliver's prospects with Dyer. Probably snake whiskey induced optimism Oliver thought.

Oliver had slept deeply even as the storm continued to rage. In the dead of night it became more ferocious and lightning flashed across the sky with bursts of thunder quickly following each strike.

Oliver sensed he was not alone. He tried to rouse himself to focus on what he thought was a person stood in the corner of the room. Each flash of lightening briefly revealing the shadowy figure. Too much beer and two diazepam (meant for a fear of flying only) had made Oliver groggy and disorientated.

"Oliver," came a whisper.

"What?" Oliver propped himself up on an elbow, "Jamie?"

An electric torch was switched on and Jamie stood in the corner of the room. Rainwater dripped from his face, nose and hair.

"Oliver, I'm sorry, something terrible has happened," Jamie said his face ashen.

"What is it?" Oliver swung his legs out of bed, "Shit, you haven't had sex with Jenny have you?"

Jamie stepped forward, "No, of course not, she's sick, I'm sorry I think it's my fault."

"What happened?" Oliver pulled back his mosquito net and stood up. He reached for some shorts and pulled them on.

"We'd been talking about the regression thing she does, I was teasing I guess and she did this demo, which was mind boggling," Jamie rubbed his chin anxiously, "she hasn't come back."

"Okay," Oliver grabbed a sleeve of diazepam from the table, slipped on his shoes and a t-shirt and they both rushed from the cabin out into the storm.

Oliver spoke loudly over the noise of the rain as they rushed across the garden, "We had agreed she wouldn't try it out here, just in case, the healthcare is just hopeless in Vietnam."

"I'm really sorry," Jamie shouted back. The rain was relentless in its force.

Upon entering Jamie's cabin Oliver was greeted with a similar sight to the one he encountered a few weeks ago. Jenny was arched back on one of the beds her body gripped in stasis, eyes fixed open, white over. Her skin trembled and it was paler than ever before. Blue hues traced along veins beneath her skin. She looked many times worse than the two previous incidents Oliver had witnessed.

"Sit her up," Oliver instructed Jamie, they both helped lift Jenny into a grotesque seating position, "Get some water."

Oliver popped three diazepam from the foil sleeve. He placed them on a small table by the bed, keeping one arm around Jenny and tried to crush the tablets. Jamie returned with the water.

"I don't think they will go down mate," Jamie said handing the water to Oliver.

"Jenny, you need to try to take these," Oliver said, ignoring Jamie.

Jamie held Jenny and Oliver tried to feed some crumbs of tablets into her mouth, followed by water, in a futile attempt to get her to try to swallow. The broken tablets and water just poured in and straight back out of Jenny's unresponsive mouth. Her breathing was shallow and laboured. Oliver took her pulse from her wrist and frowned at the feathery weak rhythm.

"Fuck it," Oliver stood and picked Jenny up and cradled her in his arms. She hung from him lifeless.

"What are you doing Oliver?" Jamie asked.

"I'm going to take Jimmy's boat and go to Dyers," Oliver looked around the room, "where is your rain mac?"

Jamie went to his rucksack and pulled out his Rain Mac.

"Drape it over Jenny the best you can," Oliver said and Jamie spread the waterproof across Jenny as she lay suspended in Oliver's arms.

"I'm really sorry mate," Jamie's said as he tucked the mac in around Jenny.

"It's not your fault Jamie," Oliver turned and walked to the door. Jamie didn't even think to question Oliver's judgment in seeking out Dyer in the dead of night and in the middle of a tropical storm.

Neither Jimmy nor his family heard the rasping sound of the outboard motor on his small canoe. The rain was so fierce it drowned out the sound of Oliver starting the engine and steering the canoe away from the house jetty and into the canal waterway. Jenny laid on the small narrow deck of the canoe in a pool of rainwater that had formed in the bottom of the boat. In a powered boat the French house would only be ten minutes away. Oliver quietly navigated the canoe down the canal, anxiously checking Jenny every few seconds.

Oliver turned off the engine a few metres before arriving at the steps that led from the canal up to Dyers house. He moored the boat and gently retrieved Jenny from the deck. Shifting his balance he cradled her high in his arms, he stepped gingerly out of the boat as it rocked from side to side. Before he ascended the steps to the lawn he placed his ear against her mouth, he could hear slow shallow breathing.

Oliver slowly crossed the garden in front of the large house. Jenny was not heavy but the veracity of the rain made progress difficult.

Oliver arrived at the door of Dyers residence. He leaned awkwardly to the door and with all his strength gave the iron knocker two hard raps against the door.

Oliver placed his mouth close to the glass, "Professor Dyer," he shouted. He waited a moment, no response. Oliver knocked again.

"Please professor, it's my friend, Jenny, she is sick, I know you conducted research on this, possibly with people like her. Robert Dyer, you must be able to hear me, I'm sorry for waking you but I think she might be gravely ill, she is in some kind of regressive state," Oliver's nose and chin dripped water in the rain.

"Jenny can regress Professor, physically access past lives," Oliver called as he knocked on the door. He stood back. This whole trip had been a foolish reckless pointless gamble he thought, as each second passed with no response.

A light came on in the hall and Oliver saw the shadow of a man pass through and the sound of soft footsteps as the figure disappeared. Then silence but for the falling rain.

Oliver held Jenny tightly in his arms, he whispered to her, "Come back Jenny, please," he kissed her lightly on her cheek.

A wooden shutter to Oliver's right creaked open a few inches. Oliver moved around positioning Jenny so her face could be seen from within the house.

Oliver spoke to the dark space behind the gap in the shutter, "Look Professor, she is frozen in some kind of regressive seizure, her skin is taught and pale, eyes fixed back, occasional flickers of static, you must recognise this type of condition."

As Oliver lifted Jenny out to display her, inside Dyer stood motionless looking out at the unwanted visitors. His resolve to resist this intrusion started to unravel as he studied the young sick woman.

"It can't be," Dyer whispered to himself as he looked at the pathetic sight of Jenny held in Oliver's arms.

The shutter closed but Oliver could see more lights come on behind the wooden slats in the window. Then in the hall a light came on. Oliver turned and watched the shadow of Dyer as he approached the door. The man who Oliver had so desperately sought unlocked the door and opened it a few inches. Oliver prepared to greet the mysterious professor.

Dyer looked out bathed in shadows from the light of the hall. Oliver spoke more quietly, "Thank you, thank you Professor."

A crisp smart English accented Dyer spoke, "What have you given her?"

"Nothing, I tried diazepam oral but she couldn't swallow, last time this happened she had twenty milligrams of diazepam IV."

"That would be the correct thing to have done, you had better bring her in," Dyer retreated from the opening in the door and pulled the large door open wide. He gestured for Oliver to enter, which Oliver did. As Dyer closed the door on them he peered into the rain and dark that covered his garden, then he also went inside closing the door and locking it shut.

Dyer guided Oliver into an opulent lounge and beckoned for him to lay Jenny down on a large soft plump couch. Dyer was aged and kindly looking, tanned and distinguished. His smile was warm and genuine but he looked tired with an air of sadness about him.

"So this is why you traveled nearly six thousand miles, are you interested in regression?" Dyer paused having no name for this young man.

"Oliver, Doctor Oliver Harris. Yes I am, I have tried to study it at UCL but it was frowned upon."

"It would be, it would be," Dyer smiled reflectively, "Do you trust me to treat her Oliver?"

"Yes of course Professor, can I help?" Oliver asked.

Dyer walked to leave the room, "In the drawer of that dresser you will find packs of sterile cannula, unpack one. I have medicines and an infusion drip in my study."

Dyer left the room and Oliver went to the drawer. He took a pack, cleaned his hands with alcohol gel that was by the pack and unpacked the kit. He took the IV line and cannula-over-needle device and laid them out on a sterile sheet contained in the pack. He took Jenny's arm and held it as straight as he could. There would be no problem finding a vein, the problem was keeping the veins in her skin Oliver thought.

Dyer returned with a saline drip on a short stand and a phial containing diazepam. Together with Oliver they worked quickly to establish an intravenous line in Jenny's left arm. Dyer drew up the diazepam from the phial and administered a large dose. He then established the saline drip in the same site and regulated its flow. He balanced the stand on a small coffee table.

"It is surprising the size of dose that can be tolerated, indeed is required to reverse the stasis," Dyer said as he gauged Jenny's pulse with his finger tips.

"So you are familiar with the condition?" Oliver asked.

"Very much so," Dyer replied without taking his eyes from Jenny.

Jenny suddenly exhaled loudly, "Harrumph," Oliver was startled by the sound and watched as Jenny's body relaxed and regained its flesh tones. She appeared to be sleeping softly.

"There," Dyer said, "she is back with us, safe and sound. I'm not certain that it's the diazepam that brings one back, I don't know what does exactly, but it relaxes the body enough to prevent bones from breaking. As happened to me once."

Dyer held up his forearm which was twisted from a badly set fracture. Dyer smiled at his deformity as he presented it to Oliver.

"I am also a fellow sufferer," Dyer declared, "Would you like a cup of tea Oliver?"

"No thank you."

"Do you mind if I do?"

"Of course not."

Dyer left to make tea. He returned shortly with tea and a glass of juice.

"Here, sip on this," Dyer handed the juice to Oliver.

"Thank you," Oliver drank it all, "Thirstier than I realised."

"So you are a doctor like my good self?"

"You're housekeeper told you about me?"

Dyer smiled, "She liked you, said I should meet you, she suspected you had a genuine reason to see me. Unlike the various journalists who have tried to get to me over the years."

"She liked me? Didn't seem that way. Why would journalists follow you out here professor?"

"Please call me Robert. You don't know about my departure from England?"

"No, I know you left about twenty years ago, I found two brief papers by you in the archives at Oxford, a suggestion of a book or manuscript on your regression experiments. There was enough in your papers for me to try to replicate your hypothesis, I hoped to establish experiments but they were discredited. That's it, no one will discuss your work with me. It is a taboo subject."

"I am surprised anyone remembers me now, even the journalists stopped coming several years ago."

Dyer sat down on a chair next to the sofa where Jenny laid. He gestured for Oliver to sit, "Have a seat, Jenny will sleep for several hours now."

Dyer stroked her hair and checked the drip.

"Professor Blooms remembers you, but becomes apoplectic at the mere mention of your name." Oliver said.

Dyer chuckled, "Blooms that crusty bastard, he must be over seventy, he's still lecturing then?"

"Yes."

Dyer took a sip of tea, "There was a manuscript, well still is," Dyer looked upwards at the ceiling, "in my study, 'The Tempus Genesis Experiments', it would have been published. God knows where we would be now. Look Oliver I'll share with you my story, but as a warning, you must not persist with any further study on this subject."

Dyer was more somber, he smacked his lips as he gathered his thoughts.

"I don't understand," Oliver broke the silence in the room.

When Dyer spoke his recollection was delivered crisply in an almost sing song manner, Oliver was captivated by his story, "I'm hoping you will. When I was a young man, not unlike yourself, I was captivated by a notion, put to me by an American pathologist. This, proposition, once I understood it, became a bit of an obsession. I was in California as a medical student, having bagged a bursary for an oversees jaunt, when I met this fabulous chap, Harold Manrinney. Quite a famous pathologist of his day. Now, Dr Manrinney and I hit it off. He was a pathologist who often chopped up the poor souls who popped off in the ER. I often followed the corpses, to Harold, and watched with fascination this giant of a man unravelling the truth behind their demise. We went to a party, it was a seventies thing, and I sat with him, in a corner, smoked too much cannabis and popped a little acid, and enjoyed a long conversation."

Dyer drunk more tea and then leaned forward to gently stroked Jenny's shoulder, he took her pulse once again, "How did you meet, Jenny, you said her name was Jenny?"

"Yes. She has a shop in Brighton I was passing, we connected through a shared interest in regression, she is into all kinds of paranormal interests."

Dyer smiled, "Really, how long have you been together?"

"It's only been weeks, we came here to try to find you because of this condition, to seek your help."

Dyer looked reflective, "Isn't it funny how life has a way of catching you up. Now where was I? As the sun came up Manrinney recounted the most curious tale. He told me about a leader of a cult in Tennessee, in the nineteen fifties, who fathered five children, to five different mothers, as you do in any cult worth its salt. This cult leader was renowned for his powers of regression. When these children became adults, they too claimed an ability to recount past lives, at will. None of these five, had children. They committed suicide, together, one night in nineteen fifty eight. They left a note, saying only 'to protect the future'. How strange I thought. When I returned to the United Kingdom, with me I had Dr Manrinney's pathology notes on the five who took their lives. Dr Manrinney in his report observed they all shared enlarged cells and tissue in the temporal lobes associated with memory. Harold had offered to me this hypothesis, what if they shared a physiological link that dictated their ability to regress? What if the ability to recall past lives, was chemically, genetically, organically, driven? Imagine that. In the early eighties I found four individuals, who claimed to be psychic regressors. I wrote a book, The Tempus Genesis Experiments. The reaction to the manuscript by the college was that I had a twinge of eccentricity verging on a touch of madness, which left me relieved I never included Manrinney's pathology notes. At least I never damaged his good name. The book never got published, probably a good thing on reflection."

Oliver's mind was whirring, he had so many questions but dared not ask. He remained mindful that Dyer was sharing this only to serve Oliver a warning. Oliver's quite brilliant mind could not help but take each element of information he was hearing and brick by brick add it to his own hypothesis.

"It all went terribly wrong once I transferred the experiments to me, to see if the effect could be induced in someone without any predisposing indicators."

"And it worked? That's incredible," Oliver remarked.

"Listen," Dyer said suddenly.

"I can't hear anything."

"Precisely, the rain has stopped. Come outside with me, the sun will be coming up. I don't want to wake Jenny."

Dyer stood and with Oliver they walked together through the hall, he unlocked the door and they stepped into the garden. The night sky had faded to a light blue as it welcomed daybreak. The horizon above the forest of the delta was singed with an orange stripe where the sun was beginning to rise.

"Who told you I was here?" Dyer asked as they strolled across the lawn, hues of steam swirled around their feet as the warming of the ground evaporated the storm water that had fallen.

"David Brown. He lives in Kennington."

"I thought it would be David. He definitely had the ability to regress but he was so mentally unstable I couldn't work with him. There is only him left, I advised him it is safer to guard this knowledge as a precious secret. The Tempus Genesis effect is a dark power I fear Oliver. He will have mentioned my wife too then?"

Oliver swallowed, "he seemed to suggest she died."

"Ha. David will have told you the rumour was I killed her," Dyer put his head down, "which in one way is true."

Dyer walked ahead to the end of the garden, where a Buddhist pagoda had been erected.

"These days I find great serenity in the teachings of Buddha," Dyer said, "many journalists have tried to contact me, probe me about my experiments. Ultimately they are trying to print the story that is their version of the truth of my wife's death. I resist because there is no sordid murder to be exposed. And the truth is too close to Tempus Genesis, which is one Pandora's Box I intend to keep firmly shut."

"What happened Robert?" Oliver asked.

Dyer and Oliver stood together bathed in half shadow, half rising sunlight.

"Promise me this Oliver, after today you will create no further chapters in this area and only use any knowledge to care for Jenny."

"I can promise that, I only want to do what's right by her."

"Good. I commenced some experiments with my four chaps who claimed to be able to regress. My four men, I noticed, had increased levels of the mix of enzymes that Manrinney found in the dead cult members, Thiamine was present in increased, inexplicable amounts. This concentration seemed higher during those times they were recounting past lives. I also observed, when scanning the brains of these four, as did Manrinney in his post mortem notes on the cult, enlarged cells in the hippocampo-mammillary circuit and in the thalamus."

Oliver studied this point, "They had enhanced cerebral physiology linked to memory?"

"Good man. Exactly. It was fascinating, I knew there could be something groundbreaking in this, mind blowing even. I managed to recreate the traces of enzymes Manrinney and in turn I had found associated with regression. I synthetically reproduced the enzymes in my lab and Oliver this was the discovery of the millennium. The subjects were the genuine article, but could not turn it on at will. Certain elements had to be in place, relaxed environment, ambient room temperature, dimmed lighting. Conditions that I believe allowed the brain to secrete the right recipe of enzymes to trigger them accessing the past. When I introduced the synthetic thiamine based agent, intravenously, it switched them on, like that."

Dyer clicked his fingers to emphasise the point.

"But Jenny seems to regress at will, switch it on and off, though she's now struggling with the off button. She takes no substance to help her," Oliver mused.

"She is unique I suspect. My fatal mistake was to extend the experiment. I could not make full sense of their abilities as the subjects had preconditions. So I used myself as a control. I commenced regular injections of the agent, over several months with no effect. But then suddenly, wham it kicked in and I begun being able to regress. You would not believe the many wondrous things I have seen, experienced, ancient civilisations, moments in history, Tudor Britain, Victorian times. It was the greatest discovery man has never known Oliver. This wild roller coaster, popping in and out of different peoples past lives. Looking out from behind their eyes. The substance was, or should have been essentially harmless. I hypothesised that this capability to travel through time and witness history was genetically driven, imprinted in all of us, just waiting, to be unlocked. I never had a decent analogy for this, but with computers, well, you will understand this. Imagine memories are passed on from generation to generation, as genetic information. That your fathers' fathers' memories were encrypted in your DNA, just like Bytes of information on the Hard Disk of a computer. Just waiting for the right pathway to be introduced to unlock them."

Oliver was taken aback by this reveal, he thought it through, much he had anticipated. However he still had a question, "But memory is unique, it dies with individuals. Genes can't collect or retain thoughts, experiences?"

"Can't they? Why not? Think of epigenetic expression, why can't it extend to memory? Of course it does, the Cherokee Indians knew more about this than scientists Oliver. Think of the work by Lamarck, and Timbergen on Gull chicks. I had a look at the DNA of my four, I believe I found the strand of chromosome associated with regression, it had a chink in it. Now I am convinced that memory is passed on. Details encoded and downloaded onto genes," Dyer started to walk around the garden.

Dyer continued as Oliver moved to walk with him, "There is a valid school of thought that accepts personality traits are passed on genetically, anger arousal, pre-disposition to violence. Why not memory? A powerful strand of DNA material, that can be unlocked and travelled down, in three dimensions and in touch with all the senses. Paranormal, yet scientific. And at first I thought an element of control, choice even, over the power was possible. However, through a combination of events, my own DNA changed. Science is like this isn't it, you discover so much, but know so little. The agent was creating growth in my brain, within the temporal lobes, the thalamus, the hippocampus-mammillary circuit was increasing in mass. I was having weekly CT scans, they showed the changes, but I also think the X-rays and the thiamine agent combined to well, my own DNA chinked. Irreversibly."

Dyer stopped at the top of the steps that led down to the canal where Jimmy's boat remained tethered. He placed one hand on a stone pillar that marked the entrance to his property, as if to steady himself. A single tear rolled down his saddened face.

"Robert?" Oliver asked placing a hand on his shoulder.

"And I passed that faulty gene on to my daughter. It would seem she has suffered a lifetime because of it," Dyer looked back towards the house.

"Jenny?" Oliver was staggered at this revelation.

"Yes, I received photographs of her up until her eighteenth birthday. From the adoption agency. I thought she may choose to look for me one day. She is more beautiful up close than any photograph."

"You're wife Robert, how did she?"

"During an experiment, it went horribly wrong and I lost her. Jenny lost both her mother and her father that day," Dyer bowed his head and restrained himself from shedding tears.

"I had stopped the experiments before Jenny was born, things were not going well. But from a very early age Jenny would go into a regressive state, I named it regression narcolepsy, at times for many hours. The hospitals diagnosed her with epilepsy. I knew different, she was unstable from infancy. So I started to experiment once more. I had lost the four men from the programme, I tried to find others, like David Brown but I couldn't make satisfactory progress. I needed answers, a cure. Jenny's mum became increasingly desperate, as did I. Then I made a fatal error of judgement when I recommenced the Tempus Genesis programme. Foolishly I agreed to Jenny's mother participating, Julianne and I as the research subjects. She died one short week later."

Dyer stretched to his full height and breathed in. He set off walking stiffly towards the house. Oliver followed.

"Take Jenny back to your homestay and get her comfortable, she will sleep for most of the day, when she wakes feed her well, she will have a great appetite."

Oliver walked quickly to keep up with Dyer's determined pace.

"But what shall I tell her about our conversation, about you?" Oliver asked.

Dyer stopped and spoke instructively to Oliver, "You must tell her nothing, she came to Vietnam to find Professor Dyer the scientist and doctor, Jenny didn't come looking for her father. Come back tonight, alone. We can talk more then. I need the day to think."

Oliver and the Professor walked back to the French House, with its ornate carved images glowing beautifully in the dawn light of the morning sun.

"What time is it?" Jenny blinked her eyes as she woke in the cabin. She was asking Oliver but then noticed a sheepish Jamie sat quietly in the corner.

"Four in the afternoon." Oliver replied.

"You've been out for more than twelve hours," Jamie added.

Jenny sat up, "I'm sorry Oliver, I was drunk and wanted to show off to Jamie,"

"There's no need to explain." Oliver lifted a drink of water for Jenny to take, which she did, drinking it down in one go.

"How did you get me back? There are no hospitals near here. It was a very bad trip I can't begin to describe it."

"Dyer," Oliver stated simply.

Jenny looked wide eyed with disbelief. Jamie stood up and walked over, he lifted fresh French baguette sandwiches from the table and handed them to her.

"Oliver took you in Jimmy's boat," Jamie explained, "Dyer infused you with saline and diazepam."

"Wow," Jenny said, "What's he like?"

"Kind, reclusive, regretful," Oliver was judicious with his description, "he has agreed to see me again tonight, on my own, he thinks he can help you."

"Then why aren't I going with you? I'd like to at least thank him in person."

"I don't know it's just his way I guess," Oliver turned to leave, "I'll ask Jimmy to make you some hot food."

Oliver left the cabin, somewhat abruptly. Jenny looked to Jamie for a clue to understand Oliver's behaviour. Jamie had nothing to offer in explanation.

"I know as much as you," Jamie said with a shrug. Jenny bit into her sandwich and chewed away silently.

22.

Oliver was distinctly uncomfortable returning to meet Dyer alone. Oliver could tell he had hurt Jenny by closing down any questions she asked of him. Her curiosity regarding Dyer was natural in the circumstances but Oliver felt he was going to crack under the pressure of each question. Dyer had told Oliver to join him for dinner at eight. Oliver had rung Van who had been staying at his parents' home back in Vinh Long and also spoken to Jimmy to enquire whether they could extend a night or two. He felt sure Dyer would want to connect with the daughter he lost more than twenty years ago. Van just said 'sure, money talks' and laughed loudly down the mobile.

Jimmy was very understanding and generous with the use of his boat and extending their stay. Oliver navigated down the canal once more towards the French house, this time in better weather. Jimmy's generosity had been lubricated by one hundred dollars from Jamie. Oliver could sail the boat all the way to Cambodia as far as Jimmy cared. Oliver had proposed an extension to Jenny and Jamie as Dyer had 'suggested' he might be willing to discuss his research into regression. Oliver did not naturally lean to mistruths or half truths and his friends had waved him off not wholly trusting his account.

Oliver arrived at the wooden steps that led up to the house. He looked smart in a white shirt and beige shorts, wanting to appear respectful of the invitation into the Professors home. Oliver quickly moored the canoe and climbed the steps. He breezed across the lawn, feeling both anxious and hopeful that Jenny would get the help she needed and find the father she must have wondered about for all those years apart.

Oliver slowed as he reached the house. He was confused to find the front door slightly ajar and the shuttered window open. The light evening wind fluttered a lace curtain making it bellow in and out of the window frame.

Oliver knocked on the glass of the door, eased the door back and entered the hallway, taking a few cautious steps.

"Professor Dyer?" he called softly. There was no sound, only a pulse raising silence.

Oliver walked forward slowly. Beyond the hall was the kitchen, the door was open. Oliver's sense of alarm grew as he saw a pot overturned on the floor, with noodles strewn across the tiles. Oliver walked quickly to the kitchen.

"Professor?"

The kitchen was empty, though crockery and cutlery were scattered across the floor alongside the noodle. It was when Oliver turned to go to the lounge that he noticed the thick blood streaking back from the kitchen, down the middle of the hall wall he had just come from. In his rush to the kitchen he had not noticed the blood red stretched hand print trailing from the kitchen and disappearing into the lounge.

Oliver followed it into the lounge. The room was in near darkness, except for a shaft of light from the one open window into the centre of the room. Oliver stepped in, he noticed a sticky sensation beneath his feet, more blood and a lot of it.

"My God, Robert," Oliver exclaimed when he first noticed Dyer. The professor was laid on his back on the sofa where Jenny had slept some hours before. His eyes were open, fixed and staring, his mouth gaping open. Dyer's throat was cut from ear to ear, a deep aggressive gash, gouged in one determined movement. The knife that had inflicted the wound was balanced between the floor and Dyers limp left hand, which hung from were he lay. Its blade was sprayed crimson. Oliver walked towards the man he had only just met, who he had discovered after years of wondering. Professor Robert John Dyer, so dignified and distinguished in life, now laid dead in the most undignified of poses.

"I have called the police."

Oliver turned quickly at the voice from across the room. His heart rate raced even faster and fear gripped him. Dyer's housekeeper stood by the open window, concealed in shadows, smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke through the open shutter. She looked calm but her hand was shaking.

"He disapproved of smoking, especially in the house, but I need this," she took a deep draw on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke out through the window.

"What happened?" Oliver asked, incredulous at the scene he found himself in.

"I was preparing dinner for you both, he had told me you called, we talked about you, about Jenny, the shock he had felt at seeing his daughter, his research. He thought there could be a cure for her illness. He was in remarkable spirits. Then," she began to shake and cry.

Oliver took a chair from the small table by the window and moved it across the room to where the housekeeper stood. He eased her onto the chair. The table had been set for the dinner he was to share with Dyer. Oliver poured a glass of water and handed it to the housekeeper. She sipped a little then smoked some more.

"He had some kind of seizure, started talking to himself at first, he spoke quickly in riddles, his eyes rolled back. He thrashed around as if he was fighting some demon, then he grabbed the knife. I tried to stop him, he knocked everything to the floor. Then he cut his throat, right there in the kitchen right in front of me. Staggered into here, blood spraying everywhere and collapsed on the sofa. I think he was dead before I caught him up. I can't believe he is gone. I really thought he was about to find some peace at last," the housekeeper bowed her head and sobbed into her hands.

In his shock Oliver could not process the scene he had walked into. He comforted the housekeeper and together they waited for the police to arrive. The nearest police station was at least thirty minutes away. Oliver decided he would look round to see if there was any evidence of medication, a note, anything that might point to some reason why Dyer would have some form of seizure and execute himself in such a horrific manner. Oliver would not admit to himself that he wanted to satiate an element of curiosity at the same time. Once he had left to look around the housekeeper lifted her head to try to steal one further look at the grizzly sight of Dyer. She thought it must be the stress and shock playing with her mind and once more bowed her head and sipped water. She did not want to believe she had seen traces of bright blue static dancing around the edges of the elderly mans gaping mouth.

Oliver sat up for most of the night once he had returned to Jimmy's. News of Dyers death had arrived before he did. The Professor was a known recluse but also respected by the local community. His privacy had always been respected, guarded even, but his medical skills had been known and on rare occasions deployed to assist with health matters which had included aiding difficult childbirths, resuscitating a child on one occasion and on others he had tended to sick elders.

Jenny and Jamie had sat with Oliver drinking beer until the early hours. Oliver recounted the arrival of the police, their initial suspicions of him and even the housekeeper. It had taken Van and even the tour boat pilot to arrive and calm the situation. Oliver had walked the police through the account from the housekeeper, the blood sprays, Dyers bloodied hand and showing them the lack of blood on him and the light spray on the housekeeper. She would have been soaked in blood if she had inflicted the wound. A senior officer arrived, a friend of Van's father and he adopted a more objective view. His objectivity was heightened by the fat roll of dollars Van handed him. Oliver provided the name of the hotel they were staying in and the intended date of their departure to the UK.

Oliver could barely look Jenny in the eye as he recounted the grotesque image, which both Jenny and Jamie had asked him to describe. He was intensely aware he was giving Jenny a vivid image of her own father's death. Oliver could not find the words or the moment to tell her what he knew. The last wishes of Dyer were to not tell her, Jenny had not sought him out in twenty years and now Oliver stood as sole arbiter on what, when and whether she should know of her natural parents respective fates.

The next morning they were due to return to Ho Chi Minh and none wanted to remain any longer. Oliver had said he would like to view the house one last time. Jenny and Jamie asked to go too and they quietly potted down the canal in Jimmy's boat. When they arrived at the property flowers had already been placed on the steps leading to the house, as a mark of respect from the local community. Dyer had no known relatives, Jimmy told them that Dyer's housekeeper would lead his funeral with her family to lay the Professor to rest. Jimmy also advised them she was under sedation as the shock had set in badly during the night. Oliver felt some relief at this, knowing they would be well on their way back to Ho Chi Min before she could arrive at Jimmy's. Which he felt sure she would to meet Jenny and tell her Dyer was in fact her natural father. Oliver did not want this to happen, he wanted to make time to talk with Jenny about her adoption, her feelings and why she had chosen not to trace her natural parents.

They spent a few minutes at the top of the steps looking at the beautiful house. Jenny commented on what a peaceful location it was, a perfect retreat for someone wanting to hide from whatever scandal had befallen him. Jamie said he could not comprehend how Dyer had suddenly entered into a suicidal rage.

Once they were in the canoe Oliver started the engine. Rather than heading back in the direction of Jimmy's Oliver punted the small boat ten metres or so the other way, towards thick reeds which grew out of the bank.

"Where are we going?" Jenny asked.

Oliver guided the boat into the reeds, Jamie leaned out to steady them.

"Bloody hell mate, what are you doing?"

Oliver switched off the engine and jumped out onto the bank, disappearing in amongst the reeds.

"Hold the boat in please Jamie," he said calling from within the thick growth on the waters edge.

"Oliver," Jenny said sharply.

After only a brief a moment he returned and with him he had a large brown leather holdall. He dropped the substantial bag, which was heavy, into the deck of the boat.

"Fucking hell Oliver, what's this?" Jamie asked as Oliver jumped back into the boat.

Oliver started the engine again and quickly moved away from the bank, "Just some research stuff the Professor would have wanted me to have, I know he would."

"Oliver, that's stealing for Christ's sake," Jenny said angrily. Oliver's judgement had struck an all time low she decided.

"Look, he said much more than I can ever tell you, much more. It will be alright I promise. Once we're back in London I'll explain everything," Oliver accelerated the boat down the river weaving in and out of slower basket boats and gondoliers. Jamie and Jenny shared a look confirming their horror at Oliver's acquisition.

23.

The hanger had been used to house, maintain and repair several of the world's largest transporter craft. When the world had been thriving they provided global carriage for trade of the heaviest goods such as steel, quarried stone, road vehicles, passenger aircraft. These super transporters, powered by synthetic fuels, could fly goods around the world in hours not days making many shipping routes redundant.

That was all before the plague, the mass death and the suffering. It knew no class nor distinguished between regions or beliefs. It was relentless and it seemed no one would escape its wrath.

The hanger now provided the central base of operations to lead the fight for survival. Its vast floor housing the front line, corralling all the resources they could in one place to launch attacks on the terror and threat that had enveloped humanity.

A large hologram, some one hundred feet long, hovered above the base, high up, floating below the large arched ceiling of the facility. It provided the information hub for the legions that operated from the hangar. Large white numbers formed a central counter that slowly ticked over every second or two;

600,010,457 Dead

On the observation deck, high above the ground level, the two most senior commanders of this operation sat upon brightly coloured deckchairs. Marmon wore a black formal uniform with three silver stars on each collar. He was silver haired and the elder of the two men. Ramone wore a similar uniform, silver grey with two silver stars on his collar. They were first and second in command respectively. Both had commissioned the facility once it had gained a reluctant governments approval. They had commissioned covert operations for a number of years before that. They drank neat vodka from crystal shot glasses as they surveyed the facility in full operating mode.

"I am surprised the government are allowing us to expand, with little success I thought they would be closing us down," Ramone commented.

"What choices do they have? The scientists are divided over us, the ones who object to our work are no closer to finding a cure. The religious orders are losing the control we established for them and I think we have had _some_ success," Marmon smiled and so did Ramone, they chinked glasses.

"Shasta," said Ramone offering a toast.

"Hope," replied Marmon.

"How is your wife Marmon?"

"She is keeping the family together, our children are progressing through their home studies well."

"Good. Good."

"I suspect she is sleeping with a close family friend."

"How would you know that Marmon? She would not deceive you."

"A Government friend whispered to me. What of it? If you take a young wife and then leave her for more than a year, what can I expect?" Marmon finished his Vodka in one clean drink.

"Have you considered home leave, we always said we would finish a full year, see where we were then maybe visit our families."

"No, not now, not when we have made some small progress, I have to be here for the expansion, for the next push. Anyway, I am too old to fuck," Marmon extended his hand holding his crystal shot glass and instructed his first officer, "more Vodka."

Ramone poured two more glasses of Vodka. This time it was Marmon's turn to salute their fight.

"Shasta," he held up his glass.

"Hope," replied Ramone and gave Marmon's glass a firm chink. They took the drinks in one neat gulp, breathed out the vapours and surveyed the vast army before them.

24.

Oliver had the large heavy Sony Camcorder linked to his television using a scart plug adaptor and with the Cam plugged into the mains for power. The battery had long since died and its replacement now obsolete. Oliver had searched through a dozen or so Hi-8 video tapes until he found the ones he thought were the most important.

Oliver used the small remote (on a wire, this had made him smile) to shuttle to the start of the first tape. He sat on the sofa and pulled a tray onto his lap, he had heated a batch of his homemade pea soup from the freezer and topped it with large bacon and gruyere cheese topped croutons.

The image on the screen flickered onto his widescreen television. It was grainy but of serviceable quality for his studies. He smiled as a younger handsome Robert Dyer appeared in front of the camera. Dyer was probably forty, fit and healthy looking. He fiddled with the camera. His accent was as crisp and lilting as Oliver had heard less than a week ago.

"Okay, here we go, if I pan round I'd like to introduce you to Steven," Dyer rotated the camera to bring his research subject into view. Steven was laid on what looked like a dentists chair and was reclined.

Steven smiled and gave an embarrassed wave to the camera. This was the eighties and ordinary Joe's like Steven were not comfortable with being filmed.

Dyer provided a commentary to record progress with his research. Each Hi-8 tape was carefully indexed as they would be with any formal research project. Steven was connected to an IV infusion line and a syringe driver rested on his abdomen.

"Steven has been with the programme for six weeks, as you can see fit, good health, no mental illness present. The past fourteen sessions have been records of Steve recounting, accurately in my view, past events from before his birth. Namely years, I estimate, 1942, 1902, 1832, and so on back to possibly 200BC. Eight sessions Steve was unable to regress. Okay, now, this is test one, with agent 42A to be introduced, intravenously. Okay Steve, straighten your arm, lovely. We will slowly release the agent into your system. Now let's see if this can help switch on the regression. Steven if you will."

Dyers outstretched finger appeared in front of the camera as he wagged it to Steven advising him to administer the serum from the pump he held. The movement of his hand close to the lens made the image loose focus but it was clear Steven was infusing one 'dose' of the substance Dyer had invented.

The camera refocused and Steven laid back and closed his eyes. Within a few seconds he began to shudder.

"Hrrrrrrr, mmmmmmm," he rasped as his body shook gently. Oliver recognised the process from that he had witnessed with Jenny.

"Well done Steven," Dyer cheered from the side, in a jolly English sort of way, "he is looking pretty relaxed I think it's working."

Steven's eyes opened sharply, a vacant stare then they rolled back and the skin on his face tightened. His body went from a gentle shake to a rapid shudder. The sickening crack of bone that followed made Oliver jump so much he spilled pea soup onto his white T-shirt.

Dyer spoke, "Steven. My God. I can report Steve has rapidly entered a trance like state. Steven, Shit. Steven? He appears to be in some kind of status epilepticus, his body is fitting. His eyes are ocular gyric, his skin, the pallor. I may try an IV diazepam, given his rigid state. Steven, can you hear me? His body, his whole body is tremulous, skin almost translucent, this is the most acute case I have seen."

Then Steven relaxed, his breathing calmed and a blue energy streamed under his translucent skin.

"Professor Dyer, you there?"

"Yes, yes of course, how are you? Are you in pain?"

"No, no pain. No, no, I'm back, in time, really far back. This is some ride man. I feel, like I've got some choice, control, over where I stop. Unlike ever before I'm steering this baby. The time looks Anglo-Saxon, I'm in a feast of some kind. Like wow, the clarity."

"What do you mean clarity?"

"Smells, professor, I can smell the food, ham, roasted in honey. Body odour. I can feel the knife in my hand, taste the ham on the blade. Vivid visions, three D. Jesus, I'm enjoying this."

Oliver paused the tape, he asked himself one question, "What is agent forty two A?"

He put down his tray and turned his drip into a stain by rubbing at the spillage of pea soup with kitchen roll.

Oliver pulled the box over where several dozen Hi-8 tapes were stored. He sifted through them. He then stood up and went to his dining table. Dyers leather holdall was opened on the table top. Scattered around were envelopes with medical papers, photographs, reports and a large manuscript entitled 'The Tempus Genesis Experiments'. On one side was an album, in which was a lifetime (eighteen years) of pictures of Jenny growing up. The adoptive parents had agreed to submit pictures three times each year, more than usually agreed but they were sympathetic to Dyers plight.

Oliver pushed the album to one side, he still did not know how to open the topic with Jenny, but he would soon. Perhaps if this research pointed to a cure then Dyer would be both a hero and a father for Jenny, which might ease the confusing pain of his death that she would feel.

Oliver rummaged in the bag, he found a small box with three more tapes in it. Oliver took out one tape, the label interested him, 'towards results; agent 42A/Causal probability'.

Oliver was to spend the next five days and nights full time reviewing the contents of Dyers large leather bag. Several years of research and dedication, it was professionally gathered, the study formally progressed. Dyer had had steely determination and seriousness in his work. Oliver knew the plethora of data here had the key to understanding Jenny's condition and ultimately the cure. He slept little and spoke with his friends less, he had asked Jenny for space which she allowed him. Dyer's death and Oliver's theft had placed a tension between them. However, it had not damaged the connection entirely and their conversations and texts were not without affection.

By the fifth night Oliver was exhausted, he could barely focus. At eleven pm he had one hour of sleep. At midnight he made himself wake up, showered in almost cold water, whilst drinking a Red Bull (thinking he should be careful to not develop an addiction to the 'energy' drink). A second Red Bull followed him getting dressed.

Oliver pressed play on the camcorder and opened his own journal of notes. He listened to the younger Dyer, who looked more tired than Oliver.

Dyer spoke to the camera, "Several months in now, over two hundred sessions across the four subjects. Agent 42A, is now showing a sixty eight percent success rate where the agent has effected instant regression. But, significantly, richer experiences of regression, with contact through the five senses. Not just recalling, but reliving, or possibly witnessing. Given the weakening physically, the fading almost, of subjects, I believe an energy exchange occurs. Between now and the past perhaps? The agent is clearly a powerful switch, and though I've based it on the haematology profiles of the subjects while in regression, it is not an entirely accurate match. More an approximation, but bloody hell, it's exciting."

Oliver reached for a pile of medical records, "Haematology profiles? What of them?" he mused.

Oliver rewound the tape and listened to Dyers words again.

"Clearly a powerful switch, and though I've based it on the haematology profiles of the subjects while in regression, it is not an entirely accurate match. More an approximation, but bloody hell, it's exciting."

Oliver laid out four medical records and opened each at the haematology reports. He then sifted papers for a report by Dyer entitled 'Blood Profiling'.

Dyer's work was almost but not quite complete. At first Oliver thought he would be merely replicating a well documented study. But as he progressed through the hours and then days he realised that the research was a jigsaw, not a manual. Elements were missing, a chapter from Tempus Genesis had been removed. The work was encoded and the detail patchy. He had evidence of its effect clearly recorded and documented but the formula for Agent 42A was absent. Had Dyer removed key pieces of knowledge as an insurance policy? Oliver felt sure the missing information had died with Dyer or he had secreted it elsewhere in his grand house. It was not contained in the brown leather bag.

Oliver worked through the medical records and research reports, cross referencing each with his own calculations for the next several hours. He felt close to pulling the pieces together to give him the picture he needed. Eventually he muttered over his work as key elements unfolded before him.

"Okay, 0.4% increase in thiamine. 0.6% increase in dopamine, hmm surprising. O2 blood gases high, interesting. 0.3% increase serotonin. Could've guessed that. And specifically 0.1% increase in 5-Hydroxitryptaline. Which all lead to adrenocorticotrophic hormone flooding from the pituitary gland, to deal with the energy exchange that starts, and yes. I've bloody well got it. Hip fucking hoo fucking ray. I am a genius."

Oliver put down his pen and punched the air.

Oliver had spent the afternoon of the seventh day, a Sunday, tidying up his flat and carefully ordering the research study he now regarded as becoming his own. He was in awe at Dyer's discovery but felt he could progress the knowledge far beyond that which Dyer had achieved. He had convinced himself that if Dyer were still alive he would waver his warning in exchange for his daughter's stabilised health. Oliver was also already computing the different ways in which Tempus Genesis could be exploited.

He made five pizza calzones for his friends who would arrive at two pm. He made the dough himself and filled each with a tomato base, shaves of gorgonzola, mozzarella, red onion and chestnut mushrooms. He folded each into a pasty shape and baked in the oven for thirty minutes. He prepared a tomato, garlic, basil and paprika sauce which he spooned over the pizzas and dusted with parmesan. This was his way of saying sorry for being incommunicado for the last week. Mary had remained questioning of his intent with this unregulated study. Minnie was just glad to have his friends back home.

"So what the fuck have you been up to Ol?" asked Minnie as he cut into his pizza and sipped on a glass of red wine. Minnie had spent lunchtime in the pub and was quite merry.

Oliver laughed, "This and that Minnie, this and that. What the fuck have you been up to?"

"Watching my neighbours with binoculars, seeing as you ask."

Mary interjected, "I've told you to stop that."

"I can't help myself, I've never seen a fifty year old woman naked, well except for the internet and the solicitor across the road is really fit. For fifty." Minnie sipped his wine as if he was discussing the current state of the property market.

"Pizza is fabulous," Jenny commented.

"Really nice," Jamie and Mary said in tandem.

Minnie agreed, "Fucking tops Ol mate. My dilemma is, see, do I wank or do I watch. You can't do both because it shakes the binoculars, blurs you're view."

"Minnie, do you mind," Jenny said.

"Watch then wank, has to be that way round," Jamie said considerately.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the way I approach it, and a woman around nineteen, twenty, I've caught her having sex with these half turned blinds, she thinks they're closed but they're not from my angle, I can see everything blowjobs, positions the lot."

"How on earth do you _catch_ them Minnie?" Mary asked.

"You have to put a shift in Mary, you can't just idle across these things. Yesterday I stood at the window for around four hours on and off," Minnie ate the last piece of pizza, whereas the others were barely halfway through.

"It is an invasion of privacy and what if you got caught?" Jenny asked.

"No chance of that, you see I love that _Springwatch_ and _Autumnwatch_ with Bill Oddie and that fit bird, well he showed you how to make a hide for bird-watching in your own home, using a reflective film you stick to the outside of your glass. It makes a mirror so you can look out and the birds can't see you so they don't fly away. It's excellent, except I use it for masturbation," Minnie finished his wine, whilst Jamie tried to stifle his sniggers.

Minnie looked back to Oliver, "Anyway enough of me, what _have_ you been doing genius?"

"I've completely reviewed Dyers work and established how to replicate it, advance it even."

"His work?" Jenny asked, having previously been unable to extract more than one word answers from Oliver.

"Vast body of knowledge, over several years, experiments, formulae, some key missing pieces so I've constructed a framework to hold it all together."

"No disrespect to Jenny here," Mary said, "but are you sure it isn't like some fake science he cooked up, you're not actually suggesting he discovered some science behind what Jenny describes."

Jamie stepped in, "It's definitely real, having seen it for myself, so I'd figure there must be a science to explain it."

"I agree," Minnie slurred.

Oliver continued, "There is a science behind it and if I can deploy it and establish how to turn on the regression experience, then I should be able to learn how to switch it off. You have to study the poison before you can create an antidote, if you get my drift."

"Deploy it, you mean use it? What is it and how would you deploy it?" Mary asked.

"Well on me I was thinking, test it on me, it's a serum, a synthetic agent," Oliver replied.

"But isn't that dangerous? You don't want to end up like me," there was concern in Jenny's voice, she also felt exposed by Oliver openly discussing his quest to seek a cure for her. She felt he should be consulting with her in private, this was her business.

"Can we join in?" Minnie asked.

"I wasn't planning to involve you," Oliver replied.

Minnie poured a large glass of red wine, he was swaying slightly, "Though I don't want to end up a cabbage in a vegetable patch, with a rice pudding brain."

"End up?" Jamie offered as an observation.

"Ha fucking ha Jamie," Minnie said and gulped more wine.

Mary quizzed Oliver more, "I don't get it Oliver, what's the premise? Is it dangerous? What happened in Dyer's trials? What will the college make of this?"

Oliver squeezed Jenny's hand under the table and spoke directly to her, "I'm sorry this discussions taking off, are you okay with me talking a little bit more? I know we need to have a separate discussion."

Acknowledgement was enough and Jenny nodded and gave Oliver a delicate kiss on his cheek.

"Get a room," Minnie said in slurredese.

"This isn't the colleges business as far as I'm concerned. Look," Oliver stood, he walked to the television and camcorder and switched on the TV and pressed play on the camcorder. The image of Dyer speaking came on. All his friends watched the film of Dyer. Oliver watched Jenny.

Dyer spoke to the camera, "...and it is without doubt now, introducing the agent unlocks the passage back through memories. But with a clarity that is a reality, there is an energy exchange. This is indeed time travel. Initially you travel down your own gene strand, but like a motorway, the further you go the more roads to take there are. In evolution everything is linked, you can travel back almost anywhere you wish to."

Oliver stopped the tape before Dyer would reveal he had experimented upon himself, to avoid Jenny making a clumsy unplanned and unmanaged connection. Oliver stood in front of his friends. He went to his desk where the research was organised and ordered. He took a syringe driver, IV infusion line, a sheet with printed formulae, surgical tape and placed them on the dining table in front of his friends.

Oliver spoke to his friends, "This was Dyers answer to time travel and I think I can recreate it, advance it even."

A moment's silence, then Jamie was the first to speak, "So this is your time machine? I don't see the anti-matter generators, or the wormhole proton engine."

Minnie joined in, "Time machine, time machine? It's a bit small isn't it? You're going to sit on that? HG Wells had a big fuck off comfy chair and a large whirry thing behind his head that fired him backwards and forwards."

Oliver set out his premise for regression as a form of time travel, "Very droll Minnie. That's the beauty of it you see. All this time science has been looking out, with theoretical hyperbole around wormholes and relative time-space across four dimensions. Time Travel that would require the power of three suns. Well it's bollocks and the answer is in here," Oliver tapped his temple and then pointed to the page of formulae.

He continued, "And here. Dyer discovered links, and when he moved on to experiments he discovered a science."

Mary said, "That time travel is in our heads?"

"Exactly, waiting to be unlocked. We all carry the history of the human race encoded on our genes, just as our DNA carries the building blocks of our limbs, heart and skin, it carries traits such as anger, aggression, and fear. So why not memory? Not just the DNA for the process, but the DNA with detail on. My fathers' memories encoded, downloaded and passed to me, and that of a thousand fathers before me. Why not? With the encrypted memory of war, love, race, religion, the actual events, that inform the fabric of humanity." Oliver sat down and sipped his wine.

There was silence in the room.

Minnie broke the silence, "That's fucking mental, I'm in, what do you need me to do?"

"Record the experiments, log the research, note down results, help me build this into a viable proposition, make it a technology not a possibility. Help me find the key to help Jenny," Oliver moved his hand under the table and once more squeezed Jenny's hand. She softly squeezed back.

Mary surprised Oliver the most, "Minnie you're drunk. Oliver of course we will help, but if we do this then we do it the right way and it is trials, careful trials and I need to know more about Dyer's work, where it went well, where it did not."

"Okay," but Oliver knew he would carefully edit what his friends would learn or hear or see.

25.

On the sixth day Oliver faced his demons for the first time. The demons were screaming for him to stop, telling him to heed Dyers warning. For the love of Jenny desist.

Oliver had played the tape that was simply labelled, 'Julianne'. It had a small x after her name. He had found it by accident, concealed in a comedic manner in the foot of an old slipper that Oliver thought had been left in the holdall by accident. Oliver watched the tape accompanied by a half full bottle of liquorice sambuca.

When the image opened across the widescreen TV Oliver was confronted by the vision of Dyers wife. Julianne was clearly the mother of Jenny, some years older but it could have been Jenny with longer hair and wearing clothes that were now back in fashion.

Julianne spoke into the camera, "Okay I am recording Robert John Dyer, my gorgeous husband being crazy, with an experiment that had eaten his sanity for the last few years. He had agreed to stop the research before the birth of our daughter, but she has problems, regression problems. So, reluctantly we are opening up the research once more, we want to help Jennifer if we can. I have to keep an eye on him though, to make sure it is as safe as can be, he is a bit, maverick shall we say."

Off camera Oliver heard Dyer retort, "I heard that."

"I thought you were regressing?" Julianne asked.

"I am, but I can hear you, are you filming me?"

"Just about to sweetie pie," Julianne moved from in front of the camera.

The camera jerked and turned to reveal Dyer in the same chair where Steven had previously sat. Dyer was hooked up to an intravenous pump, his eyes were rolled back but he appeared relaxed and in control.

"Okay, where are you?" asked Julianne.

"I am looking out from behind the eyes of a young soldier, his uniform I think, though my history is atrocious, is about early nineteenth century. Around me are other infantry, my troop is one hundred or so we are all ready to march. I can hear, feel the weight of the gun on my arm. Smell, we all smell pretty fowl. Christ this is incredible, what have I unlocked?" Dyer had a serene look of delight across his face.

One bad edit later and Julianne appeared in the chair where Dyer had sat. She too was attached to the syringe drive, with the infusion line administering agent 42A intravenously. She was inclined back and laying in a trance like state.

"Are you sure you checked Jennifer?" Dyer asked from off camera.

Julianne's reply was withering, "Yes I did check our baby. She is fast asleep, we swam for nearly two hours today and she loved it."

"Where are you?" Dyer asked.

"You should stop worrying, this is wonderful. I was with a nightclub singer, I don't know nineteen thirties? Beautiful voice, great stage presence."

Julianne breathed in and gently turned her head from side to side.

"And now?" Dyer asked, he had an uncertain impatience in his voice.

Realising the significance of the tape Oliver sat forward, he was tired but not so exhausted to miss the importance of the tape he watched.

Julianne paused, then with a small intake of breath spoke, "I'm just slowing down now, selecting, there. I am in the kitchen, where I was before, of an eighteenth century grand farmhouse. Looking out from behind the eyes of the old maid, she is very busy and very fat. This is incredible."

Dyer spoke, his voice wavering with anxiety, "Julianne, I think that is probably enough, this is only your second time, three visits in one session is more than I would advise. I think you should come back now."

"Just a few minutes more," Julianne said, "Mmm the bread smells so delicious. If I could taste just a little piece."

Oliver watched as Julianne's finger tips moved slightly.

Dyer increased his tone to desperation, "Julianne, stop, do not try to control your host, I told you we do not know enough."

Julianne was free with her experience, "Relax Bobby, I am not trying to move, it's just the bread looks so nice, I am sure she would sneak a taste, she is a big lady."

Julianne moved her whole hand. Her skin immediately paled further and a blue static fizzed around her fingers.

Dyers voice was fearful and commanding, "Do not move under any circumstances, Julianne, Jesus Julianne, your skin, it's too pale, too much static, stop now."

Dyer almost barked to instruct Julianne to stop.

Oliver poured and downed a shot of Sambuca.

Julianne's eyes closed and furrowed, concern etched on her face "Oh god, she's ill, this cook woman, she's sick"

"Do not move, just come back," Dyer instructed for the second time.

"Look I've told you I am keeping really still, only watching. I think she's collapsed, it's making me dizzy. What should I do now?"

Oliver watched fixed on Julianne's image, her body was tightening, her skin fading, he recognised the state from what he had seen in Jenny. Julianne did not speak but from her taught lips he heard 'Help me, help'.

Oliver heard Dyer mutter 'what?' at the unearthly utterances from Julianne's closed mouth. Dyer rushed forward knocking the camera on one side. Julianne's image was removed from view and replaced with a vision of the back of Dyer, wearing a doctors white coat, standing at the foot of the chair in which Julianne was sat. Oliver could not hear Dyer's words but knew he was desperately trying to save Julianne from her deteriorating situation.

Julianne could not be seen but Oliver heard her scream as panic set in "I can't see anymore, okay I'll come back, how do I do it again, I can't see, I'm not sure what to do now, oh god please don't let this go wrong. What? Okay, no I'm still here, god I feel hot and sick, pull me back please, please HELP ME."

Oliver took a further shot of Sambuca. On the screen Dyer reached forward as Julianne screamed. A shrill sickening scream. Blue electric light flashed in front of Dyer casting his figure into shadow in front of the camera lens. Dyer threw up his arms to protect his face from the intense blast. The camcorders focus was confused by the changes in light and the image blurred. Dyer stood still with soft vapours rising around him.

Pathetically he said one word, "Julianne."

Dyer staggered back from the chair and though the image was blurred it was clear for Oliver to see. Julianne was no longer there.

26.

Marmon and Ramone stood on the observation deck that overlooked the hangar and the frenzied activity below them. They leaned forward, hands stretched out on the glass balcony that surrounded the platform on which they stood.

"We are registering significant progress with the fifth battalion. Several of the troops have reported sightings," Ramone said softly.

"Good. We will prevail," Marmon looked across the vast facility.

They both held the operation together with the tightest of grips. No one, from the soldier on the floor to the first minister, was in any doubt that they were in charge. This was their mission and they would succeed. Whatever the cost. They would often walk the facility, from its recruiting laboratory, to the training and simulation rooms and regularly across the floor of the hangar where troops were ready to launch attacks.

Occasionally to remind themselves of the gravity of their cause and the plight of humanity they would walk to the coffin room. There they would watch the dead being processed for safe disposal. Many thousands of the corpse processing facilities existed now, required by regulation of the Plague Act that Parliament had imposed under emergency powers two years before.

The information holograph rotated as it hovered high above the hangars floor. It beamed data updates to keep the legions below informed and inspired. It issued instructions and alerts.

Marmon checked the floating screen to read latest status reports. He was most interested and had been for six months in the screen which had the legend _'TRACKING STATUS'_. It read;

OLIVER HARRIS; - - Status – CONTACT – TX01

JENNY SMITH; - - Status – TRACKING – TX02

JAMIE PRESTWICK; - - Status – TRACKING – TX03

ALAN HOWARD; - - Status – TRACKING – TX04

MARY ROBINSON; - -Status – TRACKING – TX05

A sudden increase in noise from the floor drew Marmon's attention. He held his hand to his ear and touched a silver communications 'stud' pierced into his ear lobe.

"Report," Marmon commanded.

Ramone also listened through his own device, "Contact and engagement, confirmation."

"Execute," Marmon said coldly.

They stood in silence for what seemed a lifetime to them. They watched the floor and the gathered activity around one of their enhanced conscripts.

"Success," Ramone said as a huge cheer rose up from the floor of the facility. Marmon and he shook hands and warmly embraced. They turned to read the information hub, it read;

_ROBERT JOHN DYER; -ENGAGED 11:03- Status–_ _DELETED_ _– TX00_

27.

"So have you tried to trace your natural parents?" Oliver asked Jenny as they walked around Battersea Park.

"You've remembered I said I'm adopted?" Jenny was surprised at the question.

"Of course, with Mary being adopted, we had talked before about tracing her parents."

"Has she?"

"Not yet, she feels conflicted by it." Oliver sat down on a bench in front of the lake with fountains which sprayed water high into the air.

"Tell me about it," Jenny said sitting with him and leaning into Oliver. He placed an arm around her.

"And?" pressed Oliver.

"And I feel mixed about it too. I know my natural mother died and my father couldn't cope with me, he had some sort of breakdown and ended up detained in hospital. That much my adopted mum and dad have told me, that's all I've chosen to know so far."

Oliver knew this to be true. In Dyer's journals he had recorded how he became severely depressed after Julianne's death. Dyer was detained under the Mental Health Act for nearly a year. He suspected the College conspired to have his daughter taken from him, along with the police and possibly even journalists who saw him as a murderer. Unable to cope with his loss and his anger at the state who removed his child from him, he had turned his back on the UK and moved to Vietnam.

"If you could know, would you want to?" Oliver pressed again.

"I had planned to ask Dyer when we met."

Oliver was surprised at this, had Jenny made a link he wondered.

"Ask him what?" he asked.

"Well I have always wondered where the regression has come from, was I exposed to something as a baby, did my mum take drugs, I don't know, I thought if Dyer had studied people, maybe one of them was my father. So I thought I would ask him if any of his subjects ever had a child removed. I have no memory of my parents, none at all."

Jenny sighed and kissed Oliver, hugged him tight and then fell quiet. Oliver felt as if his tongue was paralysed and his brain had set in concrete. He would tell her tomorrow he thought, his plan for tonight was a significant step forward in his research and it needed no sideshows.

Mary, Minnie and Jamie huddled next to a large concrete pillar, one of many that supported the large square fourteen story hospital. St Thomas hospital in Lambeth was the next riverside building west of the County Hall and almost opposite the Houses of Parliament. The three friends waited at one of the corners that faced out onto the River Thames.

"Where are they?" Mary asked of no one in particular.

They were trying not to look suspicious and awkwardly tried to look relaxed each time a jogger passed by. It was approaching ten pm and Oliver had asked them to meet Jenny and him at this point.

Mary continued, "We shouldn't be doing this, we will all get booted from college, disciplined by the GMC, struck off even."

"No we won't, medicine has always sailed close to the wind with ethics, to secure advances," Jamie said countering Mary's concerns.

"Bollocks," Mary argued back, "Oliver is going to undertake research that isn't regulated, doesn't have ethical approval, isn't licensed or funded."

Jamie looked down.

Mary quizzed him, "Jamie? What have you done? Have you given Oliver money for this?"

Jamie smiled innocently, "A couple of thousand, that's all, it's helped him to buy the base enzymes and chemicals for his agent thingy."

"But you must have got them illegally Jamie, Minnie did you know about this?"

"Don't look at me, I know nothing," Minnie said defending himself.

"And a bit of equipment as well," Jamie added.

"Equipment?" Mary asked.

"He didn't say what, just equipment."

"We are in such deep shit," Mary said as she ran her fingers through her hair looking round for help from an invisible helpful person.

Minnie wanted to say something suitably foolish to try to lighten the moment but he too had reservations. If I'm anxious he thought this must be seriously dodgy.

All three faced away from the building, rooted to the spot Oliver had described so precisely for them to wait upon. None had noticed they stood in front of a glazed fire exit with obscure glass panes. The entire ground floor was largely floor to ceiling height glass and the door was easily lost in the design of the building. None saw the opaque outline of a figure arrive at the door from the inside.

They stood in silence, looking up and down the River front for Oliver and Jenny approaching. A bar on the inside of the door clicked and the door sprung open rapidly. Mary gasped as she turned quickly in fright, Jamie and Minnie too spun around whilst reeling back from the unexpected intrusion into their anxious wait.

"Are you coming in or not then?" Oliver asked from within the shadows of the stairwell he stood within.

"You bastard," Minnie said.

"Oliver, what on earth are you up to?" Mary asked angrily.

"Come in and I'll show you," Oliver replied.

The three entered the building and Oliver re-sealed the fire exit from the inside.

"Come on," Oliver said as he led the way down steep and dimly lit concrete stairs that wound down two or three flights or so.

"Not many people know about the lower ground floors under the hospital," Oliver explained, "it houses storage, some animal experiment areas, an overspill for the mortuary."

Oliver moved quickly down the stairs, relaxed and alert, quite the opposite to his anxious friends who reluctantly followed him. Once in the bowels of the building they made their way through the eerie maze like corridors. It was almost entirely dark lit only by emergency lighting. They turned one corner and they could hear the sound of animals moving in cages behind the doors of the discrete animal testing laboratories.

In the farthest reaches of the hospital basement, at the end of a long thin corridor one room stood out. A dim light glimmered through its half paned door. Oliver approached the door, he held up a hand for the others to stop. He waited a moment and then gave three knocks, paused then two more on the glass.

"You even have a secret knock, nice touch Frankenstein," Minnie commented.

The door opened and Jenny welcomed them in to the room. Once inside they looked around. The room had been used to operate on and test pigs, to study the effects of fire, gunshot wounds, to help advance medicine for troops injured in battle. It smelled vaguely farm-like but appeared surgically clean. It had a DRE surgeon's power procedures chair that could be inclined from flat to seating. Clean steel treatment trolleys were either side with packs of sterile hypodermics, syringe pumps, IV lines and cannula placed on the trolleys shelves.

At the head of the medical chair and trolleys were an ECG machine and a portable brain scanner (which was yet to be fully licensed and mass produced). A final trolley had equipment for taking bloods and generating hematology reports.

Oliver had a digital video camera set up, linked to a widescreen TV on a stand. A laptop was set up and switched on, it had internet connectivity and was also linked through to the video camera. On the large desk where the laptop was Oliver had Dyers research and his own papers carefully organised for ease of access.

On the far side were sinks and Oliver had even thought of tea and coffee making facilities and a microwave. A small fridge was beneath the worktop. Off the room was a toilet and shower facility. In one corner two small sofa beds were positioned. Oliver was clearly planning to be in this for the duration.

"How on earth have you established all this down here, without getting caught?" Mary asked disbelieving what she was seeing.

"We learned a new way of getting things done in Vietnam, 'Money Talks'," Oliver said mocking Vans finger rubbing signs.

"You've bribed someone?" Mary asked with her head on one side.

"Hired somebody's silence I think is a nicer way of putting it," Oliver replied.

"Impressive set up," Jamie said.

Oliver updated his friends, "We've already run some initial simulations, run through the procedures. Jenny's proved herself a very able assistant."

Jenny smiled. Mary shook her head. Minnie played with the camera and Jamie slapped Oliver on the back.

"Well we're all fucked having seen this set up, so let's get started, what do you need us to do?" Jamie asked.

Minnie interrupted before Oliver could start issuing instructions, "I have one question?"

"Yes," Oliver said.

"Does that fridge have beer in it?" Minnie asked.

Oliver laughed, "Yes, help yourself, Jamie, I need to be hooked up to the ECG and have the cannula, pump and IV line set up. I've prepared several batches of differing strengths of Dyer's regression agent 42A though I've refined it significantly. I'm ready to try administering a dose of the serum."

Minnie loudly opened a can of beer and took a long drink, attracting the attention of his friends. He beamed a smile, "This is like watching some fucked up head banging movie."

Minnie drunk some more beer from his can.

Oliver continued, "Mary if you could take bloods and do a baseline hematology analysis, Jenny if you could begin recording, Mary would you take notes as well."

Minnie spoke once more, "Phone an ambulance when his head explodes, mop up his brain, forensically clean the crime scene."

"Are you going to be helpful at all?" Jenny asked Minnie.

"Probably not."

"Lazy shit, look lock the door, help me film," Jenny instructed. Minnie put down his can and joined the increasingly serious atmosphere before him.

They worked well together, setting Oliver up on the surgical chair which they inclined three quarters back. Over the next thirty minutes he had baseline readings of his heart and brain, his bloods taken and the IV infusion system set up with a venflon butterfly cannula taped to the back of his left hand. The syringe driver rested on his lap with a dose of Agent 42A ready in its chamber.

"I can't believe I am doing this," Mary said breaking the business like work that had been taking place.

Oliver reassured them all, "Relax, this will be fun, pleasurable and it will ultimately help Jenny. Let's enjoy the ride."

"What makes up the agent then?" Jamie asked tapping the chamber on the driver where the thick clear fluid was.

Oliver explained more of what he now knew, "Thiamine, serotoin, dopamine, other enzymes related to neuro-transmission. The serum is based on the blood profiles of psychics who could regress. Dyer discovered these unlock the memories in the DNA. They also amplify the experience, so some part of you actually goes back, your energy actually transfers between two points, the here and now and the past. In effect you're in two places at once, you sit on someone else's genes, people in the past play host to your visits. Like Jenny says, you look out from behind their eyes."

Oliver went into his pocket and pulled out an elastic band. He took scissors and cut the band so it was just one long piece. He demonstrated Dyers theory by scrunching and stretching the band whilst he explained.

"Look If I scrunch up this rubber band between my finger and thumb, and we imagine that represents me now, the agent comes along, when you inject it, and helps a piece of you, back into the past, to another point."

Oliver stretched the band out between his hands.

"With you're energy suspended between the two. Jennie says she can control how far the band stretches. We'll see what this serum can do for me."

Mary remained sceptical and concerned, "Okay, what if the band snaps or, the here and now end, breaks free and goes over to the past end?"

Mary flicked the band in Oliver's left hand making it snap back to his right.

"That won't happen," Oliver said.

"Like totally fucking outrageous Ol, I've got to see this baby fly," Minnie said shaking his head enthusiastically.

"Okay, let's do it," Oliver said and laid back on the surgical chair. He closed his eyes and operated the syringe driver, the serum oozed through the IV line towards the cannula and entered Oliver's venous system.

The camera rolled and the room fell quiet. Minnie studied Oliver's image on the widescreen TV. Oliver laid still with the pump rested on his lap, his hands relaxed by his side.

They waited. Jamie was about to speak when the regression agent kicked in. A trace of blue static skipped across Oliver's face, he screamed and went rigid, his head arched back and his spine lifted from the surgical power chair.

"Oh my god," was all that Mary could utter.

"Pulse rate rocketing," Jamie said as he followed the ECG trace.

Oliver's eyes opened then rolled back, his body went flat down and his head moved back into a more natural position. Oliver's skin tightened across his face, then a shudder commenced shaking every bone in his body, his epidermis faded to a moon grey and Oliver emitted a low hissing moan.

"Mary prepare the diazepam, twenty mils," Jamie advised.

"I'm on it," Mary worked her way through a hypodermic pack and phial of Diazepam and drew up a shot.

"Oliver?" Jenny asked trying to raise a connection with him.

Mary stepped forward but stopped as a smile came across Oliver's face.

"Some ride," he said.

"Pulse settling down, eighty, seventy five," Jamie commented reading the trace out loud.

Oliver would never have believed what he had just experienced. This was more than his wildest fantasies had anticipated ever since his ideas on regression began. He had the experience of dropping a thousand feet in a few seconds, falling through white and blue swirling light and matter. He felt he had passed through a genetic cosmos, a mysterious system concealed from the human eye. Oliver compared the journey to a roller coaster, he felt barely able to steer himself but after a few seconds it seemed natural to speed up or slow down. All he had to do was step off now to join a soul, one of billions that floated in constellations in this universe of minds, memories and time.

Oliver opened his mind's eye and was stunned by what he saw. Oliver looked out through a mans eye, he could feel him breathing, touch his very senses. He looked out and could feel the air on his skin, smell the scents which flowed around him. It was a medieval scene before him, dirt tracks, a street scene. Women walked up and down the street in different forms of clothing, simple plain wool tunics for the poor, the peasants, more fashionable surcoats and skirts for those of a higher class. Men wore robes and long coats that fell to the instep, pointed hats and ornate gold draped about their neck. Oliver surmised he was in a wealthy district, with shops either side of the narrow street. The peasants appeared to be serving the wealthy, carrying bags and goods and walking some steps behind their noble leaders. Oliver could see a blacksmiths, a shop selling clothes, jewelry, he could hear harp music somewhere in the distance. He could see the man he was with was wearing the finest clothes, he smiled pleased he was with someone of a certain class.

"Are you okay?" Jamie asked, prompting Oliver to check in with his friends back in the cellar of the hospital.

"I'm fine. Just fine. It's real Jamie. I can smell, feel, this mans life, I selected him. I knew how to stop and choose him. Jenny you're right."

"It's wonderful isn't it Oliver, where are you?" Jenny asked.

"I should have done a crash course in history, medieval times, London possibly, very narrow streets but it's quite built up. Very busy."

Oliver stayed with the man observing his progress. His host came upon a handsome woman, dressed smartly. Oliver listened to the exchange, his host had a refined voice as did the woman;

"Good day to you my Lord, I trust you are well?"

"My health is very good thanking you. I am hoping to find some fine flowers for you for this evening."

"So you and Lady Williams will be joining us for dinner, I am pleased."

"We are very much looking forward to your hospitality Catherine, I'm still full from the last meal you served us."

Together the Lord and the female laughed. Oliver smiled at the experience, this was bigger than anything ever he thought.

Oliver recalled aspects of what he saw and asked Mary to make notes, "Okay we are turning down a side street, Shipmaster Lane, he is a Lord, I've picked well, his dress looks expensive from what I can see reflected in the glass of shop windows. You've all got to try this."

"No thanks," Mary muttered under her breath.

Oliver watched his host as he turned down a quieter street, suddenly leaving the bustle behind them. Must be a good flower shop Oliver surmised. The street had small alleys off, was less well presented and he sensed a quickening of the noble mans pulse.

Both Oliver and his host were taken by surprise when the figure lurched from the shadows towards them.

"What on earth?"

The Lord was startled as an old vagrant peasant lumbered towards him, an arm outstretched before him to halt the Lord's progress. Oliver noticed the roughness of his skin, it's misshapen appearance and he thought he noticed blue hues across his filthy brown eyes.

"Not a step closer peasant or I will take my stick to you."

The peasant quickened his step in response, suddenly nimble and before the nobleman could react the peasant had grabbed him by the throat.

"My God, put me down you ragbag."

The Lord struggled with the man but Oliver could feel great strength from the weak looking vagrant. He drew the Lord close to him, Oliver thought he might strike with his head onto the Lords nose. He drew the nobleman's face close to his dirt engrained face and they touched nose to nose. Oliver could see and smell the vagrant he was up so close. What he said next left Oliver cold and afraid. The peasant spoke slowly, deliberately.

"Subject Oliver, we know you are in there, watching."

The Lord struggled.

"You my man are drunk, unhand me now, I will have you locked up."

The peasant did not falter but continued his instructive advice.

"Heed our words subject Oliver, we are past warning you. Go home and leave this alone."

And with that said the peasant collapsed at the feet of the Lord. The nobleman kicked him hard, stepped over him and walked on.

Shocked Oliver pushed the panic button, whatever that was, he wasn't sure how he did it but he rapidly returned to his present self sat within the laboratory he had created.

Oliver sat upright rapidly, his eyes came down and he gasped for air, "Jesus."

"Are you alright?" asked Jamie.

"Has something frightened you?" Jenny asked as if familiar with fear when regressing.

Oliver gathered himself and though he was back he was still pale, "no, I am okay, it is just the rush, it takes your breath away. It is a very powerful experience. This is big, this is so fucking big."

Oliver swung his legs off the power chair, "but enough for tonight, for the first time, we should all go home."

The four friends and Jenny moved quietly around the room, all somewhat stunned by what had occurred. Jenny checked Oliver was okay and he gave her a reassuring rub on her back. Together they closed down the night's single experiment, all of them uncertain where this might take them.

28.

Oliver and Jenny sat together on the last deserted tube headed into town. It was past midnight and the Northern Line had almost closed down. Jenny was hungry and wanted to go out, she had been quiet since late afternoon and seemed restless, agitated even. Oliver was pleased to be alone with her. He would mention Dyer over their nighttime meal together.

Jenny looked at him, more a stare than a look as she studied him. He felt uncomfortable under her gaze.

"What did Dyer say about me?" she asked pointedly.

Oliver was confused, he rambled, "That you would sleep all day, you'd be hungry, there would possibly be answers in his work, he wanted to reflect before he met you. It was a big issue if he was to recommence his work."

Jenny took three photographs from her bag, they were of her as a child as a teenager and at her eighteenth birthday party. They were held within copies of notes of letters Dyer had written to her, notes which were held with the adoption agency. Letters she had chosen not to access.

"I was thinking more what it was like to be my father?"

Oliver looked at Jenny trying to read her face, shocked and embarrassed she had found out about Dyer. He felt sick in his stomach that he had put off telling her. His cowardice had created space for her to stumble across the truth. He didn't allow himself to acknowledge he had become more selfish than selfless in pursuing Dyer's research, nor admit he had become distracted from telling Jenny the professor was her natural father.

"I'm sorry, I have tried to say, I just didn't know what to say, I wish he had never told me," Oliver bowed his head shamefully.

"I know you think you are helping me Oliver but, christ you have lost your judgment, did you not think I might wish to attend his funeral if I had known this," Jenny angrily held up the pictures and notes.

"When did you find them?" Oliver asked.

"Lunchtime, I was putting Dyers bag away, you'd left them in the bottom."

"I am so sorry, I didn't want you to find out like this, I was going to mention it over dinner."

"Don't give me that," Jenny spat back at him, tears now started to stream down her face, "I think this whole push to experiment is about you, you and you're research. I thought we meant something, but I'm beginning to think I'm just a fucking lab rat for you to study."

Oliver stood up, "No, no, please Jenny, please, I have never felt like this about anyone, I can't describe how much I care for you."

Oliver walked away gripping his head in frustration with himself, he returned back to Jenny and sat with her. Her head was down and he lifted her chin to make eye contact.

"I think I've fallen in love with you Jenny and all this, all of this, is because I never ever want to lose you."

Jenny fell forward onto his shoulder and sobbed hard and uncontrollably. Oliver whispered a chanted apology into her ear as she wept. Every few seconds or so she struck him with her fist on his shoulder, angry at his deceit but needy of his comfort right then.

The train slammed to a dead halt in the tunnel they were passing through, between Waterloo and Embankment stations. The force of stopping so sharply threw Oliver and Jenny forward with a jerk. They sat up.

"Shit," Oliver said.

"Emergency brake?" Jenny asked.

The light flickered and then the entire train fell into darkness. Oliver took out his mobile and used the screen to provide some light.

"Creepy," Jenny said and gripped Oliver's arm.

Oliver looked up and down the carriage, "Should start again soon."

They sat in the dark in silence. It did not feel comfortable to continue a difficult conversation. Oliver looked out at the tube wall, just about making out the dirt covered wires and pipes that ran along the tunnels sides carrying power along the underground system.

"Should we try speaking to the Driver? Why hasn't he made an announcement?" Jenny asked nervously.

Oliver was drawn and curious to the only light he could see that wasn't from his phone. Outside the carriage about four or five feet away, a blue glow came from one of the thicker wires that ran along the central section of the tube wall. It both glowed and seemed to grow, it wasn't a spark, it was the size of a child's fist and appeared to have the consistency of jelly.

"What do you think that is?" he asked Jenny.

"What?"

"Outside the window, look that blue lump on the pipe, it looks like it's moving."

"Oh yes, maybe it's a power thing, a gel in the wire, maybe that's why we've broken down," Jenny suggested, though knowing her theory was in fact rubbish.

It slowly doubled in size. It thickened and glowed more strongly. Without warning it leapt from the wire of the wall and slammed against the glass window of the carriage just in front of them.

"Fuck, what is it?" Oliver and Jenny had gripped each other at the sudden and unexpected movement. What was most frightening was the force with which it struck the glass. Whatever this was, it was powerful.

The blue energy had an anchor on the tube wall and had begun pulsing against the glass. With ease it melted itself into and through the glass and entered the carriage. Its glow provided light for the carriage, a soft blue haze and Oliver and Jenny felt the heat from this unknown force.

"I think we should move," Jenny said.

"I agree," Oliver said. Neither wanted to acknowledge it but the energy seemed to be looking for them. It had purpose as it oozed and stretched along the glass inside the carriage.

As they stood it stopped, they felt watched by it. Slowly they crept forward stepping towards the carriage end and the door that would exit from the train, with the next carriages door beyond that.

Once they had passed the energy they turned to retreat from it, keeping it in view whilst walking backwards.

"I'm scared," Jenny said.

"Not more than I am, let's get to the other carriage."

When they reached the door Oliver stretched back for the handle, without taking his gaze off of the snake like energy pulsing in the carriage a short distance from them. He felt around the door, found the handle and opened the door inwards. As he did this the energy seemed to turn to study their movements, it lifted off of the window then snapped back. It withdrew through the glass and reattached itself to the thick black cable. Within a split second it had traversed the cable and was now directly opposite the couple on the tube wall outside the window. They had had no time to react such was its speed of movement.

Crack. It struck the window again with great force and oozed its way back through the glass to within a few feet of where they were.

Oliver whispered, "Run."

He pushed Jenny forward and reminded her to jump the gap, which she did and she opened and entered the next carriage. Oliver followed. The energy snapped back and zipped along the black cable once more to align with them. There could be no doubt they were being pursued by this sinister force.

Oliver barked, "Run."

And they did. At full stretch they ran in the dark straight down the middle of the train, to the end of the carriage, without looking back. Jenny frantically pulled at the next door, Oliver carefully steadying her as she moved to the next carriage. He turned before he followed to see the blue globule melding into the pane of glass by him. He feared they would not out run this threat.

They ran through five more carriages with the blue force zipping down the thick black cable, maintaining its pace with theirs. It seemed to be growing in size and momentum, as if building towards a final strike.

Jenny had lost track of how many carriages she had run through when she slammed into the blank door that was the access door for the drivers' cabin.

"Shit," she said.

"Dead end," Oliver said. He leaned over Jenny and slammed hard on the door.

"Why have we stopped?" he shouted, "Get this train moving please."

There was no reply. The blue force arrived gently in line with them. Now the size of a football it struck the glass yet again, so hard Oliver and Jenny staggered back.

Oliver struck the drivers door, "Come on, help us. What is up with you?"

Jenny grabbed hold of Oliver as the blue energy oozed in to the carriage and stretched out towards them.

The lights flickered and the carriage was suddenly illuminated once more.

"Powers back on," Oliver said, he struck the door hard three times, "are you going to get this working again?"

This time a muffled voice replied indignantly, "Ease up, we're about to go."

The tube train inched forward and then accelerated. The energy force could not adapt to the moving conditions and it snapped back and out of the carriage, sending sparks fizzing into the air as it fell to the floor of the tracks. The train sped away and within seconds the threat to Oliver and Jenny was gone.

29.

Jack Splinter enjoyed his Friday night pint of bitter alone, with only the fruit machine for company. He drank in the Frog and Fir Tree which was a short walk from his companies head quarters on Hampstead Road and close to Euston where he would take the tube home. The fruit machine was Star Wars themed and he wondered if anyone ever did pull three Darth Vader's to win the one hundred pound jackpot. The best Jack had achieved was thirty pounds for three Princess Leah's. Jack found this solitary pursuit a perfect antidote to the harsh media world in which he worked.

Oliver sat in the corner drinking his third beer. He read that mornings copy of The Guardian and had waited for Jack to arrive. Oliver had shared a celebratory pint with Jack in this pub some months earlier. It had been the week before Oliver would crash and burn in front of the Board of Emap. The paper had been accepted by the CEO and she had given Jack strong signals that Oliver's CarTalk proposal would be supported by several of the Board. It had every chance of success and having learned nothing from Neil Kinnock, Jack had taken Oliver for a beer in anticipation of their joint success. They had formed a strong trusting business relationship developing Oliver's unique proposition. Oliver felt sure Jack had some core faith in his 'inventiveness' and remembered he had expressed respect and admiration for his medical qualifications and research capability.

Oliver looked like shit. He had grown a beard during several tireless weeks developing the Tempus Genesis serum and now viewed it as a fledgling technology. He had spent equal measures of time developing a regression inhibitor, which he would soon offer Jenny as a trial treatment (in the form of an intramuscular injection). He had ignored the minor changes in his brain scan and had become irritable with Jamie when challenged on this.

He had become adept at mastering the regression experiences, asserting more and more control over his 'traveling' techniques. Increasingly he researched alone, occasionally involving Jenny to screen her bloods and measure her brain and heart function. She looked weaker and paler he thought and worried his quest to help her was in part making her worse. Oliver had rejected Jenny's suggestion that the unexplainable incident on the tube was a threat linked to his work. He buried this within the now accumulated pile of warnings.

Oliver stood up and walked over to Jack.

"You kept your job then Jack?" Oliver said placing a hand on Jack's shoulder.

Jack Splinter turned at first recognising the voice but not the face. After a seconds pause he computed who the tired and disheveled looking young man was.

"Oliver?"

"Bit of a mad professor beard going on, can I buy you a pint?"

Jack saw no reason to say no and accepted Oliver's offer. They sat down together and Oliver opened a grab bag of salt and vinegar crisps for them to share.

"I'm sorry I didn't phone you after that Board," Jack said.

"I understand, after that experience I thought you might be too busy getting a rough ride."

"I did, two of the non-execs in particular have had it in for me," Jack sipped at his pint, "have you taken it anywhere else?"

"Nope, canned it, couldn't face anymore dressing downs like that." Oliver smiled.

"I really thought we had it in the bag Oliver, you should try some other companies, I could e-mail you some contacts I have."

"I've been working on something else, something really big Jack and I want you to see it."

"What is it? I can't imagine ever bringing you into Emap again if I'm honest," Jack said.

"You'd need to see it," Oliver said.

"When? I've got a very full diary for months." Jack tried to ease Oliver away from him. He liked the kid but he'd generated only bad news around his standing in the company.

"Now, tonight Jack, I have it set up in a research lab. You won't believe what you will see, you'll be witnessing history Jack, not an idea for a product, history," Oliver stared at Jack with a madness in his eyes that unsettled him.

Oliver had refused to take the tube (even though it would have been quicker) and had hailed a taxi. Jack Splinter had his resolve to resist Oliver dissolved by the video clip Oliver played him on his mobile phone. It was not the best quality but what Jack saw intrigued him enough to delay going home that night. He was revising that decision when Oliver urged him in to the dark stair well under the shadows of St Thomas' Hospital. Jack followed the route to Oliver's laboratory with increasing trepidation. His jaw dropped when he saw the room and its technical set up. Somebody was serious in their endeavour.

"Is this legal?" Jack asked.

"It's not official research, yet, if that's what you mean."

"So what does it do? what were you doing in that clip?" Jack walked around the room. He touched the surgical power chair and then ran his hand over the television.

"It does more than you could ever imagine Jack, this, is where time travel begins," Oliver removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Jack laughed, loudly, "Are you on something Oliver? If I'd have known you thought you had invented time travel I would have stayed on the fruit machine."

"Sounds crazy doesn't it, bear with me Jack. Just give me ten minutes of your time. If you're not convinced then fine, go home and I won't bother you again."

"How on earth could this amount to time travel Oliver, as Hawkins said the lack of tourists from the future proves its impossibility."

"I've read that too, it assumes the tourists would reveal themselves doesn't it?"

"I suppose so," Jack replied.

Oliver slipped into the surgical chair and reclined himself. He had a venflon cannula already sited in the crux of his elbow and the syringe driver prepared. He knew he would have to establish a regressive state quickly to avoid Jack walking out on him. Lastly Oliver put on a crown of electrodes and wires on his head. The wires from the neuro-crown trailed to the portable brain scanner, more wires linked from the scanner to the laptop and a final set from the laptop to the television.

"Switch on the TV," Oliver instructed Jack. Jack shook his head slightly, smiled inside himself at the ridiculous situation he was in, but nonetheless he went to the television and found the stand by button and clicked it on, the screen went light then black.

"Watch me first then the screen, I'm hooked up through this neuro reading crown to the TV through that brain scanner, it's not the best but you'll get the drift."

Oliver held up the syringe driver, "this serum Jack unlocks thousands upon thousands of years of memory encoded in all our genes and allows me to regress back and visit other people's lives, across history. Time across generations Jack, this is Tempus Genesis."

Jack was just trying to work out the timing of his departure. If there wasn't so many dark and creepy corridors plus stairs to traverse, he would have walked out there and then.

Oliver hit the release valve on the pump and took a shot of agent 42A. His regression was rapid and no less dramatic than the very first time, he allowed himself less control than he was able. A little showboating for effect.

Jack was shocked and sickened at what he saw. He gathered himself and walked up and down the side of Oliver studying the physical changes to his face, his posture, his skin. Leaving the notion of time travel to one side the visceral changes he was witnessing was staggering.

"Jesus Christ Oliver, are you okay?"

Oliver smiled, "I'm fine, watch the screen, the technology is less than a week old so cut me some slack."

Jack turned and watched the TV. The picture was dark, made up of coloured lines and shapes, not solid images. Oliver narrated for Jack's benefit.

"The connection with the past is so strong I can actually see the past, witness it live Jack, I developed a program that interprets the signals from my optical nerve and translates them into images that I am seeing. It's not broadcasting exactly but I reckon it could be developed. Imagine the possibilities Jack, light shows from time immemorial. That would put bums on seats."

"Is this a trick?" was all Jack could think to ask.

"Roman Britain Jack, I am in Roman Britain, looking out from the eyes of a legionnaire."

Jack could make out the image and it concurred with what Oliver described, he could see several ghostly Roman soldier figures moving around a camp. Swords and shields in hand as they appeared to prepare for duty. This can't be real he thought. But what if it was real?

"Who knows about this?" Jack said.

"A few close friends, nobody else."

"Patent?"

"Filed, I have the IP rights wrapped up Jack. Even my friends don't know about the broadcast possibilities."

"I'm not sure Oliver."

Oliver breathed out and with one exhaled breath returned to the room. His eyes rolled down and he looked at Jack. Blue static scattered across his face, impressing upon Jack the possibility that this was real.

Jack said, "It's a lot to take in, it looks a bit too Voodoo for me. I can't ever see myself presenting this to the CEO."

"If you walk away from this and I take it elsewhere, and it is very real believe me, you'll regret passing this up for the rest of your life."

"If it was real I guess I would, but how do I know you aren't just pumping yourself full of some psychedelic dance floor drugs?"

Oliver unclipped himself from the infusion line, removed his electrode crown and stood up. He walked to the desk with the laptop. He laid out the research evidence, his notes and reports.

"I've not registered this anywhere as research, no ethical approval so I know I've been pushing some boundaries here. But I have followed rigorous research protocols, with the right license agreement I'd be prepared to share the evidence that this is real."

Jack Splinter run his hand through his thick silver hair.

"I still don't know. Let me sleep on it over the weekend."

"Of course. I trust you Jack, I want to work with you. Come back next week and try it," Oliver suggested.

"Shit. No way, I've no idea what this might be doing to your brain."

"It's safe, the evidence of its safety is in the reports. Would I risk my own life if I didn't think otherwise?"

"I guess not, give me the weekend. Now walk me out of here this is a seriously creepy set up."

Oliver went to retrieve his jacket, closed down his equipment and walked Jack out and up the stairs to leave him safe and sound by the Thames. Oliver babbled through a random selection of time travel 'trips' he had taken as they walked and set out his vision for a time travel leisure industry, cinematic broadcasts from history and his estimates of turnover in the billions. Oliver knew he was over-selling as they climbed the stairs towards the fire exit door, but he was uncertain as to whether he would get Jack back. He worried he had put his discovery 'out there' too soon.

30.

Summer was nearly over and college was looming on the horizon. The events of the summer break had severely tested the long standing friendships Oliver held with Minnie, Jamie and Mary. Especially Mary. His relationship with Jenny had been through the mill, under the microscope and to hell and back. Yet they were stronger and closer though still without intimacy. Jenny had been on the trial of IM regression inhibitor for nearly a month with positive results. She had more colour in her skin and she reported feeling stronger. Bizarrely the closest they came to intimacy was when Oliver administered the IM 'vaccine' to her left buttock. He had commented on her wonderful bottom and stroked her low back for a few minutes. Both had felt intensely aroused but moving to second base still did not suit them for reasons neither understood nor questioned.

Jenny had returned to Brighton to get up to speed with her business at 'Other World', which was kindly still being run by her close friend. Without Jenny around Oliver had remembered he had three close and dear friends. He knew he had to reinvest in his closest friendships.

Oliver was alone with Mary for the first time in what seemed a very long time.

"So what are you going to do with all your research?" Mary asked Oliver.

"I don't know, it's a technology, you should exploit technology," Oliver answered.

They ate in a small Italian restaurant opposite Portman Hospital on Portman Road. Oliver had spinach tagliettelle in a four cheese sauce, Mary a chicken arrabiata, they shared a salad and garlic bread. They drank Chianti. Oliver had ordered a thirty five pound bottle wanting to treat Mary and make some kind of offering of repair in their friendship.

"I don't like the beard look Oliver."

"I'll shave it off once you concede my discovery is in fact ground breaking and remarkable," Oliver said.

"Good luck with your very long beard then. I think it's dangerous, unstable and unethical, what benefit and I quote Blooms here," Mary prepared herself to quote the eminent Professor.

"Don't mention that mans name," Oliver interrupted.

"Professor Blooms states," Mary mocked Blooms dry lecture style, "Remember fundamental discoveries or to transform our ability to help others."

"Do quote Blooms actually, because this is a fundamental discovery and imagine the possibilities, the ability to document history accurately, answer unsolved questions, open up travel to historians and a curious public."

"A curious public? So develop it as an entertainment industry."

"Cynical Mary. In part yes, why shouldn't I benefit from this?" Oliver challenged Mary.

Mary reached across the table and held Oliver's hand, "Oliver, look I accept you are onto something and I accept it is big, way big, gargantuan discovery time. But you're going too fast, breaking too many rules, you could harm yourself. Badly."

She squeezed his hand.

"I am being careful, look if I get one warning signal beeping on the safety radar I'll step on the caution brake," Oliver held her hand back and this time he gently squeezed. He didn't even bother to reflect on the fundamental flaws in the statement he was making, nor how vacuous his nod to safety was.

They ate a little more together and Oliver ordered a second bottle of wine more expensive than the last.

"Nigel Bell-Smith wants to meet me," he said casually.

"Excuse me? Sir Nigel Bell-Smith, Mega Company owning Bell-Smith? You expect me to believe that?"

"Long story but you remember the Emap guy?"

"Who dropped you like a brick?"

"That's the one. But I've re-engaged him, taken him to the lab, with Jenny stabilising I feel ready to take this to another level," Oliver took a mouthful of his pasta.

"Oliver, that is exactly my point you are moving too fast, no proper trial, no ethical approval, come on Bell-Smith wouldn't touch it with a barge pole," Mary leant back in her chair to emphasise her point and took a large sip of wine.

"This is big business, these commercial guys will push every boundary possible if something has true potential. Including ethics. Jack, my Emap guy, has been to the lab several times, I've got him to sign a non-disclosure note, got him bought in to the project. He thinks Emap is too narrow, so he has a friend who knows a guy, blah blah. I burnt a DVD of the trials, Bell-Smiths seen it and is curious enough to want to meet me. Discreetly. He is taken by the whole notion and agrees that the broadcast potential could be staggeringly massive."

Mary screwed up her face, "Did you just say broadcast potential?"

"I haven't mentioned that have I? I've looped the brain scanner through the laptop, developed some software that interprets what I can see when I am regressing and it basically transmits the regression vision on to the TV."

"What? How?" Mary asked.

Oliver's mobile phone buzzed four times. He took it from his pocket and saw an alert on his facebook page. It was from Jamie.

You need to get over here.

"Where are Jamie and Minnie tonight?" Oliver asked Mary whilst reading from his phone.

"Drinking, some bar somewhere, I don't know," Mary replied.

Oliver typed his response.

Where are you? Phone me?

Jamie replied.

No signal. In your lab on laptop! Minnie stuck.

Oliver.

Eh?

Jamie.

Got pissed. Got talking. Went to your lab. Minnie went first, hooked up, shot some regression juice and he is stuck. Just nothing from him. Not dead but unresponsive. Stasis. HELP.

Oliver looked up from his phone and said to Mary, "Shit, get the bill we've got to go."

Oliver refused to take the tube and despite Minnie's reported problem, spent time frustrating Mary whilst he stubbornly hailed a taxi. On the way to St Thomas' Hospital he had further facebook exchanges with Jamie, 'prescribing' diazepam unethically to a drunken doctor to administer to a drunken clinical psychologist.

When Mary and Oliver rushed into the laboratory Jamie was leaning over Minnie, swaying horrendously.

"Oh Minnie mate, answer me please, where the fuck have you gone brother?"

"Jamie," Oliver said with notable exasperation.

"I can't believe you guys," Mary said.

"Never drunk Jamie, never do regression drunk. I don't know how alcohol interacts with the serum," Oliver said as he rushed to help Minnie, gently moving Jamie to one side.

Minnie laid on the surgical chair his back slightly arched, eyes rolled back, his pose frozen except for a slight tremor. Beads of sweat peppered his pale brow.

"Did you give the Diazepam?" Oliver asked checking Minnie's pulse and reading the ECG trace.

"I think so, no, yes I did, definitely did, needle-stick," Jamie replied holding up a punctured finger.

"Harrumph," Minnie exhaled loudly and his body settled.

"Minnie love?" Jamie pleaded.

Minnie smiled, "Wow, wow, wow. This is twenty chicken fried rice times fifty Stella's."

"Note that in the research please Mary," Oliver said flippantly.

He moved towards Minnie, touching his brow, "Just come back Minnie my good man, you're in no fit state I don't think it's safe."

"No way, you won't believe what I've just found?" Minnie said.

Jamie, Mary and Oliver exchanged confused looks. Minnie's face relaxed and he gave a little purr, his long legs extended and then parted. Too far apart to just beyond decent. He slowly began to move his hips in a slow gyrating motion.

"Euw," said Mary covering her eyes at Minnie's less than attractive movement.

Oliver watched with interest.

"Oh boy this is both so wrong and yet too good," Minnie said biting his top lip.

"I wonder," Oliver said. He moved to the trolley above Minnie's head and pulled back a cotton sheet revealing the electrode crown. He reached and switched on the TV. Oliver then lifted the crown and slowly slid it over Minnie's head.

"What is that?" Mary asked.

"Watch," Oliver said. He tapped a programme icon on the laptop and the TV flashed once and an image appeared.

"Ohh," Minnie gasped and arched his hips.

"Is that what Minnie is seeing?" Jamie asked pointing at the screen.

On the screen a ghostly image made of wavy blue, pink and green lines, clear enough for all to see was Minnie's vision. It was the body of a woman, a voluptuous young woman, naked. From her point of view she was looking down her body, beyond her large breasts towards the man whose head was between her legs.

"Minnie, that's abusive, I don't believe you," Mary said.

Jamie cupped his mouth to suppress his desire to laugh loudly. Oliver shook his head smiling.

"When did you develop the TV thing?" Jamie asked Oliver.

"Few weeks ago, maybe a month. Good isn't it? I'll make it even better in time. Where are you Minnie, where in time?"

Minnie managed some effort to answer a question he saw as largely irrelevant, "Dunno, seventies, flock wallpaper. Oh he is good, he is very good, I like the little finger thing he's got going on there."

"Double euw," Mary said shielding her eyes.

Minnie continued to writhe in vicarious pleasure. All three of his friends were trying not to notice the unsightly large lump that was straining through his beige shorts.

"Come back now Minnie, you've had your fun," Oliver instructed whilst still smiling.

"Nearly there, so nearly there, oh yes just a little more there, boy you're good," Minnie's hips began to quiver.

Jamie would later say the only way he could describe what happened next was if you were to replace Meg Ryan in the 'When Harry Met Sally' coffee shop scene, with a large St Bernard, then that's close to what he witnessed in the lab that night.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Mary said flushed red with embarrassment.

Minnie gasped, "She's a squirter I think she's a squirter."

He then stopped still, relaxed and almost immediately returned. He opened his eyes, his cheeks bright red and his face sweaty. He touched the crown of monitor nodes on his head.

"What's this?"

"I'll explain later," Oliver said suppressing giggles. Jamie laughed whilst shielding his eyes.

"What? What's up? What is it with you two? Where's Mary? Stop laughing," Minnie said.

Jamie pointed a finger towards Minnie's groin area.

"You've got a bit of an emission issue mate," Jamie said.

"Shit," Minnie said looking down, with little embarrassment or regret.

"Can I come out now?" Mary called from behind the bathroom door.

The three guys laughed together, whilst Mary called Minnie a number of things under the sun from behind the bathroom door. This was the first time in a long time that the gang had been on song as friends and really laughed together. Whilst it had been a difficult circle to travel, Oliver thought, it was all coming together. He knew they would be in a far better place with him having navigated successfully towards this discovery.

31.

Fethawi Alazar sat on the floor cross legged in the lounge of the sparsely furnished flat. He watched Scooby Doo and Garfield shows one after the other, transfixed by the animated programmes. At five years old and in his first permanent UK residence since fleeing Eritrea with his parents, he thought he had been moved to some futuristic world. In front of him he had a plate with hembesha bread covered with portions of chicken berbere, hilbet (a paste of vegetables and beans) and a yoghurt sauce. He ate slowly so taken was he by the television.

"Eat your food Fethawi, it will make you big and strong," his Father, Alazar said. Fethawi slowly made an effort to eat some more.

Alazar sipped at his Bun (coffee) and relaxed into his chair. There were few furnishings but the new flat was comfortable and he had found work quickly. He had worked a long day at the supermarket and worked hard, Alazar was tired but safe.

His wife, Feiven, called through from the kitchen, "Would you like more food Alazar?"

"No, no thank you," he replied, "eat your food Fethawi or I will switch that thing off."

A knock at the door broke into their peaceful family life. It was not expected.

Feiven called through, "Alazar there is someone at the door."

"I heard it, relax it will be a neighbour or Ammanuel might be calling round," Alazar got up from his chair and walked through to the hall, passing the kitchen where his wife was washing up.

"Ammanuel would phone first," she said.

"Relax," Alazar said. A second louder knock struck the door just before he could reach it.

Alazar leaned into the door and called through it softly, "Yes, can I help you?"

"David?" came the uncertain reply calling back.

"There is no David here."

A pause and silence.

The caller spoke again, "This is forty eight Mandela House, isn't it?"

"Yes, that is correct," Alazar replied.

Silence again.

"I'm a friend of David Browns, has he moved on?"

Alazar was unsure how to answer, "He doesn't live here anymore."

Feiven stood at the entrance to the kitchen, "Who is it Alazar?"

Alazar just held a hand up to request her patience.

The visitor called through again, "Do you know where he has moved to?"

"You say you are a friend, haven't you heard?"

"Heard what? I've been away, is David okay?"

This time Alazar was silent, he spoke slowly, "I am sorry to say but David Brown passed away some weeks ago."

Silence.

"What happened? That's terrible, look could I come in please? I'd like to know what happened."

Alazar politely replied, "I am sorry, it is late, we are new here, I hope you will understand."

"Yes, yes of course. Thank you."

Oliver stepped away from forty eight Mandela House and leaned out across the balcony in front. He rested his hands on the lip of the balcony and leaned forward taking in a deep breath. He hardly knew David Brown but news of his death was a shock and a surprise. Oliver had two hundred pounds in his pocket, which he had hoped to reward David with for his help several weeks before. Oliver did not notice the black singed paintwork where he rested his hands.

Oliver had taken the bus to Kennington Park following another session in the laboratory under St Thomas hospital. He had spent the day reviewing his research and making a DVD for Sir Nigel Bell-Smith. He felt guilty for over cooking the status of his connection with Bell-Smith to Mary. Bell-Smith had expressed curiosity through Jack Splinters contact with him. Jack had been vague though and to keep the phone call short Sir Nigel had agreed to view a DVD demonstrating the new technology. However, this was a country mile from the business magnate having actually seen the yet to be made DVD.

Despite his white lie, Oliver felt Mary had come round now more than ever to the possibilities and reality of Tempus Genesis. He had even felt sufficiently confident to shave in the small bathroom off of his laboratory. The sensation of clean smooth skin and itch free face was delightful.

Once Oliver had made a first cut of the DVD he sat back and played it on the laptop, watching it on the widescreen TV. He had opened a bottle of El Bombero red and sipped at his wine, ate crisps and viewed his first demonstration film. With a good slug of wine in him he had laughed loudly as he recalled Minnie's regression experience and his ungainly climax. Feeling good about the progress he was making and confident in the DVD he had a rush of 'Bon Ami' and a compulsion to bestow thanks upon David.

Oliver sat at the rear of the top deck of the bus taking him home. He had stopped at a pub near Kennington Park and drank three pints. It was nearly ten and Oliver felt very drunk. His head lolled as he snoozed in his seat at the back of the empty bus. The journey took Oliver past the Oval, through Stockwell, past Clapham Common and onto Balham. As the bus approached Oliver's stop, four or five stops before he forced himself awake. He did not want to miss his stop. To keep himself awake he sent a text to Jenny, recording his inebriated state. Oliver then focused on the view outside keeping track of his progress home.

Oliver alighted the number 155 bus approximately five stops after where he should have got off. Having fallen fast asleep again he decided to use a non-bus tactical approach to getting home. Oliver walked considered steps back towards his flat, which he so desperately needed. Oliver realised that the desperation he felt was a very physical one, created by the pressure of a very full bladder. He needed to pee.

Oliver walked across the residential street he was on and quick stepped it towards the corner of Hildreth Street, where the market was regularly held. Oliver needed an alley and he decided one of the ones between shops where the market was held would be ideal. He slipped down the side of the Yang Sam Chinese Takeaway, rapidly undoing his jeans buttons and pulling at his boxers. Oliver leaned on the wall with one hand and had a long and powerful pee. He could not decide which was more satisfying, this pee or the shave he had earlier that evening.

As he looked up and down the alley he noticed in between the deserted market stalls a large emergency electrical generator, surrounded by metal fencing, with thick cables temporarily providing power to the area. Oliver had missed this unusual installation on his way into the alley, preoccupied as he was with his desperation to relive himself. Oliver recalled the blackouts in recent days and he remembered reading on the local Balham blog about the electricity company's failure to restore power. Even this temporary measure had failed on several occasions. Oliver finished his pee and buttoned up his jeans.

Oliver was doing the last button when he noticed the hum of the generator. He thought it had changed pitch. He studied it, some several feet away from him out on Hildreth Street. Oliver looked at the metal doors that protected the circuits within.

Oliver knew he had been hit by something hard and powerful. As he hung there suspended he tried to orientate himself. He had noticed a blue glow within the generator, a burst of bright light and he had been struck. Oliver could not tell whether he had been electrocuted or not. He felt no burning pain but a crushing grip on his chest and skull. He was enveloped in light making it difficult to work out his situation, though he had some sense he was floating in the air.

Oliver was wrapped in a web of blue tentacles, slithers of thick gooey power that had rapidly stretched from the generator and seized him. It had coiled around him and held him several feet above the ground. He could not move. A single thinner limb of blue energy snaked from the main force up into the air above Oliver's face. He stared at it for a second, just before it attacked his face and entered his brain through his left nostril. Oliver had no time to scream.

As the blue energy shrouded his brain, making his eyes and skull bulge, he lost all notion of time or space. Oliver could not reach any sense that could tell him he was suspended in the air by an alien web of energy, held there in the alley that ran behind the Yang Sam Chinese Takeaway.

Oliver felt certain he was dying. All he could feel from the soles of his feet to the centre of his mind was his life force draining out of him. He could not resist as the death he thought this was washed his soul away. No time to reflect, no power to resist, some emotion of desperate loss, then nothing.

32.

Oliver felt like he had slept for a century. His eyes were stuck together with thick dry mucus. He could breathe but his chest was tight. His lips felt dry, parched and cracked. With effort he tried to crack the hardened crust that held his eyelids fastened shut. He opened his eyes but could not see, the mucus stringing across his eyes was blurring his vision. Oliver tried to move his head to see, he could not lift his arms.

A delicate damp cloth cleaned his eyes. He closed them again then tried to look ahead of him. A bright room, a white room with the brightest of light. The light hurt his eyes. He blinked at the glare that pierced his retina. Two figures, two shadows stood before him. Each moment Oliver tried to move he felt constrained. He felt like his body was encased within some tight fitting suit of flesh. Oliver shifted as best he could inside his pupal casing.

Oliver established focus and saw before him two elderly men. They could have been anywhere between the age of sixty and one hundred. Both stared at him impassively.

The two men were stood in front of a large white console several feet in length and width. Oliver sensed others either side of him. He felt as if he were floating.

"Has he arrived?"

"Readings suggest he is here and secured."

"Welcome subject Oliver," Marmon said.

Still disoriented Oliver could only blink his eyes trying to make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings.

"I suspect the process is a little traumatic, disorientating, take your time."

"Shall I offer him a reflection?" Ramone asked.

"Good idea."

Ramone went to the white wall behind them and from a concealed cupboard, by placing a plain silver ring on his index finger against a small circular reader, he withdrew a square floating silver frame. It was about the size of a television. He glided it gently across the room and steadied it to rest in front of Oliver's view. From Oliver's perspective it was transparent. He could still see through it to Marmon, who looked on from behind the console. Ramone pressed a small button and the transparency melted away and a mirrored surface unfolded within the frame.

Oliver tried to cry out at what he saw, but could only manage muffled protests from his dry cracked mouth. It bled as he tried to speak. He, it, was sat in restraints in a large black chair, with silver steel surrounds and small white lights studded on its edges, the lights blinked on and off. The chair hovered one foot above a dazzling white floor.

A human form looked back at Oliver from the reflection, a simple grey paper boiler suit for clothes, shaved head and of undistinguishable gender. An electronic box attached to its bald head blinked furiously. The face, skin and limbs rippled as Oliver tried to move to free himself. He was trapped, cocooned within the host that looked back at him. Black eyes, pale face and blood running down its chin from cracked lips where he had tried to speak.

When Oliver did speak it was with the aid of his hosts' vocal chords. Ramone switched off the mirror.

Marmon spoke, "We have fused your life force with a host body, brought you here to our time, in order to speak with you."

"Why?" Oliver managed his first disembodied word.

"I think you know why, there must have been unusual occurrences in your life back in the twenty first century, things that unsettled you, warnings, signs," Marmon said.

"I don't understand."

Marmon leaned forward on the console, its coloured flashing lights lit up his face, "We have about thirty minutes, and in this time, for the sake of humanity, I must try to convince you to return, cease your experiments and destroy the Tempus Genesis Framework."

"What?" Oliver croaked.

"My name is Marmon, First Commander of 'HOPE', this is Ramone my second. We have brought you forward many several hundred years to our time here. Your life force has been found and brought here, then melded with the host so you can live and breathe in our world. For a short time."

Marmon walked around the console and stood to the side of the floating silver frame in front of Oliver. Ramone stood to the other side.

Oliver attempted a few laboured rasping words, as he began to feel more alert within his fleshy prison cell, "I don't understand, the regression is a natural phenomena, assisted by naturally occurring enzymes, a vaccine is there as well, it should be harmless."

Marmon shared a cold dead eyed look with Ramone as his face filled with contempt for Oliver. He suppressed his anger.

"Subject Oliver, we at HOPE implore you to desist with Tempus Genesis. We will explain."

Ramone switched on the floating frame and holographic images suspended themselves in front of Oliver's view.

Ramone spoke, "Certain Religious cults, Professor Dyer particularly and yourself, very particularly, discovered something very remarkable in regression. The religious cults have never been a problem, no, who would listen to them? They never had the ability to scientifically, propagate this phenomenon."

Oliver saw the image of an old newspaper _The Citizen Tribune,_ from the year 1958, with the headline;

Lakeway Regression Cult, Mass Suicide, Five Dead.

Ramone continued, "Your discovery of time travel through the genome strand, unlocking unknown corners of human DNA, was both revolutionary and evolutionary. Man understood himself like never before. It was the greatest discovery ever in mankind's history."

On the screen an image of Oliver, expensively suited and groomed, on a chat show. There was no sound but the host of the chat show held a book up for the audience, it was entitled _Beyond Tempus Genesis._ Oliver watched puzzled by the future version of him being interviewed on television, this older man confident and smiling widely.

Marmon interjected, "One of many books you wrote on the subject. You see, subject Oliver, when Dyer mutated his own gene, in the pursuit of Tempus Genesis Regression, it caused a problem. Subject Jenny, one hoped, would have just died, at birth preferably. But she met you. And you met Dyer. And between that triangle, you discovered."

Oliver stared at the men who coldly discarded Jenny and her life. For the first time he was sufficiently aware to absorb his surroundings. For the first time he felt afraid.

On the screen Oliver saw a CNS news clip of a funeral. Dressed in black Oliver had each of his arms around two small children. They two were dressed in black. They stood in a church in front of a coffin, with a large congregation of mourners watching them. Oliver searched the scene but could not see Jenny within it.

Marmon took control of the narration, "She was the first carrier. And unfortunately you helped perpetuate that problem."

Oliver protested, "Nothing has happened, a few experiments. Jenny has responded well to the vaccine. I can adjust the work, slow it down and stop it if needed."

Marmon said, "In the time where you have come from, you will progress, did progress. You developed your work. You patented your work. You had children with the Jenny woman."

On the screen the image of a still photograph of Oliver and Jenny with two young children. Jenny looked weak and grey. Her skin was taught and she sat hunched forward in a wheelchair.

Ramone pressed a button and the screen changed, "You had two children, both inheriting unstable tempus genesis regression DNA. Try as you might, no cure could be found. It is one thing to change a cell, DNA or gene in some way, and another to change it back, reverse a process."

Oliver watched a corporate video of Minnie and him in front of a large complex, a leisure facility and then in a large stadium. They both smiled for the camera pleased with the buildings they presented. Then an image of them being interviewed together.

"In that time you patented, with your friend subject Minnie, the agent formulae for regressing. This was to fund your research to 'cure' the unstable genes in your children. Your wife Jenny died her final regression crushing her life force her physical body crumpled before you, disappeared. Leaving just a dusty hulk for you to bury. You're grief was short and your pursuit for a cure relentless. But it needed funding. With the broadcast technology you did world tours, travelling back through time like a deity, visiting loved ones of your pathetically desperate audiences, taking their money without conscience. And you made millions offering private sessions secretly giving the regression serum to the rich and famous. You coached them to access past lives of their choosing, one Dubai prince paying you twenty million dollars to witness the encounters between JFK and Marilyn Monroe. You had no moral objection to grant their sordid wishes, hidden from the view of a worshipping public who packed out your shows."

On the screen a stadium full of people who chanted and celebrated Oliver as he regressed in front of the fifty thousand Tempus Genesis followers. Huge screens projected rich and colourful visions of history from his eyes in the past.

Oliver protested, lips bleeding profusely as he tried to raise his voice, "What is this madness? This is not real? Send me back, I promise you I will stop."

On the screen, a family used a modern technological room to receive the regression agent and in turn they regressed. With pleasurable smiles on their faces and stunning images of the past on screens behind them. Smiling children laughed at the joyous pictures of the past their parents generated. This was an advert combining regression with a leisure break in a health spa setting.

"You became the director of the fastest growing leisure and science concern in the world, specialising in time travel, or reality regression experiences. Its use for generating you a research income was limitless, those seeking pleasure, those seeking knowledge. Due to the greed of your corporation, the failing health of your children, this meant, unfortunately, that the increasing incidents of data indicating the instability of the unlocked tempus regression genome, were ignored. You repressed them."

Ramone said softly, "This is your chance to reverse the wrath you have bestowed upon us."

More images, another funeral. Oliver stood flanked by Minnie and Jamie. He was aged and weak, walking slowly behind two hearses driving slowly side by side. Hundreds of mourners walked behind him and his friends.

"Sadly for you, your children died. This is where it spiralled out of control. Whilst the instabilities you suppressed should have led you to cease the experiments you at least had the good sense to exact control over the agents' usage. Limiting its license, making it an expensive and infrequent experience, a luxury holiday."

Another newsreel. A news reporter walked through a subway cardboard city providing refuge to immigrants and vagrants without homes. An impoverished scene made worse by the drug usage of its population. The news report on the screen showed the journalist looking into cardboard houses, behind piles of rubbish and into dark alleys. Many of the filthy pitiful lost residents were in varied forms of stasis, arched backs and eyes rolled back. Regressing.

"After your children died, you became reclusive, you indulged your grief in drink and drugs. You lost control of the company, your closest people exploited you. Agent 42A found its way onto the streets becoming the most popular illegal high of all time. From the wealthy on Wall Street, to the Arabs in Dubai, to the homeless of London. It ran out of control and became embedded in the very fabric of humanity."

Ramone switched off the screen and pushed it away, gliding it to a far corner of the room.

"Eighteen minutes," Ramone said checking a timepiece that was embedded into the epidermis of his forearm.

"Come subject Oliver, I want to show you how serious our quest has become."

Two guards stepped forward into Oliver's view. They wore smart black uniforms, guns strapped to their backs and ceremonial swords across their chests. One took a handle on the back rest of Oliver's hover chair and eased it forward. Oliver sailed across the room and Marmon and Ramone walked with him. The second guard walked closely by him.

A glass door swished open and they exited the room onto the observation deck, which sat four stories above the hangar floor of the pursuit facility. They arrived at a lift and stepped into the glass walled elevator. As the doors closed Oliver was confronted with the sheer vastness of the operation. An army of ten thousand or more were arranged precisely in columns and rows, each man or woman reclined in floating chairs. Zipping between them were small floating medico-robots.

Marmon broke the silence, "The unstable gene had found its way into the human code, in time it mutated haematology profiles, became a blood borne virus, dirty needles, sexual activity, transfusions, its spread was rife. The world would be rocked by the explosion of death that was on its way."

The elevator descended towards the floor of the facility.

Oliver spoke, still in shock at the bad news overload he had been exposed to, "I have no children, I will not have children. I can find a cure to stop the regression. Change the experiments. It will stop. I can help you. I understand the warning."

The lift stopped and its glass doors silently opened. The industrious noise of the busy facility washed over Oliver. The group stepped out and paused before the army of regressing soldiers. They spread out further than Oliver's blackened eyes could see.

Ramone answered Oliver's offer, "Dear, dear, such arrogance. In several centuries of dedicated science there is no cure. That is why we need to seize control of this through you."

The group walked forward and entered in amongst the legions of men and women. Robots busied between each station administering injections, adjusting controls, boosting energy to strengthen the regression of each soldier.

Ramone touched his ear stud, "Image."

As Oliver glided forward his chair tilted back, he could see the holographic information hub high up in the ceiling arc of the hangar. It flickered and then projected further images for Oliver's benefit.

Hospital wards were shown, in the rows of beds each patient was struck by a regression stasis. Each had the hallmarks of regression with protruding ribs and gaunt faces. Each trapped and fading tremulous corpse like figure had blue static tracing across their moon grey pale skin. One man died before the camera that filmed the scene. A final breath and then his body collapsed, crumbling to a sack of dust.

Ramone explained further, "the symptoms were uncontrollable, spontaneous regression, physical crumbling, fading, dissipation to the past. Leaving just faded hulks. Death rates soared within a decade it took eight million lives."

Then another image showed on the giant screen high up above them. From tragedy to global disaster and Oliver watched as apocalyptic news scenes rolled above him, mass graves, protests and civil unrest. Then quick pictures in succession of quarantined camps, deserted streets, army patrols and civilians rushing through open spaces wearing protective clean air masks.

"Over decade after decade, through more than one century, the unstable DNA, through radiation exposure, accelerated evolution and further mutation, Tempus Genesis produced airborne viruses. In the following twenty years eighty million citizens perished. It could not be stopped. Then our agency was formed. An elitist scientific agency dedicated to travelling the past, finding the cause. We have lost many, recruiting the condemned to search time for a solution. We are here to help our people endure."

Oliver's chair was rectified to forty five degrees and once more he came face to face with Marmon and Ramone.

"Please let me go," he pleaded pathetically through bloodied lips and a dry protruding tongue.

Marmon stepped forward and leaning on Oliver's arm rests, squeezing the forearms of his host, he stared into Oliver's eyes, "For ten years we have searched for you, and others, with minimal success. We were opposed, questioned in the beginning. But recently, with the human race being propelled towards extinction, all resources are invested here. Global resources diverted here, just to support this agency. Here science is racing forward, cerebral implants, bio-alpha wave suppressers, time specific agents. We are on to you, subject Oliver, humans will survive. Humanity has only a projected one hundred and fifty years left, thanks to your snivelling self interest. I will not allow an apocalypse. If I could I would reach into those eyes and tear your soul out."

Oliver was gripped in fear as he stared into Marmon's steely determined eyes.

"How did you find me?" Oliver asked in the tone of a condemned man.

Marmon stood once more, "We have you to thank for that. You published your diaries, more egotistical money making. For us a diary is like a map in time. It helped us concentrate our search. We have the accuracy to pinpoint events in time through any recorded activity. News archives, documentaries, personal journals. Once the technology advanced sufficiently catching up with you was relatively easy."

"I will stop. Please I am frightened, I never meant for any of this, send me back and I can change the future." Oliver shifted his encased ghastly head from Ramone to Marmon, trying to search for a glimmer of conciliation.

Marmon leaned into him once more, "Subject Oliver, your meddling in this area of science has led humanity towards genocide. Time Travel is a disease. And you are the cause. The only cure is at source. You have to be culled. And like any cancer we may have to take some of the good flesh with it."

Marmon stood, snapped his heels and turned and walked away. The guard pushed the hover chair and Oliver glided after him, Ramone at his side. The other guard walked slowly behind.

Oliver looked at the rows and columns of recruits for the cause. Perfect lines of hover chairs, containing men and women, heads shaved, naked, thin, fat, wasted, young and old. All had enhancements, implants and infusion lines. All were actively regressing. Electrodes from their heads fed computers attached to their chairs. This information was relayed to the information hub. Screens at the side of each chair showed images of their pursuit. On each screen as Oliver floated past he recognised scenes of the London he knew and loved. Scenes that were uncomfortably close to the areas he knew best, familiar comforting places sending a chill through his foreign bones.

A shout rose from across the hangar, "CONTACT."

"At last," Ramone said and they sped across the floor of the facility towards a red light that blinked above one hover station.

They slowed by the body of a large naked fat man. His bald head was snapped back and his ample flesh shuddered as he regressed. He made a tight groaning sound as he struggled to control his passage back through time.

Marmon appeared before Oliver, "For reasons I do not understand, that the scientists tell me to the point of nausea, I cannot kill you now. Even though we can almost touch you are beyond reach. Your true physical self remains in your time, a portion here. So I will ask you for one commitment and I will release you."

"I want to help," Oliver muttered, exhausted at that point.

"Then return and with haste destroy your research, kill those who know of it and take your own life."

Minnie poured beer from a large jug into four pint glasses. The pub was full and a large portion of the customers were rugby players. Minnie had played a blinder of a game that afternoon, scoring two tries rolling off of the scrum each time. They had beaten Teddington to secure a place in the London and South East Divisional final. Minnie and his three team mates wore smart polo shirts with the clubs name and emblem displayed. Big chested guys all of them, they drunk their pints quickly.

"This has to be my last one," Minnie said.

"We've only had seven David, come on stay until we pass ten?" Owen asked Minnie (the team knew him as the David he was to his parents).

"Nope, sorry seven is enough, I am on a promise," Minnie stood to the protests of his team mates.

Flat nosed George, a squat prop barked up, "Promise my fucking arse you dick, you just can't take the pace."

"That's exactly it George, gotta go," Minnie leaned forward and drained his pint. He waved as he stepped away from the complaints of his fellow rugby players.

As he walked out of the pub to jeers and hoots, his team mates affectionately sang him out of the licensed establishment.

"He's a wanker, he's a wanker and it does him good like it bloody well should, he's a wanker and he's always pulling his hood. Oh Mrs C and your five lovely daughters, his knees have turned to water and he thinks he's gonna die. He's a wanker, He's a wanker."

Minnie left the pub watched by a curious audience of customers smiling at the Rugby Team singing. He stepped out of The Grey Horse into the night air, smiling as he could still hear the chanted refrain of 'Ivor Biguns' greatest hit.

Minnie walked along Craven Street which joined Northumberland Avenue. He then strode down Victoria Embankment and made his way towards Hungerford Bridge. He needed to get to Waterloo to take a train to Battersea. Minnie had decided the walk would sober him up. He had become quite sweet with Fay, the girl he had met at Jamie's party some weeks ago. She seemed to like him and had suggested a night in of naughtiness and take away, who was he to resist?

London was busy and people came and went, in and out of pubs and restaurants, walking in groups and couples by the Thames. Brightly lit boats and barges navigated up and down the wide powerful river. Hungerford Bridge was ahead of him, stretching out from Charing Cross to the South Bank that would take him onto Waterloo Road and to Waterloo station for his train.

Minnie arrived at the foot of the steps that would take him up to the pedestrian walkway that ran parallel with the railway bridge that crossed the river. The bridge had distinct criss-cross girders along its structure. A complex crossing made of metal, wood, concrete and the steel railway tracks with their own signature screeching sounds. They grated and sparked from trains on the tracks as they worked their way in and out of the station. The bridge was reasonably quiet with only a handful of night time revellers using it to cross. Minnie hopped up the steps full of energy for the shagtastic evening ahead.

"What right do you have to ask that of me?" Oliver questioned Marmon through tight lips and grating vocal chords.

Marmon raised the stakes with his response, "What rights? WHAT RIGHTS? You forfeited any sense of rights once you planted the Tempus Genesis time bomb into the fabric of mankind. Report?"

Marmon's command was to the fat bald regressor who continued to shudder and shake in front of Oliver. Oliver watched him and the screen as it began to form images. Oliver could see it was broadcasting the view the man had somewhere back in time. Oliver was bereft of any optimism for his situation.

"Host secured," reported the breathless fat man, "I have visual on Subject TX Zero Two."

Oliver focused on the screen, the fat man's host was on a bridge, a distinctive London scene with the towering façade of Charing Cross in the background. Oliver could see he was lumbering forward, taking laboured steps. He could see at the far side of the bridge a large male emerge from the steps. He stood tall and then turned, ambling across the bridge. Oliver recognised the gait.

"This is crazy, what are you trying to do?" Oliver asked his desperation cracking through the taught vocal chords of his host.

Ramone spat words at Oliver, "Giving you enough rope of an insight to go back and hang yourself with."

The fat man continued, "One hundred metres and closing, what are your instructions please Supreme Commander?"

Marmon smiled as he looked at Oliver, "It is a protocol thing."

Oliver could only offer a weak protest, "No."

Marmon issued his command, "Delete."

Oliver closed his eyes trying to draw back and escape down the timeline of energy that had brought him there.

Minnie loved Hungerford Bridge. It was noisy, busy and had the most fantastic views of the Thames and London. He took them in as he strolled across the bridge. A little drunk he smiled at a couple who were enjoying a break to cuddle, they smiled back so friendly was the big mans face.

Minnie was about twenty five metres away from the man when he noticed his unusual laboured walk. The man was well dressed, he wore a smart suit and an overcoat. He had the collar pulled up and his face tucked into the coat obscuring his features. He swayed and shuffled across the bridge drawing attention of those who passed him ahead of Minnie. He looked very much like someone who had enjoyed too much hospitality. Minnie smiled as the man approached, always favouring those who lived life as he did.

Minnie watched the man as they crossed paths. He was taken by surprise when the man staggered off course and crossed the distance between them colliding into Minnie.

"Whoa fella," Minnie said.

The man bumped into Minnie, leaning against him. His arms came up and around Minnie into a bear hug.

"I'll have a pint of what you're drinking, come on mate," laughed Minnie.

The man looked up, his posture straightened and Minnie was suddenly familiar with what he saw. Pale skin, vacant eyes and blue static traced across his face.

"Fuck," was all Minnie had time to say.

The man struck him hard. Harder than he had ever been hit in rugby. He screamed and staggered back at the same time. The couple who had been kissing stopped shocked by the aggression in the unprovoked attack.

"Hey, leave him alone," shouted the girl.

"I'd better go help," said her man. He stepped away from her.

Minnie struck the side of the bridge with his back against the railing, he yelped in pain. The man held him tight and slowly slid down his body gripping his arms around his waist. As big and as strong as Minnie was he was unable to resist the force of his attacker.

"Stop," the guy shouted as he rushed forward leaving his girlfriend to look on in horror. He only managed to get within ten paces of the two men.

Minnie felt himself lift up and realised what was about to happen. He had a brief moment to try to reason with his assailant.

"Please, no, don't do this, please, no."

The man unaware of his puppetry actions, launched all his power and the enhancing force of his visitor upwards. Minnie arched back as his upper body raised upwards and begun to sway backwards over the edge of the bridge he loved so much. The River Thames flowed below them. A final push and the possessed man took both their bodies over the edge. Minnie fell entwined with the man into the gushing waters below.

Minnie hit the water hard and as the man too hit the water, steam and sparks fizzed up around them. The young man and his partner ran screaming for help towards the edge of the bridge and looked over. They watched in shock as the two men disappeared beneath the surface.

As Minnie slipped below the powerful waters, the man released his grip. Minnie's eyes were open and he watched the mans blue sparking face float away from him. His assailant slipped from view into the murky depths of the raging waters. Minnie felt the dark brown water rush into his mouth and pour into his lungs. The sense of panic in him was horrific and he felt a desperate wish for the arms of his parents.

Olivers scream echoed around the hangar. It had no emotional impact on one single person in the facility. Quite the opposite it annoyed many.

"You must be able to undo this, please do something change that, stop it, I don't know how to ask you?" Oliver begged from within his host. He had watched the attack on Minnie from the regression soldier's view on the screen on his chair. Oliver had had to endure the look of fear on Minnie's face as he was lifted up over the bridge and then his screaming face as he fell back. Laslty he had watched Minnie panicking under the water, air escaping from his mouth and the frightened stare as his face slipped away into the dark waters of the Thames.

"Clearly we cannot reason with you, we have tried warning you," Marmon said to Oliver, he then ordered the regressing fat man for an update, "Status solider?"

The fat man was exhausted and the monitors that checked on his condition screamed to report the strain on his life the mission had taken.

"Subject TX Zero Two. Deleted," the fat man said. His mouth then expelled air and his body crumbled to a husk in the hover chair. Blue smoke floated from his corpse and a robot sped over to Hoover up the gas cloud and remnants.

"A casualty of the cause," Ramone said looking at Oliver.

Oliver could not comprehend the situation he was in. From all around, consuming his senses, he could hear the cheer of an entire army celebrating the slaying of their latest pursuit.

Marmon stepped up to Oliver, "We believe there are around one hundred subjects we have to terminate to save human kind. You and your friends are in the top five, which is now a top four. And you subject Oliver are our most wanted. We will hunt you down and terminate you all."

Marmon glanced toward the nearest guard and nodded, "Break the connection."

Marmon and Ramone stepped back. Oliver saw one of the guards step in front of him. The guard withdrew his ceremonial sword from the scabbard across his chest. He took it in two hands and Oliver watched the razor like blade, made of the brightest steel, draw back in the guards double gripped hands. The guard raised the sword up high behind him.

Oliver closed the eyes of his fused host and swallowed hard.

With one flowing movement the guard removed the head of the host with one clean blow. The head fell to the floor and robots swished in to take care of the mess.

33.

A white chute of energy rushed by and around Oliver as he snapped back through time. The force was so strong he could not scream or see. He just travelled forcefully through the energy line that had been opened by his enemy in the future. Oliver felt as if he was being hurled through a tunnel lined with broken glass at a thousand miles per second. Then it stopped.

Oliver hung there within the blue energy web, suspended in the alley that ran behind the Yang Sam Chinese Takeaway. Oliver slowly regained consciousness and turned in the web which was weakening its grip on him. It unraveled from around him and then slithered away back into the generator and evaporated from the present time. Oliver fell sharply to the floor four feet below. His head struck the concrete, grazing his face. He stretched out in pain on the alley floor. Oliver vomited a large volume of water and bile. As he collected himself he sensed his whole body was soaking with sweat. Vast amounts of perspiration had been generated from his experience of being kidnapped to the future. Oliver's clothes were drenched, he kneeled up into a crouching position and vomited again.

Slowly he stood and steadied himself against the wall of the takeaway. With his head hanging down, his chin covered in vomit, Oliver had just one dominating question. Was his close friend Minnie really dead?

Oliver rummaged in his jean pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and checked it. The screen was blank and the surround blackened. The mobile looked like it had been damaged in a fire and was no use to him. Oliver rushed out of the alley onto Hildreth Street and looked up and down the deserted market stalls. The emergency generator hummed innocently. At the end of the street was a phone booth, Oliver ran towards it. He entered the booth, with its battered phone and graffiti covered signs. It stank of stale urine. Oliver pulled some change from his pocket and lifted the receiver. He fumbled for change, his breathing rapid with anxiety. Oliver tried to put a coin in the slot, it would not fit as it was bent. All his change was warped from the hot energy that had captured him and invaded his mind.

Oliver hit the receiver of the phone against the glass of the booth in frustration. He thought for a second trying to focus. He had to focus. Reverse charge, that's what they call it, but could you do it to a mobile? The answer was no from the operator and there was no reply from Jamie's landline.

Oliver knew it would take him more than half an hour to get to Battersea to find Jamie, assuming he was drinking locally. He had no idea where Mary would be. Oliver had only one choice he thought and he ran to the Balham underground station.

Oliver's Oyster card would not register at the tube entrance, he had two twenty pound notes and they were thankfully intact if a little damp. Oliver figured his future foe had fucked him up enough for the day so a journey underground should be trouble free. He could not sit on the train as it worked its way up the Northern Line towards Waterloo. He drank a lucozade and ate some chocolate as his nausea had quickly been replaced with a famished hunger. He would need energy to be able to do the run from Waterloo to Hungerford Bridge.

Oliver rushed up the steep escalator passing those who stood still. He left the tube and ran the length of the concourse of the station. Oliver ran out of the station and sprinted down Waterloo Road, leaving it where it joined Belvedere Road.

Oliver, gasping for breath, slowed to a walking pace as Hungerford Bridge came into view. He felt sickening despair and grief at the sight of the bridge peppered with fluorescent jackets and bottle blue helmets and peaked caps. Arc lights shone across the river, searching the water. A helicopter was slowly following the path of the Thames. Oliver new any search would be hopeless.

The stairs to the bridge were guarded by two police officers who were turning anyone away who tried to cross. Another officer was cordoning the bridge off with Police tape. Oliver slumped onto a bench and dropped his head into his hands. He knew for sure Minnie was dead and he was an unwitting conspirator in his friends' demise. He was numb with grief and furious with himself. A journey to give Jenny life had driven him too far, he was now the bringer of death. Oliver considered following Minnie into the river.

The steel medical trolley hurtled through the air across the laboratory and struck the widescreen TV. Its screen smashed and the TV and the trolley fell to the floor creating an almighty racket. Oliver screamed as they fell. He went to the desk and opened a drawer. He took out a large A4 journal that was his diary, which he had kept religiously for several years. This most recent volume contained detailed accounts of his voyage of discovery, his love for Jenny and his research on Tempus Genesis. Oliver walked to the sink and dropped it in. He poured barbeque lighter fluid over it (from a seven-eleven purchased on the way to his lab) and struck a match which he dropped onto the diary. It burst into flames and Oliver watched it burn through tear filled eyes.

A message arrived with a ping into his email inbox. Oliver walked to the laptop and saw a message marked URGENT from Jamie. He did not open it not wanting to read the inevitable desperation from Jamie for Oliver to make contact. He knew the news of Minnie's death had reached his friends.

Oliver kicked out at a chair and screamed. He walked to the desk and took a long drink from a bottle of Black Sambuca, getting cold comfort from the warming effect of the liquorice liqueur. This was to add to his tally of several beers on the way to St Thomas hospital and the two diazepam he had ingested. Oliver smashed the microwave against the wall, kicked over another trolley and scattered syringes and IV equipment around the room. He continued to rage around the room until the drink and drugs he had imbibed began to slow him down.

Eventually Oliver collapsed onto one of the sofas in the room and he slipped into a disturbed alcohol and tranquiliser induced sleep. The laptop with all the documented research evidence, the camcorder with recorded episodes of regression, the vaccine for Jenny and two fresh batches of agent 42A in the fridge, remained untouched.

34.

Professor Robert John Dyer sat on the edge of his hospital bed. He wore a shirt and trousers, with no belt and soft disposable slippers. His shoes, tie, belt and other personal belongings had been removed from him. He had not been treated well, probably due to being the pariah he had become. The constant observation of him through the vistamatic window in the door was suffocating. Robert felt as if another layer of his sanity had been stripped from him, along with his wife and child. He wondered if he would spend his fortieth birthday in this secure institution detained under the mental health act.

A brief knock at the door and a young female nurse came in. She was kinder than the others he thought, of the nurses and doctors he had met so far. Rather embarrassingly he had trained some and lectured to many of those who were now acting as his captors.

Gillian, a staff nurse, held a medi pot with five millilitres of chlorpromazine in.

"Hello Gillian," Robert said smiling.

"Professor," she replied with a slightly anxious smile in return. He noticed her pretty white teeth and blue eyes.

"So they think the pretty nurse who has struck up a rapport with me can convince me to take my largactyl?"

"Something along those lines," she replied with an honesty that he liked.

Robert smiled and stood up, "How long have you been qualified Gillian?"

"Just over a year,"

"Do you like the work?"

"Yes, very much Professor."

"Robert please. Am I like many of the schizophrenics you have nursed in your brief career?"

"No, Robert. Not all."

"Then why are you persisting with trying to give me psychotropic medicine with such damaging irreversible side effects, tardive dyskinesia, weight gain, cog wheel rigidity, a mask like face and a shuffling gait?"

Gillian coughed awkwardly, partly due to the question but also as she knew she was being observed by her colleagues through the door. Administering the medication to a resistant professor was a test of her place in the team.

"What signs of madness have you seen from me since I arrived here, three weeks ago?"

"You're symptoms Robert predate you're admission, you're beliefs about time, it's in your notes and in here you're failing to engage, you're staying in your room, long periods of non-communication. So not obvious psychosis but the doctors believe you need help. Please take the medicine," Gillian stretched out her hand offering the small plastic pot to Dyer.

"Do you believe I killed my wife Gillian?"

Gillian's heart rate increased, no body had been found but Mrs Dyer was missing, vanishing without trace months before. She found it hard to believe the man before her was capable of murder. His research pursuits had become eccentric, mad even, but murder?

"No, Robert, I don't. Please take the medicine."

Robert took the pot from Gillian and stared into its treacle brown contents. Gillian smiled at him. It was then he noticed the subtle change in her. A slight tremor in her hand, the softest of ripples on the skin in her arm, feint blue hues curling around her retina.

"Did you feel that?" Robert asked.

Gillian had just felt a slight nauseous unease, "Feel what? I'm fine."

"Whoever it is they're good, very good." Robert said moving around Gillian studying her. He was aware that her colleagues would enter the room soon if he did not take the medication, so he swallowed the bitter syrup. He went to his locker and poured a glass of water and drank half of it.

"Thank you Robert," Gillian said.

"Whoever is in there please speak, I think Gillian needs to know she is experiencing something remarkable."

Gillian felt certain the first signs of Robert's madness were now emerging, until she heard the distant singing sound in her head. It made her cock her head to one side.

"Tra lal la tra la lal la I am here joining you don't be afraid I just want to stay a short while, la la la la la tra la."

"I don't know what you're talking about Robert?" Gillian protested refusing to acknowledge the strange phenomena inside her head.

Dyer felt certain that any visitor was significant in his life now. Warnings, messages, he had resisted them before but he still needed to know who else was out there. Dyer had contemplated suicide since he was detained and he had a forensic knowledge of his room. The constant observations would make suicide tricky he thought and had planned ways to buy enough time. Whilst wearing a yearning look and staring out of the window, over several days he had removed the screws that fitted the wardrobe to the wall. It was now only fixed down one side.

In a quick move that startled Gillian and wrong footed those observing through the vistamatic panel in the door, Dyer grabbed the loose side of the wardrobe. He pulled it out forty five degrees, the force easily shearing the fittings down the fixed side. He toppled the wardrobe forward, making Gillian jump back onto the bed. Dyer slid the heavy wardrobe forward against the door and shifted the base sideways so that a corner wedged against the jamb of his en-suite bathroom door.

The staff outside shouted and tried the door but it would not open one inch. Dyer was pleased with his calculations but knew he had little time. He turned to Gillian who was stepping down off the bed and looking very frightened. Dyer spoke calmly and deliberately to Gillian to secure her confidence and cooperation.

"I promise you will come to no harm. I know you can hear something Gillian, now you're friends will take about four minutes to remove the door frame, I need to know who you are hosting. You can just nod or shake you're head if you are feeling frightened though I won't harm you. Is the person speaking to you?"

Gillian nodded her head.

"Female?"

Gillian nodded yes.

"Who could be visiting me? Is it a threat or a warning?"

A shake of the head, no.

Dyer rubbed his chin thinking. Three and a half minutes to remove the anti-barricade door frame he thought, having timed this process at the weekend when he had observed a similar incident across the corridor from him.

"Quite the opposite," Gillian whispered, "it's your daughter, Jennifer."

Dyers eyes widened and glistened, "Jennifer, how did she find me?"

Gillian answered on her visitors' behalf, "Her gift is strong, controlled now, stable?"

"Good that's good, I wonder how?" Dyer mused.

"Jennifer wishes she could have stayed with you and hopes you will be together one day."

Dyer shed a tear, "How old are you Jennifer?"

"Twenty seven."

"I assume you have adoptive parents, I hope they raised you well."

"She had a very kind, good upbringing."

The response team arrived at the door, a hand held power screw driver started to remove the screws that held the door frame in place. Once these were removed they would be able to open the door outwards and gain access to the room. Nurses called into the room from outside the door, imploring Dyer to be calm, offering reassurance for Gillian.

Dyer was perfectly calm, he ignored the noise, knowing he had under three minutes left, "How did you find out I was your father, did you come looking for me?"

"It's complicated, she just wanted to see you now when you were younger, know your face as her father when she was a little girl."

Dyers tears rolled down his face, "I would have dearly loved to have held on to you Jennifer, I am so sorry I lost you. I love you baby girl."

Gillian cried too as the emotion from Jenny washed through her, "she loves you too Robert and Jennifer is very proud she is your daughter."

Less than two minutes. Dyer knew he needed to share important messages with Jennifer, messages he knew he would never have the chance to until (and if) she chose to seek him out as an adult. He was relieved to know that her condition had not ended her life prematurely. He had been given a chance to protect her. Dyer held Gillian firmly but warmly by the shoulders.

"Jennifer, darling Jennifer, your gift has a dark side. You may already have experienced this. I have had my own visitors, warnings, in the past. I should never have ignored them. Are you in contact with others who can regress?"

"Yes," Gillian replied for Jenny.

"I thought so it is only natural to seek solace in those similar to you. Are they studying the regression experiences Jennifer?"

Silence, Gillian shrugged. Dyer held her more firmly, he moved closer to Gillian's face. One minute he thought.

"Jennifer, please baby, I have less than a minute to talk to you."

"Researching and developing, developing it to the point of replication."

This was the worst Dyer could have heard, "No, no, no Jennifer. They must stop, you must stop. Get away from them, whoever they are, no matter how important they are, run and hide. That will be my first act after I leave this hospital, to conceal myself, make myself small."

The first door jamb was removed and Dyer heard the team being to ready themselves.

"Jennifer, there are dark forces who want to destroy anyone who is close to the Tempus Genesis framework. They and anyone close to them are in danger, a dark force from beyond our time wants to kill us all. You must flee your planned future and find sanctuary somewhere far away. Do as I say. Hide yourself. I love you my beautiful baby girl."

The door burst open and the team pulled the wardrobe up onto its side and slid it out into the corridor as quickly as possible.

Tears streaming down her face, Gillian spoke her soft voice breaking with mournful emotion, "I love you daddy."

Gillian stepped forward and a tearful bereft Dyer moved to her, they embraced and Gillian shed Jennifer's tears for her.

Dyer whispered softly into Gillian's ear, "I would suggest you write none of what you just experienced in my notes."

Dyer stepped back from Gillian and gave her a warm smile. She smiled back as the response team passed quickly around her. A male colleague pulled her from the room, she turned as she was pushed out of the door. The response team, quite unnecessarily given Dyer offered no threat or resistance, hit Dyer hard taking him onto the bed and wrestled him into a three man restraining hold. A nurse passed by Gillian with the inevitable (though not needed) rapid tranquilisation drawn up ready for injection.

Within the human restraint Dyer laid on the bed, ignored the pain and discomfort of his limbs being forcefully manipulated and closed his eyes and smiled.

Jenny sat upright in the chair she was in. The comfortable armchair was positioned discretely towards the rear of her 'other world' shop. It was not visible from the street but was in a relaxing place bathed in the lights that reflected across crystals and prisms. This private space enjoyed the wafts of scents from candles and burners. Jenny snatched for breath and rapidly returned from her regression. Her eyes rolled down and her skin quickly reclaimed its colour. She had greater control than ever before. She wiped tears from her eyes.

Jenny had closed the shop at ten pm and decided she felt well enough to chance trying regression again. She had had second thoughts when she received an affectionate text from Oliver. Jenny decided not to seek his counsel. He would likely advise caution and further abstinence. However Jenny was too troubled by the knowledge of her natural parents. Somehow someway she wanted to find her father and the past was the only place he now existed.

Feeling both sadness and elation Jenny stood up from her chair. She stretched her cracking bones until she felt able to walk. She sipped from a bottle of mineral water and walked around her store. By the till she noticed her mobile flashing to announce it had texts waiting.

The run of messages on her inbox went JAMIE, MARY, JAMIE, MARY, several times. She opened the top one.

Please call urgently, Oliver is okay but we have some terrible terrible news.

Jenny knew a third terrible wouldn't have been out of place, her father's warnings had carried real gravity. Jenny pressed the green phone symbol to call Mary and held the phone to her ear. As the phone began to ring Jenny closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing herself for bad news.

35.

Barbara and Martin Howard sat together at the breakfast table. They had the Daily Mail and Daily Mirror spread out in front of each of them, along with their tea and toast. Barbara had just finished her bowl of All Bran. They ate in silence and without appetite. In the background the radio played.

"As less and less money is available for healthcare is it right to spend public money on treatment for conditions that will extend life for a year maybe two. Or should we divert resources to life enhancing medicine and prevention. Should we prioritise the cure or the cause that is the subject of today's debate, phone us on 0845 505022. I'm Richard Barker and I want to hear your views after nine."

Martin munched on his toast, looking at but not reading his paper. Barbara spread a little extra Marmite on her toast.

"Do you remember that holiday in Brighton, eighty nine I think?" Martin asked.

"Camping, when we borrowed your boss's huge tent and we took our John's dog with us, Trixie?" Barbara said.

"That's the one, David loved the pier didn't he? Everyday we went on the pier. He went on that car ride that went round a circuit."

"He wanted the fire engine every time. Cried if another boy got to it first. He loved that pier, still does, well did," Barbara said.

They sat in silence for a little longer.

"He was doing so well on that course, a PhD, our David studying for a Doctors degree. He made us proud Barbara love, made us proud."

"He did love. Do you remember when mum was still alive and we stayed at that Haven site in Poole? It had that kids club,"

"Terry the rabbit,"

"That was it and David met his friend Ryan there who was from down the road, they were at the same school. What a coincidence."

"Ryan Stevens, they still play rugby together, he was there Saturday night drinking with David. Before he went on that bridge."

Barbara swallowed to control her sadness, "he's crossed that bridge a thousand times. How could someone?"

Barbara trailed off. Martin finished his tea and stood up. From the door handle he took a black tie and started to tie it around the collar of his crisply ironed white shirt.

"A bloody monster or a raving lunatic love. It's not for us to try to reason why. We just need to give him a good send off."

Barbara dropped her head and sobbed hard into her hands, "I just can't believe he's gone Martin. He's gone. Our baby."

Martin walked to her side and lovingly held her shoulders in his big hands, "I know love. I know."

Together they cried. Barbara stood and they embraced. On the dresser behind them several photographs of their only child, as a schoolboy, his graduation and holding a winners medal in his rugby kit. They were loving parents grieving the loss of a loving son.

Oliver sat on the largest of three sofas in Jamie's apartment, which enjoyed a picture window view over Battersea Park. He wore a black suit, white shirt and black tie. Jamie sat at the opposite end, he wore a black suit, white shirt and black tie. Mary leaned against the window looking out, she wore a black dress and dark black tights. They had been sat in silence for several minutes. The intercom buzzed signalling someone was downstairs at the controlled entrance.

"That's Jenny," Oliver said as he checked a text which had just arrived on his replacement mobile phone. He went to the intercom and saw Jenny on the small screen, dressed in black, at the entrance to Jamie's flat. He pressed the 'door open' button to let her in. It had taken two days to find Minnie's body, which eventually washed up several miles away on marsh flats beyond Gravesend. It had taken a further four days for the funeral to be arranged.

Oliver had spoken to Jenny day and night, as well as his friends but he had kept physical distance from them. He was tormented by his circumstances but had yet to share any of his insight into Minnie's death with his closest friends or Jenny. He had upset Jenny to the point of anger, refusing her insistent offers to come up as soon as she received the terrible news. Oliver had secreted himself away from everyone, desperately trying to process the frightening situation he now found himself in.

"I'll meet her at the lift," Oliver said and left the apartment quickly.

"He looks like shit," Mary commented after he had stepped out.

"I can't get any sense out of him, he's vague and evasive, I can't tell if he is confused in grief or whether he has finally cracked," Jamie said.

Oliver stood outside the lift waiting for Jenny. He looked into the sleek silver surround that edged the lift doors and studied his face. Unshaven, red eyed, slight grazing to his cheek and forehead, dilated pupils from amphetamine use, he didn't look the best he thought.

The lift pinged and Jenny stood there framed in the mirrored and softly lit rectangular box, looking fresh and beautiful.

"You look stunning Jenny," Oliver said.

"You don't Oliver, what have you been doing?"

Jenny stepped out of the lift and they embraced. Oliver sobbed into her shoulder and she caressed his head and hair.

"I know more about this than I'm saying," he whispered into her ear as he held her.

Jenny squeezed him tightly and whispered back, "I'm worried things are going terribly wrong Oliver. I think we all might be in some kind of danger."

Oliver gathered himself and looked at Jenny, it was clear she was serious but what could she possibly know he thought.

Oliver shared his rambling thoughts of the last few days, "We need to talk, after the funeral. It's the experiments. I think there are risks, grave risks. I have had a warning, a visitation, we have to get beyond harms reach. I have some ideas on what we all need to do. Mary and Jamie won't be pleased but I think we need to take radical steps to stay safe."

Jenny placed a finger up to Oliver's rambling lips to calm him.

"After the funeral," Jenny said quietly, afraid by what Oliver might know behind the words he spoke.

"It is difficult to know what to say about David at a time like this, about his life as we knew him," Ryan spoke slowly, he paused as he gathered himself. As captain of the rugby team Minnie's parents had asked him to provide the Eulogy, given rugby had been such an important part of their sons' life. The modern chapel was full with every chair in the curved room occupied and many more standing. More than thirty rugby players were dressed in the team's club tie and formal jacket with its embroidered emblem on the jacket pocket.

David 'Minnie' Howards notably large coffin rested on a plinth which was draped in mustard coloured material. It rested there in the centre front of the semi-circular room, a painful visual reminder of the loss the mourners all shared.

Ryan stood at the lectern in front of the mourners and continued, "Like I say when I was writing this it was difficult to know what to say about David to capture his life as we knew him in our team. Partly because I won't be able to do justice to David's memory but mostly because there is little we knew of him that I could say in a holy ceremony in front of a vicar and his parents."

All those who knew Minnie well, including his parents (though not the vicar who still got the joke) laughed at Ryan's affectionate take on Minnie's approach to life.

"He was a larger than life character, I think we would all agree on that. A big man and a fabulous athlete. Only two things stopped him from becoming a professional Rugby player, London Pride and the women who loved him."

There were more smiles and the affectionate laughter helped Ryan in his difficult task.

"There could be no more awesome a sight than watching David, a formidable number eight, roll off of a scrum and power over for a try. This was closely followed by his winning of the ball in the line out and the crunching tackles he would make. It is an often misused description but he was genuinely our talisman and I don't know how we will play on without him with us. I was lucky to have known him well. We were childhood friends, we holidayed together and became inseparable as teenagers. David had a brain though which I don't so he had two lives really, his rugby life with the lads and me and his successful career as a clinical psychologist. I think Barbara and Martin won't mind me saying, well I know they won't because I asked them, from humble beginnings David worked his way through school, sixth form and University to the top of his profession. He was halfway through a doctorate at University College London when he was taken from us. There he was studying neurosciences on a world class course, renowned for producing world class scientists and clinicians. And to his credit when you were with him you would never have guessed any of that."

More laughter and that was how Minnie would have wanted it.

"His second life was with his colleagues and close friends, Jamie, Oliver and Mary. All bright sparks the lot of them, to us he was a talisman and the teams funny bone, to them he was an enigma. A vibrant friend he was the talisman of their parties and the glass half full student on the courses and studies they did together. I looked up Enigma, it means a riddle, a puzzle and one of nature's secrets, that is what the online dictionary says. David was definitely one of natures best kept secrets and I was privileged to have known him."

Ryan bowed his head for a second, "David Howard had one more life that not all of his friends would know so well. That life was as a loving son to Barbara and Martin. David would play rugby, murder the opposition, quite literally on occasion, stomp off the field almost beating his chest such was his drive to win. He would then go back to the dressing room, sit in the corner, pull out his mobile and phone his dad, 'we won dad, through to the quarter finals, yeah I played alright' he would say that when in fact he'd won the game for us. I can remember how this six foot six giant would look like a child for a moment when his mum and dad would appear to watch him play, which they did often. Jamie told me yesterday that at the end of his first term for the PhD, he threw a party and couldn't find Minnie, as they all looked for him afraid he was drunk and asleep in a skip. It had happened before. Jamie searched and searched, eventually finding David out in the hall of his apartment beyond the noise of the party. David was whispering into his phone 'I got an A mum for the first paper'. Of course they teased him mercilessly for that. But it showed how close the big man was, to his friends and his rightly proud parents. Barbara and Martin I am so sorry David lived only a short life it is very wrong he has been taken away, I'll never understand that. But the life he lived burned brightly, so very brightly for us all."

Ryan rubbed his eyes and took one more breath.

"And no eulogy would be fitting for David without some words from the big man himself, it's not uncommon in Rugby clubs because we can be a little dark at times, to have more serious discussions with a beer, or two, in our hands. About a month ago the question came up, 'how would you like to be remembered?' So the answers started, 'for my charitable work', said George, who works in the City, 'by many beautiful women', James who if you look at him in the third row there has no chance, many other answers were offered that I can't repeat here. So it was David's turn and we sat waiting for the punch line. And it never came, he just said a few simple lines from a poem and we all fell quiet. Then George punched him on the arm for being soft. I asked David afterwards where he'd got that from, it was a poem he had heard read at his Grandmas funeral and he liked it very much he said."

Barbara dropped her head onto her husbands shoulder and held him tighter than ever before as she cried for both the loss of her mum and so much more for the son who had been ripped from her life.

Ryan continued, "And this was the depth and intelligence of David that he so modestly masked with his humour and tom foolery. We stood at the bar getting a round in and David said to me what a funny thing it was that people might worry about how they are remembered. I remember this so well, he said that in a short space of time, maybe less than a century we would all be forgotten. What was important he felt was the strength of the memory people had of him whilst he was still alive. Surely, Ryan, he said to me, the most important thing was people thinking about the joy, support and friendship you gave them in life. Surely that way you would always be remembered in death? Then he asked me for a Sambuca chaser with his pint. He was right though wasn't he? We will never forget you big man. Goodnight David my friend."

Ryan bowed his head and stepped back from the lectern.

There is a strange moment after a cremation, after the mourners have left their loved one behind, to be cremated in the coffin concealed ceremoniously behind heavy curtains. Without the burial to punctuate the process, mourners are left floating around the edges of the gardens of remembrance. No one is ever quite sure at what point the right time is to leave. Usually it is prompted by the arrival of the next fleet of mourners. It was in this moment Oliver talked face to face with Minnie's parents for the first time.

"Thank you for the flowers Oliver," Barbara said as she embraced Oliver. They both shed tears together.

"I am so sorry Barbara, Martin, more sorry than I can find the words to say, more than you can know," Oliver said.

In turn, Mary, then Jamie offered their condolences. Jenny hung back not wanting to invade a very personal space the three friends of Minnie shared with his parents.

"Can we still come round for chips Barbara?" Jamie asked smiling through tear filled eyes.

"Of course, I insist, don't lose touch with us now," Barbara said.

"Do you know anymore Jamie, on that lunatic who did this to our David?" Martin asked, knowing Jamie knew the Lambeth coroners office well through his work as a doctor.

"They still haven't found his body, but the man who is missing and most likely to be David's assailant had family and financial problems," Jamie answered.

"But that's no reason to attack an innocent passer by, no reason at all," Martin said with barely hidden anger.

"I'm sorry Martin, I'll let you know more as soon as I find out," Jamie said.

"Thanks lad, look you'll join us at Fern Lodge, we have a buffet laid on, after we've scattered his ashes. David would want everyone to have a good few beers, wouldn't he Barbara?"

"Yes, he would, more than I'd approve of," Barbara replied trying to smile.

The three friends all agreed, of course they would want to join Martin and Barbara and be there to remember Minnie.

Oliver excused himself and went to the red and brown brick toilet block that served the ten acre Garden of Remembrance for Lambeth Crematorium. Once there he vomited into the toilet bowl. A combination of grief and guilt made him feel nauseous into the pit of his stomach. Oliver felt more guilt than grief. He knew that Minnie would be alive that day had he not recklessly and blindly pursued his research into regression.

36.

As well as being a very able player Minnie had also been an avid fan of Rugby. He had never missed an England home game at Twickenham and had been to most Premiership finals there. He still knew many of the Harlequins club players, the team he had played for as a boy and as a youth player and briefly as a first team player. Minnie had never truly known whether he could have made it as a professional such was the draw of his studies and his profession. The caring gene in his parents had been firmly passed on to David. He was driven to care and treat those with disturbed psychological problems. It had seemed natural to him to step away from the demands that full time professional rugby would have asked of him. Everyone had been surprised by this, everyone that is except for his parents.

It was through contact with the Harlequin players his son had played with that Martin had managed to secure access to the home of English Rugby. Through their contacts he had gained the agreement to scatter the ashes of his child there. It had been a slow and painful drive from Tooting to Twickenham. Martin and Barbara had wanted only a smaller number of mourners to attend the service on the pitch of the eighty two thousand seater stadium. The stadium was eerily quiet and its stands vast expanses of empty echoing space.

"Take as much time as you need, I'm here until late tonight so no rush," the groundsman said as he shook Martin's hand.

Martin held the urn carrying his sons' ashes with one hand and held Barbara's hand with the other as they walked out across the pitch. The vicar walked alongside them. They were followed by aunts, uncles and cousins. Jamie, Mary, Jenny and Oliver walked with Ryan and a few closer friends of David from the team. Ryan had suggested the try line would be the area where David would have liked his ashes to be spread. Martin cried as he looked into the stands remembering the many times he had been to matches with his son, it was their thing he thought.

The vicar led the short ceremony, reading a litany, offering a pointed communal prayer and ending with the benediction.

"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return," the Vicars word drifted into the air.

Martin opened the urn and scattered the ashes over the scoring side of the try line. He walked up and down slowly, thoughtfully shaking the soft dust out of the urn and scattering it on to the grass. Many tears flowed from those watching him, a man broken by the loss of his only child.

The mourners drifted away after the minute's silence that closed the scattering of ashes ceremony. Ryan and his friends walked the pitch with Martin. Barbara stood by the player's tunnel with her two sisters holding the diamond vase keepsake she had, which retained a small amount of her son's ashes.

Jamie, Oliver, Jenny and Mary sat up in the stands several rows up from the pitch. The three team mates had shared a few moment silence, reflecting on their loss and memories of their friend. Jenny sat quietly being the best wallflower she could possibly be.

"This is such a fuck up," Jamie said.

They watched Martin with Ryan and friends pointing up into the stands, probably spotting places where they had sat and watched matches with David. They watched Barbara sobbing in the arms of her elder sister.

"So what's up with you Oliver?" Mary asked pointedly, leaning forward to look at him two seats away.

"I can't believe he's gone," Oliver said.

"More than that," Mary said.

"What's more than losing our best friend Mary?" Oliver replied.

"I know you too well, since Minnie died, before he died, we lost you, what's been going on?"

Oliver put his head in his hands, he took a deep breath and then sat up straight and addressed Mary, Jamie and Jenny. Jenny placed her hand on his knee.

Oliver coughed, "It's hard to describe what I think I have seen, without sounding insane. The experiments, all the Tempus Genesis stuff, it's not safe."

"Unsafe? You mean unstable?" Jamie asked.

"In a way, in a very complicated way yes, I've had a sign, a message to stop, or else we will all suffer."

"A sign Oliver, from who? What on earth are you saying?" Mary asked.

Jenny joined in, "I haven't discussed this with Oliver but I've been warned too, when regressing, somebody wants it stopped."

Oliver looked at Jenny to try to understand what she knew. Clearly she too knew more now about the risks. In a second of processing he realised her gift had also sent her a warning.

Oliver explained further, "In the future, it causes problems, illness and the people in charge believe the only cure is to stop it from starting."

"In the future, do you know how that sounds Oliver?" Mary said, "and Minnie, is this linked to him, have your experiments put him at risk?"

Oliver dropped his head, "I think I'm responsible yes."

Jamie was shaking his head puzzled, "What? Because Minnie was involved they've what, like assassinated him?"

"I had a vision, I was in a vast hangar a pursuit facility, they told me they would hunt me down and anyone who knew me, I knew they were after Minnie, I tried to but couldn't get to him in time, warn him, I was too late."

Silence fell over them. Jenny looked into Oliver's eyes and believed him.

Mary broke the silence with anger, "I believe you Oliver, I believe some of what you're saying. I think there are people after you, but not this future crap. People from right now. I'm not sure why you're dressing this up but the experiments, the big ideas, the business connections, trying to market what is essentially an illegal drug, whatever you might say different. Yes I believe you've crossed someone and they're out to get you back. Minnie was so loyal to you I bet you got him mixed up in your shit and got him killed in the bargain,"

"No Mary," Oliver raised his voice in protest, "it's not like that, I would never have pushed on with the research if I had any idea."

"Bullshit," was all Mary could say in reply. She stood up, stepped by Jamie in his seat and marched off down the steps towards the pitch.

"It does sound far fetched," Jamie said offering little consolation to Oliver.

"I know, I know, but it's the truth."

"Is it true someone's after us, skipping whether it's a future terminator or a here and now gangster type, are we in real danger?" Jamie asked.

"Yes, I believe we are?" Oliver replied.

Jamie threw up his hands in disbelief, "When did you realise this?"

"A few minutes before Minnie died, the regression had its moments but I never saw them as warnings, I was told I'd gone too far and that was it. No negotiation, they killed Minnie."

"And the police?" Jamie asked.

"Absolutely no point, this is a relentless invisible army who have taken the control of regression to a colossal level," Oliver said.

"I believe him Jamie," Jenny said mildly.

In the maelstrom of madness Jamie had found himself in, he had come to trust and know Jenny. He liked her and she liked him. In this mutual regard Jamie saw enough to heed Oliver's warning, despite his misgivings.

"So now what?" Jamie asked.

"From what I could see they trace us using multiple sources to get close to the places and times we are most likely to be. Using newspapers, diaries, I've burned mine now, facebook accounts, internet archives, maybe even phone records, they narrow down on our haunts and our habits. They have an army, a vast army of soldiers regressing, continually trying to find a host who is in striking distance. A day in our time could be a year of twenty four seven searching by a hundred people in their time. They made me watch their assault on Minnie, somehow they have developed the power to seize control of the host and use them for their bidding. The guy who died with Minnie was as much a victim as Minnie was."

"So we have to escape from the lives we are about to live?" Jenny asked.

"Yes, they can't trace us I suspect, if we make sure we go somewhere unpredictable, unrecorded."

"You mean a completely new life, like jack college in?" Jamie asked.

"Yes, I know Mary won't buy it, but if you and me did, it might protect her," Oliver replied.

Jamie stood up and looked up into the giant canopy that stretched over the stadium, "One summer later and my entire life is fucked and I might be killed. I am meant to be living a charmed life."

Oliver stood too and walked a few seats along to Jamie, "I'm sorry mate, truly I am."

"I know Oliver, I know," Jamie pulled Oliver towards him and they embraced.

The light had faded and the mourners in the stadium had become shadows and figures cast in half light. The groundsman had put a quarter of a flood light on to help them find their way out. He hoped they would leave soon but he had no intention to rush them.

Mary's march had taken her across the pitch and out of the stadium. She was out of sight and Oliver hoped her anger would be sustained enough to create a safe space between them.

Jenny remained seated in the stands as Oliver and Jamie walked down onto the pitch. She told them to go on ahead and she hoped it would give them some space to talk. Minnie's rugby friends and Martin and several uncles and cousins stood on the pitch in a loose curved line, where they had stopped to take in the stadium before they left. They looked high into the stands and towards the partially lit floodlight in silence. Oliver and Jamie walked towards them and then past each of them in turn, deliberately walking slowly behind the men so as not to break up their reflective moment.

Jenny leaned forward to look at each of the men stood in shadows and dim light as Oliver passed behind them. One by one, she saw the ripple run through them. A spray of static, a tremor as the skin on their face quivered. One by one she could see a visitor trying to take hold of each as a host. Slowly the ripple moved up the line following the path Oliver and Jamie took.

Jenny was about to shout out a warning to Oliver as he reached the last man in line, George the City Banker and Prop Forward.

Oliver was walking in ignorance of what Jenny could see and in silence with Jamie. He was startled when George suddenly swung around and grabbed him by the shoulders. Oliver immediately registered the possessed look in George's eyes and knew this was an attack.

As quickly as it started it stopped. George looked embarrassed and tried to make some feeble joke of what was a bizarre action to take at anytime, let alone during a wake.

"Got you there, kind of thing David would have done, sort of a tribute," George said.

Oliver smiled, "Yeah you got me George."

"No harm done?" George asked, as others looked up the line to him.

"None whatsoever George, see you at the club for a pint," and Oliver walked on. Jamie looked at Oliver to confirm what he thought he had seen. Jenny rushed up to them having hurried from the stands once she had seen George swing round with a blue haze glowing around him in the darkening stadium.

"We need to move quickly," she said as she caught up with Oliver and Jamie. Jamie agreed, completely confused by the madness that now surrounded him.

37.

Oliver sat in the privacy of his bedroom and made his call. He listened to the phone ring and waited for the familiar greeting.

"Hello, who is it?"

"Hi mum it's me, Oliver."

"Hello love, lovely to hear from you, at long last."

"Sorry mum, it has been a really busy few weeks."

"Have you made a decision?"

"We're going to spend some time in South East Asia."

"Oh. How long?"

"A few months but we intend to keep travelling for a bit longer."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing? Jenny seems lovely and the week you were here was wonderful. We really like her, but giving that course up seems a step too far love."

"I know, I know. I wish I could explain but it's the right thing to do for where I am in my life right now."

"Are you in trouble?"

"No, no. Honest mum, it's just Jenny and me it really works and we want to do this, be together and live a little."

"Where in South East Asia? Your dad and me are planning a long haul we could meet up?"

"Laos. Vietnam. Cambodia. Thailand. It would be good to meet up if we could."

"But you won't."

"Don't be like that mum, we'll see how it pans out. I could think of nothing nice than some time together."

"Good, now you be careful, when do you fly?"

"Not sure we're going last minute to get a good deal."

"You're being very vague, are you sure everything is okay?"

"It is all fine mum, honestly, I'm just taking a different look at life, I can afford to and I just want to be a little more care free. While I'm still young enough."

"So you should I suppose. Give our love to Jenny and keep in touch, when you fly, land, where you're staying."

"Mum."

"Have a great time."

"Mum?"

"Yes love."

"I really love you and dad you know, thanks for being such a lovely mum and dad."

"That's okay, we're really proud of you darling."

"I know, I'll phone soon."

"Take care Oliver."

"I will, bye mum."

"Bye love, you're dads shouting here, he says bye."

Oliver smiled, "Bye dad, bye mum."

"He said bye dad. Bye Oliver. Love you."

"I love you both."

The phone call ended and Oliver wiped his eyes and cheeks to catch the tears that had rundown his face as he made the call. Oliver put the phone down, stretched and stood up. He left his bedroom and walked down the hall to the living room. Jenny was in the lounge packing boxes, helping Oliver move out and leave the London home he had sold.

She stood up from the box she was packing with books from the bookshelf in the corner of his lounge.

"Is your mum okay?" she asked.

"Yes she is fine," Oliver replied.

"I don't believe you, this is so difficult. My parents can't believe I'm selling 'Other World'. It was all I ever spoke about as a teenager."

"We're doing the right thing. With the capital from this flat and your business we can travel, keep moving. Difficult decisions will keep us alive."

"Are you sure we can stay together safely?"

"I can't see why not, my diaries are all gone, I burnt the last volumes yesterday. Contact with Mary and Jamie is zero, the change should cause a ripple, make us difficult to find. We just need to be judicious telling our family where we are."

Jenny dropped her eyes. Oliver knew she was close to her adoptive parents.

Oliver spoke, "I'm sorry I have made such a horrible mess of everything. As difficult as this is Jenny it's the right thing to do."

Jenny nodded and continued to pack boxes. Oliver was exhausted with the paranoia that accompanied being hunted like an animal. Every shopping trip, showing of his home to prospective buyers, estate agents, was a stressful and cautious experience. Each event was planned with a contingency and an escape route should someone be taken as a host and an attack launched.

The texts from Jack Splinter were an unwelcome reminder of the failed research that remained locked in the basement of St Thomas Hospital. Jack wanted to meet up. Oliver always treated him as a 'missed call'. He was polite in responding to the texts but could not bring himself to completely can Jack Splinter.

Jack Splinter's latest text said,

'Any news on DVD? I have strong interest in TG. Would like to meet you at your lab, when free?'

Oliver shook his head in dismay at the opportunity he could not pursue. Once a door had opened it was too dangerous to step through.

Mary sat in the lecture theatre on her own. She was friendly enough with everyone on the course but didn't feel the need to find new buddies to sit with. The news of Minnie's death had devastated the faculty and its students. Jamie dropping out was a shock but the students and lecturers understood the death of his friend had had a profound effect on him. Oliver dropping out was not a surprise. Blooms had made particular effort to welcome Mary back and offered whatever pastoral support she needed. The Professor had asked her to try to get Jamie to reconsider his decision. He did not ask after Oliver at all.

Mary had picked up her studies and her thesis was progressing well, she had positive interest and a suggestion of funding from Pfizer. The trial she proposed could become a large scale study building her reputation and creating opportunities that would endure beyond her PhD. Blooms hailed her as a prospective modern day example of UCLs scientific nobility.

Mary had moved flats and moved in a lover. Mary did not see Judith as a long term prospect but she needed a distraction. Mary hoped one day to marry and have children, but at the moment she just wanted to feel safer than she did. She missed Minnie with gut wrenching sadness, wanted desperately to speak to Jamie and felt fury at the wedge Oliver and Jenny had driven between the friends Jamie used to call a team.

A large swollen toe protruded from the bare foot that balanced precariously on the bar stool. Jamie put down his pint of Guinness and looked up from the foot to the face of its owner.

"What do you think it is Doctor?" Eugene asked.

"It looks like a toe to me Eugene," Jamie said smiling.

"It hurts like fecking hell, what can you do for me?"

"Come to the surgery in the morning and I'll clip that talon of a toe nail and give you some anti-biotic cream. How does that sound?"

"That sounds just the job Doctor thank you," Eugene took his foot down and put his sock back on.

"Oh and Eugene," Jamie said.

"Yes doctor."

"Wash both feet well before you come and see me."

Jamie continued his pint but pushed his pork scratchings to one side, having lost his appetite suddenly. He smiled at the daily quaint and quirky experiences he was having in this remotest part of South West Ireland. The locum position was for six months and Jamie would think carefully about where next. He felt like a fugitive and he suspected he was if Oliver was right. With some distance between Minnie's death and the break up of the team, Jamie had wondered if Oliver had crossed swords with dodgy business men or even organised gangs. As real as the regression seemed, assassins from the future didn't compute he had decided.

Jamie had rented a fantastic cottage on the beach at Ballybunion, hired a modest car and adopted a low profile. He had unsurprisingly secured the affection of a flame haired young woman, whose accompanying temper kept him amused.

Jamie struggled with the notion he should never contact Oliver or Mary again, or even Minnie's parents. He felt taking a scalpel to their friendship was too severe and he ruminated on ways to establish discrete contact with them. He did not want to live a life with an ever fading memory of the best friendships he had ever had. Nor contemplate never having a companion he could remember Minnie with.

Between the four friends as weeks passed without incident they started to look to the future. Oliver believed he and Jenny could establish a loving life together, a simple one with limited expectation beyond the day to day. Mary knew she could establish a successful career and build a home with children. Jamie knew his wealth allowed him infinite choices. His main regret was that they had parted on bad terms. Mary had never spoken to Oliver again since the funeral.

38.

Jack Splinter was desperate to speak and meet with Oliver. He had phoned, e-mailed and sent multiple texts. With great interest from Sir Nigel Bell-Smith Oliver needed to get in touch, Jack really felt there was a deal on the table. Development opportunities and six figure investment figures were being bandied around. He could not understand how on earth Oliver was not responding. Jack studied his latest draft text trying to think what lie he could make up next to try to secure a positive response from Oliver. He wished he had kept a record of Oliver's address and on reflection decided he was hasty when he angrily dumped Oliver's file after the rejection of the CarTalk proposal.

Jack Splinter was desperate to speak and meet with Oliver. He needed to understand what was happening to him and why he was changing. He needed to know what he had been exposed to in the laboratories below St Thomas' hospital. Jack needed the medical advice only Oliver could know. An explanation on the Tempus Genesis experiments and how witnessing them could bring such torment. He needed Oliver to tell him what treatment to seek.

At first it was just a low tone ringing in his ear, ear wax possibly, tinnitus perhaps. Then the whispers arrived, soft whispers, which over a few days became louder and clearer. Then it was the voices, clear and precise and knowing. Then warnings and worst of all being taken and the visions. Opening his eyes to see the old grey men who would interrogate him. Their instructions to him to heed their warnings, urging him, compelling him to take action.

Jack's wife had moved out. At first she could just about bear the preoccupation. Then she tried to be caring as she felt him slip away from her into a depression. Then the signs of madness and the rage, the frightening rage and his snarling distorted features. Her GP advised she moved out for a little while and a referral was made to the mental health services. The crisis team assessed him and Jack held it together, just enough, leaving the team with no reason to detain him in a mental health unit.

He agreed to his wife staying away. Jack stopped working and his GP signed him off on sick leave. Jack was visited every night and his call to duty incandescently chanted to him. He didn't sleep and he ate rarely. Hygiene and grooming left home around the same time his wife did.

Jack was possessed by the visitors grip on his soul and sanity. The glint of insight that shone into his mind told him to seek out Oliver, to secure help to save him from the final descent into full blown madness. The voices that echoed around his head agreed that finding Oliver would be a good thing for them all.

"My wife is setting up a mobile hairdressers and beautician service. It's for disabled people and the elderly, a really good business idea don't you think?" Jack said.

The assistant smiled and handed Jack the bag containing his purchases, two litres of Hydrogen Peroxide and a litre of Acetone.

"That's really sweet, she has enough there for a good while mind," the assistant at Americana Cosmetics smiled.

Jack left the store in Pentonville, placed his purchase in the boot of his X6 BMW, alongside several other bags of similar stock. He drove from Pentonville to central London and parked as close as he could to Covent Garden.

It took him ten minutes to walk to Lush from the car park. He looked in the window first of the small beauty supplies store. He walked in with a big smile.

"Hi, I'd like to take two litres of Hydrogen Peroxide and a litre of Acetone please?"

The young girl behind the counter, with the name badge 'Mary-Anne', was surprised at the volume of the order. She noticed her customers slightly dishevelled state, sweat beaded brow and oily looking silver hair. This did not alarm her given she had just served a six foot three transvestite with a distinct five 'o' clock shadow.

"It would have to be four bottles for the peroxide and two for the acetone, we don't stock the industrial sizes," Mary-Anne said.

"That's fine. I'm under orders. My wife is setting up a mobile hairdressers and beautician service. It's for disabled people and the elderly, a really good business idea don't you think?" Jack said.

"What a good idea, my nana is pretty much housebound and struggles to get her hair done. Does your wife have a business card?"

Jack paused with a fixed smile, "Next on the list is business cards, tell you what scribble your e-mail down and I'll ask her to drop you a note with the website once its set up."

Mary-Anne duly did and Jack put the note in his top pocket, smiled firmly, and tapped the pocket to signal it was for safe keeping.

"It should be up in a day or two," Jack said.

Mary-Anne bagged up his purchase, Jack paid cash and left.

Jack walked through Covent Garden. The bustle of tourists and lively street entertainers temporarily drowned out the rolling instructions which gripped his mind. He stopped and smiled at a man dressed as a dog inside a dog basket. Jack laughed when he barked for the pound a young boy gave him, momentarily relieved from his torment. He made his way out onto Charing Cross Road back towards his car at the Newport Place Car Park. Jack drove his car across central London and over Westminster Bridge. He now knew he had enough chemicals to make an explosive device.

Having never made a bomb before he was entirely reliant on the instructions he received from his various visitors. He preferred the young woman who was more kindly and soft spoken. Her apologies were comforting though her requirements were no less demanding than the others. They provided him with key search terms, web addresses, user names and passwords. Jack had access to the darkest corners of the internet, the most secret places where extremists' and the disaffected plotted chaos.

"I can't find his home address, how will I know where to go?" Jack said as he queued in traffic across the Bridge. He looked at St Thomas' hospital to his right and was reminded where he had first been exposed to an event that had descended him into the jaws of insanity.

"I've still got to get the other items, the plastic barrel, wires, batteries. _More fertiliser?_ Okay I'll get more. I'm telling you though I won't be able to assemble it, I'm not handy like that, I can't even wire a plug," onlookers would assume Jack was on his hands free phone.

Jack arrived back at his large detached home in Purley, South of London about two hours later, following four trips to separate DIY stores. Two large chains and two independents. They had told him it was critical his purchases did not suggest any pattern of buying that could hint at terrorist intent. Since 11/7 all stores around London had been issued with memorandums and guidance of what to look for. Jack being white middle class helped him in his mission.

Jack drove the X6 onto the drive of his six bedded detached house in West Purley. He pulled directly into his garage through the automatically raised garage door. Once inside he opened the boot and began to empty the contents and set them out on the Garage floor.

After an hour of slowly laying out the essential ingredients for his device Jack took a break. They suggested he should eat having noticed his strength was weakening. Over the next twelve hours his energy would need to be right if he was to succeed.

Jack stopped at the telephone and took messages, maybe Oliver had called him back.

Beep. You have four new messages.

"Jack, its Sue, where are you, I've spoken to the GP again and he thinks you should go see him today, you're mobile is going straight to voicemail."

Beep.

"Hi Dad, its Emily, the gurgling is your grandson, he is eating his first biscuit. I hope you and mum can sort things out Dad, you're jobs too stressful, pack it in it's not worth it. Look after yourself, ring me. Love you."

Beep.

"Hello Jack, Doctor Gupta calling, I know you are having a tough time so give me a call and I'm sure I can help you. Don't be on your own with your worries. Ring the surgery when you get this."

Beep.

"Hi Jack, Oliver Harris calling you back, sorry for ignoring the messages. I've had big second thoughts and I've decided to put the research on hold. Sorry if this messes you about. Maybe catch up some time."

Beep. No more messages.

"It has messed me about somewhat," Jack muttered.

He walked to the kitchen and made a sandwich.

"What? Okay," Jack pulled out his mobile and sent his wife a text saying he was feeling a little better. No contact would arouse concern and could thwart his plans.

"What are my plans?" he wondered aloud. One thing at a time, eat your sandwich and then go finish your bomb.

Dr Patel Gupta sat in his car parked on Woodcote Lane, a few hundred metres back from the junction with Silver Lane. In his passenger seat was a female social worker, Rosie, who he had worked with before. It was five a.m. Dr Gupta was glad it was Rosie, she was good at engaging with people who were acutely mentally ill. She often could negotiate an informal admission.

Behind Dr Gupta's black Volvo was a police car with three officers in it. Behind that an ambulance. All standard fare for an assessment under the mental health act. Dr Gupta had hoped to avoid this but four hours earlier a neighbour had phoned his surgery. She was a close friend of his wife's and had seen Jack Splinter rush out of the garage with a small plastic canister on fire. Jack had put it out with water but was very clearly talking, no arguing with himself she had said.

In their wisdom the Police, via the duty Inspector, had said there was not sufficient evidence to warrant a section seventeen entry under their powers. So Rosie had been called via the duty system and she had had the unenviable task of waking the local magistrate to secure a Section 135 Warrant under the mental health act. This provided the powers to enter a home and remove someone to a safe place for mental health assessment.

A fourth vehicle arrived and a tired looking duty Consultant Psychiatrist stepped out of his car.

"Okay Rosie, shall we pull everyone together?" Dr Gupta suggested.

Curtains twitched from the large houses set back from Woodcote Lane. The wealthy residents were not used to such a gathering in this leafy serene residential suburb.

The three police officers and two ambulance paramedics, Dr Gupta, Rosie and Dr Finnegan the psychiatrist stood together and planned.

"Have you got the one three five warrant?" asked the Police Sergeant.

Rosie handed him the papers and he studied them briefly, familiar with the forms as he was.

"Okay, what's the plan?" he asked.

"I am hoping he will cooperate, I have known the family for a long time," Dr Gupta said.

"First episode?" asked Dr Finnegan.

"Mild depression a few years ago, but he'd lost his mother so yes really, as acute as he sounds this is a first episode," Dr Gupta said.

"We should try to avoid using the one three five if we can," Rosie urged them.

With agreements made they all returned to their cars and the mental health act convoy drove slowly along the road and turned onto Silver Lane. They cruised halfway down the road with Dr Gupta and Rosie at the front in his Volvo.

Dr Gupta pulled up at the foot of Jack Splinters drive. The house was in darkness except for a dim light in the porch way.

The assessment team stepped out of their vehicles and approached the house. The ambulance crew stayed back. The police held off a few feet away with Dr Finnegan. Rosie and Dr Gupta approached the house and knocked at the door.

"I need to see you Jack, we are very worried about you," Dr Gupta called through the letter box.

There was no reply for over ten minutes. One officer had circled the house and could see no sign of movement. After the second time of calling through the letter box Dr Gupta turned to the officers, he pinched his nose to make his point.

"There is a funny smell coming from the hallway, chemicals or something," he said.

The Sergeant organised his men and the Door Ram was taken from the boot of the Police Car. A few moments later and a loud bang, the front door burst open. The smell of peroxide made them draw breath and hold back.

"Jesus," said the officer who had breached the front door.

"I don't like that," the Sergeant said.

He told one officer to stay at the door and to call in for a response team on his command. Whilst he suspected suicide the Police Sergeant had been on different types of raids in recent years with the same strong bleach like smell upon entry.

Dr Gupta and Rosie stepped away under instruction, confused by the change in demeanour of the police.

The Police Sergeant and his officer entered the house in darkness. They took out torches and move around the premises.

"Downstairs first," whispered the senior officer.

With batons drawn and torches shining down them they made their way around the large open plan interior. It soon became clear the strong odour was emanating from the open door which led off of the utility into the garage. They approached with caution and stepped into the triple car garage space.

As they searched the space from just inside the door, the first thing they noticed was the absence of any vehicles. Both officers shared a knowing look that they suspected the house owner had left. They then turned their torches for a more detailed search to find the source of the smell.

In the middle of the garage the two officers stared with disbelief at the objects littered across the floor. Dozens of empty commercial chemical bottles were scattered around. Their concern rose as they noticed lengths of wire which had been cut and discarded amongst the plastic containers. Then they saw the empty battery packs, discarded syringe packets and a half burnt container. This finally confirmed what the Police Sergeant had briefly suspected when the first wave of odour wafted through the front door. The middle class business man, the quiet owner of the house, with a suspected mental illness, had been making an explosive device.

39.

Jamie stood by the For Sale sign with its 'SOLD' sticker stuck diagonally over it. Below this was a smaller sign fixed to the wooden shaft which read 'top floor apartment 2 beds'. Jamie had a bag for life in his hand which contained two bottles of champagne and a bag of ice keeping them cold.

Jamie checked his watch. It was seven ten a.m. and Mary should have been there at seven. Jamie was convinced she wouldn't show up. He had pleaded with her for three days, ever since he received a brief text from Oliver.

We fly Sunday, won't say where, but sorry, so sorry.

Jamie had forwarded the text to Mary and then sent his own to her.

Is this how Minnie would want it to end?

Mary replied.

Unfortunately Minnie is unable to express his opinion.

Jamie offered his first plea.

All I'm saying is he wouldn't blame Oliver.

Mary said.

Really?

Jamie told Mary he was coming back to London briefly and asked her to meet him. Several weeks had passed and no mishaps or threats had befallen any of them. Oliver's research was well and truly canned, perhaps things were returning to normal.

Mary agreed (she thought much of it was bullshit anyway) and they stayed together in Jamie's apartment for a day and a night, drinking and eating take away. They talked about their new lives and Mary laughed heartily as Jamie recounted his various patients and their ailments. He did not say exactly where he was in Ireland. Mary was vague about the location of her new place.

"How did this get so screwed up Jamie," Mary had asked him as they ate Chinese looking out over the park with its winding lights meandering into the distance.

"Oliver is heart broken Mary, he screwed up, he knows that, somehow Minnie paid a price for things we'll never truly understand," Jamie said.

"I just think he must have known something, this Tempus Genesis shit, fuck it if I believe any of it now. Jenny, Oliver, I wonder if it was hard drugs something like that Jamie."

"I saw Jenny Mary, in Vietnam, you saw her here that night it wasn't drugs. The regression stuff, even now with some space I think, believe it's real."

Jenny chewed on a spring roll, "and the assassins from the future?"

"No, I mean I don't know, but a threat from some organisation or other yes, I think Oliver crossed someone. Inadvertently."

"Blinded by his drive to discover," Mary said a little drunk, a little sarcastically.

"He was on the verge of something brilliant Mary, you know that."

"Some people are never destined to get as far as they think they should Jamie, he was brilliant without any history in the making invention."

Jamie went for more champagne, opened their third bottle and refilled each of their crystal champagne glasses.

"Do you remember Oliver doing all your study notes for you, for your final medical exams?" Jamie asked Mary.

"Of course, all annotated and colour coded, with rude acronyms. I can still remember them, CRAP, cardiac rate and pulse. Then the neurology exam, CLIT, cloves ideal stimulant as it preserves its scent, listen to the patients response to smell in either nostril, improvise at bedside with soap, perfume or toothpaste, test one nostril at a time with the other occluded, POOH, patient should be asked to wrinkle their face, observe for asymmetry and the ability to burry the eyebrows, observe for involuntary facial movements, half of an entire face will show symptoms for lower motor neurone weakness."

Mary smiled and sipped her champagne, "The others are really rude."

Jamie smiled, "He did one exam for me."

"What, you cheated? You never said?"

"Just one, you couldn't do it now, but it was the written paper on cerebral damage, I just got in a panic, I knew it but I lost it, he went in and did it for me."

"Can you remember Fish and Chip nights at Martin and Barbara's?"

"How kid like Minnie was when he was with his mum."

"Piles of buttered bread for butties and ketchup to dip them into, god Minnie could eat," Mary finished her drink and poured more.

She looked at Jamie, "I know what you're doing you know?"

"What?" Jamie asked innocently.

"Getting me to reminisce. Generating positive memories of Oliver, softening my view of him, trying to weaken my resolve."

"Is it working?"

"I loved Oliver, still do, I just can't keep the anger down."

Jamie took Mary's hand and pleaded, "Bury it for one hour on Sunday morning and let's say some proper goodbyes. Our future lives will benefit from the closure."

"What psycho babble shit is that you're coming out with? Look I'll think about."

They sipped in silence and ate a little more food.

"Do you think it's safe to see him?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Keep it brief, hugs and kisses, goodbye, we go, move on from there," Jamie replied.

"Okay."

"You'll come? Great."

"I'll think about it, seriously I will," Mary replied.

Jamie waited patiently outside the house where Oliver had now sold his top floor apartment in Balham. Oliver had agreed reluctantly to Jamie's suggestion of a brief breakfast meeting, to repair the fractures in the team and have a proper goodbye. Oliver agreed that no signs of danger or warnings were a good thing. They both agreed that perhaps putting the brakes on hard had calmed whoever it was Oliver had crossed. Oliver had told Jamie he had decommissioned the laboratory, but held back from saying only partly decommissioned and that he was too frightened to return to finish the job. Oliver intended to do that before he flew off to Vietnam, he planned to throw the laptop into the Thames. The laptop carried all the data for the research, he would probably shred the paper records and dump them in the hospitals confidential waste skip for incineration. He intended to retain some of the vaccine for Jenny, who was now more stable than she ever could remember.

Jamie looked up to Oliver's apartment but saw no one looking back down towards him. He heard a car in the distance and looked down the street to see a black cab round the corner and his hopes lifted, fingers crossed this would be Mary.

Jack Splinter toured the streets of Balham, Battersea and Lambeth North in his BMW X6. He awaited instructions on what to do next. Chemical fumes filled his car. He had the window lowered an inch to prevent his eyes from watering so much he'd be too blinded to drive. In the boot he had a large rucksack. It contained a large plastic drum and sloshing about inside it was a heady mix of volatile chemicals. Several bags of fertiliser were packed around the device. Jack had attached wires and conductors and connections for a battery. A syringe drive was placed at the top and contained a catalyst which would create a reaction in the mixture of chemicals once added. He had placed the battery by his side ready to attach to his home made device when the time was right.

"Why have you got me out so early, I barely slept?" he asked for the third time. Once again they explained records had been found and police radio broadcasts had been witnessed that suggested he would be lifted from his home shortly after five a.m.

"Oh," Jack said in response to the clarification.

"So when do I do this thing? And where? Where do I end all of this threat and harm to human kind?" Jack questioned out loud to the voices which spoke inside his head. They asked him for patience, converging on a point could take weeks and months in their time. It was complex. They were grateful he was so _receptive,_ not everyone was accessible. Jack took this as a compliment.

Jack drove for a while longer. He cruised the back streets and quieter avenues, they said that soon the Police might come looking for him.

"I need a pee, I'll find a café," Jack said. _Don't stop it could compromise the mission, just urinate yourself, it's easier_. So Jack did, releasing warm urine into his underwear and soaking his trousers. Another unpleasant smell to add to the list.

"I'll be glad when this is over, and my wife you promise she'll be spared? She knows nothing I never discussed business deals with her, I made no notes, nothing. I do this and it's gone, so leave her alone, promise? Good."

Jack smiled having secured agreement through the softly spoken woman, he liked her he thought. Jack gunned his car towards Balham for the second time in the last hour.

Mary stepped out of the black cab and paid the driver. The cab pulled away, did a tight u-turn and drove away. Mary walked over to Jamie and they embraced.

"Thank you Mary, this means a lot to me," Jamie said as they parted and held hands looking at each other.

"I know. I just hope I don't lose it when I see him, and her."

"Don't be harsh on them, neither of them are bad people Mary, quite the opposite."

"Sorry, I'll do my best. They are both good people and Oliver is a lovely man, one of the best I've known. I know I need to find a way to forgive him."

"I haven't seen his nervous face at the window yet. Maybe he is having his morning wood being taken care of?" Jamie suggested.

"Good god, Minnie lives on in you doesn't he?"

"I intend to be like a Minnie tribute act," Jamie smiled and put his arm around Mary's shoulder and they walked to the entrance of Olivers flat.

Jamie rang the intercom bell for Oliver's flat. Oliver answered quickly and buzzed them in. Jamie and Mary stepped in to the hallway.

"Mind the tools," Oliver whispered down.

Jamie and Mary stepped around the gardening tools, precariously balanced at the foot of the stairs. The resident collection of tools Oliver had often knocked over when drunk.

Mary looked up and saw Oliver's smiling apologetic face. Her heart melted she missed him so much. Jamie and she climbed the stairs.

Jamie stepped into the flat and Mary followed him, she paused at the front door Oliver held open for her.

"Hello Mary," Oliver said.

"Hello Mr fuck up," she replied.

"I'm sorry Mary."

Mary pulled Oliver towards her and their long standing friendship and love of each other melted her anger and softened his remorse.

They entered the apartment together and the door closed behind them. The clock was ticking, they only had ten minutes left.

"Hi," Jenny said feeling awkward at seeing Mary again and sensing all the bad things she thought about her.

"Hi Jenny, so you fly off today?" Mary asked.

"Yes, well late tonight. How are you?" Jenny asked.

"I'm okay, given everything we've all been through," Mary said with her eyes wandering around the lounge with its many packing boxes set out and about.

Jamie asked, "How are you leaving tonight with all this still to clear?"

"My friend from Brighton is clearing out these last few things, we couldn't turn down the flights tonight they were too good to miss," Jenny said.

"Nice to have friend's like that. Can I use the loo Oliver?" Mary asked. As hard as she was trying Mary's tone was clipped.

"Of course Mary," Oliver said.

Mary left for the toilet. Oliver and Jenny let out big relieved sighs.

"Give her a minute she really does want us to part on good terms," Jamie said.

"Okay, I'll finish breakfast," Jenny said pointing a finger towards the kitchen. She left for the kitchen.

Jamie run his hand through his hair, "Sorry mate, I just wanted to have a chance to say goodbye. I'll open this champagne."

Jamie took a bottle of champagne from the bag he was carrying.

"I'm sure she will be fine, Mary has every right to be pissed at me," Oliver said.

Jamie opened the bottle of champagne and took four glasses from a cabinet in the corner of the familiar lounge. He poured the chilled champagne.

"It's a bit early isn't it?" Oliver asked.

"After the shit we've been through?"

Oliver sipped at his champagne.

"Smells good Jenny, is that meaty bacon I can smell?" Jamie called through to the kitchen.

"Yes, I said a prayer for it before I opened the pack," Jenny called back. Jamie smiled.

"So Oliver, how exactly did you decommission your experimental laboratory? There was a lot of kit," Jamie enquired.

Oliver sipped his champagne, "I'm doing the last bit today."

Jamie spluttered on his champagne, "Fuck Oliver, you said you'd canned it?"

"I have, last bit will go today. Trust me."

"But it has been there for weeks now, given the risks, just get rid mate."

"The security guy is super trustworthy and he is well paid. I'm there at lunchtime, I will be sending the laptop to the bottom of the Thames and the papers up in flames. End of story. Good riddance to bad news," Oliver said not wholly meaning it.

"I'll drink to that," Jamie said.

"Hey, I found some brilliant photos of Minnie from last years Monster Ball, let me get them for you," Oliver walked to the far side of the lounge and began routing in one of the boxes.

In the kitchen Jenny held the bacon under the grill, her hand gripped the grill pan tightly. Blue static quivered across her fingers. Her fingers were touching the hot metal that adjoined the handle and the skin of her finger tips singed. She did not cry out nor flinch. The grill pan dropped from her hands onto the oven top with a clatter.

"I hope that's not my breakfast," Jamie called in.

Oliver crouched over the box looking for the album with Minnie in Frankenstein costume and standing in various hilarious poses.

"I've just seen them this morning," Oliver said with frustration.

Mary had flushed the toilet and washed her hands. She exhaled slowly to calm herself, she would be nice, she would be nice. She returned to the lounge to see Oliver's bum sticking up from one of the boxes. The sight made her giggle as it captured his gangling manner in life.

"What are you doing Oliver?" she asked.

Jenny gently stroked her fingers across Jamie's face. She had returned to the lounge and stood behind and over Jamie. Jamie was slumped on the sofa sipping champagne, waiting for the photographs of Minnie Oliver promised. The gentle caress of warm finger tips took Jamie by surprise.

"Jenny, I knew it, ever since Vietnam," Jamie said lifting his hands to embrace Jenny's caress of his face.

"Here they are," Oliver said, lifting an album of pictures from the box.

Mary asked, "Whose pics are those?"

Oliver did not have the opportunity to answer. He dropped the album to the floor which made Mary jump and then follow the direction of his gaze.

"No," was all Oliver could manage.

Jamie's first moment of concern arrived with the look across Oliver's face. Oliver's jaw had dropped at the sight of Jenny with her hands on his best friends face. Not a look of jealousy but one of abject terror. Jamie registered the concern and turned to check out what was unsettling Oliver, he briefly saw Mary's face with her mouth wide open and the beginnings of a scream.

Jenny stood dominant over Jamie. Her face was distorted by the force of possession imposed on her by her visitor. He or she undulated under her skin as they exacted full control. Jenny's eyes were empty and her actions without human conscience. Jenny's mouth, cheeks and nose contorted under the pressure of such great power. Her arms were taught with energy and determination. Under the direct influence of the visitor she hosted Jenny tightened her grip on Jamie's face.

"Jenny?" was the simple disbelieving question Jamie asked.

The power in Jenny's hand crushed hard on his skull creating popping noises as bone fractured. With a simple but sharp ninety degree twist, she broke his neck. So hard was the force Jamie's head was practically inverted. Jenny tossed Jamie's corpse forward and it crumpled heavily onto the carpet floor of the lounge. Blood ran from his mouth and nose over his twisted head across his cheeks and into his staring eyes.

Jenny hissed a final observation on the proceedings, "We tried to warn you subject Oliver, you all have to be deleted, submit to our hope."

Jenny lumbered forward. Oliver stood slowly, disbelieving what he was witnessing and not realising Mary was emitting a piercing scream. Horrified he staggered towards Mary. Jenny was moving slowly but her path was indomitable. Her body was full and glowing blue with maximum power from the future. Oliver knew the Jenny he had loved was no longer with him.

Oliver picked up one of the heavier packing boxes. He stepped forward three paces and hurled it towards Jenny. It struck her sharp in the face and chest sending her flying back and throwing her to the floor.

"Run," Oliver shouted to Mary. They both ran for the front door and left the apartment.

Oliver shouted at Mary to move quickly as they descended the three floors of stairs that led from his apartment to the entrance hall. Mary's racing feet caught the gardening tools as she careered off the last step into the hallway. Her stumble to the floor sent two spades, a fork and rake scatter noisily across the tiled vestibule.

Oliver tried to quickly kick them to one side so he could pull the front door open and escape. He glanced upwards but could not see Jenny in pursuit.

"What the bloody hell is that noise?" Albert shouted from behind his door as he began opening locks.

"Stay there Albert, stay inside, for fucks sake do not open that door old man," Oliver shouted at Albert in a way he never had before.

Oliver slid the last gardening tool out of the way and pulled Mary to her feet, "Get out go."

Oliver pushed Mary towards the large wooden entrance door. He stretched out his hand to open it and placed his other hand on Mary's back readying himself to propel her out of the converted house and into the street towards safety.

Oliver pulled the door back and urged Mary forward. She stepped out onto the doorstep.

Oliver did not hear Jenny silently falling three flights through the air. Her host knew Jenny was strong but slow and decided a direct route was needed to close in on their target. They hurled themselves over the banister on the top floor and spread armed glided down the three floors of the vaulted hall and stairs.

Jenny struck Oliver hard crushing him to the floor. The impact stunned him and winded him. He hit the tiled floor hard with his face, jarring the bones in his hand and wrists. Mary just saw him disappear in a blur confused by what was taking place. Until she saw Jenny kneel up on Olivers back, grasping his hair and pulling his head back. Oliver knew he was due for the same execution Jamie had just suffered. He wriggled and twisted and his hair slipped from Jenny's fingers. Oliver managed to turn on his back and despite the pain in his arms he pushed upwards trying to force Jenny off of him. He looked at her face. The Jenny he knew, the pretty angelic Jenny, was no longer there. Her gentle face replaced by a snarling banshee.

She sneered and spat as she fought him, "Now hear the legions cheer as you die."

Jenny threw his arms off of her and they fell back leaving him spread beneath her. Jenny rapidly regained her grip on his skull and tightened her grip. She dropped her left shoulder ready to twist and rip his head from his neck.

The flat of the black steel blade struck Jenny on her left cheek. The force of the spade smashed her cheek bones and crumpled the front left curve of her skull. Jenny's body flew to her right in response to the blow. She lifted off of Oliver and turned a full roll from the force of the strike hitting the bottom step in the hall hard. Oliver looked to his left to see Jenny lying motionless on her back. She was barely breathing and her face was indistinguishable, blood poured down her face. He looked down to his feet to see Mary stood with the spade raised above her left shoulder.

"I've called the Police you scumbags," Albert called from behind the door.

Mary looked behind her from where she heard the voice. By the time she looked back Jenny had sat up and was starting to rise once more.

"Run," Mary said throwing down the spade.

Oliver scrambled to his feet and with Mary fled though the front door and into the street. They ran down the avenue as fast as their legs could take them. At the end of Ramsden Road the junction opened onto a quiet Balham High Road. Oliver and Mary looked back to see a damaged staggering Jenny stumbling down the tree lined avenue towards them.

"Keep going," Oliver said. They ran up the main road through Balham towards Clapham South.

"What are we going to do?" Mary asked through panting breath.

"I don't know, keep running, find somewhere to hide, I need time to think."

They ran a short distance passing a health food store, by a car park and towards the main drag of shops. Mary's legs were quivering uncontrollably and she felt sick. She was numb with the thought she had just crushed Jenny's head with a garden spade. Tears ran down her face a she ran.

Oliver turned as they ran to see Jenny emerge onto the main rood from his street. She was moving more quickly.

Oliver saw a cab headed their way, the only vehicle on the road. The black cabs 'taxi' sign was illuminated. Oliver slowed Mary and him down and hailed the cab.

"She's catching us up," Mary said panicking.

The driver saw Olivers arm waving and flashed his headlights in acknowledgement. Mary watched the vehicle drive towards them on the opposite side of the road. Standing still she felt the shock setting into her. She looked over her shoulder to see Jenny stumbling towards them.

The cab adopted a diagonal line driving towards them, as opposed to passing them by and turning around. The black taxi accelerated. Oliver and Mary stood and watched, not computing the emerging threat. Until they saw the ripples across the drivers face and the blank expression in his eyes. The cab veered left and right as driver and host each struggled to secure control over the other.

"Crap," was all Mary could say and she lifted her arms up expecting to be struck.

As Jenny's visitor had seen Oliver and Mary slow to a standstill, they had willed her dying body on for one further push to finish them off. In regression peripheral vision is limited and the visitor saw only their intended target from Jenny's eyes. Jenny broke into a stumbling sprint to grab her distracted prey.

The cab was less than ten feet from Mary and Oliver as it hurtled towards them. Oliver pushed his shoulder down and into Mary's side, he threw both his arms around her and with all his force launched them both sideways. They slipped behind the gable end of the corner of the first shop, falling to the pavement that led to Balham Grove.

Jenny arrived at the space they had occupied, only to see them slip below her outreached arms. Her visitor had a split second to turn her head to the side. All she saw was the blur of a large black vehicle a few feet before her.

The black cab smashed into the shop doorway, imploding the wooden and glass door and crushing Jenny in half against its brick surround. The cab driver left his seat and was propelled through the windscreen by the force of the impact. Glass shattered over him and the bonnet of the cab as he slumped out from the drivers' cabin. Jenny's eyes closed. Her body was almost cut in two and it slid down beneath the front of the car. She crumpled into a ball in the doorway and died amongst the splinters of wood and shards of broken glass.

Oliver and Mary huddled on the floor as they heard the loud bang and smash from the taxi striking the wall. Oliver picked Mary up and they walked the three paces back around the corner and looked at the scene. Oliver could only see Jenny's twisted legs protruding from beneath the cab. He swallowed hard and looked up to the sky.

"We have to go," was all Mary could think to say.

40.

Oliver and Mary attracted the attention of the occasional Londoner. Oliver's face was bruised and his lip swollen. They were both grubby from having spent time on the dusty pavement in Balham Grove. They had made a sharp exit from Balham High Road, cut through back streets and rejoined the road higher up. As they boarded the bus they could hear the wail of sirens in the distance.

The red London Bus followed a similar route to the underground, through Clapham and Kennington towards Waterloo.

The bus was thankfully sparse of passengers. Oliver and Mary sat in the middle near the automatic doors, ready to exit the bus even if it was in motion should another attack arise. The few passengers that were on the bus would have assumed the discussion they had was a lovers tiff.

"I can't believe this is happening. Why are they after us Oliver? Can't we reason with them? Mary asked.

"They're beyond reason, they won't rest until we're dead," Oliver hung his head exhausted by the fear that gripped him.

"We should go to the police."

Oliver took Mary by her arms, "Mary, you don't understand. In the future they have built a vast army of soldiers with the power to regress, to take over people in the way you've just seen. That's how they killed Minnie. They have thousands upon thousands of them searching, hunting, with a single goal to extinguish me and wipe out the legacy of Tempus Genesis."

"The police can protect us," Mary said.

"If we go in we will get arrested. Think. Jamie was killed in my flat. That arrest will become a record and in the future they use all records to pinpoint where I or you have been. We'd get killed in our prison cell by another prisoner or even a cop. They'd just send a soldier back, regress into someone in the cells and we'd be like rats caught in a trap."

"I can't cope Oliver, you have to do something, I'm going to lose it," Mary's voice raised with escalating panic.

"Hold on, just let me think," Oliver took Mary's hand and held it in his. He fell quiet on the bus and closed his eyes to concentrate.

Mary broke the silence, "What about Blooms?"

"Blooms?" Oliver opened his eyes and gave Mary a puzzled look.

"I know it sounds mad, but he is a reputable scientist, show him your laptop, the work the research, explain how our friends died. He could think of someway of protecting us, a way to break our link with them."

"That's it," Oliver said.

"You think it could help?" Mary asked.

"Not Blooms, no, it's the laptop. I should have thought of it, before. I did its just I should have just got rid of it when I first thought of it," Oliver looked bereft.

"I don't get it?"

"Once I burned my diary, stopped the experiments, it all went quiet for a while. Over time, I guess, that lack of activity rippled into a possible future where Tempus Genesis was not developed. But the longer I've left it the more chance the laptop and all its data could kick it all off again. I have to destroy the laptop."

Mary tried to understand his reasoning, she hoped it would be true. She had nothing else to hang on to. They sat in silent vigilance as the bus worked its way towards the Thames River.

"Let's get off here," Oliver said as the bus drove along Lambeth Palace Road. They stood up and rang the bell, when the bus stopped and the doors opened they cautiously exited the bus onto the pavement. They walked to the pathway that ran adjacent to the Thames. Down the river and ahead of them they could see the London Eye, County Hall and St Thomas' Hospital.

It was only eight thirty but the riverside was more popular with tourists and there was a notable swell in the numbers of people around. Oliver could not decide whether this was a good thing or not. They were made more anxious by the sudden increase in noise of sirens and police vehicles speeding around. An unmarked BMW with a blue light blazing and siren blasting screamed by at high speed.

Oliver put his arm around Mary, "I think this is where we say goodbye Mary. They need to kill me not you, Jenny's DNA put her at risk from them."

"And Jamie? Why did they kill him? I know as much as Jamie did. Anyway I can't just walk away and leave you, our lives have changed for ever now. Get the laptop, tie it to a rock and throw it in the Thames. It might work, burn your papers, just kill the whole project," Mary took his arm off from around her.

She held his hand and pulled him forward, "Come on let's do whatever it is needs doing, let's do it now."

Mary seemed determined to see this through with Oliver. He walked on with her, his heart racing at the thought of returning to the laboratory. Oliver had a heady cocktail of emotions racing through him, fear, regret and loss. However grief stricken, sick and confused he felt, he did not want to destroy the Tempus Genesis framework. But he knew he must.

It was quiet around the foot of St Thomas' Hospital. They walked across the grass and approached the fire exit where Oliver had first greeted them some weeks ago. Oliver pulled at the door, it was locked from the inside.

"Do you have a key?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, I hid it around here somewhere," Oliver walked away from her and went to a nearby bush. He rummaged around in the undergrowth and returned with a large rock. Oliver tapped the rock on the glass, then struck it. The pane shattered, Oliver threw the rock away and reached in carefully. He found the metal bar release mechanism and lifted it up and away from him. The door clicked and Oliver opened it outwards towards him.

Oliver said, "Wait here. I'll be ten minutes max. Once it's done we need to go somewhere unpredictable. Somewhere we'd never go, never have gone. Then we can think and think some more. We need space to think."

"The Aquarium," Mary said.

"What?"

"We always said we'd never go to the Aquarium, Minnie said it would be a pile of crap and full of brats."

"The aquarium it is then, ten minutes," Oliver disappeared into the gloomy stairwell leaving Mary alone.

Mary eased the door to so it appeared closed. She paced up and down the walls of the hospital and walked in circles around the grass area in front of the hospital, trying her hopeless best to look casual.

Oliver walked down the stairs slowly, nervously. His heart thumped in his ears and his hands trembled. The basement complex was in silence. When he had studied during 'working hours' he had to remain locked in his laboratory to avoid discovery. Oliver often preferred to work at night when he could worry less about noise. He had developed sound to accompany the regression images and he preferred to allow them both to be recorded when he was regressing. Oliver would marvel at the playback knowing he had unravelled the most fantastic discovery. Even once he had developed the vaccine for Jenny he had relentlessly developed the technology he felt certain would earn him millions.

As he reached the bottom stair he was disgusted by this memory and the greed that had driven him on blindly. Oliver walked silently along the labyrinth corridors until he reached the door to his laboratory. The door was open. Given the contents of the room Oliver was angry his well paid security guard had left the lab unlocked. He wondered if the guard was inside.

"Jonathan?" he called in with a whisper. There was no reply.

Oliver quietly slipped inside the room and closed the door behind him. He walked across the darkened room to the desk and turned on the first of two lamps on the desktop. The desktop lamp light shone on the laptop and he unplugged the charger and USB wires that led to the brain scanner and smashed television. Underneath the desk was Dyers original leather holdall and Oliver placed the laptop inside. He collected up papers and reports, every record or note that indicated any link with the study of regression. He packed them into the bag. As he packed he thought he would set the bag on fire and once ablaze hurl it into the Thames. Oliver hoped this would seal the jar shut.

"You're doing right losing the lap top Oliver," said a soft voice from the shadows across the room.

Oliver jumped at the sound but recognising the voice he lifted back the lamps head to illuminate across the room. Jack Splinter shielded his eyes a little, he sat on one of the sofa beds in the corner.

"What are you doing here Jack? Look I'm sorry if I've led you up the garden path with this but I've closed down the research."

Jack said, "You see in another ripple in time, you were due to leave for Vietnam and you had decided to ditch the laptop. But just before you unplugged that laptop, you uploaded all the research onto your store and share account. Leaving the Tempus Genesis framework in some form of online stasis. That really pissed them off. They can't be sure you haven't already done that, yesterday maybe, a few days ago?"

"What are you talking about Jack?" Oliver lifted the bag and stepped to the other side of the desk.

"Marmon sends his regards subject Oliver," Jack said in a less than friendly voice.

Oliver switched on the second lamp shedding more light on Jack sat there in amongst the shadows. The extra light revealed a large rucksack by his side with wires protruding from the open zip. Two wires ran from the bag into Jacks hands. He held them along with a large battery in both his hands. Large bags of what looked like garden compost were piled up either side of Jack.

"What's in the bag Jack?" Oliver asked not wanting an answer.

"A large bomb Oliver. Do you like it? I made it myself," Jack smiled a soft insanity infused smile.

"You don't have to do this Jack, they play with your mind, manipulate you. This bag is going in the Thames, the research is over. Jenny is dead there is no future plague, they are deceiving you Jack."

"Oh, they're not so bad Oliver, I've quite gotten to know them in the few weeks they have been parked inside my mind," Jack placed the battery between his knees and took a wire in each hand. At the top of the bag a syringe protruded from the zip. Jack worked smoothly though he had sweaty hands, a clammy face and staring eyes as if possessed by madness.

"Don't do this, I was just trying to help a friend," Oliver pleaded quietly.

"In searching for a cure for Jenny Oliver, you condemned the future of mankind. I'm sorry son, you have to be deleted. And they've promised to spare my wife," Jack plunged the syringe sending a catalytic agent into the large container of volatile chemicals concealed in the rucksack.

Oliver raised his voice, "No don't Jack."

O liver dropped the holdall, raised his hand and stepped forward. Jack hooked one wire onto the negative terminal of the battery.

Oliver worked his way quickly around the room, dodging the desk and the regression chair. Oliver had his arm outstretched ready to grab Jack's hand holding the red wire he was aiming to hook onto the positive terminal.

"Sorry kid," Jack hooked the second wire onto the battery.

Oliver stopped and half crouched and raised his arms to shield his body with his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself from the blast.

Nothing.

Jack rambled to himself angrily and examined his beloved bomb, he checked the wires. Oliver slowly stood up and watched Jack check for a fault.

"Shit. Why hasn't it worked? What? Do what? Oh, just tighten the wire, okay," Jack smiled at Oliver as if to say 'simple'.

Oliver was too far away to stop Jack, too close to the lab door to resist the urge to run for his life. He sprinted for the door, flung it open wide and ran as fast as he could.

"You won't escape this baby," Jack called after him.

Oliver ran.

"I am tightening it. I'm going as fast as I can goddamnit," Jack muttered to himself.

Oliver could hear Jack still shouting to himself as he ran hard down the corridor. He ran through several turns and round the final corner that presented the steps ahead of him. Nothing, no explosion, hopefully it had failed. He kept running and hit the steps at full speed taking them two at a time. He climbed the three flights and on the turn for the final flight he began shouting.

"Mary get back, there's a bomb, run, run."

Ten steps from the top he heard a distant zip, a sucking sound and he felt the air draw from around him. Then he heard a whoosh and the air went warm. Then the full blast came. He glanced down and saw a ball of fire racing up the stairwell below him.

Mary was unsure what to do. Oliver had been more than fifteen minutes let alone ten. She had decided to follow him in when she heard running up the steps, fast steps sprinting towards the fire exit door.

"Run, run Mary," she recognised Oliver's voice and began to step back away from the exit. As his screams got louder she quickened her retreat. Then she heard the explosion.

Oliver burst from the door way and sprinted hard, within a second his fleeing figure was consumed within a blast of flames and smoke. The force of the explosion rocked the hospitals concrete pillars and threw Oliver forward. The energy from the blast threw him clear of the escaping flames and knocked Mary to the ground.

Oliver dragged himself up to his knees with the blast ringing in his ears. He looked across to Mary, she was splayed out face down. Mary stretched out and rolled onto her back and sat up. Oliver slowly stood up and checked himself over, no bones broken.

"Did you do that?" Mary asked looking behind him to the jets of flames that gushed out of the burning doorway. Fire and smoke licked its way out from the basement areas at several points around the entire hospital's ground floor. The bomb had caused extensive damage and fire was breaking out throughout the hospital.

Oliver shook his head, "We'd better get away from here."

He helped Mary stand and they walked away towards the direction of the County Hall.

41.

Chaos reigned in and around St Thomas' hospital. A full evacuation of all patients and staff was underway. The major incident policy had been invoked and fire, ambulance and police were racing to the scene. Patients, staff and the pubic wandered around the streets that surrounded the hospital bewildered by what had taken place. The damage from the blast was largely isolated to the basement areas but flames had breached doorways to the ground floor and a series of small fires were spreading into larger ones. The fire was flowing across the ground floor café and out-patient areas making evacuation difficult. Acrid black smoke billowed into the surrounding streets.

Oliver and Mary walked across Westminster Bridge Road and descended the steep steps that would drop them down onto the esplanade in front of the County Hall. The Hall was a large nineteenth century designed council building. An opulent cavernous building with a striking riverfront façade.

Whilst Oliver and Mary approached the Hall, the tourists that had been queuing for the attractions to open (the Aquarium, the Salvador Dali museum) went in the opposite direction. They wanted to climb the steps and watch a potential major disaster unfold before them.

It would be thirty minutes before the Police secured control of the area, closed the attractions and evacuated the hotels, cafes and residencies in the streets across a quarter mile radius. Oliver and Mary arrived at the door of the London Aquarium which now had almost no queue.

Mary took out her purse from her coat pocket as they walked in and paid their admission with her Visa card. The staff noticed their dishevelled state but everyone was too distracted by events outside to take much interest in them. Along with around a dozen determined tourists they were the first visitors in the three storey aquarium which descended into the enormous subterranean cellars of the County Hall.

Oliver and Mary wandered through the exhibits, meandering down the semi-dark levels showing little interest in the giant tank of blue water that formed the central piece of the aquarium. A three story underground lake containing hundreds of exotic fish from around the world. An exhibit polished off by six eight foot tiger sharks. They elegantly circled the tank they were held in. In half an hour it would be feeding time, something the early doors tourists had specifically arrived for.

"What the fuck happened Oliver?" Mary eventually asked once they found themselves alone.

They stood over the Ray Pool exhibition and watched small manta rays swim around the large open tank. One swam towards Oliver's hand which he dangled in the water. He stroked the human friendly fish.

"You remember Jack Splinter?" Oliver said.

"The guy who was getting you connected with Bell-Smith."

"Yeah, well the same agency that is hunting me got to Jack. Turned his mind, somehow got him to build a bomb and bang. You just saw for yourself."

"Jesus, how do you build a bomb?"

"I have no idea, but there it was in a big rucksack. He tried to detonate it with me there, tried to wipe me out."

"My god," Mary slipped her arms around Oliver and they held each other tight.

"What now?" Mary asked.

"I still have no idea," Oliver replied his mind vacant of options.

Mary pulled away from Oliver when an elderly couple entered the Ray pool area, joining them in the dimly lit room. The elegant senior pair positioned themselves a polite distance away on the next side of the square tank. The four exchanged smiles and nods. The elderly couple spoke quietly in a foreign language not distinguishable from across the water. They too traced fingers across the top of the water to attract the rays to them.

"Well, we have bought some time to think hopefully," Mary said.

"That bomb should confuse any search you would imagine, I reckon we have about fifteen, maybe thirty minutes until they evacuate here," Oliver said.

Mary noticed the fizzing popping noise first coming from the water. She looked up and across the smooth surface of the clear water to where the noise was coming from.

The old mans fingers were stirring the water but as he did the water was steaming and bubbling at his touch. Blue static danced from his fingers and evaporated as it touched the water.

"Not already?" Mary said tugging at Olivers arm.

"What?" Oliver asked as he responded to Mary's call for his attention.

The old lady was staring at her husband confused at his sudden vacant look and ignorance of her conversation. Frustrated she raised her voice to gain his attention.

"Gerben."

Gerben was no longer home alone. His face contorted and he set his chest back, cracked his fingers together as the visitor in him secured control. Energy flowed into Gerben giving him the strength of a much more youthful man. The lines and creases filled out and in an instant he looked twenty years younger.

"GERBEN." his wife shouted. His response was to strike her so hard she flew across the room and fell hard to the floor.

Oliver and Mary were too exhausted to run yet again but both could see the foe who faced them would be difficult, if not impossible, to beat.

Oliver watched as Gerben gained years and physical strength as he slowly walked around the tank towards them.

"They're advancing the technology all the time," he said to himself.

Mary looked around the room, searching the dark corners and exits. The light from the water cast ripples across the walls and ceiling. And across Gerben whose visitor was adapting his body for attack.

"Lift," Mary said and pointed towards the lift by the exit. She pulled Oliver and they ran a dozen steps to the lift.

Mary pressed the call button and turned to check on Gerben's progress. He was now lined up thirty metres away and about to run.

"We don't have time," Oliver said.

The lift doors opened. Gerben broke into a sprint. His wife rolled around the floor behind him stunned and in pain. Oliver bundled Mary in and they pressed for the top floor. Gerben rapidly traversed the Rays room towards the lift. His bulking frame quickly filled the view of Oliver and Mary as he advanced upon them.

"Go, go go," Mary cried hitting the door close button repeatedly.

"Wrong move," Oliver said and stood side on to react to the attack.

The doors began to ease together. Gerben stretched out his arm, his hand outstretched. His face was contorted but determined, black eyes staring at them and blue hues tracing across his face. Just as the doors were about to close Gerben caught one door sliding his fingers in the gap. He eased them through, Oliver punched and scratched at their assailant's hand. The doors sensed the pressure and opened again.

"Shit," Mary said. Gerben stood back and smiled a grotesque joker's grin.

Oliver noticed Gerben had stepped back and instinctively tried to steal an advantage. He dipped his shoulder and burst forward to tackle Gerben. As strong as he had become Gerben was surprised by the rapid strike and fell back. Both men fell to the floor.

"Oliver, get back in, get back in," Mary shouted.

Oliver and Gerben grappled together. Oliver knew he had to escape his clutches, he could be no match for the powerful beast the old man had become. Oliver gouged hard into Gerben's eye with his thumb, making the old man cry out and unbeknown to Oliver sending a shot of pain to the visitor. Gerben's grip softened slightly and Oliver shuffled down Gerben's body and freed himself.

The lift doors were closing once more and Oliver ran back in, just squeezing between the closing doors. Gerben was up and in close pursuit. The doors closed and Oliver and Mary jumped at the loud fist that struck the door from outside. The lift started to rise.

"Where now?" Mary asked.

"We need a desert island. An unpopulated area."

"Not central London then?"

"Shit no," Oliver replied.

The lift arrived at the top level of the aquarium. Oliver and Mary stood anxious half worrying Gerben would be there waiting for them. The doors opened and they carefully stepped out. The area was deserted.

"Shall we leave?" Mary asked.

"No, let's try here," Oliver said. He took Mary's hand and led her a dozen steps across the corridor with its ocean painted walls.

He stopped at a 'Strictly Staff Only' sign on a code controlled door. Oliver took three steps back and put his force into kicking the door hard, it broke and splintered around the lock but didn't open. Oliver checked around that they were still alone. He repeated his effort and the door gave way. They both stepped inside the restricted area and closed the door behind them.

Once inside they could see they were in a complex that served the main tank. Steel stairs rose up onto a series of gantries and store rooms. This was the area where the tank was serviced for feeding and cleaning.

"Let's find somewhere to hide for a while," Oliver said. He led the way and ran up the steel stairs.

Lost for any wiser options Mary followed. They walked along a steel gantry which had bridges off of it that stretched across the top of the tank. The clear water rippled a few feet below. Access hatches, for feeding and maintenance divers, were dotted around the steel mesh that stretched across the main exhibit of the aquarium. Pipes of different sizes and lengths intertwined and ran along walls and above the bridges.

A second set of stairs went up above to what appeared to be a control room for the various pipes and regulators needed to keep the tank working. Underneath the stairs were large boxes of fish meal and behind the boxes a space.

Oliver ran to the second stairs and went to the space beneath.

"In here," he said gesturing to Mary to climb under the stairs.

"What?"

"Get in here, we can catch our breath and think through our options. Without some tourist or staff member getting possessed and attacking us. Come on, in here."

"Okay," Mary said reluctantly and she crouched down and squeezed into the space.

Oliver ducked in after her and they sat together in the small space. They had their backs against the wall and knees tucked up. Oliver slid a large box of fish meal across to completely conceal them.

"Unless they know how to regress into fish food we should be okay," Oliver said with a weak smile for there was no fun to be found in the moment.

"Okay, we need to think. Think." Mary said and she closed her eyes and tried to collect her thoughts and generate a master plan.

"God I'm thirsty," Oliver said and he tried to lick his dry lips with his dry tongue.

Oliver also closed his eyes and for a moment they had found solace. A private place to draw a second wind and plan.

"Tempus Genesis is truly destroyed?" Mary asked.

"Gone up in smoke. Completely, without a trace, nothing left in my place either."

"If we can get away, disappear for a while, even a day or two, the fact it is now extinguished might cause another ripple, like you said. It might stop things again," Mary wondered in a whisper.

"When I stopped the research, the warnings stopped. Your right it could happen again it might settle down as the destruction of the research feeds into time. We may well be okay. I should have heeded the warnings earlier. God what have I done," Oliver said.

Mary offered no words of condolence and they fell quiet and began thinking some more.

Oliver broke the silence, "I am sorry."

Mary opened her eyes and looked at Oliver. Mary's eyes widened in fear as she realised Oliver's apology was not for what he had done but was for what he was about to do. Oliver turned to face Mary revealing the left side of his face. Mary recoiled in horror. She stared at the side of his head that had been turned away from her. His twisted eye gazed coldly at her and from his drooping mouth a protruding lolling tongue. Blue static crackled around his face.

His left arm shot across his body and grabbed Mary by the throat, slamming her back against the wall.

"No," Oliver hissed to himself.

"Oliver please, don't let them control you, fight back," Mary cried.

Oliver slurred, "I'm trying. Sorry."

His possessed left arm tightened on Mary's throat. He tried to pull back from the damage he knew this was causing, by grabbing his left hand with his right. There was no contest.

Mary held on to Oliver's powerful grip. Her eyes were shut tight as she railed at the pain and fought to breathe. His hand relaxed slightly for a moment.

Mary looked into Oliver's unaffected eye, she felt the grip loosen on her throat.

"Oliver that's it fight them."

The loosening was merely an adjustment to secure a better purchase on Mary's neck. Oliver's visitor had full control. He pulled Mary's head away from the wall and then rammed it back hard. Her head struck the wall and the force dinted the wall and burst her skull open. Blood and cerebral matter exploded outwards. Oliver released his grip and Mary remained upright for a second. Slowly she slid away from him, blood streaking down the wall in an arc, as she slumped to the floor lifeless.

Oliver's conscience emerged from within his imprisonment. He screamed a loud protesting wail.

"Why?" he sobbed. Then he heard the voice inside his head. It spoke to him from a distant plane.

"Well done agent Oliver, you have served us well."

Oliver recognised the voice and clipped tone, Marmon.

"I don't get this, you didn't have to kill my friends," Oliver spluttered through his Quasimodo contorted face.

"Oh but we absolutely did have to kill your friends. We are close to our goal and here at HOPE we thank you for your able assistance."

"I have done nothing to help you you murderous bastards."

"On the contrary we would have not been successful without you. Feed him the memory images, stimulate the parietal cortex."

Images, memories and feelings all poured painfully into Oliver's mind.

"Your first strike was your noble mentor the Professor."

Oliver could see a replay of his life through his minds eye. He was arriving at Dyers residence in the Vinh Long region. It was the night he had been invited for dinner. An image of Dyer and him talking. Oliver leaving briefly and returning, in the reflection of the glass he was naked. Dyer's look of shock and surprise. Then his hand lifting the sharp chopping knife. Then the attack and the clean strike opening up Dyers throat. A further image of Oliver bathing in the river, cleaning the blood spray from himself and dressing. Then his return to find Dyer dead and the grieving housekeeper.

"Never. I would never do that."

"Look at the crumpled body by your side Oliver, you are more than capable of taking life."

"The housekeeper she saw Dyer take his life, stop fucking with my mind."

"We did in fact fuck with her mind. Planted a false memory to provide you with the perfect alibi. Then your big friend," Marmon continued.

More images. This time Oliver was on Hungerford Bridge and walking across it. He saw Minnie arrive at the far side.

"No way. No way." Oliver thrashed around under the stairs kicking out and bursting the boxes by him, sending fish feed pouring across the floor of the maintenance room of the aquarium.

Oliver grabbed hold of Minnie. The look Oliver had seen on Minnie's face was not just of horror, but of horror and recognition. He propelled Minnie and him over the bridge. Once under the water he forced Minnie down, ensuring sufficient disorientation to prevent him from finding the surface. Murky darkness and then he emerged breathless at the edge of the Thames, clambering onto the embankment to safety. The energy of his visitor giving him the strength to escape the strong currents of the river.

"Remember how wet you were when you stood at the foot of the bridge," Marmon reminded him.

"Fuck off out of my head you arrogant prick," Oliver screamed.

His cries attracted the attention of staff in the control room. They looked down and could see thrashing amongst boxes at the foot of the stairs. They dialled three threes for security.

"And just this morning, you're finest moment in my opinion."

Back in Oliver's flat. Jenny emerges from the kitchen simultaneously with Mary stepping out from the bathroom. The shock on their faces as they see Jamie's limp body hanging from Oliver's powerful grip. Jenny screaming and Mary simply running to the door to escape.

"This is not real, I will not believe this, you are just trying to break me," Oliver began clawing at his face and head, ripping open the skin with his bare hands. He rolled out of the space under the stairs and writhed on the gantry by the bridges over the tank.

"Well we are trying to break you, that is correct," Marmon conceded.

Oliver laid still for a moment, "Brown. Brown. David Brown. I wasn't even in the country when he died. None of these images you're feeding me are true."

"The truth is a sideshow agent Oliver. David Brown was a combined effort. A simple task with a paranoid schizophrenic. You called him time and again warning him we were looking for him, telling him Dyer chose death over the living torment we would bring. He tried to argue with you but you ground his paranoid mind down. By the time one of our own entered his mind he was only too willing to end his life."

Oliver could see an image, a memory? He was on the streets of Ho Chi Min talking on his mobile, insistent, persuasive tones. Then David Brown in his flat stomping around arguing into his phone. David falling to his knees, dousing himself in lighter fluid and taking out his lighter. Then whoosh.

The two staff watched from the control room with puzzled and frightened looks on their faces. Oliver had emitted yet another protesting scream. Not only was the behaviour bizarre but when the figure looked up towards them they saw the face of a demon with contorted features spitting blood and bile.

More images. Oliver dumping Jamie's body to the floor and setting off in pursuit of Mary. Rushing down the stairs, bursting out of the flat into the street. Mary some distance off down the avenue. Jenny chasing after him pleading for him to stop.

"I thought at this point we had lost the moment and might have to regroup. However, you are very resourceful."

Oliver curled up and moaned a low groaning wail.

Mary disappearing off of Balham High Road. Jenny catching up with Oliver as he considered his next move. Oliver slamming her into the shop door, smashing the glass. Then stepping to one side and a confused look on her face as he backed away. Just before the taxi slammed into her killing her instantly.

"Nice choreography don't you think agent Oliver," Marmon applauded the coordination of Oliver and the visitor controlling the driver of the black cab.

Oliver stood to his feet, "Got to escape, need help."

Two security guards entered and stopped short at the hideous disfigured sight in front of them. Oliver staggered forward.

"Hold on mate, look just calm down and we can get you some help," was the best the guard could muster in the freakish situation he had walked into.

Oliver steered away from him and stumbled onto a bridge across the large three storey sea water filled tank.

"You are just trying to break me, feeding me sick visions to destroy my mind," yelled Oliver.

"We're not trying to harm you mate, look come back over here," offered the second guard to try to engage the disturbed creature on the bridge.

"Time to die Oliver, you know you're time has come," Marmon said more gently than he had ever spoken to Oliver before.

A final image. Mary on a different bus ahead of the bus Oliver was on. Abject fear on her face. He could see her dialling on her mobile, summoning help.

"Jack Splinter?" Oliver muttered.

"We needed him to destroy the Tempus Genesis Framework in your laboratory. The timing of it couldn't have been better."

Ahead of the bus Mary was on Oliver could see St Thomas' hospital a short distance in front. Then the explosion and both his bus and the bus Mary travelled on braked hard. The blast burst flames out from under the hospital and across the road they were driving down. Panic set in and the passengers evacuated the buses and set off in different directions fearing for their lives. All Mary could do was watch Oliver as he disembarked from his bus and walked towards her. She set off running screaming into her phone.

"Jack's bomb distracted the police sufficiently to prevent them from being able to respond to Mary's cries for help."

Mary entering the aquarium her panic and pleas ignored by the panic around her from the explosion. Then finally Oliver finding her, hidden in the backroom of the aquarium, cowering behind a makeshift defence of fish food boxes under the stairs. One final final image for effect of Oliver bursting her head open against the wall.

Oliver arched his head back and tore at his eyes whilst screeching frantically.

"Noooo," he howled at the steel ceiling above him.

"Calm down mate, calm down," the first guard shouted. Neither guard wanted to approach the howling beast on the metal bridge.

The two staff from the control room had come out of their base and watched on from the top of the stairs.

The second guard look at the mess of fish food and scattered boxes. He saw two feet sticking out from under the boxes, then noticed the blood stained wall and a woman's head in the corner. He nudged the first guard and pointed to the body.

"Oh no," the first guard muttered as he saw the dead woman under the stairs, "It's no good, phone the police," he called to the staff outside the control room. One of them hurried back inside to dial three nines.

Oliver crouched down and rocked up and down on his heels, his voice faded to a low growl.

"The survival of the human race Oliver, that is all we can hope for, sleep well," Marmon said.

Oliver burst up into the air, one hand swiftly inoculated his left eye, another ripped his throat open. He popped up and over the side of the gantry bridge. The guards and maintenance staff all reeled back at the ferocity of Oliver's leap. His body hit the steel mesh once and then rolled forward through an access hatch into the aquarium tanks water. As his body struck the water hot steam billowed up in reaction to the critically hot temperature his skin had reached. The guards shielded their faces at the jets of steam that burst up around them.

Helen and her daughter Rosie stood in front of the tank on the lowest basement floor of the aquarium.

"Do those sharks want to eat me mummy," asked Rosie as would any four year old.

"No darling, they just like fish and seafood, they wouldn't want to eat you, you're two sweet," Helen tickled Rosie who shrieked and giggled in response.

Around twenty people had resisted being panicked by the explosion outside. Some of them had no knowledge of the incident having arrived at the aquarium from a different direction. These tourists were determined to see feeding time for the sharks.

The visitors to the attraction looked up as they saw movement in the water above. A million fizzing bubbles, forming a cloud in the water, was descending through the centre of the tank towards where they stood.

"Look Rosie, feeding time for the sharks," Helen said as she pointed up to the mass falling through the water.

The fish and especially the sharks became excited by the disturbance in the water and the scent the object was emitting. The cloud of bubbles rolled around a darker mass that could be seen at its centre. Blue and red coloured bubbles mixed in the swirling foam as Oliver's blood and energy flowed out and around him.

As Oliver's body neared the bottom of the tank it rolled out of the bubble cloud. His disfigured face stared blankly at the visitors who were expecting hunks of fish. They screamed as his empty eye socket stared back at them and his torn throat flapped like a diver's flipper. Then the sharks attacked. They could not believe the feast that had been thrown in for them and they nipped and tore at Oliver's body pulling it around the tank.

Electrical sparks fizzed as they bit but they were not put off by the tingling sting it gave them each time they snapped at his flesh. The sharks were ignorant to the fact that it took vast tightly bound energy, piped through time, to connect with a human several hundred years in the past. That energy had to be discharged somewhere if the connection was broke.

The dominant bull shark burst forward and took hold of Oliver's head by his gaping throat. With several rapid shakes and bites the head severed and came away in his razor toothed jaws. By now horrified visitors and staff were evacuating the exhibit, running screaming from the horror they had witnessed. Oliver's disfiguring of himself probably saved their lives as they had started to flee the minute his ghastly face was revealed to them.

Once his head had been removed the regression energy had a conductor in the water and an exit through his neck to draw it from the future and out through his body. Oliver's headless corpse detonated emitting a powerful electrical discharge. The blue force slammed into the glass walls of the tank and exploded the thick viewing windows outwards. Countless shards the size of doors were propelled across the viewing area and washed out by the discharge of two and half million litres of sea water. In amongst the Piscean bedlam of three hundred different varieties of fish was Oliver's severely mutilated body and some distance away his head was hanging from the mouth of a flailing shark.

The corpse, barely the torso was left from the blast, came to rest many feet from the tank having washed down and around the corner away from the main exhibit. It bumped backwards and forwards against an exit door that did not open, undulating in the tidal flow created by the breached tank. A shark had suffered the same fete and though it was dying it instinctively bit at the body it was next to. Its jaws opened and closed slowly, repeatedly, on the jagged and torn flesh on what was left of Oliver's back.

42.

After Prometheus' theft of the secret of fire, Zeus ordered Hephaestus to create the first woman, Pandora, as part of the punishment of mankind. Pandora was given many seductive gifts from Aphrodite, Hermes, Hera, Charites, and Horae (according to Works and Days). For fear of additional reprisals, Prometheus warned his brother Epimetheus not to accept any gifts from Zeus, but Epimetheus did not listen, and married Pandora. Pandora had been given a large jar and instruction by Zeus to keep it closed, but she had also been given the gift of curiosity, and ultimately opened it. When she did so, all of the evils, ills, diseases, and burdensome labor that mankind had not known previously, escaped from the jar, but it is said, that at the very bottom of her jar, there lay hope. According to author Willem Verdenius, the myth is not intended to imply that Pandora acted out of malice in opening the jar as she quickly closed the jar immediately after opening it. Rather her curiosity is said to have been the cause of her actions.

Pandora's Box, Wikipedia
Epilogue

9:56 Sky News: Breaking News

Sky morning news anchorman Martin Brooker was the first to break the news.

"We're going to the weather now? No, not the weather. Okay as I have said a moment ago we have breaking news here on Sky. News reports are coming through of an explosion in central London. Possibly two explosions. The first occurred shortly before nine am at St Thomas' Hospital. That's the acute medical hospital in Lambeth that stands on the Thames opposite the Houses of Parliament, an imposing landmark over the river there. Witnesses say a large explosion shook the hospital and blew out windows and doors. Sky news reporter James Marshall is at the scene as Sky is first to bring you this breaking news. James Marshall."

James Marshall stood on Westminster Bridge in the shadow of Big Ben, he spoke to camera. Behind him the wide bridge was closed and cordoned off by police tape. Two Police Officers stood in front of a marked police car blocking the road. Another two officers, armed with semi-automatic weapons, added gravitas to the scene. Behind James Marshall flames and black smoke billowed up and around St Thomas' Hospital. The sound of emergency service sirens and shouting emergency personnel provided a constant backdrop to his report.

"Thank you Martin. I am on Westminster Bridge and as you can see behind me huge clouds of black smoke and flames surround St Thomas' Hospital this morning. Sky news has been told a large explosion occurred at about eight fifty five this morning. As we understand the seat of that explosion was in the basement area of the hospital. It shook the building and the blast blew out doors and windows. Traffic is at a standstill and the emergency services are on the scene tackling the blaze and assisting the emergency evacuation of the hospital. If my camera man can zoom in."

The camera zoomed past the shoulder of James Marshall to provide a close up image of Fire Engines, Police vehicles and Ambulances. Several fire tenders had ladders extended stretching up to the windows on the higher floors of the hospital. Fire personnel on the ladders guided fire hoses with high pressure jets of water dousing the burning building. A small number of people were being rescued through windows and slowly and carefully guided to safety down the long ladders by fire crew.

James Marshall narrated further for Sky viewers, "As you can see dramatic scenes, the fire is not under control and continues to burn fiercely. I understand fire crews are having difficulty getting to the heart of the fire in the concealed basement below the hospital. And dramatic images of rescues taking place live here on sky news. Evacuation through the ground floor has been hampered by acrid smoke, which we know can kill with just a few short inhalations so some patients and staff are being rescued through upper floor windows."

Martin Brooker, "Any suggestion of casualties James?"

James Marshall, "It is probably too early to tell, no official reports as yet but witnesses close to the scene are indicating that there have been fatalities."

Martin Brooker, "Dreadful news James, let us hope the fire is brought under control soon. Any ideas as to the cause of this massive explosion?"

James Marshall, "Only speculation at this stage. The basement is a storage area and also a research facility, it will house chemicals, medical equipment but how an explosion occurred we do not yet know."

Back in the studio the continuous news coverage on the large screen, to the side of Martin Brooker, showed three patients in dressing gowns and night clothes stepping off the bottom of a ladder, wrapped in blankets and then being taken to safety by fire officers and ambulance crew. The camera panned upwards and found its focus on more people being rescued.

James Marshall spoke to his news anchor colleague over the images on the screen in the studio, "Extraordinary scenes Martin, as you can see two, possibly three patients being helped to safety down an extended ladder. Carefully being guided down the precarious steps under the supervision of fire crews. Ambulances are waiting to provide whatever treatment the patients might need and to take them to nearby hospitals."

Martin Brooker, "Do we have any further information on the reports of a second explosion?"

James Marshall, "Witnesses on the scene reported a second much smaller explosion further down the Thames close to or inside the County Hall."

Martin Brooker, "Does this second explosion lead the police to believe we are dealing with an act of terrorism here?"

James Marshall, "The police are not being drawn on that question at this stage, for obvious reasons, but they have locked down the area and anti-terrorist officers have been mobilised and deployed at the scene and around other parts of the capital as I understand it."

10:19 Breaking News

The Sky News Helicopter hovered above the Thames with clear views of St Thomas' Hospital shrouded in smoke. The emergency services frenzied efforts buzzed around the hospital. The camera panned from the hospital across Westminster Bridge Road and over to the embankment in front of County Hall. The scene showed emergency services outside the County Hall and black suited, helmeted and armed police in numbers outside the entrance to the London Aquarium.

Martin Brooker provided commentary as the latest footage from the incident played out on the screen in the sky news studio, "Police interest has also extended to the now quite famous tourist attraction the London Aquarium. As you can see from the Sky News eye in the sky dramatic pictures as anti-terrorist police prepare to enter the basement venue which is resident below the County Hall in its vast cellar chambers. Now this aquarium is one of London's most popular attractions, attracting over a million visitors each year. We are receiving reports of an explosion inside the exhibition itself and unconfirmed reports and I have to stress unconfirmed reports that the explosion has breached the glass tank that contains two and a half million litres of sea water and over three hundred different species of tropical fish, including sharks."

11:36 Breaking News

James Marshall stood at the far eastern side of Westminster bridge with County Hall providing a backdrop to his report as he reported back to the studio, "Thank you Martin, Sky news is receiving new information almost by the second now. The fire at the hospital is under control though not entirely extinguished. The entire fourteen story and seven hundred bed hospital now stands empty with only fire crews and bomb disposal teams inside those premises. There have been several fatalities I am told. Over the bridge we have reports the police have cleared London Aquarium, two bodies, a man and a woman have been removed but there are no further fatalities I understand though a number of people including an elderly Dutch couple a man and wife in their sixties, I am told have been taken to hospital with minor injuries and the effects of shock."

Martin Brooker, "James in the studio here we have received reports that the large water tank, the rather grand central piece to the aquarium has been breached and all its contents have flooded the lower ground floor of the venue. Do you have any confirmation of that?"

James Marshall, "I have unofficial confirmation. A senior officer kindly told Sky news, though off camera for obvious reasons, that there appears to have been an explosion inside the tank and the viewing glass has been blown out. The explosion has occurred inside the water, inside the ocean exhibition rather."

Martin Brooker, "We are staying with you James, the producer is telling me we have an eye witness who was in the aquarium at the time. No not you James, over the river on the south bank of the Thames our sky reporter Lucy Williams is down by the London eye. Lucy what can you tell us?"

On camera Lucy Williams stood by the London Eye with the County Hall cordoned off by tape and armed police moving around in the background.

"Thank you Martin I am joined by Mister Jiro Yamamoto, a Tokyo business man who has been in the UK for two weeks and was in the London Aquarium when the incident took place. Mr Yamamoto thank you for talking to Sky News."

Jiro Yamamoto appeared on camera in front of Lucy, who interviewed him speaking loudly over the continued wail of sirens, "Now you were inside the aquarium at the time could you tell sky viewers what you saw?"

The middle aged grey haired business man, wearing casual jeans and a beige jacket nodded politely to Lucy and described what he saw.

"We were on the lower ground area of the attraction, waiting for the feeding time for the sharks to be announced. I was surprised it was still open as everyone was talking about the fire at the hospital. My wife and I and about twenty other visitors were watching all the fish and the sharks. Then a cloud of bubbles appeared high up, we assumed it was the food being thrown in. It was unusual and it had something rolling around inside this a kind of gas cloud. As it reached where we were we saw it was a man. He appeared dead or badly injured, it was very shocking. Everybody ran and as we escaped we heard an explosion and the sound of glass breaking. It was very frightening."

Martin Brooker from the studio, "Mister Yamamoto, its sky news Martin Brooker here."

Mister Yamamoto, "Hello sir."

Martin Brooker, "Could I ask you, did you notice any explosive device attached to this man, a rucksack or even a thick coat or heavy clothing perhaps."

Mister Yamamoto, "There was nothing that I could see, he wore only a summer shirt, light trousers, there was definitely no device attached to him."

01:15pm Breaking News

Lunchtime Sky anchorman Richard Butler was joined in the Sky studio by the returned sky reporter James Marshall, former Vice-Admiral Peter Brough-Clove, an anti-terrorist expert and a behavioural expert from Kings College, Professor Joyce Bryars.

Richard Butler spoke to viewers into his number one camera, "James Marshall has returned to the studios to provide Sky viewers with the latest installment of this extraordinary and frankly appalling story as it unfolds. But first over to Lucy Williams with the latest on the scene, Lucy."

Lucy Williams stood by the London Eye and reported to the studio, "Thank you Richard. Activity by the County Hall has calmed somewhat and as you can see from the Sky helicopter."

Images of St Thomas' Hospital from the air were shown. Thin wisps of smoke drifted upwards around the building. Fire personnel doused the ground floor with hoses. Around twenty fire tenders surrounded the hospital.

Lucy continued, "The fire from the hospital has been extinguished. Firemen have entered the basement area now, we understand the structure of the building is safe despite temperatures being reached at the height of the fire of a thousand degree Celsius. Clearly structural experts will be needed before that can be confirmed officially. Given the ferocity of the fire in that basement Sky has been told it may not be possible to retrieve bodies from the area, if indeed there have been any fatalities in that subterranean area."

Richard Butler, "Do we have the latest on the number of fatalities overall Lucy?"

Lucy Williams, "We do Richard. Sky news has been told that there are two confirmed dead in the County Hall incident. In the St Thomas' Hospital explosion we believe there are at least seven fatalities, mostly elderly and we understand all due to the effects of smoke whilst evacuating. Dozens more have been taken to Emergency Departments across London and the several hundred evacuees from the hospital are being found beds in those same hospitals. But this is London and many hospitals are full so we have makeshift wards being set up in local schools and council buildings. Richard."

Richard Butler, "Thank you Lucy Williams. If I could turn to you James first."

Back in the studio Richard Butler engaged his panel of sky's chief reporter and two accompanying experts.

Richard Butler, "We are now beginning to piece together the most bizarre picture which suggests the most unusual of terrorist attacks. Where on earth has this come from?"

James Marshall, "The story just gets more incredulous as more detail emerges Richard. Whilst it is patchy we seem to have what appears to be a planned attack on central London. This is all unconfirmed but at about five am this morning a team consisting of a doctor, psychiatrist and social worker, with police support attended a wealthy residence in West Purley. What started out as an assessment under the mental health act quickly turned into a manhunt. The owner, a highly successful business man who had reported mental health problems and marriage difficulties had left the residence. In the garage police found bomb making equipment."

Richard Butler, "That is a very puzzling picture James. We can't name this man just yet but did he have any suspected links to any terrorist groups?"

James Marshall, "None whatsoever it would seem at this stage, but this story will run. Police suspect he is behind the St Thomas' Hospital bombing."

Richard Butler, "So it is confirmed the explosion is the result of a device of some kind?"

James Marshall, "Not confirmed but strong suspicions and what we know so far points that way."

03:02pm Breaking News

The Sky news helicopter hovered above Balham in South East London as it filmed police activity outside a house in leafy Ramsden Street. Police and Forensic officers in white boiler suits were quickly moving between incident response vehicles and a residence midway down the street.

In the studio Richard Butler continued live coverage of the days events, supported by his panel.

Richard Butler, "As Sky viewers can see the events of today seem to link to an apartment in Balham and a luxurious residence in West Purley. This story will take a lot of unraveling but Sky news will keep you as up to date as we can, as more breaks on this extraordinary and dark day in London. James the latest on the hospital explosion?"

James Marshall, "the police are saying all the indicators suggest a bomb was detonated under the hospital. Now it has emerged that the suspect had links with the man whose body has been recovered from the London Aquarium. Some months before they shared business interests and proposals with a large international media company."

Richard Butler, "Yet all eye witnesses Sky news spoke to, from the security staff to the visitors, no device could be seen with the attacker in the aquarium?"

James Marshall, "Not visible no, but late last year we had the Christmas day attack on the Detroit bound plane where the bomber concealed his explosives in his underwear. So we may be facing a situation similar to there. Possibly a much more sophisticated and I have to say powerful device than the failed device there."

Richard Butler, "So we believe the two are linked?"

James Marshall, "Unconfirmed but officers speaking to Sky news are saying these two men appear to have been working together. And adding to the mix two bodies have been found, one male in and one female nearby the Balham apartment we can see from the Sky helicopter. It is alleged this is the home of the second bomber."

Richard Butler turned to his extended panel, "Former Vice-Admiral Peter Brough-Clove, is this the work of Al-Qaeda?"

Peter Brough-Clove, "I don't think so. We have five dead who all had some link of some kind or another to each other, with a sixth friend having died in strange circumstances a short while before, he drowned after being attacked I understand. None are Muslim or linked to Muslim groups, no evidence of radicalization that we can see either. However, there are some patterns of behaviour that are not dissimilar to the actions of a terrorist cell. Alienation from family and loved ones, reclusive behaviours, dropping out of work and college. That kind of thing. What is missing is a cause, it is too early to tell, but there is no obvious binding cause to drive this group on to commit such an act."

Richard Butler, "You say group but in fact or from what we know, only two of the six who are dead have carried out the attack. The others could indeed be victims themselves. Professor Bryars, I turn to you as an expert in extremist group behaviours, what do you see here today?"

Professor Joyce Bryars, "From the picture that is emerging I see the actions of a group driven by a cause or religious type belief which would be viewed as perhaps alien to mainstream society. Often groups like these experience substantial tension between members, which leads me to believe we are witnessing the disintegration of a cult. The whole picture is more akin with a cult as opposed to a terrorist group. The man who died in the aquarium bombing I understand was an enigmatic and educated scholar from a professional background. He had some extreme ideas about human kind and almost religious beliefs about our ability to reconnect with history."

Richard Butler, "This is the background Sky news has found, which is emerging from University College London, where he was studying?"

Professor Joyce Bryars, "Precisely and his links with the West Purley media business man were to do with a failed proposal on a business proposition put to a large media company about four months ago. It was some kind of communication and social network business case. It is difficult to know how this links to events here, possibly they needed an income to keep going and when this failed maybe financial issues have played a role here. It is too early to know. However, the two seem to have combined with some shared strong beliefs, strong enough to feel the need to object in the most horrific of circumstances as we have seen today."

Richard Butler, "and the deaths of their friends Professor?"

Professor Joyce Bryars, "I am merely speculating but perhaps they disagreed with the intended attacks, perhaps that disagreement has led to violent altercations. Two men have carried out suicide bomb attacks and the three who knew one of them, possibly both of them, have died violent deaths. This kind of pattern is what one would find in extreme cults, take Waco for example."

Richard Butler, "Professor Bryars, Former Vice-Admiral Peter Brough-Clove and of course James Marshall thank you for now. We will of course return to this after the break. Coming up on Sky news, though it seems a little inconsequential today, the sport and weather. We will be right back."

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About the Author

This is Michael McCourt's first novel. He would love to hear comments and feedback on Tempus Genesis. There is the possibility of a second book, Michael would welcome your thoughts on this. Find him at;

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=684360476

Or email him;

michaelmccourt@sky.com

