Kel y overheard that. ‘You guys discussing the help message?’
And that shut up everyone around the re, even Franklyn.
‘Yes,’ replied Liam. ‘I’ve been giving it some thought, Becks … We would have to actual y reveal the exact date and location of our eld o ce.’
She frowned. ‘Negative. The location and time-stamp must remain known only to agency operatives.’
‘But we have to, do you not see? Because Sal and Maddy aren’t exactly likely to go fossil-hunting in Texas any time soon. It wil be someone else who nds it. And the only way it wil nd its way to them is if we reveal that.’
‘You know,’ said Kel y, ‘that kind of information would be mighty powerful stu . The fact that time-travel technology exists. The fact that humans have actual y been back to dinosaur times … that’s world-changing information, Liam. You understand that, don’t you? You mentioned time contamination and time waves and stu like that … Won’t it –?’
‘Oh, for sure,’ said Liam. ‘That’s the kind of nightmare we were recruited to prevent – contamination of the timeline.’
timeline.’
‘And yet you’l be causing it.’
‘I know … I know. But it’s the only way.’ He looked at Chan, sit ing quietly between Leonard and Juan. ‘The timeline is already badly broken. Who knows what state the future is in now? And, yes, by deliberately stamping a big ol’ message into the ground, we’re about to make it a lot worse. But – and it’s taken me some time to see this for myself – time is like, I dunno, like liquid. It’s uid. What can be changed can be changed right back, so long as you know where to go and what to do. And, of course, as long as you’ve got a time machine.’
Liam nodded at Chan. ‘We need to get Edward back to 2015. That xes part of the problem. Then, once we’ve done that, Becks and I wil come right back here and undo al that contamination.’
‘How?’
‘Very simple,’ said Liam.
CHAPTER 38
65 mil ion years BC, jungle
Liam looked down at the shale by his feet. He dragged a nger through it. The others watched curiously as his nger inscribed four let ers in the gravel. He spel ed the word Help. Then with his hand he messed it up. ‘We’l erase the message we just left,’ he said. ‘And everything that happened as a result of it being discovered, wel …
it’l al un-happen. It’l al be erased too.’
‘If your message includes the location of your base,’ said Kel y, ‘I assure you, it won’t be some curious fossil-hunter that turns up, it’l be some secret government agency. NSA, CIA, maybe some spooks we don’t even know about …
They’l storm the place. Kick the door in. Delta Force guys with guns. What you’ve got is too valuable.’
‘Oh.’ Liam hadn’t considered that.
‘You could be endangering your col eagues,’ said Laura.
‘They wouldn’t hurt them, would they? They’d just want to be asking questions, would they not?’
Kel y shrugged. ‘With something like time-travel technology at stake? Who knows? Our secret services have a long history of shooting places up rst and asking questions later.’
Whitmore cut in. ‘Oh, come on! They’re professionals, Whitmore cut in. ‘Oh, come on! They’re professionals, the best in the world!’
Several of the others joined in. Some agreeing with that, some of them disagreeing.
Liam looked at Becks. ‘Maybe this is not such a great idea.’
‘You wish me to proceed with the alternate plan?’ she said softly.
Liam looked at her, pleased that she’d had the sense to ask that in lit le more than a whisper. Not so encouraged, though, seeing one of her hands inching and reaching for a hatchet.
‘No, not yet,’ he said, reaching out and grasping her hand in his. ‘Not yet, OK?’
She nodded.
‘Unless,’ said Edward quietly, his voice almost lost beneath the to and fro of al the others. ‘Unless, there’s a real y important reason not to hurt anyone.’
The others stopped and looked at him. It was the rst thing he’d said al evening. Al day, in fact. Edward’s eyes widened as they al stared at him. ‘I … I was just saying …’
‘Go on,’ said Liam.
‘Wel … if part of your message was a … was in, like, a code. Then there’s a reason to … you know, not to want to shoot everyone up, because they know they’d need someone to decode it.’
Liam pursed his lips in thought. ‘That’s true.’ A code, a secret, hinting at stil further secrets and revelations. What secret, hinting at stil further secrets and revelations. What person wouldn’t want to know more?
‘If a message is going to lead some government spooks right up to the front door of your secret organization,’ said Kel y, ‘then you can bet the bit of the message they can’t make sense of wil be driving them nuts. Edward’s right. They’l want your col eagues alive.’
‘Al right,’ said Liam. ‘So then the rst bit of the message needs to be the time and place of our eld o ce.’
He turned to Becks. ‘That’s how the message wil nd its way to Maddy and Sal. The rest … the time-stamp they need to aim for, that bit should be the super-secret coded bit. Can you come up with a code, Becks?’
She nodded. ‘I can produce a mathematical algorithm and use that as an alpha-numeric o set code. My duplicate should be able to recognize the pat ern of the algorithm and produce a decode key.’
‘No,’ said Edward, shaking his head. ‘It’s too easy to break a math-based code. If they … you know, if they put a big enough computer on it, they could crack it. Simple.’
Kel y nodded. ‘And you can bet the NSA or the CIA or whichever bunch of spooks ends up cal ing wil have no shortage of computing power at their disposal to crunch your code.’
‘There is no other way to generate a code that can be unlocked at the eld o ce,’ said Becks. ‘My duplicate needs to have the same library of algorithms –’
‘Every math-based code can be broken,’ said Edward, his quiet voice nding a lit le more con dence, ‘you know?
quiet voice nding a lit le more con dence, ‘you know?
Eventual y. It’s just a case of how much computer power you put on it.’
‘Edward’s right,’ said Howard. ‘Think about it, what if the message is discovered, say …’ He turned to Whitmore and Franklyn. ‘When did they rst discover fossils in this place we’re headed to?’
Franklyn shrugged. ‘Early 1900s.’
‘Right. So if the American secret services of that time secured that fossil back then they’l have had a whole century of time to crack the algorithm and decode it before they come knocking.’
‘But computers powerful enough to work on it were only developed in the ’80s,’ said Juan. ‘Don’ forget that.’
‘That’s more than enough time,’ said Howard. ‘They’l come knocking knowing the entire contents of the message. Their only concern wil be securing your agency’s HQ and con scating al your technology. Your col eagues wil be a secondary consideration.’
‘Your code has to be like a personal thing,’ said Edward.
‘Like a secret. Something only you and they know.’
Howard shook his head. ‘I’m thinking this is a seriously bad idea. We could end up real y messing with history. And I thought you guys are meant to stop that kind of thing happening.’
‘And staying here, young man?’ said Whitmore. ‘What do you think that’s going to do to history? Homo-sapiens existing right now? Sixty-ve mil ion years before they’re due?’
due?’
Howard shrugged. ‘We won’t exist for long, though, wil we?’ His words silenced the teacher. ‘You actual y think the sixteen of us are going to survive and thrive? You think we’re going to breed and produce lots of o spring and establish a Cretaceous-era human civilization that’s going to change the world?’
Whitmore shrugged and half-nodded. ‘It’s possible.’
Howard laughed. ??
?No, it’s not. We’l eventual y die out here.’ He looked around at them. ‘There are six females in the group.’ He looked at Becks. ‘Not counting you. I’m not real y sure what you are.’
‘I am incapable of sexual reproduction,’ she replied atly.
‘Six fertile females,’ continued Howard. ‘We might be able to make a few babies, but there are too few of us to sustain ourselves. If disease doesn’t get us, or some hungry carnivore, then in-breeding would eventual y.’ He managed a wistful smile. ‘We’l die out soon enough … months, years, decades maybe … but it’l happen and history won’t be changed by us having been here. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Maybe we should accept we’re stuck here and –’
‘You can forget that!’ said Laura. ‘I want to go home!’
Kel y nodded. ‘I think we al want that, right?’
Heads nodded around the re.
Liam sat forward, held his hands out towards the re and rubbed them. ‘We’re doing the message, Leonard. We have to. Now I’ve just got to gure out something that only we … and they know.’
we … and they know.’
‘How big is your agency?’ asked Laura.
Liam smiled and replied hesitantly. ‘Oh, you know, it’s big. Lots of us, so there are.’
‘You know them wel ?’
‘Sure, we’re al pret y close.’
‘Friends?’
‘Yes, I’d like to think we’re –’
‘Then maybe there’s something like a song, or a lm or something? You know? Something like that you could use as a common reference point for –’
Liam suddenly felt his hand being crushed by a vice-like grip. He looked down and saw Becks was holding it, and squeezing it.
‘Ow! Becks, you’re hurting me,’ he hissed. ‘What’s the mat er?’
She let go and looked at him, her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise, and perhaps even elation. ‘I have had an idea, Liam O’Connor.’
CHAPTER 39
65 mil ion years BC, jungle
From the darkness they watched them. Beyond the il umination of the dancing yel ow ower in the middle. Broken Claw had seen this fascinating dancing creature only once before, after a storm. When a stab of light from the sky had come down and touched the long dead trunk of a tree. The yel ow ower had engulfed it, consumed it, producing such unbearable heat as it did so. He’d been young then. And ever since then the yel ow ower had been an occasional monster in his dreams, chasing him, reaching out for him, wanting so much to consume him. And now here it was, tamed like some sort of a pet by these new creatures. They were gathered around it, unafraid of it, every now and then casual y throwing a branch on to it and not even inching as the creature reared up angrily, sending tendrils of light up into the dark sky.He looked around at his pack, cowering further back down the slope, clearly unhappy at being out of the jungle and here in the open. This was not their terrain, this was not where they were strong. Open ground made them visible, it made them vulnerable. Larger predators existed in the open; large, lumbering and stupid predators like the in the open; large, lumbering and stupid predators like the tal upright one with tiny front claws, enormous jaws, powerful rear legs and a strong sweeping tail. His pack cal ed it Many-Teeth.
Out in the open Many-Teeth could quite easily kil them al . After al , Broken Claw’s kind were smal , fragile things compared to this powerful mountain of muscle and energy. But between them his family pack had kil ed quite a few in his living memory. And always in the same way: luring them into the jungle with the tempting cry of one of their young. A pitiful cry that perfectly replicated that of a young helpless plant-eater, a cry that signal ed fear and proved an irresistible taunt to one of those large stupid beasts. Once among the densely packed trees, unable to sweep its tail easily, unable to turn quickly, the pack was always able to leap upon the various Many-Teeth they’d lured in that way and begin to tear through their thick hides and rubbery bands of tough muscle tissue to the vulnerable soft tissues inside as they thrashed and roared. Broken Claw had led many such at acks in past seasons, always the rst to gnaw his way through the hide and into the bel ies of such creatures, slashing and pul ing through the vulnerable insides as the creature stil stomped and roared, pul ing himself towards the throbbing red organ in its chest. It was slashing at this that usual y fel ed a ManyTeeth. Broken Claw and the others knew that this organ –
which seemed to have a life of its own, which every species of creature seemed to possess – was the source of its very life.
its very life.
In the seasons of his youth, the jungles had once been ful of the larger stupid species. So many of them in fact that they often kil ed many more than they could eat, often only bothering to consume their favourite organs and leaving the rest of the carcass to rot.
But there were fewer now, far fewer of the bigger creatures. They only existed on the plain these days. Broken Claw understood a simple principle. They had hunted too many of them. They had been too successful for their own good in the jungle, and his family pack had been forced to migrate from one jungle val ey to the next several times during his lifespan. Now too, in recent seasons, this jungle had become sparsely populated –
another hunting ground that they’d almost completely exhausted.
There certainly was not enough food available in the jungle val ey for these new creatures as wel . Slowly, lightly, he glided forward across the loose shale, mindful that his agile feet not dislodge anything that might make the slightest noise. Behind him he heard the soft barking cough of one of his mates warning him not to get too close to these things. He ignored her. He needed to listen to the noises these things made. Perhaps their sounds could be learned, even mimicked. Perhaps they could employ the same technique they used on the Many-Teeth, identifying a sound that could be practised and used by their young to lure one of the new creatures away from the others.
others.
If just one of them could be isolated. They could study it, understand how dangerous it could be, understand its weakness. Perhaps in the last moments of its life, even share some of its intel igence. Then he could nd out if this creature also had the same ut ering red orb in its ribcage, the organ that provided life.
CHAPTER 40
65 mil ion years BC, jungle
Liam gazed up at the behemoth slowly ambling their way.
‘You’re sure it’s a plant-eater?’
Franklyn laughed. ‘Yes, relax, of course it is. It’s an alamosaurus.’
Liam watched the enormous long-necked creature walk with ponderous deliberation across the open plain towards the patch of jungle behind them. He could feel each heavy step through the trembling ground.
Jay-zus-’n’-Mother-Mary, that thing’s the size of a smal ship!
He guessed he could park a double-decker tram in the space between its fore and its hind legs and stil have room to stand on top. The creature’s tiny head, lit le more than a rounded nub on the end of its long muscular neck, swept down close to the ground as it closed the distance between them. Final y coming to a halt to inspect the smal bipedal creatures standing in front of it.
‘Are you absolutely certain?’ cried Liam, watching the thing’s head hover at shoulder height just a few yards in front of him.
‘Yes! He’s probably more scared of you than you are of
–’
–’ ‘Oh –’ Liam shook his head vigorously – ‘I, uh … I very much doubt that.’
‘See? He’s just checking you out,’ said Franklyn, slowly stepping forward to join Liam and Becks. ‘Hey there, big man!’ he cooed softly. ‘It’s OK, we’re not carnivores.’
‘Wel , actual y, I am,’ said Whitmore. ‘A lit le veal and a nice bot le of Sancerre on a Saturday night.’
Smal beady black eyes, in a rounded head not much bigger than a cider keg, studied Liam intently. Its nostrils ared for a moment as it inhaled the curious new smel of humans, then curiosity compel ed it to take a solitary step forward. Liam felt the
ground beneath his feet shudder.
‘Oh, he likes you, man,’ cal ed out Juan.
Liam felt a fetid blast of warm air across his face and closed his eyes as the dinosaur’s head moved even closer.
‘Ohh … I’m not happy about this,’ he hissed out of the side of his mouth. Thick leathery lips the size of an automobile tyre probed his face, then moved up to explore the intriguing texture of his dark hair.
‘Oh, he real y likes you, man. Want us to leave you two alone?’ chuckled Juan.
‘Hair,’ said Whitmore. ‘That’s an evolutionary step that’s mil ions of years away for this creature. The texture of it must be fascinating to him.’
Liam felt a sharp tug on his scalp. ‘Ow! Wel , he’s bleedin’ wel eating it now, so he is!’ He slapped at the creature’s mouth. ‘Hey! Ouch! Let go! Becks! Help!’
Becks reacted swiftly. She stepped towards him and Becks reacted swiftly. She stepped towards him and swung a st at the alamosaurus’s nose. The blow smacked heavily against the leathery skin and with a roar of pain and horror the giant let go of Liam. Its thick muscular neck reared up suddenly, a tree-fel ing in reverse, and it let loose a deafening bel ow that reminded Liam of the dying groans of the Titanic’s hul . The air vibrated with its startled roar.
Liam clasped his hands over his ears to protect his rat ling eardrums, as the cry spread across the plain from one giant herbivore to the next. The alamosaur stumbled back from them on its tree-trunk legs, turning in a long cumbersome arc, and began to shamble away in a loping slow-motion run that felt through the ground like the early tremors of an earthquake.
‘Oh, great!’ shouted Franklyn. ‘Now you started a stampede!’
The calm scene of moments ago, a vista of leviathans grazing peaceful y across the open plain, had been instantly transformed into a deafening display of motion and panic. Liam watched the smal er species of planteaters scrambling to avoid being stampeded by the other alamosaurs darting into the islands of trees and ferns for cover.
‘Whoa!’ Juan was doubling up with excited laughter.
‘Those alamo things are real chickens, man! Look at the suckers go!’