I’M LYING ON my back when I return, hot spotlights burning down on me. My senses buzz. The jolt lifts me high …
And immediately I crash as my eyes fall on the digital calendar. Oh no.
It’s Saturday the sixteenth. Sometime around mid-morning, I think. Today is exactly two weeks since they first caught me, the day they’d agreed to let me go. But I’m not celebrating. They had me so dosed up on pills that I lost control and skipped straight here. This is the day I’ve been living for, right? But I know without asking that they have no plans to let me go yet. We were only two days into the tests when I left.
I close my eyes, trying to hold back the tears. Scout, you idiot. I can’t waste time making mistakes like this. It’s only two days to me, but two weeks have gone by for everyone else; two weeks of having no idea where I am or what’s happening to me.
‘She’s back!’ one of the nurses calls into a comscreen. Down the hall I hear voices and footsteps in response. I grasp a sheet, roll to one side and wrap it around me in an attempt at protection.
‘Twelve days.’ Professor Wahlman’s voice reaches me from the doorway but I don’t bother to look at him. ‘Did you try to jump this far?’ A machine blips. ‘I told you to go for an hour.’
Eyes still closed, I press my hands to my ears, trying to block out the beeps and pips from the scanners and brain-imaging devices that surround my bed. If you could call it that. It’s basically a hard bench with a plastic waterproof covering and not much else.
One of the machines tracks a path around the bed until it’s on the side I’m facing. There’s a stale puff of breath on my cheek.
‘Caro … lyn?’ Professor Wahlman is right in my face, speaking clear and slow like I’m drug-affected. Maybe I still am. ‘Did you … in … tend to jump … this far?’
‘No.’ I’m not lying.
I can hear the professor pushing buttons at one of the monitors beside the bed. ‘Still traces of the sedative in her system, just as we expected.’ He turns to the nurse. ‘Entirely consistent with her receiving the treatment only three hours ago.’ A pause as the nurse replies with something I can’t hear. ‘Yes. Fascinating.’
The nurse murmurs again.
‘I agree. We’ll have to try something else …’ Something beeps before he heads to yet another one of the machines. ‘Let’s move into phase three.’
The first day was busy with blood tests and brain scans, so many that I lost count. At first they asked me to lie still, then they told me to skip. The nurses and professor speak to me if they need to give me instructions, but otherwise they go about their tests like I’m their mindless time-skipping puppet.
On the second day, pills came out: white ones that made me sleep; pink ones that seemed to turn my head into a balloon.
Try skipping now. Just five minutes.
The pills change, but the instructions are always the same.
Each time I hear the name of a drug, I lock it away. I take note of the professor’s reaction after a test and save it for later. Now that time skipping is illegal, my time in here might be my only chance to find out what was going on with the fluoro blue drug in the other timestream. Mason’s chance at a research position disappeared the minute they made time skipping against the law.
The only person with that kind of access is Professor Wahlman.
A tray arrives and I’m left on my own with tea, a protein paste sandwich and three vitamin pills. Is this breakfast or lunch? The outside world doesn’t seem to touch anything here. Even being lost in the tunnel was better than this. At least then I had a fighting chance to find my way home.
I’m draining the last of the tea when the door zips open and Professor W strides in holding a small black case.
‘How are we feeling?’ Fake friendly, but I know he’s not expecting an answer. He makes his way to the end of the bench and clicks the case open.
All I can see is the back of the lid.
Professor W presses a button. ‘Okay.’ He lifts a syringe out of the case, and holds it upright. ‘We’re going to try something different.’
At the sight of the needle my pulse shoots into overdrive. This drug glows green, not blue like the one outside Sunshine Hospital, but it has the same fluoro shine. An earlier version? I fumble with the sheets, trying to slip my legs off the bed. But there’s nowhere to escape. I lie back again, heart thumping, willing myself to think.
‘What is that?’ I’m not just stalling. I need to find out as much about that drug as I can.
‘I’d like you to jump five minutes for me.’ Professor W makes his way around to the main comscreen at the side of the room.
He leans towards the mic. ‘Nurse Warrah, we’re ready.’
The door zips open again and a woman with broad features and a fountain of tight black curls drifts in. She’s stocky and fit-looking. No nonsense.
‘Yes, sir.’ Nurse Warrah nods my way before moving to the case and lifting out the syringe. ‘Zygoral. Full dose?’
My whole focus zeroes onto that husky voice as memories tumble back. I’ve heard her before, in the streets outside Sunshine Hospital. I can’t help you unless you trust me.
My eyes widen, wondering. What was she trying to tell me?
‘Yes, confirm,’ says Professor W and strides for the door. ‘I’ll be watching from the main lab.’
My eyes stay fixed on the syringe as Nurse Warrah carries it over.
‘Just relax,’ she says gently. ‘You’ll feel a cold sensation at the back of your neck.’ She reaches towards me with an antiseptic swab.
I shrink back, pulling up the sheet as a protector. ‘What is that?’ I need to know how it works, but there’s no way I want that in my neck. Will I collapse the way Mason did?
Will it send me tumbling deep again?
Will it send me back there?
Her arm hovers, she’s still holding the unused swab. ‘It’s called Zygoral,’ she says in a low voice. ‘At least, that’s what’s on the patent application.’
‘What does it do?’
‘Just relax.’ She speaks softly, her voice rolling, a keeper soothing a wild animal as she swipes the antiseptic swab along the back of my neck.
Everything I know is telling me to fight this, to push her away. Don’t let that gloop anywhere near me. But this might be my only way to help Mason. And I know there’s no way the professor will let me go while they still have tests to complete. The only way through this is to let them do what they’re going to do.
‘Just a half-dose?’ I whisper, pleading. My throat is dry. ‘Up the dose later if you need.’
Nurse Warrah glances back towards the camera positioned in the corner of the room. I can see she’s considering it. As she turns back, I mouth a single word: please.
A brief nod.
I lie on my side and shut my eyes. I’m scared to go through this, but more scared of what they’ll do if I don’t. I don’t want to go through a full dose.
A sting at the base of my neck is followed by spreading cool. ‘Now, try to time travel.’ It’s as if she’s speaking from behind glass.
The fug grows thick. I fight to hold onto who I am, what I have to do. With all that I have, I focus each thought, tearing my mind out of now.
The release comes and I drop deep.
One minute later, I’m back. A light blinks standby in front of me. I pull the sheet around my shoulders, waiting for the world to tilt, the need to throw up. The clashing memories.
All I get is the usual tingle and rush. It’s dampened by the drug but otherwise it’s no different from normal. I rub one eye with the heel of one palm, roll over and find Warrah biting her lip. Her forehead is creased with worry.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
She shakes head, and turns to the camera.
Professor W’s voice comes over the speaker. ‘We could see clear resistance on the brain scans. But tests indicate that was only a part dose. Confirm?’
‘Yes, she …’ Warrah drops her chin. ‘She disappeared before I’d administered the full dose.’
‘Proceed with the remaining dose now then, please, nurse. And be ready to double it if we have to.’
It’s a full second before Warrah turns back. Her gaze meets mine, and again her forehead creases. Her whole face is tight.
‘What is it?’ I whisper.
Warrah glances behind her, then shifts sideways a half step, blocking the camera with her back as she turns to me again.
‘Don’t worry, Carolyn. It’ll be okay,’ she says clearly, and then, mouthing the words: ‘Don’t. Disappear.’
Don’t disappear. The same words she whispered after I was caught outside Sunshine Hospital. She’s staring intently at me, watching for recognition. One eyebrow lifts and she mouths the words: ‘Never again. Understand?’
My lips part as her meaning locks into place. I thought then that she was telling me to stop jumping, to not disappear so they could inject the drug. But now I see. She was explaining the purpose of the drug.
Zygoral is meant to block my ability to skip.
They’re not just trying to understand how it works, they’re developing a way to stop us from skipping.
At least now I know what’s going on. Although, part of me wishes I didn’t. What if the drug actually works?
Just slightly, I drop my chin as she presses the needle to the back of my neck again. Again, the pressure, the spreading cool.
I let myself drift towards the peace of the tunnel, but I don’t drop in. I know that Professor W is monitoring my brain activity right now. He’ll be watching every synapse, every spark in my mind, comparing them with the records they have of all the other times they’ve mapped my brain process as I enter a skip.
This one has to be close enough to the others to make them believe that I tried to skip, but failed. I need to convince them that Zygoral stopped me from skipping. While also praying that it doesn’t.
Like so many times meditating with Mum, I rest right at the edge of the tunnel. It’s such a familiar place to be. Infinity waits with only the slightest of slips. But instead of dropping in, I act as if I’m straining in my mind, fighting for release.
After a while I open my eyes, panting. A couple of coughs for effect. ‘What’s in that stuff?’ I say, pretend groggy. ‘It stopped me from jumping.’
‘Never you mind,’ snaps Warrah. But her mouth lifts in the briefest of smiles: well done.
On the day I’m due for release, Professor Wahlman waits beside the bed while an orderly collects the breakfast tray. The past eight days have been like dragging my mind through quicksand, partly because I’ve had to live through them in real time.
Try to skip now. What about now? Can you skip when you’re zapped with caffeine? Each time, I make an act of trying, frowning hard. Sometimes adding a pant. But each time I give up. Act frustrated. What have you done? I can’t skip anymore. They keep taking blood tests, checking how much of the Zygoral is in my system. But for five days there has been no trace of the drug. And still, I can’t skip.
At least that’s what they think.
Now I wait, polite, perched on the edge of the bed. Ready to go.
Professor W drags a chair near the bed and sits. ‘I’m going to ask you a question, Carolyn,’ he says evenly. ‘And I want you to tell me the truth. Nothing is going to happen whatever you answer. All I want is the truth.’
My head dips. ‘Okay.’
‘Is there anything you haven’t told us?’ he asks.
I meet him face on. ‘No, of course not.’
Other than the fact that I grew up in the city with a mum who broke the law to keep me.
Other than stealing a chip from a dead woman so that I’d have access to rations and a chance to go to school.
Other than letting him think his Zygoral stopped me from time skipping …
‘Why do you ask?’ I keep my tone light, curious.
He glances down at his comscreen, narrows his eyes and then lifts them again. ‘I need you to tell me the truth. Will you promise me that?’
‘Sure.’
A pause.
‘You’re aware of the sense of deja vu, yes?’ he asks. ‘Would you say that you get it a lot?’
The question comes so out of the blue that I let out a half laugh, but then I clamp it back. ‘Not really. Just … like normal, I guess.’ Whatever that is.
‘Are you sure?’ He’s leaning close, trying to examine my expression, determine if I’m telling the truth or not.
I look him squarely in the face, willing him to believe I’m telling the truth.
‘Yes, I’m certain. Absolutely.’
‘What about double vision? Do you ever get that?’
Head shaking. ‘Nope.’
Professor W glances away thoughtfully. I’m pretty sure that he believes me. But I’m not sure whether he’s pleased by the answer or not.
‘Why?’ I ask after a long silence.
‘It’s just …’ He frowns again at a brain scanner on the other side of the bed, and then back to me. ‘We’ve been studying the synapses in your brain as one component of the tests. I’ve been analysing the neurone activity just prior to each trip, and then again for each return. And it’s the strangest thing …’
‘What?’ He’s making me curious.
‘There’s a function in your neurone activity that doesn’t seem to be involved in a time skip. It goes into overdrive while you’re asleep. But, I can’t find anything similar in the control subjects. It’s almost as if there’s a double-up of the synapses in your brain. Sometimes, when a neuron sparks, we see a second flash, except faded, like a shadow.’ He tilts his head, watching me out of the corner of his eye. ‘Do you have any idea why that could be? I can’t find it replicated in other brain scans.’
‘Maybe time skipping mushed my brain,’ I mumble.
‘No, it’s definitely more than that. I want to run a new series of functional MRIs.’ He’s talking low, as if to himself. ‘Then we can trial some new techniques to see if you have any conscious control. Hypnotherapy, perhaps …’
No. No. He can’t be serious.
When I drop my hands he’s on the other side of the room. ‘But … I’ve been here for the time we agreed.’ I try to keep my voice even, reasonable. ‘Even if you take away all the time I skipped, you’re still left with a full two weeks’ worth of tests.’
I’ve barely begun speaking when he shakes his head.
‘But that was the agreement. You promised!’ My voice rises into a howl.
‘No, no. That won’t be possible now.’ He lifts his hands as if he’s the one who’s helpless, not me. ‘This is a major breakthrough, Carolyn. We’re only just beginning. This work could well change the future of the human race. We need to fully understand what’s going on …’
… so we can control it, I finish silently.
He doesn’t care that time skipping might save citizen lives, he only cares about losing control of citizens, about holding onto power.
Professor W keeps talking but I’m barely listening. I can’t believe I agreed to these tests. It doesn’t matter what I do, whether I follow their rules or not. I’m nothing to them.
My eyes travel towards the swiper beside the doorway as I shift sideways on the bed. It’s always locked when I’m here by myself, but when someone else is here I could try a manual override. Maybe if they were passed out from one of those poison drugs …
Professor W leans close to a comscreen. ‘Ang, could we have a guard in here, please?’ His expression barely shifts. ‘Yes, right away. Thank you.’
He swipes something on the screen and turns to me. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
I stop agreeing to their tests. I don’t eat. Days turn into weeks, then months. On the day that’s meant to be my first day of school, I get held down by three orderlies while they ram an IV drip into my arm.
On the morning of my fifteenth birthday I wake up, gasping from a nightmare where I was stuck in a fire, watching people around me scream, while I was trapped, unable to help.
From snatches of comments I’ve overheard, it seems like Alistair and Mason are still fighting to have me released. But the appeal hearing has been delayed so many times that I gave up weeks ago. Mason checked everything with his lawyer before the application hearing so I’m pretty sure they have no legal basis to keep me here. They haven’t charged me with anything, but it doesn’t seem to matter what the law says. They simply keep delaying, and I stay locked away.
I think about jumping ahead a whole heap of years, enough to really screw with the professor and his tests. He still believes I can’t skip anymore so it would be the best kind of take that. But I don’t want to leave everyone behind, when they’ve fought so hard for me. And I know that if I disappear in a long skip, I might miss a chance to escape here. A nurse who dozes off. A forgotten lock. Something.
It must be about two months into the school year when I start feeling sick. The back of my throat is scratchy and raw. Dry eyes. My taste seems to go off, too. One of the nurses keeps coughing; there must be something going round.
Over the following day the symptoms grow worse, but the actual cold still doesn’t break through.
As I wake up on the third morning, I slowly register the rawness in my throat and a strange thickness in my nose. My tongue tastes wrong, charry somehow …
I sit up, alone in the room, as my heart shoots into panic. It’s not a virus that’s making me feel this way. A low mist slips silently under the door and spreads though the room.
Smoke.