“What...what do you want from me?”
“It is very simple. You must—you will—discontinue your work, with immediate effect.”
“My work? My...work?”
Edward slides the chair back under its desk.
“Blundering across the dimensional planes is extremely dangerous. You may call the entities I represent a police force, employed to correct any dangerous behaviour.”
Now that his work has been threatened, Fisher rallies.
“Get out of here. I don’t care who you represent, or how you...just get out. Nothing is going to get in the way of my work. Nothing and no-one.”
Edward smiles.
“I’m afraid I cannot leave, not yet. The guardians will stop your research, Dr Fisher, one way or another. However, if you force them to materially intervene in this timeline, the consequences for the world you are familiar with could be severe.”
Stopping work. Chairs flying backwards. Time reversing. Time stopping. Work stopping.
Fisher’s eyes widen.
“I can’t do that. I can’t stop.” Confused, he remembers the chair and the window that repaired itself. “It’s all a trick, I don’t know how...a trick.”
Without warning, Edward steps smartly across the floor. Fisher backs away.
“Stand still,” commands Edward. They are only two feet apart. Terrified, Fisher’s back is against the lab door. Now he can see the man’s smooth, pink cheeks, how neat his grey hair is, and the green light dancing in his eyes.
A wind blows out of nowhere.
Then they are outside, in bright daylight, on a lush green hillside, the air fresh and slightly damp, heavy with pollen and the scent of the sun on the ground...such purity in his lungs. And the forests rolling away beneath and around the hill, sunlight on a broad, silver river. Long grass waving in the breeze. Blue sky. Droning insects. Birds circling high above, black specks against the scudding white clouds.
Overcome, Fisher runs away from Edward, half blind in the dazzling daylight. He stumbles to his knees, his hands in the grass, gasping scratching clawing at the ground, at the grass, down to the dark soil, dirt on the ends of his fingers, under his fingernails. Impossible sensations overwhelm him, and his mind strains to hold back the flood. On his knees, he smells the earth on his hands and feels the sun on his face.
After a while he stops. The storm in his head subsides. Gentler, calmer now, breathing easier, he reaches out to a plant with huge yellow flowers, examines it for a moment. Drawing in the undefiled air he stands, absorbing a land that is unmarked by road or house or by any human structure. He understands what has happened, even if the how and why eludes him.
“When are we?” he shouts back. “When?”
Edward walks over.
“You tell me. Paleobiology formed part of your undergraduate studies.”
Down on his knees again, Fisher has another look at the plant leaves, runs his finger down the thick, bristly stem.
“Quaternary period, definitely. I would say late Pleistocene, about 200,000 years BP. This is amazing. What I could do here. To bring proof back...so many gaps in our knowledge filled...”
Edward nods, his eyes glinting.
“This is the past, certainly. But a little later than you think. This is the year 1981.”
Confused, Fisher stands, surveys the rolling countryside that surrounds him.
There’s something about the river, something familiar. Fisher scans the horizon, squinting in the bright sun, casting a glance up at the circling birds. Down the wide-open sward an animal appears, bounding through the long grass and down to the river. Some kind of otter, but far bigger than any he’d ever seen before.
“How? What happened?”
“In this timeline...a change, many millions of years ago,” replies Edward. “A certain small early mammal usurped the habitat of a certain other small early mammal. Subsequent speciation was affected. The change proliferated. And this world is the result.”
Edward considers the river, darkening under sudden cloud-shadow. The breeze gusts through the long grass, fades to a restless whisper.
“Don’t you know it, this place?”
Fisher isn’t sure.
“In your timeline, this is Shooter’s Hill.” Edward points. “The Thames. Blackheath. Greenwich. No one will ever say these names, because Homo Sapiens do not evolve in this timeline.” He pauses. “Homo Habilis, or a rough equivalent, is as clever as anything gets around here.”
Out over the river one of the lazy birds is circling. It has spiralled downwards and Fisher can now see how big it is. The bird corkscrews round and round, down and down, then comes swooping, kiting from above the river, its huge shadow flashing across the grass, claws outstretched, sail-wings open, beaked red mouth agape, screeching.
Coming straight for him.
Just as Fisher screams, Edward appears in front of him. His glittering green eyes are the only constant as the world and the giant bird dissolve in a sudden gust of wind.
Face to face, they are back in the silent lab, where nothing moves—except Fisher, who bolts over to the door and pulls it, kicks it, desperate to escape. Clawing again. Frantic.
“It wasn’t hunting you, Dr Fisher. You did not exist in that timeline.”
“I don’t give a fuck where I exist, I want out of here.”
