‘Hello, Mr Stiggins,’ I said, recognising him.
‘Hello, Ms Next—the nausea will pass.’
There was a shudder and the world snapped back a couple of seconds so harshly it made me jump. Stiggins spoke again but this time made less sense:
‘Helto, our m Ms Next—the nauplea will knoass.’
‘What the hell—’ I muttered as the lobby snapped again and the mauve-painted walls switched to green. I looked at Stiggins, who said:
‘Hatto, is our am Mss Next—bue nauplea will kno you.’
The people in the lobby moved abruptly and were suddenly wearing hats. Stiggins jumped back again and said:
‘That is our ame Miss Next—bue hoivplea kno you?’
My feet felt strange as the world rippled again and I looked down and saw that I was wearing trainers instead of boots. It was clear now that time was flexing slightly and I expected my father to appear, but he didn’t. Stiggins flicked back to the beginning of his sentence yet again and said, this time in a clearer voice:
‘That is our name, Miss Next, but how know you?’
‘Did you feel anything odd just then?’
‘No. Drink the water. You are very pale.’
I had another sip, leaned back and took a deep breath.
‘This wall used to be mauve,’ I mused as Stiggins looked at me.
‘How you know our name, Miss Next?’
‘You turned up at my wedding party,’ I told him. ‘You said you had a job for me.’
He stared at me for almost half a minute through his deep-set eyes. His large nose sniffed the air occasionally. Neanderthals thought a great deal about what they said before they said it—if they said anything at all.
‘You speak the truth,’ he said at last. It was almost impossible to lie to a Neanderthal and I wasn’t going to try. ‘We are to represent you on this case, Miss Next.’
I sighed. Flanker was taking no chances. I had nothing against Neanderthals but they wouldn’t have been my first choice of defence, particularly against the charge of an attack on one of their own.
‘If you have a problem you should tell us,’ said Stiggins, eyeing me carefully.
‘I have no problem with you representing me.’
‘Your face does not match your words. You think we have been placed here to hurt your case. It is our belief too. But as to whether it will hurt your case, we shall see. Are you well enough to walk?’
I said I was and we went and sat down in the interview room. Stiggins opened his case and drew out a buff file. The contents were typed in large underlined capitals. He brought out a wooden ruler and placed it across the first page to help him read.
‘Why you hit Kaylieu, the Skyrail operator?’
‘I thought he had a gun.’
‘Why would you think that?’
I stared into Mr Stiggins’s unblinking brown eyes. If I lied he would know. If I told him the truth he might feel it his duty to tell SO-1 that I had been involved in my father’s work. With the world due to end and the trust in my father implicit, it was a kind of sticky moment, to say the least.
‘They will ask you, Miss Next. Your evasion will not be appreciated.’
‘I’ll have to take that chance.’
Stiggins tilted his head to one side and regarded me for a moment.
‘They know about your father, Miss Next. We advise you to be careful.’
I didn’t say anything but to Stiggins I probably spoke volumes. Half the Thal language is about body movements. It’s possible to conjugate verbs with facial muscles; dancing is conversation.
We didn’t have a chance to say anything else as the door opened and Flanker and two other agents trooped in.
‘You know my name,’ he told me. ‘These are agents King and Nosmo.’
The two officers stared at me unnervingly.
‘This is a preliminary interview,’ announced Flanker, who now fixed me with a steely gaze. ‘There will be time enough for a full inquiry—if we so decide. Anything you say and do can affect the outcome of the hearing. It’s really up to you, Next.’
He wasn’t kidding. SO-1 were not within the law—they made the law. If they really meant business I wouldn’t be here at all—I’d be spirited away to SpecOps Grand Central, wherever the hell that was. It was at times like this that I suddenly realised quite why my father had rebelled against SpecOps in the first place.
Flanker placed two tapes into the recorder and idented it with the date, time and all our names. Once this was done he asked in a voice made more menacing by its softness:
‘You know why you are here?’
‘For hitting a Skyrail operator?’
‘Striking a Neanderthal is hardly a crime worthy of SO-1’s valuable time, Miss Next. In fact, technically speaking, it’s not a crime at all.’
‘What, then?’
‘When did you last see your father?’
The other SpecOps agents leaned forward imperceptibly to hear my answer. I wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
‘I don’t have a father, Flanker—you know that. He was eradicated by your buddies in the ChronoGuard seventeen years ago.’
‘Don’t play me for a fool, Next,’ warned Flanker. ‘This is not something I care to joke about. Despite Colonel Next’s non-actualisation he continues to be a thorn in our side. Again: when did you last see your father?’
‘At my wedding.’
Flanker frowned and looked at his notes.
‘You married? When?’
I told him and he squiggled a note in the margin.
‘And what did he say when he turned up at your wedding?’
‘Congratulations.’
He stared at me for a few moments, then changed tack.
‘This incident with the Skyrail operator,’ he began. ‘You were convinced that he had a soap gun hidden about his person. According to a witness you thumped him on the chin, handcuffed and searched him. They said you seemed very surprised when you didn’t find anything.’
I shrugged and remained silent.
‘We don’t give a sod about the Thal, Next. Your father deputising you is one thing, replacing you out of time is quite another. Is this what happened?’
‘Is that the charge? Is that why I’m here?’
‘Answer the question.’
‘No, sir.’
‘You’re lying. He brought you back early but your father’s control of the timestream is not that good. Mr Kaylieu decided not to threaten the Skyrail that morning. You were sideslipped, Next. Joggled slightly in the timestream. Things happened the same way but not exactly in the same order. It wasn’t a big one, either—barely a Class IX. Sideslips are an occupational hazard in ChronoGuard work.’
‘That’s preposterous,” I scoffed. Stiggins would know I was lying but perhaps I could fool Flanker.
‘I don’t think you understand, Miss Next. This is more important than just you or your father. Two days ago we lost all communications beyond the twelfth of December. We know there is industrial action but even the freelancers we’ve sent upstream haven’t reported back. We think it’s the Big One. If your father was willing to risk using you, we reckon he thinks so too. Despite our animosity towards your father he knows his business—if he didn’t we’d have had him years from now. What’s going on?’