Living in the Past
The characters and concept of the Tomorrow People are the proprerty of Roger Price/
Part One - Reoccurring Events
Chapter 1
Peter materialised in a quiet, dimly lit alley. It was early evening and the gas street lights had just been lit. It was cold, and Peter was glad of the thick overcoat he had chosen as part of his period wardrobe. The clue he had followed had brought him to this North Staffordshire town in 1908 on the first leg of his special mission. He opened his rucksack and placed his temporal integrator inside before moving towards the main road. He walked along the pavement, observing the other people. Those non-telepathic, mentally silent people. It was a novelty for Peter to find other people's thoughts not leaking into his head. And others travelling by horse-drawn vehicle. Very strange to his eyes. Across the road, he saw a pub, the Traveller's Rest. Well, he was a traveller in need of rest, so it seemed apt. He stepped out into the road, only to be stopped in his tracks by the sound of a loud mechanical honk.
"Hey mate! Watch where you're goin'! I could have killed you!" Peter found himself looking at the front of a large red bus, the driver of which stared down at him angrily."
"Sorry, sorry" said Peter as he made his way across to the other side. How angry the driver seemed, thought Peter. No wonder the people of this time fought so many wars. He entered the Travellers Rest. Inside, he saw men sitting at tables, drinking beer and talking. Some read newspapers, some played card games or dominoes. He approached the bar to be met by Doris, the barmaid. She was a petite blonde haired woman in her early twenties.
"And what can I get you, duck?" asked Doris.
"I'm looking for accommodation for a few nights" said Peter. "I just wondered if I could get a room here."
"I think we should be able to help you" said Doris. "I'll just go and get the landlady for you. She sees to all the rooms." She opened the door to a back room and called. "Mrs Bingham, there's a gentleman here who'd like to book a room."
"Okay Doris, I'll be right there" replied the landlady. Mrs Bingham appeared in the doorway and approached the bar. She was a very smartly presented woman of around forty five, with a pleasantly friendly face. "Now, how can we help you, sir?"
"I'd just like a room for a few days" said Peter. Mrs Bingham took a ledger from the back of the bar and opened it before placing it on the bar.
"How many nights?" asked Mrs Bingham.
"Oh, I'm not sure. One. No, two. Maybe more" said Peter, not sure how long he'd have to remain in 1908.
"Well, we'll put one night to begin with, and we can always extend the stay should you need to" said Mrs Bingham. Peter smiled in acknowledgement. "All we need now is your name." She posed ready with a fountain pen in her right hand.
"Peter" said Peter.
"Peter?" said Mrs Bingham.
"Yes" said Peter.
"Surname?" asked Mrs Bingham. Peter was not ready for this. In his time, nobody used surnames. So what surname should he give? One that wouldn't draw too much attention. What was the name of the man who wrote that play Carol took him to see on one of his visits to the twenty-first century?
"Shakespeare" said Peter. "Peter Shakespeare. That's my name. Peter Shakespeare."
"Really?" asked Mrs Bingham. "Mr Shakespeare?"
"Yes" said Peter. "That's okay, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course" said Mrs Bingham. "It's just that I've never met anybody called Shakespeare before. No relation?"
"Sorry?" asked Peter, puzzled.
"William Shakespeare" said Mrs Bingham.
"No. It's Peter, not William" said Peter, misunderstanding.
"I mean any relation to William Shakespeare" said Mrs Bingham, jokingly.
"No, I don't think so" said Peter. "Would it help if I were?"
"Oh you are a funny one!" said Mrs Bingham as she put the ledger back. She showed Peter up two flights of stairs before stopping outside the third door along the landing. She opened the door with a key and showed Peter in. The room was sparsely furnished with a bed, a small chest of drawers and a chair. "Breakfast is between 7 and 8:30 and rooms are to be vacated by 11 on the day of departure. And we have to insist, no lady visitors in the room please. I'll give you ten minutes to settle, then I'll send Doris up with some tea and biscuits." She placed the key in his right hand.
"Thank you, I'd appreciate that" said Peter. Mrs Bingham smiled before closing the door. Peter pulled the chair up to the chest of drawers and sat. He reached into his bag and pulled out small metallic blue cube, which he placed on the chest. He spoke towards the cube. "Hello Shwee."
"Hello Peter. I take it you have arrived safely?" The voice coming from the box was soft, female and modulated.
"Yes, thank you" said Peter, reaching into his bag again.
"Do you have the artefact with you?" asked Shwee.
"I have it here" said Peter, removing a small broken piece of white porcelain from his bag. "Are you sure it was made by Vincent?"
"His personal markings are on the inside" said Shwee.
"And the material and age are consistent with this location?" asked Peter.
"Affirmative" said Shwee. "And by finding Vincent you can find the others."
"I'd be happy just to find Vincent" said Peter.
"May I remind you, Peter, that your mission is to locate as many of our personnel as possible, not just your brother" said Shwee. "You must try to distance yourself from such personal issues." Just then, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in" said Peter. Doris entered carrying a tray with a cup of tea and a side plate with digestive biscuits on it.
"Some tea and biscuits for you, Mr Shakespeare" said Doris, placing the tray on the chest. She noticed the blue cube on the chest and picked it up. "Oh, what's this?"
"It's nothing" said Peter alarmed. "It's just something I invented. That's what I do. I invent things."
"Oh, and what does it do?" asked Doris.
"It, er, well, to be honest it's complicated" said Peter, taking the cube from her and placing it in his pocket.
"What other stuff have you invented?" she asked.
Peter thought for a minute. "Well at the minute, I'm working on something that can show moving pictures in the home."
"Like at the pictures?" asked Doris.
"Yes" said Peter.
"At home?" asked Doris.
"Yes" said Peter.
"That's impossible . . . isn't it? You must be ever so clever" said Doris. "My young man's taking me to the pictures tonight. Wait till I tell him about your invention. He'll be ever so impressed!"
"No, you mustn't" said Peter. "It's a secret."
"Okay Mr Shakespeare. I won't tell a living soul" said Doris.
"Please call me Peter" said Peter.
"If you prefer, I won't tell a living soul, Peter" said Doris as she left.
"That was close" said Peter, returning the cube to the chest. "Now's the time."
"You put me in your pocket" said Shwee. "It's dark in there.
"Oh stop moaning!" said Peter. He placed his hands, palm down on the chest. An energy flowed between his hands and the cube. "I have him!" said Peter excitedly.
*Vincent? Vincent is that you?* 'pathed Peter. *It's Peter!*
There was a pause before a reply came through. *Is that really you?* Vincent replied. *My brother?*
*Yes Vincent, it's me!* 'pathed Peter excitedly. *We found your markings on the artefact.*
*The artefact? Oh you mean my white vase? You found it! My goodness it's hard to believe any of it survived!* 'pathed Vincent.
*I'm here to take you back* 'pathed Peter. *How are the others?*
*Peter, we'll talk about the others later. Where are you?* 'pathed Vincent.
*I'm staying at an inn. The Traveller's Rest* 'pathed Peter. *Do you know it? It's in . . .*
*I'm there now* 'pathed Vincent, *or to be more precise . . .* There was a slight pause. *I'm there now. I'll meet you in the bar.* Still wearing his heavy overcoat, Peter leapt to his feet and made for the door. He hurried down the stairs and into the bar area. In front of him, standing at the bar was his brother, older than he remembered, wearing a grey suit with a round collared shirt finished with a plain dark blue tie. Vincent tried hard to contain his joy.
"Peter! I don't believe it!" cried Vincent. "I never expected it to work!" He hugged his brother before escorting him to a nearby table and seating him in a chair. He called over to Doris at the bar. "Can you bring the drinks over here please, Doris?"
"Yes duck" said Doris.
"Vincent, how did you get so old?" asked Peter. "I mean, you've only been missing a week,"
"It may only be a week for you, but for me it's been fifteen years!" said Vincent.
"So what happened?" asked Peter. "We lost contact with you three days into your mission."
"It's a long and convoluted story" said Vincent. "If you don't mind, I'll let it out bit by bit as appropriate." Just then Doris arrived with the drinks on a tray.
"Here you are, gentlemen" said Doris, placing two glasses of dark beer on the table. Peter and Vincent thanked her. "That's okay." She turned to Peter. "Is your room okay, Peter? Just let me know if you need anything."
"The room's just fine, thank you" said Peter. Doris returned to the bar to serve other customers.
"Peter!" exclaimed Vincent.
"What?" asked Peter.
"I mean she called you Peter!" said Vincent.
"It's my name" said Peter. "What's wrong with that?"
"In this era, people are more formal. First name terms are usually for close friends and family. It's all Mr and Mrs" said Vincent. "So it's Mr . . . what?"
"Oh, er, Shakespeare" said Peter.
"Shakespeare!" exclaimed Vincent. "How did you come up with that one?"
"I happen to know he was an obscure writer from the ancient times" said Peter. "I saw his play once. About a magician on an island."
"Not so obscure" said Vincent. "He never lost his popularity until well after the twenty second century!"
"Well I'm stuck with it now" said Peter. "As far as Doris and Mrs Bingham are concerned, I'm Peter Shakespeare." He raised his glass to his nose and took a sniff. "Is there alcohol in this?"
"Yes, it's stout" said Vincent, raising his own glass and taking a sip. "You should have thought more carefully about that surname. You need to blend into the background. Some surnames draw too much attention. Names like Jagger or Presley or Shatner; probably not right now but in a few decades names like that would raise a few eyebrows. That's why I took the name Price. Very anonymous."
"So that makes you Vincent Price?" Vincent nodded as Peter took a sip of his drink and winced. "It's awful!" said Peter. "If that's alcohol, you can keep it! Do people really enjoy drinking this?"
"You get used to it" said Vincent, glancing over at Doris. "Nice little blonde over there. Very pretty. Do you still see that little blonde at the other end of the century?"
"You mean Carol? Occasionally. And don't say it like that" said Peter.
"Like what?" asked Vincent.
"Like there's something going on between us" protested Peter.
"Is there?" asked Vincent.
"Certainly not!" said Peter. "We've been friends since we were in our teens!"
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks" said Vincent.
"Lady?" asked Peter, misunderstanding. "What lady?"
"That's Shakespeare. From Hamlet" said Vincent. "Told you he was popular."
"Anyway you know full well I was paired with Galadriel since age eighteen" said Peter.
"You're still with Galadriel?" asked Vincent.
"Of course! There's nobody but Galadriel for me. It's different for you" said Peter.
"I'm married" said Vincent darkly.
"You're what?" said Peter surprised.
"Drink up, brother" said Vincent. "Time to meet the family."
Chapter 2
Peter and Vincent materialised in a dark alley between two rows of terraced houses.
"Oh, you have no idea how good that feels" said Vincent. "That's only the second time I've done that since I arrived. Now for a more traditional form of transport." Vincent walked on, into the main street, followed by Peter. "We live about half a mile this way."
"So what went wrong?" asked Peter, finally drawing level with his brother.
"We hit some turbulence, probably caused by some sort of temporal anomaly. It caused a catastrophic failure of the temporal baffles. We had no choice but to make for the escape pods" said Vincent. "I landed here in 1893. Others, or should I say those lucky enough to survive, landed in other parts of the world, in other time zones. With little hope of rescue, we were obliged to abide by the requirements of Directive AGKE583 Part 54 Subsection 23BB."
"You gave up?" said Peter.
"No, Peter, I didn't give up. I followed the Directive and settled within the environment I found myself in, as did all of the 937 other members of the ship's manifest - or at least those of us who survived" said Vincent. "I got a job as a potter - you know I've always been good with my hands. That job eventually became a business. That vase with the temporal coordinates on the base was made by me. Then I settled down and got married and now I have a small family."
"Family?" asked Peter.
"You have a nephew, Peter" said Vincent. "Albert's a fine boy. I can't wait for you to meet him."
"You have a son?" said Peter. "Is he . . . a telepath?"
"We'll talk about that later" said Vincent. "Anyway, he's only eight years old, too young to break out yet."
Vincent led Peter to a well kept semi-detached house with a small front garden in the middle of a quiet street. He walked down the path and turned the key in the front door.
"Martha!" Vincent called. "Martha, we've got company!" Vincent's wife Martha greeted them in the hallway. She was a dark haired woman in her mid thirties, with a round face and a friendly smile. "Martha, this is my long lost brother Peter."
"So nice to meet you at last" said Martha, clutching Peter's hands. "I've heard so much about you!"
"Not too much I hope" joked Peter. *How much does she know about us? I mean how much of the truth?* 'pathed Peter.
*Nothing of the truth. She thinks you've been working in America as a historian* 'pathed Peter.
"Vincent's always talking about you" said Martha leading them into the sitting room. "It's Peter this and Peter that." She seated them into two large comfy wing backed chairs. "I must fetch Albert. He'll be so excited to meet you, he's just next door visiting his best friend." With that, Martha disappeared down the hallway and through the front door.
"So what do you think?" asked Vincent.
"What do I think?" asked Peter. "I think my little brother's done very well. She's lovely!" Peter paused for a few moments before speaking again. "Vincent, I'm here to effect a rescue. Now, I know I'm here to rescue as many of the original manifest as I can but I mean to start by . . ." Vincent interrupted Peter.
"Can we leave this for later?" asked Vincent.
"The markings on the artefact were specific. That was a rescue request" said Peter.
"I know it was" said Vincent, "but let's not spoil it eh? After all, I've not seen you in over fifteen years."
"You only saw me last week" said Peter.
"As I said, it was only last week for you, but it's been fifteen years for me. I've missed you" said Vincent. "I just want you to meet the boy first." Vincent paused for a moment before speaking again. "Peter, I can't go back with you."
"What? What do you mean, can't go back?" said Peter. "Is it your family?"
"No, it's not the family" said Vincent. "And it's not the requirements of the Directive either. It's bigger than that."
"So what could be so big that you can't get rescued?" asked Peter.
"The failure of the baffles caused temporal hysteresis. It was awful, Peter. I felt the whole time vortex rip through me. Through me and every other person on that vessel. And I suppose you know what that means?" said Vincent.
"You mean . . ." said Peter.
"Exactly" said Vincent. "The hysteresis caused versions of me and everyone else on that vessel to be scattered over goodness knows how many centuries in the past."
"But that theory has never been proven" said Peter.
"It's no theory" said Peter. "Do you remember Lefevre?"
"Of course I remember Lefevre" said Peter. "We returned from the Twenty-fourth Century together only last week."
"Lefevre and I shared an escape pod. We crash landed on the moors and I was lucky to escape with my life. He wasn't so lucky. He was thrown clear of the pod and landed in some scrub. The force broke his neck, there was nothing I could do for him. I buried his body where I found him, may he forgive me." Vincent's voice cracked as he recalled the incident.
"I'm so sorry" said Peter.
"A couple of years later, before I met Martha, I was working for a local pottery, when I got a visit from a young man by the name of Adam Malkin with a very strange request" said Vincent. "Adam had travelled up by train from Cornwall, where his family owned a tin mine. His great grandfather was very ill and close to death, and somehow had become aware of me. According to Adam, the old man had become insistent almost to the point of obsession that he must meet me. We travelled together to Cornwall and I got to meet him."
"I'm not getting the point" said Peter.
"The point is, the old man was Lefevre, or at least one version of him" said Vincent. "I felt his psychic force as soon as I entered his bedroom. He was very frail and old, but he was definitely Lefevre. He ordered everyone else out of the room and we chatted. We reminisced about the missions we'd been on, the people we knew. We spent the whole evening talking. He was very weak but he wanted to talk. I returned the next day, and then about a fortnight later I got a letter from Adam to say that the old man had died the previous week."
"I'm so sorry" said Peter. "But was it the real Lefevre? Can you be sure?"
"That man was as valid a version of Lefevre as the Lefevre I buried on the moors. Just as there are versions of me and everyone else on our ship spread out all through history, all as valid and as real as each other" said Vincent.
Peter considered this for a moment. "This puts a different perspective on things. We'll have to bring all our resources out to complete a rescue of this magnitude."
"No!" exclaimed Vincent. "Definitely no rescue!"
"What do you mean by that?" asked Peter.
"It is imperative for the evolution of our species that no rescue attempt is made" said Vincent.
"I don't follow" said Peter.
"I know it sounds crazy but I believe that the seeds of our species were sown by the survivors of the vessel, split and separated over centuries. Any successful rescue attempt would mean we never existed. We have become a self fulfilling prophecy" said Vincent.
"But this is just conjecture, surely" said Peter. "You don't have any . . ."
"I have evidence" interrupted Vincent. Peter sat bolt upright. "I scanned Martha with my cube shortly after we married. She has the telepathic gene."
"Is she a telepath?" asked Peter.
"No" said Vincent, "the telepathic gene is recessive in Homo sapiens, but I am convinced that she is a descendant of one of the survivors."
"Does she know?" asked Peter.
"No she doesn't, and it's going to stay that way" said Vincent.
"And what about Albert?" asked Peter. "Is he . . . ?"
"I don't know yet" said Vincent, "My cube broke down before he was born, so I couldn't scan him. He's only eight. He won't break out for a few years yet, if at all. In any case I hope you see now why you can't mount a rescue. It'd be a disaster."
"So why did you put your temporal signature on that vase?" asked Peter. "If you didn't want to be rescued - well it doesn't make any sense."
"It will make sense, and I will explain myself, just not right now" said Vincent.
Chapter 3
Peter took a bite on the slice of toast that Martha had made for him, unable to look away from Albert as he sat on a sofa opposite. He was a dark haired boy, small for his age with eyes that appeared to look straight into the soul.
"Uncle Peter", said Albert "you live in America, don't you?"
"Yes" said Peter, taking a sip of his tea, hoping that Albert didn't ask any awkward questions.
"Do you know any cowboys?" asked Albert.
"A few" said Peter, not sure what a cowboy was.
"Do you know Billy the Kid?" asked Albert.
"I . . . I'm not sure. I might do" said Peter.
"Have you shot many Indians?" asked Albert, Peter almost choking on his toast in reaction.
"Albert! Don't be cheeky!" said Martha.
"No, it's okay, Martha" said Peter. He turned to Albert. "I don't shoot people, Albert. Some people in the world think it's wrong to kill people. There'll come a time when people won't kill each other and the world will be a better place for it."
"I'm going to live in America when I grow up and I'm going to shoot lots of Indians" said Albert.
"I think someone's read too many western novels" said Vincent. "I don't think your uncle came all this way just to be interrogated, Albert."
"Sorry, Uncle Peter" said Albert.
"That's okay, Albert" said Peter, just as a knock was heard at the front door.
"Who could that be?" asked Martha, getting to her feet to answer the door. Answering the door, Martha called to Albert. "Albert, it's Ernie!"
"Okay Mam" replied Albert. "It's my friend Ernie. Nice to meet you, Uncle Peter. I'll see you soon." With that, Albert left to go outside with his friend.
"And stay away from the main road" called Martha after him.
"So what do you think of him?" asked Vincent.
"He's a fine boy" said Peter.
"He's impressed by you" said Vincent. "Imagine how impressed he'd be if he knew the truth about you."
"He mustn't know" said Peter.
"Okay, maybe not yet" said Vincent.
"Not ever, Vincent" said Peter.
"We'll talk about it later" said Vincent, just as Martha returned.
"That was his best friend Ernie" said Martha. "So Peter, tell me about yourself. Are you married?"
"Yes, my wife's name is Galadriel" said Peter.
"And you live in America?" asked Martha, "and is Galadriel American?"
"No, she's from . . . " Peter paused for a slight moment that seemed like an age to him. Geographically, the world he knew was very different from that of this time. He blurted out the first place name he could think of. "Liverpool."
"Oh, nice" said Martha. "Perhaps we could get to meet her one day."
"Yes, perhaps" replied Peter.
Chapter 4
"Peter, wake up" said the voice coming from the cube on the sideboard. "Peter, if you don't wake up now, you'll be late for breakfast!" Peter emerged from the bedclothes, placing his bare feet on the carpeted floor. He was not used to working to a strict timetable and being woken like this was an unfamiliar experience.
He washed and dressed quickly and made his way downstairs to the dining area at the rear of the inn. Other residents were already seated, and Peter had to share a table with a middle-aged couple, who were just finishing off their breakfast.
"Good morning Peter" said Doris as she approached the table with a cup of tea for Peter. "What can I get you?"
"Good morning, Doris" said Peter. "What do you have?"
"Well I could get you a traditional fried breakfast" said Doris. "Sausage, bacon, eggs, black pudding, baked beans and mushrooms."
"I don't eat meat" said Peter.
"You don't eat meat!" said Doris, amazed. "My gosh! How do you keep your strength up?"
"Have you got anything else?" asked Peter.
"We have cornflakes" said Doris.
"Okay" said Peter, "I'll have some corn."
"Cornflakes" said Doris, who left to fetch Peter some cornflakes. The couple opposite looked suspiciously at Peter. He smiled nervously.
"Nice girl" he said. "Very pretty, don't you think?" The couple didn't reply. Doris returned with a bowl containing cornflakes soaked in milk. She placed the bowl in front of Peter, who thanked her. He looked down at the cornflakes and wondered how he was expected to eat them. He began by picking out the flakes individually with his fingers. The couple opposite glared at him. He looked round and saw a young woman using a spoon to eat her cornflakes. He dropped the flakes back into the bowl and picking up his spoon, began to eat. Before he had finished his breakfast, he received a telepathic communication from Vincent.
*Peter, what are you doing right now?* 'pathed Vincent.
*I'm having breakfast* 'pathed Peter.
*Can we meet in about an hour?* 'pathed Vincent. *There's something I need to discuss with you before you go.*
*Yes, yes of course* 'pathed Peter. *What do you want to talk about?*
*I'll tell you when we meet. There's a park at the top of the road. I'll meet you there* 'pathed Vincent.
Chapter 5
Peter materialised behind a large tree in the park. Seated on a bench by a pond was his brother Vincent, watching young Albert, who was feeding ducks on the pond with some bread.
"Not bad for the time of year, is it brother?" said Vincent, casually.
"No, not bad" replied Peter, sitting next to Vincent. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. I need to ask a favour" said Vincent. "You're going back today?"
"Yes" said Peter.
"Take him" said Vincent, almost trampling over Peter's words.
"Excuse me?" said Peter, surprised at Vincent's comment.
"Take him. The boy. Take him with you" said Vincent.
"Vincent, you know I can't do that" said Peter.
"Of course you can" said Vincent. "Peter, I'm not asking you. I'm begging you. Albert's life may depend on it." Peter looked at Albert, still feeding the ducks.
"Is he ill?" asked Peter.
"No, not at all" replied Vincent. "I've studied this period of Earth history. Trouble is just round the corner."
"I don't understand" said Peter.
"There's going to be a war" said Vincent. "Not right away, but in the next ten years or so. When Albert will be just old enough to fight. Peter, I can't let him go, not if there's anything I can do to stop him. This war will be bloody and I fear he won't survive."
"Is he a telepath?" asked Peter.
"I don't know" said Vincent. "He's not old enough to break out yet. There's a fifty-fifty chance he is. If he is he'll be slaughtered in the war and if he isn't he'll still get slaughtered. And even if he doesn't, well I know what some of these boys - and I mean boys - end up like. I can't allow that."
"Does Martha know?" asked Peter.
"Don't worry about Martha, I'll make her understand" said Vincent. "Look, all you need to do is bring him back in 1919 after the war." Peter considered this for a moment before speaking.
"I am going to be in so much trouble when I get back." Peter turned to Albert. "Albert, I need to talk to you."
"Thank you" said Vincent, shaking Peter's hand. "I'll never be able to repay you for this."
Chapter 6
Peter and Albert found themselves walking along a quiet tree-lined street. Many parked cars furnished the road. Albert looked round in awe.
"Is this your time, Uncle Peter?" asked Albert, still getting to grips with the zip fastener on the 21st Century jacket that Peter had given him as part of his costume.
"No. My time is further in the future" said Peter. "We're nearer your time than mine."
"Are we staying here?" asked Albert.
"No" said Peter, pushing open an iron gate. "I want you to meet a friend of mine." Peter progressed to the front door. Looking round after sounding the doorbell, he saw Albert waiting nervously at the gate. "What are you waiting there for? She doesn't bite!" The door opened, and in the doorway stood Carol, surprised to see her old friend.
"Peter! How delightful to see you!" said Carol, embracing Peter. "To what do we owe this honour?"
"I thought you'd like to meet my nephew" said Peter. Albert remained by the gate.
"Hello young man" said Carol. "What's your name?"
"Albert, miss" said Albert softly.
"Why don't you come in and say hello to Mervyn?" said Carol.
"Is Mervyn your little boy, miss?" asked Albert.
"No, silly," said Carol, "he's my cat. Do you like cats?"
"Yes miss, I love cats" said Albert, warming to Carol before following her and Peter indoors.
"We're having a few drinks in the back garden" said Carol, leading Peter through the kitchen and eventually into the back garden. "I don't think you've met my sister Janice and her husband Clive, have you?"
"No, no I haven't" said Peter, knowing full well that he had met Janice before in an alternate reality. Carol introduced Peter and Albert to Janice and Clive in the back garden. Albert chased Mervyn, a large ginger cat around the garden. "Albert, leave the cat alone for a minute and say hello." Albert stopped chasing the cat and allowed himself to be introduced.
"What a handsome young man!" said Janice. Albert blushed. "I can see you being a heartbreaker when you're older!"
"Fancy a beer, Peter?" asked Clive.
"Is that like stout?" asked Peter.
"Stout!" exclaimed Clive. "Blimey! How old are you?"
"You wouldn't believe me" said Peter. "I'll just have some fruit juice if you have any." Clive went to a bench by a garden wall and poured out a glass of fruit juice from a jug and offered it to Peter.
*Do they know about me?* 'pathed Peter.
*Yes they know. Don't worry, you can trust them* 'pathed Carol. She looked at Albert, realising he was feeling a little out of place.
"I suppose he feels a bit out of it. Is this the first time he's visited the past?" asked Carol.
"Oh, he's not from my time" said Peter. "He was born in 1900."
"How can he be your nephew if he's from 1900?" asked Janice.
*Carol, can you distract Albert please?* 'pathed Peter.
"Albert, why don't you come with me?" said Carol, leading Albert into the lounge. She sat him in a large chair in front of the television set and switched it on using the remote control. She selected a channel showing cartoons before going into the kitchen. She returned with a glass of milk and a side plate with a few chocolate biscuits on it and placed them on the coffee table. Albert appeared mesmerised by what he saw. "Are you okay, Albert?" Albert didn't reply. "Albert?"
"It's the pictures!" said Albert. "It's the pictures in your house!" Convinced that Albert was suitably distracted, Carol returned to the garden.
"It's a long story" said Peter. He began to recount Vincent's account of how he arrived at the end of the Nineteenth Century, and of the hysteresis which had seeded the past with duplicates of the crew of the time ship.
"Wow" said Clive. "Just . . . wow!"
"And Vincent's theory is that every Tomorrow Person is a descendant of at least some of the time ship crew" said Peter. Carol and Janice looked shocked. "Of course, it's only a theory and it'd be difficult to prove. After all, relativity and evolution are only theories."
"Yes, but the evidence for evolution and relativity stacks up pretty well" said Clive. "Of course you know what this means, don't you?" He turned to Carol and Janice. "Your ancestors come from the future!"
"Don't be so bloody stupid!" said Janice.
"Think about it" said Clive. "Obviously Carol has the gene. Where did that come from if it didn't come from the future? In fact, you must be descended from two Time Guardians otherwise Carol wouldn't be a Tomorrow Person. Am I right, Peter?"
"I'm no geneticist, but I think that's how it works" said Peter.
"Then why aren't I a Tomorrow Person?" asked Janice.
"That's genetics for you , love. It's just the way the mop flops" said Clive. "It'd explain Lyndon. Come to think of it Peter, I suppose it must mean one of my ancestors is one of your lot!"
"I suppose it must" said Carol. "Gosh!"
"Any idea who it might be?" asked Peter.
"Not a clue" said Carol.
"Well, think. Were you ever told by anyone, particularly any older relatives of anyone in your family who might have been, well, gifted?" asked Peter.
"I don't know" said Carol. "Janice is the family historian.
"I've researched our family tree, but I don't think I know of any telepaths" said Janice.
"Are you sure?" asked Peter.
"Absolutely" said Janice.
"There must be" said Peter.
"Well there isn't!" said Janice, indigently.
"It doesn't matter now does it" said Carol. "After all, there's nothing we can do about it."
"Unless . . . " said Janice.
"What?" said Carol.
"Handsome Jack" said Janice.
"Who?" asked Clive.
"Our Great Grandfather Handsome Jack Marinello" said Janice.
"Marinello? I didn't know you were part Italian!" said Clive.
"Marinello was his stage name. His real name was John Dawson" said Janice. "He was an escapologist and a magician. He used to play music halls back in the 1880s in the London area. He was so good that if he'd been American, nobody would ever have heard of Houdini. Great Grandma Iris was his assistant. She used to chain him up then lock him in a trunk, and not only did he escape, but he'd appear seconds later in the dress circle, and sometimes in a totally different theatre! Nobody ever found out how he did it."
"I suppose, if he jaunted out of his trunk . . ." said Carol. "Just imagine! Peter, do you think . . . I mean would it be possible or ethical to . . . "
"You'd like me to take you to see him!" asked Peter.
"Wouldn't that be something!" said Janice.
"Could you?" asked Carol. Peter looked at Carol and Janice, looking like two begging puppies.
"Oh, okay" said Peter, "but let me get Albert settled first."
"Thank you Peter" said Carol. "I think we'll let him watch his cartoons first."