explore other options to contact the Invidi. What if I can’t get a laser? Arrival is only three weeks away.
I groaned inwardly and switched on the small globe suspended from the roof girder in the middle of the room. Then, after first putting my cash in the strongbox and sliding it back behind one of the filing cabinets, I took out the telescope from its box under my desk and sat on the floor beside it.
My knees creaked as I sat, and it worried me that something else was going wrong. I thought I knew this, my body. I’d lived with it for thirty-seven years. Now it was behaving like an unreliable machine and the things that happened to it here were frightening. I couldn’t control the incursions of viruses and bacteria, and what they did to me. My body was alien, a flimsy thing that didn’t work as I expected it to.
I found myself heeding Grace’s warnings about dangerous places, dangerous times of day, aware that physical damage here could be permanent; conscious of the frailty of my own flesh and bones, conscious that the medical treatments I used to take for granted would not be made until decades after the Invidi come. In this decade, a broken bone could take months to heal. Bruises remained for weeks.
Don’t think of that. Think of getting back to your own time, where you won’t have to worry—at least, not as much. Think about the telescope.
A fat tube with ungainly legs, it sat waiting for its computer connections to come alive. The lens was in place, and a hell of a job I’d had finding a workshop that would let me grind it. I was still accumulating pieces of hardware in order to motorize the tracking. For the time being, the scope had to sit static on its mount. I opened the toolbox, selected a screwdriver. The mount needed to be more stable.
I stood up again with a grunt, found the page I’d scribbled notes on, sat back down again. Most obliging of amateur astronomy groups to post telescope construction manuals on the infonet. After Grace had laughingly instructed me in basic computer usage, I found there were manuals for everything on the net, from bombs to kitchen renovations. Including the hacking manuals that allowed me to develop my computer skill further.
The floor shuddered slightly as someone rattled the door downstairs. The sound of male voices floated up through the open window.
I stood up, heart beating much faster than it had a few seconds ago. Maybe they want the betting shop, not the Assembly.
The door rattled again.
Maybe if I ignore them, they’ll go away.
“Hey, Maria,” called a familiar voice.
Two
I t was Grace’s older son, Vince. Some of the tension in my shoulders relaxed.
He’d probably either be trying to borrow money or looking for a place to hide something illegal. That’s what he used to do when Grace lived with me. At least, I assumed the neatly wrapped packages he used to leave in Grace’s tent were illegal. No reason to hide them otherwise. I lifted one once and it was heavy, the heaviness of metal. I asked Grace if Vince’s group was connected with one of the larger gangs. “I don’t want to know,” was all she would say.
I turned on the weak yellow bulb on the stairs as I went down and looked through the bars. “Hello, Vince.”
He stared at me with his usual sulky expression and jiggled his hands in his pockets as he spoke. In spite of the heat he wore a short blue jacket with the collar turned up, jeans, and a black T-shirt. It infuriated Grace that he always had cash to buy clothes.
“You seen Will?” he said. Will was Grace’s younger son, ten years old. “No, he hasn’t come here. Is he out alone?” I heard my voice sharpen like Grace’s. “Just checking. So you can tell her I asked.” He jerked his head back. “These blokes want to see you.” Four men stood behind Vince. I squinted into the gloom—the local butcher and the bus driver I knew. His bus ran between the Clyde yards south of the motorway and the streets closest to the