The Trouble With Time by Lexi Revellian Page B

current state of ignorance. She was not going to make the mistake of trusting Jace when she knew so little about him. It was possible he had not told her the truth, or not all of it. She paused for several minutes at his Crimestoppers page, skipped over the world news and extravagant gifts for men (he was thinking of compensating for his years with nothing, perhaps) to focus on Jace’s associates and Quinn’s social life. Curiosity satisfied, conjectures made and confirmed, she cleared her own and Jace’s browsing data and turned to Google Street View. It now showed real time by default, and had sound. Floss leaned forward, fascinated, watching blurred-out people walking around like ghosts. There was not nearly so much traffic, though lots of bikes. With a few exceptions, most cars came in three sizes and were all rather similar, with adverts on the sides and blue or green lights on top.
    Jace appeared in the doorway, nodding at her. The jacket he wore casually unbuttoned was military dress uniform meets pirate; braid, buttons, high collar; outrageously becoming. He didn’t seem at all self-conscious wearing what was to Floss’s mind fancy dress. Men’s fashions had certainly changed in thirty years. He crossed to a hatch in the wall, got out a cardboard box and took it to the sofa to open.
    “Catch.” He chucked a small packet at her, which turned out to be travel sickness patches, and started trying on high boots with straps and buckles. He walked experimentally round the room and over to the computer. “What are you looking at?”
    “Google Street View. I want to see what my old flat looks like.”
    She’d found it now. The house had gone up in the world; railings guarded the basement area instead of the old brick wall, the door was mulberry red, the stucco immaculate, the windows authentic replicas of the Victorian originals. Her tiny attic studio had been replaced by a roof extension with huge panes of glass and a narrow balcony with bay trees at either end. She clicked on Past Views and gazed nostalgically at the flat in 2015 when it was run down, affordable and hers.
    Jace ordered coffee, egg, bacon and fried bread, and tried the second pair of boots while the kitchen prepared his meal.
    “Why did you buy three pairs of boots?”
    He said deadpan, “Because I’m not the one paying for them.”
    Floss thought again how much better he looked without the beard and grime. Now revealed, his face was interesting; uncompromising planes and angles, direct dark eyes that gave nothing away. As he was there she might as well get him to supply information unavailable on the internet.
    “You know London in the future? Where did all the people go?”
    “No one’s supposed to know they’re gone. It was classified when Quinn told me, and I’ve checked and the public still don’t know. But since you’ve seen it for yourself . . . just don’t tell anyone, okay?” Floss nodded. “A contraceptive virus wiped them out.”
    Floss stared at him silently, dumbfounded. This could not be a coincidence. In the end she said in a strained voice, “How do you know it was that?”
    “Quinn worked for IEMA like me.” He pronounced it EEMA. “International Event Modification Authority, the Intelligence Department. They made forays into the future at specific intervals, to see how stuff like global warming was developing, and check for any avoidable threats we hadn’t seen coming. Epidemics, meteorites, riots.”
    “I thought time travel was hardly ever allowed?”
    “Trips to the past, yes, it’s just too risky, but the future’s safer. Even that’s strictly regulated, every trip vetted and recorded. Anyway, Quinn told me before he dumped me in the future that in a hundred and fifty years’ time humans are extinct because of a rogue virus. What they hadn’t worked out five years ago – and I’m assuming still haven’t, since you and Quinn showed up there – is which button to push to prevent it