Free A Window into Time (Novella) by Peter F. Hamilton Page A

me to talk to,
I think. “One of my fiancée’s old boyfriends is threatening her,” I tell him.
    “In what way?”
    Seriously? Do you not understand the word
threat
?
“He posted this on her Facebook page.” I hold up my smartphone, which is showing the Visitor Post.
    He takes it from me and starts to read. It takes him a long time—longer than it should. The way his face is all creased up, I keep expecting his lips to move silently as he reads.
    When he finally finishes, he looks up and says: “There’s no threat there, sir.”
    “What?”
    “It’s odd, granted, but he doesn’t actually threaten her with anything.”
    “You’re kidding! He says she’s going to come to a dark end. It’s right there.”
    “But he doesn’t specifically say he’s going to harm her. It’s more like a prediction based on what happened in Portsmouth.”
    “They never went to Portsmouth.”
    “I see.” He purses his lips. “Has there been anything else?”
    “Well, not yet, no. That’s why I’m here, so you can stop it getting out of hand.”
    “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a cause for any kind of police action.”
    “You mean you won’t even talk to him?”
    “We have no reason to.”
    “This is a joke! What are you here for, then? What’s the point of having police? You’re all useless.”
    He points to a big poster on the wall, one that says any abusive behavior toward police personnel will be dealt with severely, and may result in civil court action.
    “Oh for…” I take my phone back off him and turn to leave.
    “I can give you an incident number, sir,” he says.
    “What?”
    “An incident number for your complaint. That makes it all official, see. So if he bothers your fiancée again, it will be considered as showing a pattern of harassment. Then we may be able to take action.”
    Almost! I
almost
just walk out. But instead, I take a breath and say: “Fine. Give me the number, then.”

Chapter 13
Asteroid Impact Mission
    I was shocked—exactly the same as Michael had been, though perhaps with not quite so much anger thrown in.
    What use are the police? I didn’t expect them to send an armed tactical team around to Vladimir’s house straightaway, but this? A crime number? The tabloid sites are right: We are sliding into anarchy.
    Michael couldn’t even slam the door as he left. He tried, but it had dampening hinges.
    I sat in the flat by myself for the rest of the afternoon, thinking about what I remembered and what to do about it. Future-me was obviously revealing Michael’s life to now-me for a reason, but I simply couldn’t see what it was. Not yet. I still needed more data.
    One interesting thing, though. Whenever I saw Michael, I received more of his memory; he must be a visual trigger. And yesterday he’d been looking around for Vladimir. So there was still a stalker problem. Future-me must be wanting now-me to help. Somehow. I really needed more information to add to the file.
    The next day I wore a pale-blue hoodie and black trousers to go to Docklands. Not that I had to worry about the security people. Now I that knew his routine, I waited in Jubilee Park, out of sight from the office entrance.
    Michael went to lunch at twelve forty-one—so, slightly later today, then. It was just him and one other bloke this time. I sat on a bench and watched the pair of them go past. I guessed they were talking about work; both of them were looking very serious, and there was plenty of hand-waving.
    And I’d been right. Just the sight of him was bringing back another memory. I was remembering the time not long ago when Michael caught sight of Vladimir—
    —then I wasn’t remembering anything at all, because I was looking across Jubilee Park at one of the big curving entrances to the Tube station and saw him standing just inside the arch. Vladimir McCann! Right in front of me. He was stalking Michael.
    —
    I left right away. Dad’s advice wasn’t going to help. By the time I got to the