The Eternal War by Alex Scarrow Read Free Book Online

move along far more quickly than other wear – they could pass as 1830s clothes. Maddy’s corset and skirts might be a size too big for Sal, but nothing that would attract any attention.
    Liam was already nearly good to go in his brown jacket and waistcoat; Bob wore a striped linen shirt and scruffy cotton trousers. Becks was almost in the corset.
    ‘Becks, you can stay. Sal’s taking your place.’
    She stopped fussing with the ties at the front. ‘Is this advisable?’
    Maddy shrugged. ‘It’s New Orleans. What’s to worry about? Anyway, she’s got Bob and Liam with her.’
    The support unit dutifully nodded and began to undress.
    Maddy pointed towards the small archway where their bunks stood. There was a drape that could be pulled across for a little privacy. ‘Best you do that over there, Becks.’
    Last thing she needed was Liam getting all hormonal.
    ‘Sal, you understand this is 1831?’
    ‘Yuh.’
    Maddy bit her lip. Crud, this is going to be awkward .
    ‘This is a time of slavery.’
    Sal’s eyes were drinking in the details of the dress and its corset, eager to get her hands on it, to try it on. ‘Yeah, I know,’ she replied absently.
    ‘Well … your, uh … you know … your skin is, like, dark …?’
    Sal looked up at Maddy. ‘What?’
    Maddy shuffled uncomfortably. ‘I’m just saying you may be treated … you may be called …’
    ‘I’m not black ! If that’s what you’re saying!’
    ‘No but, what I’m trying to –’
    ‘Shadd-yah! Dark means I’m African, now? You can lump us all together simply because we’re not white?’ Her brow furrowed with irritation. ‘I’m Asian!’ She shook her head and rolled her eyes and turned to follow Becks over towards the bunks. The drape swished across the archway behind them.
    ‘I just meant … people back then might not make the same distinction,’ replied Maddy, her voice fading to nothing.
    Nice one, Maddy.
    ‘Uh … OK,’ she said, stepping back towards the computers. ‘Right, Liam, Bob, the candidate time-stamp is 5 April 1831, and I’m going to drop you in a few hours before the Abraham squashing incident. The paper said “evening”, so I guess that means about five or six. You’ll arrive at four in the afternoon and I’ve found a street map of New Orleans dockside area, circa 1834, which I guess is close enough. We’re opening a window in what looks like a storage warehouse of some kind.’
    She checked one of the screens. They had a density probe testing the location for obstructions.
    ‘Anything on the density probe, computer-Bob?’
    > Negative. Nothing has passed through the time-stamp location.
    She nodded, satisfied with that. It seemed a quiet enough spot.
    ‘Young Abe Lincoln gets flattened on Powder Street, which, according to the map we’ve got here, is just a minute or two from your drop location. It’s one of the main streets; I’m sure you’ll find it easy enough. Just follow the smell of horse poo.’
    Liam chuckled. Even in 1912 – his time – every busy thoroughfare in Cork was dotted with little molehills of manure waiting to be flattened by a cartwheel or eventually scooped up by a street-sweeper.
    ‘How do we know which fella to save?’ he asked. ‘I mean … I think I know what he looks like as an old man. A beard and big bushy eyebrows, an’ the like. But he’s young now, aye? We got a picture of him as a young fella?’
    ‘No, there’s none. Not at the age he is now.’
    ‘Information,’ said Bob, flexing inside his shirt. It should have been loose on him, but in fact he barely fitted inside it. ‘Celluloid-based portraits were not in common use at this time, even though photographic technology existed.’
    ‘Right,’ said Maddy. ‘And at this point in time, no one’s gonna think this guy is going to be someone important. He’s a total nothing. Not worth a picture.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, not yet, anyway.’
    She glanced at a page of data that computer-Bob