[Sticks]

Chapter 4

Aftermath and character assassinations

As Steve rubbed his eyes, he remembered the storm that followed. This was an unprovoked attack on a civilian building, by a major ally. Steve and the End-of-the-bar gang were portrayed as meddlers with very dangerous items of nature. A hate campaign had been immediately launched by the US forces, they were ready. It had been said that they had detected glitches in the space time continuum at their main radio telescope. How they could have detected such a glitch they didn't say, national security and all that junk. It was a lie of course, Steve had never sent anything back through time, he knew the risks of a continuous time loop, and even if he had set one up, no one could detect it at all.

The US forces were adamant that this was the only way as RGIT had refused access. They said that they had detected the experiment in time travel, was only moments away from destroying the fabric of the space time continuum, when they had acted. They had been very persuasive; especially in the way they twisted and distorted the data that they had somehow managed to get hold of. They should have got a medal, these Americans, saving the world yet again. The pilot was of course unnamed.

There were of course some protests that the Americans had acted without consultation. But the British and American special relationship was considered to fragile for the British to stand their ground. It mattered little to the Americans, there were other countries to build relationships with, the new independent states, a unified Germany. America could afford to loose its special relationship at that time. Britain could not, afford to loose this relationship, especially as it was dependant on America for its Trident war heads. In spite of severe cries of outrage from known left wing MP's, the Government managed to win a motion endorsing the action taken by the Americans. The official opposition abstained in the vote. The poison was working. In order to protect the universe from a great catastrophe, the government some how justified the assault on the building. Someone had leaned on them, pretty good and proper, and yet again the stench of corruption came from the American camp.

One by one, each member of the End-of-the-bar gang was vilified. First was Sam. He was easy to do being a member of the local Scottish Nationalist party and an explosive expert after a kind. Sam Urqhart was portrayed as a member of the Scottish Liberation Army. He had obviously wanted to use the time machine and his expertise in explosives to go back and change a crucial battle between the English and the Scottish. Needless to say the Scottish National Party had to disown this attempt at rewriting history. They also had to deny all knowledge of Sam's alleged link to the Scottish terrorist group. To everyone's surprise they produced a criminal record of convictions to cause explosions, especially to the surprise of Sam's family and friends. No matter how hard they protested, no one would believe that the criminal record was anything other than genuine. Before anyone started to believe them, a number were arrested after anonymous tip offs for possession of explosives. Sam's own brother was rumoured to have committed suicide by blowing his head off with a shot gun as the anti-terrorist squad closed in. There was fifty kilos of crack cocaine found on his possession. That was strange, thought Steve, Sam's brother had never owned a gun and was very much against drugs. So with those who had defended the name of Sam Urqhart, either they were arrested and charged or they had been discredited some other way. Some, thought Steve, must still be in prison. They had all been silenced.

Trevor Turner had been pictured as an alcoholic lush, lolling around in a drunken stupor all the time. His local branch of CAMRA refused to comment either way. They disclaimed all responsibility; in fact they had told the media that Trevor had been drummed out for embezzlement of funds. This was very clever for Trevor, since he was never treasurer, and had at one time turned the job down when it had been offered. The presence of American servicemen in the branch was of course pure coincidence. Trevor's involvement in the Scottish History society at one time was perfect for the authorities in the great cover up. Like Sam he was portrayed as a Scottish Liberation Army Sympathiser. He was to help Sam in his bid to change history. His role was informing Sam when to go and who to eliminate. Like Sam's friends and relatives, anyone who disagreed was either intimidated to remain silent, immediately arrested on trumped up charges that stuck or simply vanished. Some of them must be still in prison too, that part of the cover up was equally efficient.

David Smith, being English could not be branded as a Scottish terrorist, so he was branded as compulsive gambler. His purpose for his involvement in the time machine was to try and make a killing on the stock market in order to clear up enormous gambling debts. The profits were to be shared with the Scottish Liberation Army. Like Trevor they tried to make out that he had a drink problem. Some how they even managed to make Priscilla denounce him as a wife beater and a child abuser. Steve looked at the old photograph on the viewer for a Press and Journal, dated one month later. There was a nasty bruise on her face, she looked completely dejected and was holding onto baby Philip as if someone was trying to take him from her. There was a piece about how she had lost the house to pay for these huge gambling debts. The only gambling Steve could remember David doing was to occasionally play the bandit gaming machine. Steve looked further at the picture, a bruise of that size would have recovered in one month, and she certainly did not have any bruising when they met on that fateful Saturday.

As for Neel Maclean and Mike Waterston, well they were portrayed as obsessed with any project they started, that was partially true, but not to the level they suggested. The line was that they had become so obsessed with the time machine project and the glory they could have, that they had lost all sight of the implications of their evil work. Both were portrayed as total failures, academically, socially and career wise, and were trying to succeed at anything. Steve turned to another headline on the viewer. "Were accomplices of mad scientist gay". Now that was a total lie. The article was a total libel, most likely supplied by the CIA cover up squad. That was very good piece of character assassination.

Steve leaned back in his chair. He had come to the end of one of the strips. He rolled back, the papers of twenty years previous whizzing back in seconds. He stopped to look one more time at photograph on the front cover on the day after. Something about the building was just not right. He took the strip off and put in the next one to view. The lies they told about the End-of-the-bar gang were just as bad as how he had been vilified.

Steve had been declared to be clinically insane and a complete sadist, as with the others, those who disagreed were found to be drug addicts, perverts or just disappeared. He had been portrayed as the evil mad scientist, ruthless and stopping at nothing to achieve his aims, no matter who got hurt, siding with any who would help him achieve his ends. By the time the CIA press machine had finished, the press were thanking God and Uncle Sam that they had been saved from such an evil unbalanced mind as that of the Steve Gryson. Steve's personal tutor claimed he had been shocked to find out that Steve had a mental history, he was sacked anyhow and committed suicide a week later, so they said. Steve remembered the man Joe Ferguson he had met the previous day, even twenty years on his name inspired as much fear as if he were Count Dracula

Virtually everyone who had supposed to have been killed had their name blackened. The poison was designed to justify the bombing of RGIT, and it just about worked. They did admit that Patricia Nealson, the RGIT President of the parachute and paracending society was just an "innocent bystander" After all, they found that she was quite popular and had faced down a corrupt sabbatical in her other role of Executive member for the General council of clubs and societies, with the aid of the "evil and mad" Steve the executive member for Finance, and had succeeded in mobilising action to remove the corrupt sabbatical. She had done plenty of jumps for charity, had even broken a leg once doing it. There was no way they could blacken her name. In fact she was the only person they could not blacken the name of, so they had tried another track. She was used as a pawn to blacken Steve and the End-of-the-bar gang. If it wasn't for them, this popular angel of RGIT would not have perished. The responsibility for her death was blamed entirely on Steve Gryson, the ring leader. The parents of Patricia Nealson were offered an undisclosed sum in compensation from the US airforce. In light of what had happened to every one else, they wisely accepted. A new seat in one of the local parks was set up in memory of he name. Steve would have to visit it after he had cleared everything up.

As Steve looked up from the viewer, the sound of the weather outside indicated that a heavy downpour was taking place. Anyone outside without the right gear could be dead in three weeks from the poisons in the acid rain. He felt the glare of the librarian looking at him from the desk, could she recognise him? Steve turned off the viewer. He had seen enough, most he already knew. He packed up the filmstrips and got up to hand them back to the librarian.
"Is there anything else you require sir?" the librarian asked.
Steve shook his head and left the reference section without saying a word. As he walked down the steps he could hear the sound of thunder in the distance, this weather would be lethal. He reached the ground floor and entered the main section of the library and went to use the toilets. His mind was still on events twenty years ago. Steve had in effect caused the closure of an entire academic institution.

The RGIT Governors had pushed for heavy compensation for the loss of their most important building. The insurance refused to cover the cost of the damage. The insurance company stated that since they had not allowed the Americans access, they had brought it upon themselves. RGIT did lodge an action against the US Airforce. The chairman of the governors claimed that the only request they had received had come from the Russian delegation to inspect some of the work going on, but he would not say why. Two days later after he had made that claim, he was involved in a fatal car crash, the driver of the other car was never found. Then days after the court case had opened in Edinburgh, the remaining governors dropped the case, claiming that they had managed to arrive at an out of court undisclosed settlement

Although the Schoolhill site was the administrative centre, everyone knew that the RGIT St Andrew Street building was where the most vital support services were concentrated. This was where the Sacred Honeywell computer, the main computer of the entire organisation, was stored, as well as the main Library. A Hewlett packard was installed up at Hilton. The closure of the Hilton College of education meant that the new RGIT schools of Physics and Chemistry were relocated there. The Maths Department Took over the Clerk building. Their effort to rebuild was remarkable, but without the once prestigious St Andrew Building, and the fact that they had allowed experiments that the world thought could have locked the universe into a continuous time loop, the funding started to dry up. RGIT was fatally crippled, even though they tried to struggle on for five years before falling prey to bankruptcy. A lot of students were left high and dry, too late to change course and no funding left. The hatred of Steve Gryson and the Americans had gone deeper into the psyche, as hundreds found themselves on scrapheaps for life, some just weeks from final exams. The University took some on, but only those who could pay extra course fees privately. The US Airforce denied all liability.

Steve came out of the toilet. A large flash of lightening shone its light through the remaining library window. Steve could see that they had put in a new snack bar since he had last visited the place over twenty years ago. This was mainly for the beleaguered residents who used the library as a sort of dos house. As it looked like the storm would continue for some time, Steve made his way over. He brought a mug of tea and a High-Eng fruit biscuit. He made his way to a seat and stared up at a window. As he stared at the drops of acid water running down the pane, he remembered what he had done for the last twenty years.

As he had made his way from the burning building, he had overheard a report on someone's radio that he had been believed dead, and then he had heard the start of the lie. To be Steve Gryson was too dangerous, He could not return to his flat, so he panicked, and hitch hiked north out of Aberdeen. He had some cash on him, in fact more than he could remember drawing and a card with an address on in Wales, which was a mystery as to how he had come across it.

On his first lift out to Inverness he heard the newscast on a local station. It described how the fire was out of control and how the US military were preventing the emergency services from tackling the blaze in the actual building, by invoking an obscure emergency provisions measure, left over from the first cold war. The driver was a lorry driver for a petrol company. Part of the way through the journey he asked what Steve's name was. As Steve had been keen on fantasy role play games, he gave the name, Farrow Smyth, from a magician character he had played for two years, before it had been retired to concentrate on his PhD. The driver had made a comment that it was an unusual name. Steve had said he was stuck with it. For Steve learning to lie was the hardest thing he had to do.

From Inverness, he made his way across to the west coast, hitching all the way. This time lifts were hard to come by. Steve had spent some of his money buying a few more clothes a small cheap radio and a small travel bag. He spent a long time walking along side Loch Ness, yet not once did he see the fabled Nessy hunting scientist. As he walked he had listened to the news reports of the fall out from the bombing, the questions in Prime Ministers Question time, the statement, the lies.

As the reporters went on about Patricia, someone he had cared about, he had begun to believe the lies that he had caused her death. He began to get more withdrawn. The fact that lifts were looking hard to get also added to his misery. He remembered arriving at Fort William only just. He vaguely remembered trying to commit suicide by throwing himself off of a bridge. That was when his breakdown began, the rest was a blank. It was three years before he "woke up", in a mental hospital in Fort William. His recovery was at the hands of a dedicated female psychotherapist, called Katrina, who was also a committed Christian.

Steve had spent a further year recovering in the institution; amnesia had taken a bit longer to wear off. In finding out about the missing three years from Katrina it had seemed that an unidentified man in a white suite had been driving in a white car across the bridge when he had spotted Steve getting ready to jump. He had stopped the car, got out and restrained him. It was luck that local police had been passing as well. Steve had been handed over by the stranger in the white suit. The police were never able to find this stranger again. Meanwhile Steve had lapsed into a near catatonic state. Steve was lucky that he had no identification on him, even his bank cards were missing. Steve was committed to the local hospital, who then referred him to where he had "woken up". His state was so bad that for a time they had had to feed him intravenously.

He was Katrina's second assignment, her first having succeeded in committing suicide after she had played by the book. For Steve she had thrown out some of the secular techniques and had relied on unorthodox methods based on her Christian faith. Steve learned later that they were going to dismiss her from the institution one week later if he hadn't recovered. He was always riding to the rescue, except for Patricia, dear Patricia. Steve had been named John by the institutional staff, since he had been found without identification. They had asked him on recovery what he was called; he only just remembered that he was travelling under the name of Farrow Smyth. The only thing on him was the card with the address of a place in Wales, which was a total mystery to Steve at that time. Steve had asked Katrina if she knew what the address was. According to her it was the address of an obscure religious retreat she had heard of, apart from that she could not shed any further light

As the year of his recovery passed he discovered that during his breakdown he must have been having nightmares, when they came back during his recovery year he realised that they were of the St Andrew Street bombing. He was in a dark building; a man in a dark hooded coat comes up to him and shoots him. He is dragged through a corridor, then an explosion takes place, then he is on fire, it would be here that he would wake up screaming. He had related the dream to Katrina, his psychotherapist, since it had been three years since the bombing; other more dramatic events had obscured any reference that might have revealed Steve true identity. They could never work out who the hooded man might have been. In his other dreams he would be seeing his friends burning to death; the most horrid death was that of Patricia. Steve had to conclude that his mind was trying to work out how they died. If the explosion did not kill them, then the fire would have finished them off.

The time he could remember at the institution was quite a difference to the life he had lead four years previously at RGIT. The benefits of living in a cocooned environment without the hassle of handing in papers and swatting up for exams. The main difference was that they had to have chaperons if they were ever allowed near other "normal" people. Steve built up relations with other patients and staff, one time his psychotherapist took him to here church, a Pentecostal church. Steve was now starting to rebuild his life, but things were not meant to be. Then the realities of the never ending depression hit. First Katrina disappeared; Steve discovered that she had been dismissed as a cost cutting measure. Then one by one the patients vanished. They told Steve that they were being released under the policy of "Care in the Community". Then it was Steve's turn. He was up before a panel of experts. They asked him a few questions; he could not remember what they were now. Then he was declared recovered and given twenty four hours notice to quit. He picked up his travel bag, packed what clothes he could and left within an hour of the board. As he walked through the streets of Fort William he could see some of the residents who had left, now sleeping rough. So much for care in the community he thought. He looked at the mysterious card with the address in Wales. It was wearing out and becoming dog eared, but the address was readable. He decided that he would pay them a visit, maybe he would find some answers there, since he did not have the fare to take public transport he would have to hitch hike all the way to Wales.

"That's my place" came a gruff voice from behind Steve.
Steve's thoughts scattered instantly, he was back in the library snack bar.
"That's my place" the man from behind said.
Steve turned around, there was an old wrinkled man in an old tattered suit and red eyes, he looked all of seventy.
"Sorry” said Steve quietly as he shifted to another table.
The old man, muttering to himself, sat down with his mug of coffee he had just purchased, he totally ignored Steve. Steve stared at him; the spirit of the people was dying, their sense of pride, decency and honour killed by the second great depression. Just like Dundee three years previously the authorities would soon be abandoning Aberdeen by closing down what was left of local government and essential services. Resources were more needed elsewhere. He thought of Katharine who he had just put on the coach to Wales, she had come from Shetland, now that was a real betrayal of the people, just like the other outer islands they had been abandoned and left to marauding raiders. Ideal for the white slave traders to pick up their cargos of terrified girls to be sold for enforced prostitution.

Even among some decent folks now standards were ebbing away, just as the granite harbour walls would be worn away by the constant battering of the sea. Steve knew though that some had not sold out, at least he knew of one group that had not. This was the community that he had sent Katharine off to, his intuition told him that she was the kind of person who belonged with them. He remembered how he had first met them fifteen years ago.

Steve had been hitch hiking with very limited success from Fort William and had been walking most of the time for what seemed like several weeks. As his money had run out, he was slowly wasting way. He tried to get temporary jobs, but as his condition worsened he became less employable. He tried living of off wild plants as he went, but botany was never his field. It was very difficult to distinguish between edible plants and the poisonous one, so very often he had gone without. He remembered collapsing in a ditch somewhere around Carlisle. The police had picked him up; they were going to charge him with vagrancy. As he had not bothered anyone, like some of the local beggars would do, they had fed him the first meal he had in sometime, cleaned him up and dumped him as far south as their jurisdiction would allow, so he could continue his journey to Wales. The other reason that the police had done this was because of costs and paperwork; it was just not worth it.

As Steve had continued south, he had been able to pick up a lift as far as Birmingham from a truck driver. He had located the community on the driver’s atlas; it was between Fishguard and Newport. He spent a week in Birmingham, sleeping rough. He had tried to get jobs in Birmingham, but the depression and his lack of an address had meant that this was not possible. He started his way across to Wales, trying unsuccessfully to get lifts. Within a week he was suffering with hunger. He had got a lift in the back of a pig lorry as far as Newport, it was better than nothing. All through out the journey he had started hallucinating through lack of food. They arrived in Newport in the evening, he had hoped that he might get something to eat from someone at the other end, but no.

As he left the lorry he was finding it hard to walk down the road. His energy had just about gone. He remembered reaching in the small hours the address on the card he had had for nearly five years since the RGIT St Andrew Street bombing. The place was closed. Steve had collapsed at the gate. If they turned him away, he felt he would be dead in a few days.

Next morning, a young girl from the community had discovered him. At first she had thought he was a drug addict who had overdosed, so she went and got the community director. When the director saw Steve, for a strange reason he seemed to know who this person was. Steve was taken to a spare room and then nursed back to health. For an unexplained reason they knew that his first name was Steve. The community was basically a Christian community that doubled up as a conference and activities centre. After a week the director had shown him a letter, it looked old and mentioned that a man of his description would turn up and it asked them to look after him. The letter had arrived the day before he had arrived, so maybe Katrina had told them he was coming, the timing was perfect. Steve was offered a job at the centre as a "volunteer". He decided to accept, he felt safe here so long as no one found out who he really was.

After one year he was offered a salaried job in the administration headquarters on the site, which he accepted. For ten years Steve had worked steadily as an administrator. In his spare time and on his holidays he had been spitting his time between working his way to repeat the experiment that produced the chronons and the anti-chronons and researching into the bombing incident. As the depression bit, the community became more and more self sufficient, producing eventually certain basic foodstuffs to sell. Steve never made director, he never wanted to. He had never married; every female he had struck a relationship with had come to some unrelated disaster. Steve did not want to cause any more suffering. He saw over the years couples meet at the community, get married and start families. He had distanced himself from that and suffered in silence.

Then four years previously, as he was working on regenerating his last experiment he spotted a possible application. He began to modify his original reactor, to miniaturise it to the size of a standard thermos flask. It was only nine months since he had finished his device. He had then discovered that certain key personnel from the time of the RGIT bombing were on a tour of duty in Aberdeen.

It was time to start his fight to clear his name. He then took the evidence he had amassed to show the community director. The director had agreed with Steve that it was time to sort it out. When he had done so, if he wanted he could always come back. The problem was getting back to Aberdeen. Travelling around Britain by now was dangerous, because of armed gangs that hid out in abandoned towns, and the reversion in some areas to barbarism. For the less well off there was the armoured coach service, like the one he had sent Katharine on. He thought of Katharine, he would have to telephone the next day to see if she had arrived safely. If he travelled by coach, then he would appear on a computer somewhere, and that could prove fatal. The way out came when the director has been invited to visit the Iona community, to help advise on the anti-white slaver defences. Steve had been smuggled aboard with a bicycle on to a flight to Glasgow. The trip from there to Aberdeen had taken just over one week. With a fortnight supply of High-Eng ration bars and lots of cash there would be no starving to near death this time

Steve looked out of the window, the rain seemed to be easing off, and the sound of thunder was disappearing into the distance. He finished up his tea; he had spent too long in one place. He suited up to go back out. As he walked out of the library he looked at the dead trees, killed by the acid. A lot of water had passed under the proverbial bridge in twenty years. He had gone from young adolescent starting in higher education, first time away from home, to high flying student through discoverer of the century and a dead, evil crackpot in the eyes of the world, to an administrator at a last bastion of human decency.

His life hadn't been the only thing to change drastically, the world had moved on and backwards at the same time. There had been a serious breakdown in society as the west slowly stagnated. At least he didn't need a filter mask to survive in this city. You could not go back now.

His mind went back to how he had described himself to the first man he had met yesterday. Steve, now realising that in this world he was the Lone Stranger. Steve returned to his bike and cycled around to look at the ruins again. He stared at the ruins for a few seconds and then cycled across onto George Street and gazed around. Here was the last of the dying retail life of the city. The Bon Accord Shopping complex which had contributed a lot to the economic death of Union Street and the rest of Aberdeen. But the oil industry, once the mainstay of the local economy, was in the process of pulling out as the fields became uneconomic to exploit. Now it seemed that even this area was dying of economic stagnation as well. Slowly the Lone Stranger chained his bike to a lamp post, and walked towards the door of the main complex.

This Lone Stranger had unfinished business in Aberdeen. A lot of mystery still remained .Why did the governors drop their law suit? Why did the Honeywell tapes as far back as two months prior to the bombing disappear? Why could they not just have asked Steve to cancel the Tachyon project? Why did they use the most advanced attack helicopter of the day to virtually level a civilian target belonging to an ally? Why, Why, Why? His eyes were glazed as this went through his mind. He felt he was near the end of his twenty year quest for the truth. He anticipated that within a few days those who had killed his friends would certainly be brought to Justice, or he would die trying.