The Sarajevo Hypothesis (Altered State Book 3) by J. G. Jenkinson

Author:J. G. Jenkinson [Jenkinson, J. G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vulpine Press
Published: 2023-06-05T16:00:00+00:00

He stood in the barn at Broadlands waiting to be told what to do. Aside from breathing, he had not performed an autonomous act for over a year.

“Now then,” his master’s voice, Mrs Braithwaite said. He winced inwardly, terrified to react and desperate to please. “Sir Gerald has ordered that you build him a contraption, here are the particulars,” she said, waving a thick file at him.

Rudi opened his mouth to speak, but fear of reprisal stayed his tongue.

“Out with it, lad,” she snapped, and again Rudi flinched without moving.

“I don’t know if I can,” he said feebly.

“That’s alright, lad, because I know that you can.”

She thrust the file into his chest. He wasn’t physically weak anymore, a year of her cooking and enforced PT had seen to that, but his mental resilience was paper-thin. On Clive’s orders, Mrs Braithwaite had taken the broken, malleable wreckage of Rudolf Kessler and transformed him into a creature all her own.

“Go on then,” she demanded, arms folded, waiting impatiently for him to begin.

Something close to positive emotion dared to surface as he realised that for the first time, he had been given the agency to perform a task more complex than memorising field manuals. In his new, bleak existence the only comfort, warmth or pleasure he was allowed to know came directly from Mrs Braithwaite. He had been conditioned to understand that without her assent he would know only cold and discomfort. He focused his mind, drawing on knowledge he hadn’t used for nearly a decade.

Eventually he said, “I need a writing desk, a blackboard and a workbench. I’ll make a list of tools.” The idea of noncompliance hadn’t crossed his mind, his captors had been thorough.

“Aye, follow me,” Mrs Braithwaite sighed, leading him to a work area at the far end of the barn, a near perfect reconstruction of his workshop from 1952. Without speaking, she sat down in a comfortable chair and began to knit, in no doubt that Rudi would begin work without further prompting.

That night they slept in the apartment above and as with every other night for the last thirteen months, she held him and he inhaled her rancid breath.

Rudi enjoyed the clarity of absolute submission. He had no notion of ethics, morality, or the intended use of this time machine, only obedience and the avoidance of punishment. This allowed him to focus entirely on the task, beginning with some mental exercises to re-establish long dormant synapses. He used the blackboard to write out some equations and let his mind take them in, blowing away years of mental cobwebs.

After a few days becoming reacquainted with the theory, he set about building his machine. He looked around the shop at the anachronistic equipment and parts. It seemed that Clive had simply carried the necessary technology with him to 1897 and stored it here for this moment, it was the only explanation. These components simply could not exist in 1914. His first dissentious thought crept in, but his addled frontal

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