‘How did you get the device here?’ Ben asks, trying to fathom out how you would transport the thing made to enable time travel through time and scratching his head in the process.

‘Good question,’ Roland says in genuine admiration as that hope continues to grow. ‘We didn’t. The inventor made a second one, which was brought here through the first one. That first one has now been destroyed.’

‘Okay, so let me get this right,’ Ben says slowly. ‘You built a time machine then fucked up when some other people made a time machine so you legged it into the very distant past to hide your time machine from everyone else?’

‘Er, yes . . . that is spot on,’ Roland says after thinking for a second.

‘And now you’ve realised that whoever made a second time machine has done something and destroyed the world by twenty-one eleven. Right?’

‘Yes,’ Roland says, smiling at Ben.

‘I’ve got that,’ Ben says then looks at Safa. ‘You?’

‘Yep,’ she says.

‘Harry?’ Ben asks.

‘Aye, now I do,’ he says, nodding at Ben, ‘but I didn’t get a word of what the officer said.’

‘I’m not an officer.’

‘So why are we here again?’ Ben asks.

‘Ah.’ Roland pulls a face and steeples his hands over the top of the tablet on the desk. ‘We realised that any impact on the timeline can have devastating effects on the future of humanity. We need you to find out what changed and stop it from happening and, if we are able, you will locate and destroy the other device.’

‘That’s great, but why are we here?’ Ben asks again. ‘Why us specifically.’

‘We have a program. An advanced software program developed after your deaths that enables us to pick out people with certain skills and knowledge that will be able to assist us. Neither I, nor Malcolm or Konrad,’ Roland says emphatically, ‘have the required skills to do this. You see, we discussed whether we should get historians, scientists or other experts and then we discussed getting you three first, which of course would be harder given your propensity for violence and . . .’

‘We’re not violent,’ Ben says, aghast at the implication.

‘I am,’ Harry says honestly.

‘Yeah, I can be,’ Safa says.

‘I’m not violent,’ Ben says, aghast at the implication.

‘In the end we decided to risk extracting you three first.’

‘Why don’t you just use your soldiers?’ Safa asks. ‘You know, the shit ones from yesterday that can’t fight. Those soldiers . . .’

Roland’s face darkens. He shifts on his seat and drops his eyes for a second. ‘You killed three of those men outright,’ he says quietly. ‘And it looks like a few more might die . . . they were seriously injured when they left here and—’

‘And whose fault is that?’ Safa asks scathingly.

‘I know, I know,’ Roland says quickly, holding his hands out.