AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This isn’t a conventional blog. It is a novel, being written in real time. Unfortunately, it is being written like a conventional blog, which does mean you need to go right to the end, and read backwards, to follow the plot. My apologies.

Extracts from report into the closure of unauthorised experiment 'Project Hermes'.

...After the 'missing in action' status of the three subjects of this experiment had been updated to 'presumed dead', legal action by their relatives lead to this sub-comittee investigation into the activities carried out without official sanction in Norfolk...

...All those involved have now been redeployed to other duties.  The buildings and associated equipment have been disposed of...

...It is our recommendation that this report and related papers should be filed with a 100-year release date.

I haven't written anything for days because we've been working from dawn to dusk getting the ground prepared, and then getting the crops in. By the time i get to bed, I'm so tired I fall asleep straight away, so I can't get anything written here.

Now I've been told - if I can understand what they have said and gestured to me - that most of the men (including me) are leaving first thing tomorrow morning on a long expedition. If I've got it right, we're going to a big annual meeting-cum-roundup of livestock, somewhere down south.

If I get the chance, I'll describe the journey.

Something odd happened last night. I woke in the very early hours, well before dawn, conscious that I had been sent again. I seemed to be somewhere dry, and reasonably comfortable, so I settled down to wait for daylight, to see where I'd ended up this time.

In fact, I must have fallen asleep again, because I woke to find Fou-el's son shaking me and indicating that it was time to get up and start work.

I seem to be in exactly the same world. Yet I am sure that I felt a sending. It was certainly what I've felt on the other occasions this has happened while I was awake: the same sense of vertigo, as though I were standing on the edge of a mile-high cliff, followed by bright flashing lights at the back of my eyes. I'm sure it wasn't a dream.

Can I have been sent to the same place and time? Am I stuck here for ever?

Only time, I suppose, will tell.

Work has been extremely hard the last few days, and I’ve been too tired in the evenings to write anything. I can only really type when it gets dark, as I don’t want to draw attention to my wristpad, and have to try to explain it (and probably face having to fight for it, and the head of this household is also headman of the village, and he and his wife have the bulk of the prestigious items – particularly jewellery). Fortunately, although it’s a lot warmer here than the last world I was in, it’s still cold enough for me to keep my sleeves rolled down in the day, and I don’t think anyone has noticed it.

The headman is a big, bulky bloke – and very fit, of course, with all the hard work around here. I certainly wouldn’t want to have to fight him. He’s about my height, but a couple of stones heavier, and about ten years older too – I’d guess he’s in his mid-thirties, although his face (like everyone else’s) is so weather-beaten I could be out by twenty years.

I’m still struggling with the language – I’m not even sure what his name is. The others call him something like Fou-el, but I suspect that’s a title rather than a name. Still, it’s what I call him too – he doesn’t seem to object. In my mind, though, I think of him as Phil.

I’m afraid it’s really hard to see what I’m doing – this small oil lamp (a wick, floating in a small dish of oil, actually) doesn’t really give enough light to see the small symbols on this touch-pad, so I think I’m going to have to stop now. Will try to write again tomorrow about the life of this community.

It’s difficult to find the right words to describe this place. ‘Primitive’ sprang to mind, but I wouldn’t want to give the impression that the people here are intellectually backward in any way. They’re really bright – at least, as far as I can tell, because communication isn’t the easiest thing.

I’m not sure what language they’re speaking. Odd words are English, and at times whole sentences seem to making sense. In general though, it’s a language I’ve never heard, and which doesn’t sound much like any European ones I know. There’s a hint of Scandinavian, and a bit of German – but sometimes whole days go by with not a single word spoken that I can recognise.

Still, with a bit of mime, and a few common words, I get by.

The buildings, certainly, might be described as primitive. Raking up what I can remember from the archaeology course I did years ago, I’d say they are similar to those of the Middle Ages. They are proper buildings, not round huts or the like. The have timber frames, thatched roofs, and walls infilled with wicker-work, covered with mud (and other substances, I suspect – there are certainly hairs sticking out of the piece of wall I’m leaning against). I think that’s what’s called wattle-and-daub.

But they do have glass windows. Not very clear glass, to be sure, but glass nevertheless. They are warm, and dry, and serve their purpose very well. Inside the building where I’ve been housed, wall hangings are clean and fresh, the rushes on the floor are changed daily. It’s actually very comfortable.

So ‘primitive’ may not be the word, but it’s certainly not the world I came from, either.

The sun’s gone down, so work has now stopped, and although the primitive oil lamp I’m allowed to use doesn’t give fantastic light, I can see enough to type.

I’ve settled here among a community of farmers. Actually that’s not the right word – if in your mind it sets up an image of tractors and combines. This is a primitive agricultural community – almost subsistence living. Still, it’s labour-intensive, which means I was able to offer my services in exchange for bread and a bed.

The village has pigs, chickens and a few cattle – but the livestock is like nothing I’m used to. The cows have huge, curved horns, and are about 50% taller than any cow I’ve ever seen – they really are quite threatening. The pigs, on the other hand, are much smaller, scruffier and hairier than pigs from ‘my’ world.

I’ll write more about the community here, but the light really is getting bad, and it’s too much of a strain to write further today.

Well, I survived – but only just. I spent most of my time in Norwich scavenging for food and firewood – and trying to keep warm.

My wristpad packed up completely, and wouldn’t work even after I was sent here, where temperatures are about back to normal (I think – although it does seem very warm to me, but that may just be a reaction after spending months in freezing temperatures). Then, yesterday, I spotted that there seemed to be some signs of life. I think the battery must have been completely discharged, and so it took more than just some warmth and sunlight to bring it back to life.

Anyway, I’m here, alive, and reporting back.

I’m being called to work by the farmer I’m staying with, so will have to close – will try to write again tomorrow.

I must admit that survival has been my prime consideration over the last few weeks, rather than writing here. That isn’t the only reason I haven’t put anything here recently though; my wristpad has been playing-up.

As I said last time, the battery seems to have been completely discharged when I was in prison. There's enough light here to charge it, via the solar panel, but only if I take the pad off – otherwise I’m wearing so many layers of clothing, that light can’t penetrate to it.

The problem then seems to be that it’s so cold here that the battery won’t hold a charge. If I put the wristpad on, then my body heat warms it – but then, of course, it’s back under layers of clothing.

I’m managing to use it now only because I’ve got a very hot fire burning, and I’m sitting next to the window, which seems to be giving enough light.

Anyway, I'm here now, so time for an update. I got into the city, and eventually found myself in the area of Mercury House. I broke into a Salvation Army hall opposite, and found a large store of blankets and warm clothing – even some sleeping bags - together with some tinned food, so I had enough to survive on, while I scavenged the city, looking for more.

Eventually I found a small supermarket, which was almost fully stocked (most other shops appear to have been completely emptied). I now have enough dried and tinned foods to see me through several months, if I have to. I’ve been breaking up the wooden seats in the hall here, and have quite a stack of firewood. All in all, I’m OK.

Having had a number of nasty falls on icy pavements, I’m inclined to stay put here, until the next sending.

I don’t think anyone is going to come to rescue me. I’ve found enough odd newspapers, circulars and government leaflets, to work out what’s happened here. This version of Britain is in the grip of an ice-age. The most recent report I could find spoke of glaciers having reached the north coast of Norfolk. The bulk of the population appears to have been evacuated to Africa. I gather, reading between the lines, that cool, damp weather has improved the climate of the desert areas of North Africa, and they are able to sustain larger populations.

The battery seems to be fading, so I’m going to post this now, before I lose my contact.

I was arrested in the park, and charged with vagrancy. I got four weeks hard labour – and my wristpad was, of course, confiscated again.

When I was let out, I found my wristpad wouldn’t work. I’m guessing it was kept in a dark cupboard somewhere, the battery ran down, and of course the solar panels couldn’t charge it up. That’s still a bit worrying – it should hold a charge longer than that. Maybe all my travels have affected it in some way, although it’s military specification and it should be able to stand up to some hard knocks.

Anyway, it’s back up and working again now. In fact, I noticed that I’d got power a couple of days ago, but I haven’t been able to write anything since then, because survival has been my first priority.

I’ve been sent again, but for some time I wasn’t sure that I was still in Norfolk – because this version of Earth appears to be in the middle of winter, even though my wristpad tells me it’s July now.

It’s bitterly cold, there are several feet of snow packed on the ground, and every surface is covered in ice. There’s no sign of green anywhere; even trees are ice-blocks.

The terrain, what I could see of it through the snow, seemed familiar, though, and I managed to make my way to where Norwich should be. I found it – but it seems to be completely deserted.

I started breaking into houses, eventually, just trying to find some shelter – and food. There’s no power anywhere – neither gas or electricity – but I did manage to find some tinned food, and some matches. I’ve been breaking-up furniture for kindling, and have managed to build myself a fire.

I’m wearing several layers of clothing that I’ve found (most houses seem to have been emptied, almost as if the inhabitants had moved out – but some just seem to have been abandoned, with most of their contents) and I think my priority, tomorrow, is to move into the city itself, and see if I can find some better survival gear – and also find out what’s going on here.

I haven’t been able to write for the last few weeks because I’ve been locked away in Norwich Prison.

With William’s encouragement, I went into Norwich to have a look round. It was very strange. Many parts seemed familiar, but others were really weird. I eventually realised that there were large chunks of the city – whole rows of shops for instance – just missing. I tried to be systematic, and looked closely at each building, while I complied a list of what was there.

Finally I realised that it wasn't what was there, but what was missing, which made the place seem so strange. I couldn't find a single pub, cinema, theatre – no places of entertainment at all. Nor were there any radio or TV shops, or even shops selling music.

What with that, and most people being dressed in black, the place was really, really gloomy.

Around mid-day the streets cleared. I hadn’t spotted it immediately – it was only after I noticed how quiet everywhere was that I realised I was the only person left on the street. Two minutes later I’d been arrested.

I got a five-day sentence for not observing public prayers, and a ten-day one for blasphemy in a public place (I’d sworn as I was being arrested).

This clearly is a very fundamentalist religious state.

They took my wristpad away from me in prison. I’m writing this in the park (at least there are still parks here) as I’m not sure what to do next. William and Sarah must have wondered what happened to me; I suspect though that they would be shocked to find they have been harbouring a religious dissenter. I’ve still got the two pounds that William gave me, so I can at least eat for a while.

Coins, I think, may be something I ought to look at more closely in any future world. It is fascinating what they can reveal. William gave me two pounds – in loose change – payment, he said, for the work I had done. I did protest, as anything I had put into their smallholding could not even start to make up for their having saved my life. Nevertheless, he insisted – and he also insisted that I should go into Norwich in a day or two, to spend some of it.

I was delighted to see the old familiar coins, which, now I think about it, have been very different on some versions of Earth that I have visited. Here, though, were pennies and ha’pennies, shillings and half crowns. However, not one of them bore Charles’ head. Even the old coins, going back fifty years or so, didn’t show Elizabeth’s head. Instead, there were a series of grim-faced men.

I tried not to show my ignorance, but managed to obliquely bring up the subject of the faces on the coins. Fortunately, some sixth sense warned me not to refer to them as ‘the king’s heads’. William spoke with great fondness of Oliver VI, the last Lord Protector. The new man, Richard, was, he said, weak and shallow, compared to him. However, in William’s opinion, at least he is better than the hereditary kings to be found in most of Europe. The Kaiser, particularly, he spoke of with great bitterness – unusually so, for William strikes me as a very gentle man.

Clearly they do not have a monarchy here; when the revolution (I assume that is what overthrew them) took place, I cannot tell, and it didn’t seem wise to press William too much – obviously anyone born here would know at least that much of their own history. Sadly, I don’t. The title ‘Lord Protector’ rings bells with me, but I can’t remember if it was from British history, and if it was, from what period – in fact I’m pretty sure it was a title that was used in the North American Religious Revolution of the fifties; perhaps on this world that revolution spread to Britain too?

Well, I seem to have my strength back now – mainly due to the fitness regime William and Sarah have imposed on me. From Sarah’s part that has consisted of plenty of home-cooked food, with lots of vegetables. On William’s side, he has ensured that I have had plenty of exercise, helping him on his smallholding.

He’s kept me busy each day – and given all that they have done for me, it seems only fair that I offer them my labour. In fact, if they’ll let me, I hope I can stay here for a while, offering work for rent.

The only thing that really grates is their religiosity. I suppose I shouldn’t complain about it – after all, it probably lies behind their taking me in and caring for me, but I did find at first their expectation that I would be joining them for prayers first thing every morning, than again at lunchtime and in the evening was a bit much.

Once I started working outside, I realised that their prayer times were being governed by the ringing of the church bells. If their prayers hadn’t seemed so familiar, and Christian, I might have begun to wonder if this version of Britain wasn’t somehow a Muslim state. It certainly seems, from what I can gather from William and Sarah, and the neighbours that I have met, that regular prayer at set times throughout the day seems to be the pattern of life around here. Perhaps I’ve fallen into some kind of religious community – certainly these folks aren’t monks and nuns as I have experienced them in my world, but maybe this is some kind of variation of that.

I’ll see if I can get a day off soon, and go into Norwich, to see what life’s like there. There is certainly much that I would like to know more about. I haven’t seen a single book – other than the Bible – or any electrical devices more complicated than a light. Reflecting on that, I wonder if this might be a Shaker society, such as the one I visited in America a few years ago. On the other hand, there are plenty of motor cars flowing by freely outside, and I’m sure I’ve seen one in William’s garage.

Clearly, I’ve survived. Only, though, because I was sent again. I arrived on this version of Earth a few days ago, but I was so weak, it's taken me until now to get up enough strength to type again. I think I must have been very close to death when William found me and took me into his home, but I can’t really remember much about what happened then.

I certainly fell on my feet (metaphorically - I was in fact flat on my back) when I was found by William. He and Sarah his wife have cared for me as if I were their own. A few days rest, and some simple home-made food, and now I feel a lot better.

I can't tell you much about this world, as I haven't been allowed to get up yet, so I haven’t seen much outside this room in their cottage. It seems pretty basic - they have electricity, but no television or radio (or none that I have seen or heard) and not many other appliances either - in fact if it wasn't for the lights, I’m not sure I would have known they even had electricity.

The house is very simply furnished, but clean, and neat. My hosts too are simply dressed - mainly in black, although Sarah's dresses (I assume she has more than one, although they all do look very similar - long, and not particularly tailored) do have white cuffs and collars. Their accent is broad Norfolk, but having been born and brought up in the county, I have no trouble understanding them, although my accent causes some difficulties to them (university – and probably television too – has knocked out a lot of my Norfolk vowels).

At first sight, I must say, I could have believed this was my world. Things seem pretty normal. There is the sound of traffic in the road outside (real motor cars, by the noise – certainly not horse and carts, which is what William and Sarah’s slightly simpler life-style might have led me to expect).

However, I'm pretty sure this isn't the Earth I came from. The smell is wrong, somehow. It’s not dirty – indeed my room is spotless, and there’s always a bunch of flowers in the vase on the table. As I’m lying here with nothing better to do, I’ve let my nose investigate. I can smell (apart from the flowers) wax polish, coal smoke, soap, cooking smells. Simply, homely things. Nothing artificial, though. Now I think about it, the air outside (what I can remember of it as William helped me here) also seemed too clean - no pollution smells. That's a bit odd, I must say, because I know I can hear cars on the road outside.

Looking around my room, the sheets are cotton, the bedspread’s a woollen blanket. The floors are polished boards. The furniture is all wooden. There’s not a single thing that I can see that’s made of plastic.

Anyway, Sarah says that she thinks I’m strong enough to get up tomorrow, so perhaps I’ll be able to get a better picture then.

I nearly deleted the end part of my last posting here, but I decided to leave it in, as it is at least a realistic record of what was happening to me. Obviously the fruit, whatever it was, that I ate caused me to hallucinate. I was completely stoned for about two days - it didn’t feel like that at the time, but that's what the calendar on my wristpad tells me.

I did try nibbling on some leaves, but my tongue and lips started to go numb, and my head started to float away again, so I stopped.

Since then, I’ve just been drinking water, but now I’m terribly weak and light-headed. I have to lie still most of the time - as soon as I move I start seeing stars, and get so dizzy that I have to sit down. I’ve gone past the stage of being hungry.

Unless I find something safe to eat very soon, or I get sent again, then I shall die here.

I’m not sure, to be honest, that my brain is working properly - I’m not what you'd call lucid at the moment - but I’ve got it into my mind that all the plant life here is toxic. That might explain why there are no other living things around - the plants have evolved this defence mechanism to avoid being eaten, and have actually killed off every other living thing.

Perhaps it’s something to do with the sunlight being more yellow – mind you, I might just be imagining that (apart from anything else, I wouldn’t be surprised if the plants weren’t dropping chemicals in the streams, so even the water may be causing me hallucinations).

Doing anything is a real effort. It's taken me all day to type this.

I've just spent half an hour starting at a clump of plants which are growing on the ground near where I’m lying at the moment. They have fruits that look a bit like strawberries - but they're coloured orange.

I suppose having another period of hallucinations is better than dying of starvation, so I think I’m going to risk eating some. Perhaps one or two won't have too much of an effect on me.

Two says ago I was sent again. Tom didn’t come with me – I rather hoped he would; I suppose I thought the aerial (or whatever) was a collection device, and I’d be picking up the rest of the team and bringing them with me.

So, just me on my own, but I still have Tom’s wristpad. Actually, as he can’t use it to access the internet, and the sat nav doesn’t work, all he could use it for would be to write messages, or use some of the ancillary features like the camera, compass, clock and firelighter. I think all those things are more likely to be useful to me than to him, so I don’t feel guilty for still having it.

If I didn’t, I certainly wouldn’t be able to write this, for so far I have found no signs of human beings, far less a computer. This version of Earth is, frankly, a bit creepy. It’s so quiet. No birdsong – and no signs of birds. Or animals. Or insects. No sign of anything alive, in fact.

Oh, apart from the vegetation of course. There’s plenty of that. Very green and lush – but plants that don’t look right to me. I haven’t come across one familiar tree, or shrub – or even a flower that I recognise.

If you forced me to say, I would guess that I was in a tropical jungle – except it’s not that hot, or humid. The sun does seem brighter than it should be, though, and the light is more yellow, somehow.

My concern at the moment is food. I’ve had nothing to eat for two days, and can’t see anything I recognise as safe to eat. Water isn’t a problem – there are plenty of streams – but with no birds or animals to hunt and only these unfamiliar plants, I really don’t know what’s poisonous and what's not. One thing a wristpad doesn’t have is a toxicity meter.

I found a tree a couple of hours ago bearing fruit that looked a bit like pears – except they were almost lemon-yellow. I cut one open – the inside was hard, like an apple, but again very yellow. Eventually my hunger made me risk it, and I ate half the fruit. It was sweet, but with a slightly bitter aftertaste – I needed to drink lots of water to rid myself of the acidity.

If it doesn’t cause me any stomach upsets, I’ll try a few more tomorrow. I’ve got to eat something, after all – I have no idea how long I’m going to be here, and there’s no point startving myself to death.

Odd. The starts have started to appear, although it’s only the middle of the afternoon. Well, not all the tsars, just two. I guess one must be venus; the other is about the same hight in the sky.

I’m feeling little dizzy. I’ve had to sit down.

I’m laying on my back now, my left arm up in the air so that I can type into the ristpad, juist over it I can see the two starts – only they’re getting bigger, and they seem to have black dots in the middle off them.

My arms are growing, the wristpa d is getting furthera way and its hard to make it owyut.

Was the sky always red i thought it used to be blue or was it green im not sure its hard to remember and the ground is palpa paalpat movng up and i think its alive the eyes in the sky are wtching me i think the worlds going to kiss me my hands are shrinking now i cannn dgdh jkkk n

As I said last time, I have enjoyed having a wristpad to use in the evenings, because I can search the internet for more ideas about what might be happening to me. Not, this time, looking into the meaning of the title Project Hermes – after all, they may have been quite innocently just thinking about the messenger of the gods function of his life – but into the physics of what I’ve been experiencing.

Unfortunately, as I’m not a scientist, most of the stuff goes over my head, and I find it hard to differentiate between crackpot theories and real physics, but a couple of things I have seen are helping me make a bit of sense of things, just at the moment.

First was an article which spoke about a ‘multi-worlds conundrum’ which said, if I understood it correctly, that at some point, a decision may be made which has two possible outcomes – and that both happen, a second (or third, or however many possible outcomes there may be) world being created so that all the possibilities can occur.

That is my understanding of the theory. What the scientist actually wrote was ‘two worlds appear for every one, each and every time there is a quantum mechanical event as a matrix of values collapses into its eigenvector’.

I don’t understand half those words, but my simple explanation at least helps me to understand why there are so many similar, but slightly different, worlds which I am visiting.

The second article didn’t explain how or why the worlds are created, but did at least suggest that this physicist believed they existed. Apparently the universe doesn’t have enough matter in it, or enough mass, or something (as I say, I’m no scientist, so I expect I’m completely garbling this). To get around this, scientists have invented something they call ‘dark matter’ – something which you can’t see, because it’s dark, and which no-one has been able to detect, but which makes up the ‘missing’ mass of the universe.

Well, if the universe is in fact bigger because of these multiple worlds that I have been visiting (and who knows, perhaps it’s not just a different Earth I visit, but a completely different solar system, galaxy or even universe) then there is plenty of mass to meet any theories of how big the universe should be, and no need, so this physicist said, to invent ‘dark matter’.

Perhaps this all makes sense to a scientist. As for me, well I’ve always believed the universe is infinite (because if it’s not, and it’s got a boundary, well, what’s on the other side of the wall?). What I can say, with absolute certainty, is that – unless what I’ve been experiencing for the last two years is all a dream – I know for a fact that there is more than one Earth, whatever any theoretical physicist may say.

As I’ve got Tom’s wristpad, I’ve been using it in spare moments to do some research. I was checking whether there was any reference to Project Hermes in this world, when I came across an article about the god Hermes himself.

From what I could remember about ancient mythology, I had understood that Hermes was the messenger to the gods. I seem to recall, when I was in Greece on holiday one year, seeing him as the symbol they use for their post office. That seemed to make sense as the name for a project intending to send things a distance.

I now see, however, that he wasn’t just the messenger to the gods. He was also the Greek god of shepherds and cowherds, of orators and wit, of literature and poets, of athletics, of weights and measures and commerce in general (none of which have anything to do with this project, as far as I can see) but he was also the god of the cunning of thieves and liars.

I have been wondering for some time if the scientists in the team knew, or suspected, more than they were letting-on to us. Perhaps they thought they were being very clever, naming their project after the god of the cunning of thieves and liars. I’m sure they must have had some test objects (particularly the heavier ones, which must have travelled further back in time) returned showing the effects of their journey. Yet they sent us on our way, with no hint of what might happen. The cunning of thieves and liars, indeed.

The further I looked, though, I found that there is even more to the god Hermes. He wasn’t just a messenger between the gods themselves, but, as a translator, Hermes was a messenger from the gods to humans. Hermes apparently gives us our word hermeneutics, which is about the art of interpreting hidden meaning.

Perhaps I’m just getting paranoid now, but one site told me that being the herald, or messenger, of the gods, it was also Hermes’ duty to guide the souls of the dead down to the underworld – and he was closely connected with bringing dreams to mortals.

That information certainly set me to thinking. What is the real purpose of Project Hermes? Guiding the souls of the dead down to the underworld sounds horribly like what has happened to us.

So I dug a little deeper, and I found that Hermes had another function, according to some authorities. He was also the god of boundaries and of the travellers who cross them. That might just fit in with the aim of the project as it was explained to us, but it sounds far more like what we are actually experiencing.

It all makes me wonder whether Hermes is genuinely intended for military transport (in which case it’s a complete and utter failure) or whether the scientists in charge had a good idea what was going to happen to us, and sent us – unprepared - on some kind of scouting expedition into other dimensions.

I will have questions, when I return home.

Well, Tom got me a job, filling magazines for the Kalashnikovs he and his partner sell. Not too demanding, loading 25 bullets at a time into magazines, but it keeps me indoors, out of sight, in relative warmth, and for that I am grateful.

It gives me time, too, to think.

I believe that I have decided that the aerial (or whatever it is in my spine) connects me with the team back in our world, and it’s that which picks up the signal and sends me off to another world.

My last theory, if I remember right, that this must coincide with future tests – or even working uses of the system.

I now have another theory. Given that it is now, according to this computer site (and, I might add, the locals here) the end of March 2007, then I suspect that what I’ve been experiencing for the last couple of years isn’t the team continuing sending, but the effects of the sendings they were doing in the run-up to the first human test. In other words, when I arrived here earlier this month, that was as a result of a sending of a test animal on that same day in March 2007 in our world.

If only I knew what the time-table of the tests had been, I could confirm my theory – and have some idea when I might be sent again. Unfortunately, neither Tom nor I have any idea when the team were making their earlier tests.

If I’m right – and this is something I’m pinning a lot of hope on – then maybe next year, on the day that we were sent the first time, we’ll arrive at the expected destination. We’ll be three years older, of course, but apart from that, the experiment will have worked.

It is, I will of course report, a complete failure as a system intended to deliver troops and supplies instantaneously on the battlefield, from a depot miles behind the lines. Given that we were sent back three or four years on a sending of about five miles, then using it in action could result in a middle-aged army arriving on the battlefield, possibly without weapons and equipment, having lost them over a period of years spent in one or more other dimensions.

Similarly, food supplies would have perished. Perhaps ammo could be sent that way, if it were packed securely, but as a military system – no, it’s a failure.

Well, I will report that when I get home. I’m determined it will be when, not if.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep my head down, fill magazines, and wait my time out.

The first bullet hit the man we were hunting in the shoulder. If this had been a film, no doubt he would have clamped his hand over the neat wound, and kept on running. Real life is a bit different.

The bullet came out of him in a gout of blood, flesh, and flashes of white bone. He was knocked flat on his face, unable to get up – partly because his right arm was only held on by strips of flesh.

The sheriff walked up to him, put his gun to the man’s head, and pulled the trigger.

Justice done in this primitive version of the England I once knew.

I didn’t throw up, but I felt like it. I’ve been in the army for four years, but I’ve never seen a man killed – and certainly haven’t seen such casual violence. I hate to think how long I would have survived here on my own - I am just grateful that I met Tom so early on, and have his knowledge of what is acceptable here.

Before I joined the Hermes team I did three months duty with the LN peacekeeping force on the Pakistan border, in the aftermath of the Second Afghan War. I know the League of Nations is seen to be a pretty toothless beast, but I think we did some good work while we were there.

What really strikes me about this version of Britain (or England, actually – Tom tells me that he’s managed to work out that union with Scotland never took place, and that Britain as a nation doesn’t seem to exist) is that it seems to resemble a lot of what I saw in that region of the Northwest Frontier. Norfolk may not be the Hindu Kush, but the primitive buildings, the local warlords (sorry, here they’re just called Lords – nobility seems to be the way this place is governed) and even the casual violence, and routine carrying of weapons vividly brought back my time in Pakistan. About the only difference is the lack of heat and dust.

Tom is staying in a run-down part of the outskirts of Norwich. So far, apart from the cathedral, I haven’t seen a single building larger than two stories. Very few houses are built of brick. Mostly houses, shops and even public building are constructed of wood and adobe, with thatched roofs. Some attempt in the past had clearly been made to build some decent roads, but now even the main street is mostly a series of water-filled potholes connected by strips of tarmac. Most of the side streets are just beaten earth (which at this time of year are mostly covered with a layer of mud).

Tom says that he gathers other parts of the world are far more advanced than this – which explains the jet airliner I saw on the first day I arrived. He thinks, from hints he’s heard from travellers passing through, that the Persian Empire is the dominant world force. England is a backwater, and appears to have been in decline for years. Presumably if, three hundred years or so ago, England didn’t unite with Scotland, then England alone wasn’t as powerful as Britain was in our world, and so I assume there was no British Empire

In many ways, this place reminds me of Darra, where I was stationed with the LN. Like Darra, the major local industry here seems to be making weapons. Every other building, or so it feels, houses a workshop, turning out guns – mainly fairly primitive things, although Tom has a variation of the standard Kalashnikov.

He admitted that they didn’t seem to have invented the AK-47 on this version of Earth, and as it is such a useful, and simple weapon, he decided that he would ‘invent’ it, and showed a gunsmith how to make it. Now the two of them are in partnership, turning them out on quite a large scale. It means that Tom is now quite a wealthy man, and at least I’ve got a decent bed to sleep in, and enough food to keep me comfortable.

Tom has introduced me to the local forces of law and order – which is principally the sheriff, and whoever he deputises to assist him in the dispensing of what passes for justice to those criminals that the Earl of Norfolk (our local representative of the King, power and authority) decides have gone too far. That’s how I got dragged into the manhunt. It wasn’t pretty, and I really think I need to find a way of keeping my head down, and not getting too involved in this world – unlike Tom, I don’t feel the need to build a home here, for I expect to be moving on again before too long.

Well, I needn’t have worried about what was going to happen to me there, because the day after I typed my last entry, I woke up in the early hours of the morning to find that I was no longer in my bed, but was on a damp, and cold, grassy bank.

I’d almost allowed myself to believe that I wasn’t ever going to be sent again, and that Professor Ilyes would find a way of communicating with the Hermes team. So you can imagine that I was a bit down as I huddled up against the cold, and waited for dawn to break.

When it did, I found myself on a bare hillside, with view towards what looks like Norwich – but not a version of the city that I particularly recognised. The spire of the cathedral was visible, but no other tall buildings at all. There was plenty of smoke though, rising from chimneys on the buildings I could make out, so obviously the place was inhabited.

The thought of getting some warm food inside me saw me walking briskly towards the city.

As I got closer to the first building, I saw that this Earth is clearly very different to the one I had just come from. I would have guessed we were in a medieval world – in addition to the shabby buildings, the people I passed were in general quite a bit shorter than me, thin, and poorly-dressed.

Then, though, I saw a large passenger jet flying high overhead.

I was just getting over that conundrum, when I saw a face that I recognised – it wasn’t hard to spot him, as Tom, at six foot five and eighteen stone does stand out from the crowd.

After mutual exclamations of surprise and pleasure at finding each other, he took me to his house, and briefed me.

My first surprise was to discover that he has been here the whole time since the first sending. I don’t know why, although I began to wonder if I am the only member of the team to have a device implanted – I am the officer in the group, so perhaps the device was just for me – and if it is, in some way, keeping in touch with Hermes, and causing me to be sent then that might explain why Tom has been stuck here the whole time.

I had a look at his back later, and there’s no sign of a scar, or any hint that something has been surgically inserted there.

The second oddity was that he is sure that he has been here for nearly three years. I am pretty certain that I’ve only been going through this for just over two years (and the dates on this site seem to confirm that).

Perhaps this has happened because, as the professor guessed, weight (or mass) has been a factor in the time-shift. If she was right, the heavier we are, the further back in time we get pushed. In that case, Kate is probably nearer home than both of us are.

Tom has lent me his wristpad to write this up – he can’t access the internet with it, whilst I (obviously, as I’m writing this) can. This makes me think that the device planted in my back must be some kind of transmitter/aerial which is allowing me to communicate back to ‘our’ world.

The more I think about it, the more suspicious I am becoming. Why send two engineers and an officer on what should have been an instantaneous trip? Did the scientists in fact have an idea of what was happening (were there perhaps signs of wear and tear on the inanimate objects they sent?) and did they therefore pick us because they thought that the three of us, working as a team, might be able to survive what we have actually been through – and be able to give a coherent report when (or if) we returned?

Perhaps that explains why only I have whatever the thing in my back is – they thought we’d all be together and could track us (or keep in touch, or whatever function it plays) with it.

It is quite tiring writing this way, rather than using a computer keyboard (a wristpad is really intended for brief reports from the field, not documents like this). This entry has taken me nearly three days to type, so I’ll close now, and try to write up some more observations when I can.

I called in to see the professor yesterday afternoon, as I hadn’t heard from her for a couple of days. It is amazing how having someone that I can talk to about what’s happened – and this is the first time I’ve been in this position for the last two years – has really made a difference to my mental attitude. Despite the shock of the interview, this last week has seen me feeling so much more positive, even though home still seems a long, long way away.

However things took a bit of a downturn yesterday. The professor was very off-hand with me at first, before eventually telling me that she too has had a visit from some government agents, who have planted a seed of doubt in her mind.

She says that of course she doubted my story at first, but she was intrigued by it, and saw enough of her particular field of interest in what I was telling her to make it worth her while investigating further.

Now she’s not so sure – in fact she virtually accused me of making everything up. The tests that she had carried out on me showed that I didn’t come from round here – but that doesn’t necessarily mean I am from another version of Earth; I could just be a foreigner.

The device that she found embedded in me is also worrying her. She doesn’t think I’m a walking bomb (for a start, there is no sign of any explosives), but she says I might be a trigger for one, if I am an enemy agent. Similarly the device could enable me to transmit or receive information.

When I quite forcibly expressed my innocence, she said that another thought that had occurred is that the device might be a way of sending a message to my brain to activate a hidden command – in other words I could be some kind of sleeper agent, who has been given a false identity – so false that even I believe it, this fake ID having somehow having been implanted in my brain.

Quite why I would have been given the memories of my strange journey, rather than just believing I am a normal citizen, she couldn’t explain – other than to say that tinkering with the mind is a difficult task, and perhaps it had all gone wrong.

I really don’t know what to say. I have to believe my own mind – and the physical things I’ve been through and experienced (or should I say, that I think I have experienced?). Surely this whole nightmare isn’t just a false memory, given to me by my own government?

I do know I was part of an experiment, that’s true. Has my brain been messed with, causing me to have delusions?

I can’t believe it. How I convince Professor Ilyes to believe me, I’m not sure, but without her on my side, I believe things here might become really desperate – particularly if the government decides to act against me.

Well, Professor Ilyes was still willing to see me – I can see that she believes at least part of my story. The first thing she did was to put me into a full-body scanner. While she was waiting for the results to come through, she told me some of the ideas she’s come up with.

I’m no scientist, so I can’t properly explain this, but if I understand what she was telling me (and I think she was explaining in very basic language) then her main points go something like this:

I remember one of the team telling me that when we were sent we would travel instantaneously from the transmitter to the receiver. There would be no sensation of movement, or anything else, because no time would pass. He said that’s what had happened with the inanimate objects they had sent before – as far as could be ascertained (and they had very accurate measuring devices) sending was an instantaneous process.

That’s where the professor thinks the problem lies. She isn’t sure, because she hasn’t reached the level of the team – she can’t transmit matter herself yet. She does, though, understand basic physics. As I understand what she was saying, if something travels from one place to another in no time at all – or even in a tiny fraction of time, then it is going to get very close to (or if it really is instantaneous, exceed) the speed of light.

That, I said to Professor Ilyes, I understood to be impossible. She says that that theoretically it’s not impossible (but here she started to talk about Einstein, and general relativity, and she really lost me; I think though that what she was trying to explain is that travel at that sort of speed affects time too).

So, if things appeared to be moving instantaneously, they couldn’t be. Time is being affected somehow, or somewhere. Now, an inanimate object, or even a live guinea pig, can’t tell the researchers what happened to it during the sending. They just disappear, and re-appear. But a human being, well, that’s different.

She speculates that the sending is what caused me to move back in time.

I questioned this – surely a guinea pig would have aged significantly – or died – over the course of several years. She explained something I didn’t really get, about mass and acceleration. Perhaps a small animal would only travel back in time a short period – perhaps only minutes. It’s only someone big – like a human being (and there were three of us in the first test, all big, bulky soldiers, with all our kit) – well, something that big might be moved back by a period of years.

We’d about reached that point in her lecture (with me understanding about one word in three – so what I have just said is a gross over-simplification, and probably totally inaccurate) and I was about to ask why I haven’t just moved back in time, but am in a different, albeit nearly parallel world, when we were interrupted, as a technician brought in the result of my scan.

She told me that I have a micro-chip, and some wiring, near the base of my spine. I do know that we had a full medical, which included a period under general anaesthetic, before the test started. We were told that they were examining us completely for defects which might affect the test. It seems that perhaps they were also inserting this thing into our bodies.

The professor has no idea what it might be. It could, she speculated, be some form of receiver (it doesn’t appear to be a transmitter) or aerial, used in the sending process. Perhaps this is the link across the dimensions, which is keeping me in touch with the Hermes transmitter?

She didn’t have any more time for me today. I’m left, I must say, with more questions than answers.

When I got to Kiln House, Professor Ilyes met me and said she had some ideas – and some further tests she wanted to carry out. First, though, there were a couple of people who wanted to talk to me. She took me to meet them in the canteen, and left me there with them, while they plied me with coffee and questions.

I took them to be post-graduate students of hers, who were interested in my problem, and were looking for ways to help me, so I was completely open with them.

The man introduced himself as Bill Gardener. He was well-built, mid-thirties, with thinning hair, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with some sort of design on it. He looked like the sort of bloke who’s never had a real job in his life, but lives as a permanent student. Frankly, If he told me he played guitar in a band in pubs in the evening, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised.

His partner never did give me her name, although I think Bill referred to her as Debs once. She was quite short – under five foot, I would guess – and was wearing a pink t-shirt with the words ‘I'm no angel’.

They seemed a very pleasant young couple, and I happily told them all about how I had arrived here. Then the trouble started.

Although I am usually not very good at remembering conversations, what followed so shocked me that I think I can recall it pretty well verbatim.

Bill: “I’m afraid, Mr. Colman – if that is your name – that we don’t believe you.”

Debs: “Ever since your television broadcast was seen by one of our colleagues – and you really were rather silly, drawing attention to yourself that way – we’ve been looking into the records – and believe me, we have very detailed records – and you don’t exist. Yes, there was a Robin Colman, who would have been about your age – but he died in 1988. Did you pick his name from a gravestone?”

Bill: “You don’t seem to belong here, do you?”

Me: “Well no, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you – ”

Debs: “The payment card you’re using. It’s not registered in your name, is it? Did you steal it, or is it a forgery? Or did your employers provide it for you?”

Me: “No, I told you, when I arrived here I didn’t have anything, but a coin dealer gave it to me in exchange for some labouring work.”

Bill: “Yes, yes, we know you’ve admitted that you’re an illegal immigrant. But who are you working for? Where are you really from? You may have fooled people like the professor and that silly girl who interviewed you on the television with your cock-and-bull tale, but I think we’ve reached the stage now when you ought to just tell us the truth.”

Me: “Look, who are you? I have been telling you the truth.”

Bill: “I don’t think it matters who we are, does it? Let’s just say we work for the government. More to the point, who do you work for?”

Me: “The British government – same as you. I am Lieutenant Robin Colman, of the Norwich Regiment. I was sent here entirely by chance, as I’ve explained to you at length.”

Debs: “Really? Well, I think we’ve heard enough of this nonsense. You’re an odd sort of spy, certainly. I can’t think of many who would advertise their presence on the television. I’m not quite sure what to make of you.”

She stopped and looked at Bill at this point. He shook his head.

Bill: “We’re not taking you with us just now, but be assured we shall be keeping a very close eye on you. Don’t leave Norwich, will you?”

With that, they stood up and walked out. They left me, I must admit, in shock.

First, there was the very fact of being accused of being a spy by these government agents.

Then there was the shock of there having been a ‘me’ here. I knew that famous people – politicians and the like – seemed to crop up in the same line of work in different worlds, but it had never occurred to me that ordinary people would be replicated too – and certainly not that I might be here too. Except I wasn’t, it seemed, as the ‘me’ in this world had died as a child.

I had a sleepless night last night. I know that, eventually, I’ll be sent away from this world, so threats of imprisonment don’t worry me too much (unless spying is a capital offence here – I’m not sure that sending will be much use to me if I’m dead). Of course, I can’t be absolutely sure that I will ever experience sending again – I still don’t know what causes it, and even if it is, as I suspect, to do with the Hermes team, there is no guarantee that they will keep on doing whatever it is they are doing.

I really don’t know what to do, or think. I couldn’t talk to the professor yesterday – after the interview, or whatever it was, I was just too shaken-up to think straight, so went for a long walk. Anyway, she says she still wants to see me, so I’ve arranged to meet her again tomorrow. Perhaps she’ll have some ideas about what I ought to do.

Travel has not been easy, mainly because of the high price of fuel. Before I set off on my journey I went to the library to do a bit more research, and I found that this Britain doesn’t seem to have discovered North Sea oil. Assuming it’s only social history that has changed on this world, and not geology, then if I only had the money to set up a drilling company, I could make my fortune here – unfortunately, it would take a fortune in the first place, and many years, which I probably don’t have. And then, in this Britain, I might not be allowed to do it anyway. Every major industry seems to be nationalised: gas, electric, telecommunications, the railway system – even the few filling stations that there are all seem to be BP, which appears to be state owned.

I couldn’t afford to hire a car, and bus travel is very expensive, but the railways seem economical – at least British Rail is offering a way of getting around the country. The coaches were old and a bit tatty, but the engines are electric (nuclear power seems plentiful and cheap here). I bought a rover ticket, giving me access to the entire rail network for a week, for just £20, and set off to explore Britain – well, bits of England actually.

I was surprised that the air didn’t seem clean and fresh, given the small number of motor vehicles, and electric trains, but as I travelled around I saw a lot of heavy industry; the midlands particularly are very heavily-polluted, with factories belching out thick smoke.

I have much more to say about the state of the country, but I’ve arranged to meet the professor in fifteen minutes (when I got back there was a message from her at my digs, asking me to be at Kiln House at 10.30 this morning) so I’ll have to stop for now.

I had a good and fruitful discussion with Professor Ilyes on Saturday. If I am able to stay in this world for long enough, I have high hopes that she will be able to at least explain what has gone on, if not solve the problem, and get me home.

Of course, staying in this world isn’t under my control. On that score the professor seems to agree with me. Every time I have been sent it has happened at night, which is when the Project Hermes team always carried out their sendings.

This can’t be a natural phenomenon – or else why isn’t it happening to other people too? If it were some kind of wormhole, or breach in the space-time continuum (whatever that means) surely others would be falling in to it too.

No, surely I am in some way still linked to the Hermes transmitter. They must still be experimenting (or who knows, perhaps back on my Earth, they have satisfactorily completed all the experiments, and the system is now being used operationally). I know that they had previously sent inanimate objects, and then laboratory animals, entirely successfully. I sometimes forget that there were three of us in the first human test team, Kate, Tom and me – has the same thing happened to them too?

My guess is that every time they now send something – or someone – I get sent too. Or perhaps they know that I am attached to the system, and they are actually deliberately sending me (in which case I hope they are doing it in an effort to bring me home). Whatever happens, surely they must be causing the sendings to take place.

Of course, I don’t know anything about the science of this, so I couldn’t tell Professor Ilyes anything about that, but I could tell her about my experience of sending.

What seems to happen is that an area of space about two or three inches around my body physically moves when I go. That means whatever I’m wearing comes with me, as well, usually, as a slice of my bed and bedding. Fortunately this military uniform is designed to take hard wear, and to dry quickly, so I’ve been washing things in the early evening, when I can, and putting them back on before I go to bed – it’s not the most comfortable way to sleep, but at least I’ve still got most of my kit (other than my wristpad, knife and a few other odds and ends that were confiscated when I was imprisoned).

The times that I have been awake and experienced it (usually it happens while I’m asleep) it’s been instantaneous. No noise, no sensation of heat, light, falling or moving. I’m just in one place one minute, and somewhere else the next.

The professor agreed with me that time travel is out of the question. Since my first sending (and this log bears this out, as fortunately I’d set it up to record the date of each entry) time has been moving forwards in a linear fashion, and keeping pace with what I have been experiencing, as far as I can tell.

The one thing that I can’t understand is that first move. On my Earth, it was 2008 when the sending took place. So why did I arrive in a version of Earth where it was 2005?

So (ignoring that first sending, which I just can’t explain) if I haven’t moved through time, what am I moving through – is it space, or another dimension, to a series of almost parallel Earths? I’m sure that these Earths are linked. It’s not just the similarity of buildings and places (I know they aren’t identical - there are some physical differences, as well as the technological and social changes that I have seen in the different versions of Earth I’ve visited so far) but things like Kiln House and Mercury House being the same building, with similar functions.

Then there is this internet site that I set up on the first Earth I visited. How have I been able to connect with it on every version of Earth that has invented the internet? And on more primitive Earths, how was it that I was still able to write things here with my wristpad? Are all these Earths linked by the internet? Is it more than a world-wide web – does it in fact cross into other dimensions?

Or am I, in some way, something like a radio mast, able to communicate across the dimensions (or whatever it is that separates these different earths)? Is that why the Hermes transmitter is able to reach me still, wherever I am?

I have lots of questions. So too, naturally, does Professor Ilyes. I hope she can find some answers.

She says she hasn’t got time to see me this week, so she’s given me some more credits and told me to explore the country. It will be good to take a holiday, knowing that someone else is worrying about my problems for me. I’m going to see her again in a week or so. I do hope she will have made some progress.

In case I get sent again before I next see her, she has this website address, and so can at least keep up with my progress. Oh, and if you do read this, Professor Ilyes, I’ve just looked back through what I wrote last week, and I see I described you as a ‘not-unattractive redhead’. Talk about damning with faint praise! I’m not going to say any more, though, as I may just end up digging a deeper hole for myself.

I asked at the reception desk for Linda. That caused some confusion, but eventually they decided that I wanted Professor Ilyes – and when she came to find me that was the name on her badge; I assume it is Hungarian, or Eastern-European anyway; although she told me to call her Linda, I feel more comfortable calling her Professor Ilyes – she is, after all, about twenty years older than me.

I told her straight away that I recognised Kiln House - because it is the same building that is called Mercury House in my Earth. This has got to be more than a coincidence.

Professor Ilyes is, it seems, carrying out research into the breaking-down of objects into their constituent atoms, and attempting to re-assembling them (I think I got that much right – I really can’t grasp advanced physics). I cannot believe that it is purely chance that work on such similar areas is being carried out in the same building on two different worlds.

The tests she wanted to do on me were medical, and basically involved a swab, and standing under some form of radiation counter. We met again after lunch, when she’d got the results, which seemed to convince her that there is some element of truth in my story. Apparently my background radiation, and other trace chemicals in my body, suggest I come from somewhere totally different to Norfolk at least.

She didn’t have time to tell me much more then, because she was too busy, but we’ve arranged to meet for lunch on Saturday.

I explained my perilous financial state, and she charged my card with enough to see me through the next week – she says it’s possible she could employ me as a research assistant. Apparently money in the department has been tight for many years, but recently they’ve had a big grant, following the last election, now that Tony is Prime Minister, and is making a big push to get more people into universities.

I told her that Blair had become PM years earlier in my world, when New Labour came into power – she looked blank at me, and asked who he was, and what was New Labour. After a confused conversation, I discovered that the PM here is a chap called Tony Benn. That wasn’t a name I recognised – but I’ve never been that interested in politics.

I was 23 when I was sent first (which means, I think, that I’m now 25) so of course I haven’t had the chance to vote yet, which means I’ve only ever been interested in the bits of politics that directly affect me – like when the Liberal party said they’d abolish conscription. I suspect that is a shame, because things do seem very different here, and I might have been able to get a better feel for things if I could see the differences, and understand the nuances. I guess, for a start, that if Labour have been in power for decades, then there was no need to re-invent themselves as New Labour.

Anyway, with a bit of money, and someone who is at least interested in my story, and possibly can do something about it, I do feel just a little more hopeful than I have done for a long time.

Well, I did go to the café, and I have to report that my little plan has been more successful than I could realistically have hoped.

When I arrived, Julie was already there, with a half-drunk cup of coffee in front of her. To be fair to her, the first thing she did was to apologise for the television coverage. She says she believed me, but she had no say in the editing of the story. She’d arranged for a friend to meet us – Linda (I didn’t catch her surname) who is a scientist at the University of Norwich.

I don’t remember much about what was said – I feel really hampered by the loss of my wristpad. Normally I would have recorded our conversation, and could then play it back and transcribe it. Having to remember everything that people say to me is hard – particularly when they are a pretty young blonde, and a not-unattractive redhead.

If I can’t recall our conversation in detail, perhaps I can describe the people.

Julie, as I say, is blonde; I’d guess early thirties. I’m 6’2”; she’s definitely shorter than me, but as we were sitting down most of the time, it is difficult to judge. She looked vaguely French, in a grey felt jacket and a black crocheted beret-type hat.

Linda looked about a foot shorter than me as she came in; as I say, a red-head, wearing a completely black outfit, the details of which escape me for now. I’d guess mid-forties; middle-aged, definitely.

I’m really not very good at observation, it appears.

So, what can I recall from our conversation? Well, Linda was, quite naturally, sceptical about my story. Fortunately she hadn’t seen the television clip, so at least she came with an open mind. She had to go after about twenty minutes, but was interested enough to ask me to visit her at her laboratory. She says there are some tests she’d like to carry out. She’s in the Physics Department building, which is in Kiln House, somewhere in the Pottergate area. I’m seeing her tomorrow at 10.30.

Julie left at the same time, and I rather suspect I’ll not see her again – but anyway, my objective has been achieved: I have met a scientist, who hasn’t instantly assumed that I am mad. Perhaps – no, I don’t want to build my hopes up too much, but it would be good to feel that, just possibly, this may be a start to helping me find my way home.

Julie, it turns out, isn’t the Science Correspondent at all. She’s the weather-girl.

It was treated as a big joke.

Still, they did let me say the important things I wanted to, so who knows, if there is anything like Project Hermes in this part of this world, maybe someone heard it.

I did think of not meeting her for that cup of coffee later on this afternoon, but what the heck, it’s still good to have someone to talk to – it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to talk openly to anyone about what’s happened to me.

Mind you, if she says anything like ‘men are from Mars, women are from Venus’ she may find she’s washing coffee out of her blonde locks.

Well, amazingly, I managed to get myself taken seriously at the BBC - eventually. It took a lot of talking, but finally I got an interview, on camera, this afternoon. It was with their Science Correspondent (a bubbly blonde young lady, not much older than me; Julie something-or-other). I had been hoping for a seriously-suited older man, but still, I’m happy to take what I can get.

Anyway, the interview went quite well. She started off with a bit of a giggle, and I could see she thought I was doing this for a laugh, but by the end I think I’d convinced her that I am serious, and I’m not a nut-case.

She even agreed to meet me for a cup of coffee tomorrow, which I am taking as a very positive step. Having told her practically my entire life history, perhaps she’ll do a bit more of the talking tomorrow.

She said the interview will, depending on other news items, be broadcast tonight. My landlord has a TV set in his living-room; I’ll see if I can persuade him to let me watch it this evening.

Now, though, I need to do something about finding some kind of work, as the credits I’ve earned so far have pretty well all been spent. This may be a problem. I suspect from what I’ve seen that there are very detailed electronic records affecting every part of life here, and of course I’m not in the system. Even my payment card is a bit suspect – it seems to work, but clearly it’s not registered to me.

This world seems close, technologically and date-wise to my own world (what I think of as the real Earth – if I lose sight of that, I think I may go mad again) that I’ve thought of turning myself in to the authorities. Maybe they’ll even have a Project Hermes of their own.

In fact I’ve just checked the name on a search-engine, and found there is a site: it’s run by The Imperial Communications Union (‘linking the nations of The British Empire electronically’).

But how could I convince the authorities that I'm telling the truth? I really need to speak to government scientists, but how do you get hold of them? If I went to the police they’d either laugh at me, or if they thought I really believed myself, treat me as insane and lock me up (not too much of a problem – the next sending will get me out of any institution). I could try to prove my credentials by telling them something that’s going to happen in the near future – like Norwich United winning the 2007 FA cup – but this world is different in so many ways that I can’t guarantee that events I remember will actually take place here.

I went to the library, to try to find out more about the history of this place – but I found that the lovely old red-brick building near the station had been knocked down; the library’s now in a new building in the Market Place. It cost me a pound to get in to use the reference section, but at least the internet is free here.

I’ve been ploughing through history books, but things don’t look that different in the past – I think it was in the 20^th century that something must have changed, although I can’t see where time-lines altered dramatically. One thing I have spotted, though, is that Labour seems to have been in political power for the last forty years; I suspect you could call this Britain a socialist state.

There aren’t many cars about. Buses are expensive (I thought a trip across the city would be a shilling or two – I was shocked to find my card had been debited a whole two pounds). That’s another thing, what happened to shillings? They seem to have just pounds and pence here. Odd. Perhaps it’s to do with the change to electronic money. Very little cash is used here – nearly everything is paid by electronic cards.

I suspect motoring is so restricted because oil prices are so high – I passed a filling station yesterday and I was shocked to see that petrol is £15 a gallon. That probably explains the rickshaws I saw at the station – I had thought they were for tourists, but they seem to be everywhere.

I’ve just had a thought. Sitting here in the library, I can see the local BBC studio in one wing of the building. Perhaps they might broadcast me – as a ‘human interest’ story of course. OK, they will probably treat it as a Nutter who thinks he’s been abducted by aliens story, but if there is anything like Hermes out there, my story might just get to the ears of someone who can do something about it. What have I got to lose?

In the months I spent in the dungeons, as I said, I had time to think.

I believe there are several possible explanations for what is happening to me, and I’ve tried to work through them logically:

1. Whatever happened to me, when the team sent me that first time, I didn’t actually go anywhere. What did change affected my brain, so what I think I’ve been experiencing for the last couple of years hasn’t actually happened. I’m in an hallucination. My body, presumably, is still at the base in Norfolk. If that’s the case, there’s nothing I can do to change things, so I might as well ignore that option.

2. Hermes certainly wasn’t about time travel, but about moving objects, but I appear – at first sight – to have travelled in time (jumping both backwards and forwards – but interestingly never up to my own time, 2008, and certainly not ahead of that). However, the past I have landed in has been subtly different to the one I can remember from the history books.

The version of Earth I’m in now appears to be 2007, but it’s got very many differences from the way of life that I remember from my last year in Norwich.

So either Hermes has changed the past in some way – either from what I’ve done (or may be going to do, if my next sending sends me even further back into the past) or the effect of the objects they sent before they moved on to human guinea pigs – or else time travel isn’t what’s happening here.

3. As I say, Hermes was a project to move things around physically. So perhaps that’s what’s happened – it has physically sent me somewhere else. That somewhere, though, isn’t on the Earth I know, but in some kind of parallel Earth; maybe I am spatially in the same place, just shifted sideways by a dimension or three?

In fact, then, it’s not just one parallel Earth, but a whole series of them, each time that I send.

Presumably history has developed differently on each version, so that I haven’t really been travelling into the past at all, merely to an Earth that hasn’t developed as fast, or in the same way. That would explain why, now, for instance, is so different to the 2007 that I remember.

I can understand some versions of Earth still being in the Middle Ages – and I didn’t have a calendar then to look at then, so although they may have had medieval civilisation/ technology, perhaps the actual date was the 21st Century. But twice I’ve arrived at places that are almost contemporary with my Earth – and the years I was in were 2005 and, now, 2007. Why is that?
Why not 2008? Or 2010, which it presumably is by now, back at base?

When I was in prison, I’m sure I came up with four options, but I can’t remember what the fourth one was. I’ve been racking my brains, and I can sense there was some brilliant idea there, but for the life of me I can’t bring it back.

Well, at least I’ve got this record now, of three possibilities.

How it helps me get back home, I’m not sure.

OK. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to write anything – it feels like a year, although I can’t be sure about that. I see the date of my last posting here is shown as July 2005, and the calendar on the computer I’m now using says it’s February 2007 – but between those two dates I’ve been in a couple of different worlds/time-zones or whatever is going on, so who knows?

I’m in what’s called a cyberbooth in Norwich travel centre (sort of combined rail/bus and rickshaw station). It doesn’t look much like the Norwich I remember. I’m not sure how long my credits will last, so I’ll keep going as long as I can, but may have to get back to you later.

A few weeks after I last posted I was arrested by the local warlord – I think I hadn’t kowtowed low enough, or something. The worst thing was that they took all my possessions – including my wristpad. So in a stroke I lost all my technology, and my main way of communicating with you.

At least the time in the dungeons gave me the opportunity to think, and I believe I’ve worked out four options for what’s happening to me. Whether I can do anything about it, and ever get home, is another matter, of course.

I got out of the cells when another sending took place. I ended up in a version of Earth which was, I would guess, about 18^th-19^th century. I’m not hot enough on history to be sure. Anyway, I got some labouring work and made a bit of money.

Then I was sent again to here – where the pennies I had on me weren’t going to get me very far. Then I had a brainwave – they might only be pennies, but they were two hundred years old, but still in mint condition. I took them to a coin dealer, expecting to get quite a bit of money. He laughed at me. He pointed out that they aren’t old at all – they are all dated from the turn of the twenty-first century. I may have been in a world which had technology from a few hundred years ago, but the date, it seems, was still the same.

A further shock came when he told me they were worthless anyway, because they are clearly forgeries. They show King Charles’ head on them, and apparently the monarchy has been abolished on this earth. They should have a footballer’s head on them, or something.

So, no coins. Anyway, the dealer explained (he was being very gentle with me – I suspect he thought I’d escaped from some sort of institution) that they hardly ever use real money these days. Apparently it’s all credits on a card. He was good enough to offer me some work, heavy labouring for him (carrying boxes a couple of miles – he doesn’t seem to have a car of his own) and then he gave me a temporary card until I can set up a bank account and get a proper one.

I’ve just seen that this computer seems to be eating up my credit faster than I thought, so I’m going to stop now. Get back to you as soon as I can.

I am sorry, I think I went a bit mad there. I’ve calmed down a bit now, and I think my terrible depression has passed – for the time being at least. Reading back what I’ve been writing for the last few weeks, I feel ashamed. Ranting and raving isn’t going to get me home, nor is the pathetic blubbering I started to indulge in. This was intended to be a report of what I found and where I’ve been, in the hope that the team might be able to recover me. The sort of thing I’ve been writing recently is no use to anyone, so I’ve just gone back and wiped everything, from the time I first started to feel insane – or trapped, or whatever the mood was.

Right, so where were we? Two months ago, it seems.

Well, briefly, as you may guess, I was found out, trying to impersonate a priest. My Latin wasn’t up to it, nor was my history – and in particular my history of this world. I fell down trying to impress a local law officer (?Sheriff/bailiff – not quite sure of his title) by talking about a trip to Rome, and meeting the Pope.

It seems the Pope isn’t in Rome – hasn’t been there for centuries! The capital of the Church is in Constantinople. My memory of church history in the early centuries is a bit hazy, but I suspect the East/West split between the church never took place here. So I wasn’t trying to impersonate a Roman Catholic, but an Orthodox priest. I guess, now, far too late, that that is what Samuel meant, when he asked if I was from Nople – not the name of a local lord, but Constantinople.

Anyway, caught out, I went on the run. In a densely wooded area, that wasn’t too hard, except for the problem of getting food. I survived, although I started to despair, thinking that I’d never get home. That’s when the madness set in.

I really can’t describe what the last couple of months have been like. Anyway, I woke up a couple of days ago, to discover that another sending has brought me here.

It’s summer. I’ve got work, harvesting in the fields, which provides food, somewhere to sleep, and a few pennies to my name. I can at least get my breath here. I feel reasonably safe.

I’ll try to write some more in the next few days. I need to get some sleep now – harvesting here means 12-14 hours labouring in the fields.