by Jodi Taylor
‘Trust me, you’ll only get depressed.’
‘Take care,’ he said, as I opened the door.
‘You too. And, for God’s sake, look after Dr Bairstow. I know you’ll have the might of the Time Police with you, but you know what they’re like. Shoot first and call it Friendly Fire afterwards. And Halcombe might have a trick or two up his sleeve, as well. Or the Boss’s friends in London might have got it wrong. Or no one turns up at the rendezvous point. Or . . .’
‘Just go, will you. I’m hungry and Roberts promised to make cawl this evening.’
‘Well, sorry,’ I said, miffed. ‘I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your social life.’
He beamed. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you. Close the door on your way out. It’s draughty.’
‘How could I ever have forgotten what a complete pain in the arse you are?’
He laughed. I stepped outside and began to walk across the grass, halting by a vast clump of rhododendrons. I felt the wind stir my hair and when I looked back he’d gone. It had been good to see the two of them. I was on my own again and I suddenly felt very lonely.
I walked back along the river, wondering if the contents of Dr Bairstow’s letter had yet been communicated to Commander Hay.
I reported in, applied for an appointment with Commander Hay and then went to my room. Someone had been busy in my absence. The files I’d requested were on the table in a lockbox. The red covers were marked For Your Eyes Only and were to be destroyed after reading.
I showered, changed out of my less than fragrant clothing and spent the afternoon reading. Commander Hay sent for me around half past four. A copy of Dr Bairstow’s letter lay in front of her.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘once again St Mary’s has broken the rules.’
I shrugged. There was no point denying it. Captain Ellis would have reported back and Miss North was still here somewhere, subjecting the Time Police to the full force of her personality.
‘A Triple-S infringement, Max.’
‘I contained the situation as best I could, ma’am. I believe you have the perpetrators here, somewhere . . .’ I paused invitingly, but she simply stared impassively, so I gave it up and let her get it off her chest.
‘And now Dr Bairstow requests my assistance in what you informed Captain Ellis is, actually, an internal St Mary’s matter.’
‘That is true, ma’am, but unless these people are removed, there will be many more such infringements and it is very possible the Time Police will come to regard the days when Dr Bairstow commanded St Mary’s as some sort of Golden Age.’
Some silences can be very expressive and this one easily conveyed how very unlikely that was ever likely to be. However, I’d made my point.
She sighed. ‘We shall respond, of course. Captain Ellis will take four teams and a medical unit and render whatever assistance is required.’
‘On behalf of Dr Bairstow, ma’am, thank you.’
She nodded.
‘Regarding the other matter, ma’am, I believe the time has come to set that in motion. It’s time to pick up the plan.’
She seemed amused. ‘Yes, I think you’ve had time to get yourself into enough trouble here and Dr Bairstow has already initiated events at the other end.’
‘He has, ma’am. Everything is ready.’
‘Fortunately for you, this request for assistance will mean a large number of my people will be elsewhere.’
‘Yes. I’m sure he didn’t mean to be but, for once, Halcombe has been useful.’
She sighed. ‘Get a good night’s sleep, Max. It could be your last for quite some time.’
I did. I had a very pleasant evening meal and popped in to see Matthew. I had all sorts of messages from Leon, ranging from getting his hair cut to suggestions for the steering on his dirigible. I would have liked him to spend the night in our room, but it was a school night and not part of our normal routine. It was very important that everything looked absolutely normal.
I took the files to bed with me and read them through one last time. I made no notes. Then I fed everything through the lockbox auto-shredder. On my instructions, the computer turned out the lights. I lay in the dark and tried not to think of all the hundreds of things that could – and probably would – go wrong.
At least I didn’t have long to wait. The next day started normally. I rose early and dressed. I had to wear uniform – it would look odd if I didn’t – and I couldn’t pack a grab bag, so I wore two T-shirts and stuffed my finally useful Batman utility belt with various odds and ends I thought I might need.
I ate the most enormous breakfast, selling it to myself on the grounds that from this moment on I didn’t know where my next meal would be coming from. And then I thought, don’t be so ridiculous. It might not even begin today.
But it did.
I was in my carrel, head down and working hardish – the very model of a conscientious officer – when I noticed the buzz around me. Someone was running from carrel to carrel and I could hear cheering. Propelling my chair backwards so I could see what was happening, I stuck my head out and asked what was going on.
‘They’ve got them,’ said the officer in the next carrel excitedly. ‘They’ve finally got them.’
‘Who?’ I asked in some alarm, half my mind still on Dr Bairstow and Leon and Peterson and everyone.
‘Those little bastards.’
‘What? What little bastards? Not . . . ?’
‘Yeah. They got them early this morning. They finally ran them down – somewhere on the Chinese/Mongolian border. And their bastard pod, too. I shan’t be sad to see the back of those little sods and I’m not the only one.’
‘No, I can imagine,’ I said casually. ‘What will happen to them?’
He made that graphic throat-cutting gesture.
I was a picture of outrage. ‘But they’re children.’
‘Well, no, they’ll be tried, of course, but it’s a foregone conclusion, and then the short walk to Room 29. It’ll all be done properly. We’re not murderers,’ said the man who was part of the organisation preparing to execute a couple of teenagers.
‘Mm,’ I said, heart racing. ‘Well . . . must crack on.’
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘See you in the bar this evening. There’ll be a bit of a celebration.’
I watched my hands shut down my files and data stacks. I watched them place my pens in my pen mug. I picked up my notes and scrap paper and shoved it all in the auto-shredder. I left everything neat and tidy because I was never coming back and walked slowly out of the library.
My heart was thumping fit to burst. My hands were clammy. I didn’t trust myself to take the stairs so I used the lift. The doors opened and I strode down the corridor. I was speeding up. I couldn’t help it. By the time I got down to the lower levels, I was nearly running.
Just in time to catch them escorting Adrian and Mikey out of the pod bay on their way to . . . somewhere unpleasant, I guessed. Although it looked as if a certain amount of unpleasantness had been endured already. Mikey was crying. Her hair was all over the place and her clothing dishevelled. Adrian had a nasty bruise on his cheekbone and blood running from the corner of his mouth.
Bastards.
I pushed my way through the jeering crowd lining the corridor. There weren’t as many as there could have been because four teams, a back-up unit and a medical team had been despatched to support Dr Bairstow at St Mary’s. Nevertheless, they were being escorted by a detention squad; they’re not usually selected for their social skills, but I didn’t let that stop me. I pushed the nearest one against the wall. I only got away with it because it was so totally unexpected. He bounced off the wall and the next second was in my face.
I never gave him the chance. Rage is a very useful emotion. It takes you straight through the narrow straits of common sense, right into death-wish territory
without passing go or stopping to collect two hundred pounds. His visor was down and that blank-faced stare would have terrified me if I’d stopped to think about it. The only thing I could see was myself, reflected in his faceplate.
‘You cowardly bastard. Typical Time Police. This is about your level, isn’t it?’
He shoved me back. Considerably more effectively. I went flying into the crowd who helpfully pushed me back into the fray again.
‘Come on then,’ I shouted. ‘Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough. I’m small. I’m female. That’s what you like, isn’t it? People who can’t fight back. Little girls. No wonder you can’t catch Clive Ronan. Too big a boy for you, is he? Worried he’ll make you cry instead of the other way around?’
It suddenly dawned on me that everything had gone very quiet. I was winding up a prime example of a thoroughly nasty species and he was completely surrounded by his mates.
Fortunately, he ignored me. The squad reformed themselves around their prisoners and continued on their way. I was a fly they couldn’t be bothered to swat. I was left with a group of grinning Time Police officers enjoying my mortification. Someone laughed. I tried to elbow my way through them and no one stepped aside. I really had to work at it, finally forcing my way through and arriving hot, dishevelled and furious, at the lift. I stabbed the button repeatedly because that always makes the lift appear more quickly, doesn’t it? My temper was climbing to eruption point. Eventually, in its own time, the lift arrived. I stamped inside and called for the floor. It shot smoothly upwards.
I stormed down the corridor to Commander Hay, crashing through the door into Captain Farenden’s office. He was talking to two other officers and looked up, startled. ‘Max – did you have an appointment?’ He reached for his diary.
I ignored him and headed for her door.
‘Hey, you can’t go in there.’
I ignored him again and threw open the door.
Commander Hay and two unknown officers were poring over a complex data stack. They looked up at my hasty entrance.
For a second, no one spoke – they out of surprise and me because I couldn’t catch my breath.
Behind me, Farenden said, ‘I’m sorry, Commander, I couldn’t stop her.’
‘It’s all right, Captain, I think I can guess what all this is about.’
He shot me a look and then closed the door quietly behind him.
I had to be careful. I was certain he would be listening and there were two others out there with him as well.
I went straight to the point. ‘You’re going to kill them?’
She said coolly, ‘Well, not me personally. And only after an inquiry, of course.’
‘You mean a trial.’
‘If you want to call it that.’
‘After which you will kill them.’
‘If they are found guilty.’
‘Will they? Be found guilty?’
‘If the evidence points to their guilt.’
‘And who is presenting the evidence?’
‘The Time Police.’
‘And who presides over the trial?’
‘The Time Police.’
‘And who represents Adrian and Mikey?’
‘An appropriate member of the Time Police will be appointed.’
‘After which they will be found guilty.’
‘Given the facts as they appear at the moment – very probably.’
My voice was rising. ‘And killed.’
She appeared to make an effort to remain calm. ‘The Time Police will at all times . . .’
‘You’re going to execute a couple of children. If you added their ages together they probably wouldn’t reach thirty.’
‘Those children, as you call them, have been indulging in illegal time travel and . . .’
‘And so you’ll kill them. Why bother with a trial? Why didn’t you save yourself the trouble and just shoot them as they exited their pod?’
I was shouting now, alternately thumping her desk and waving my arms around. She, on the other hand, was icy calm. At a nod from her, the other two officers began to shut down the data stacks. Neither of them looked at me. One of them went to speak and she stopped him with a gesture. I was about to find out how little I counted for in this organisation. She moved to attack.
‘I confess, Maxwell, I find your indignation somewhat hypocritical. You had no hesitation in handing over Major Sullivan and his men and they at least had the excuse that they were acting under orders. These two are just a pair of delinquents racing up and down the timeline and it’s only by enormous good fortune they haven’t brought about some sort of temporal catastrophe. That, of course, doesn’t register in any way with you, does it? But we are the Time Police and we do not tailor our policy according to the whims of St Mary’s.’
‘You can’t . . .’
She cut across me. ‘We can. And we will.’
‘They’re so young.’
‘Not so young they didn’t know what they were doing. No,’ she held up her hand as I tried to speak. ‘Enough. This is a Time Police matter and we will adhere to Time Police procedures. You elected to become a member of this organisation because it suited you to do so. We were supposed to serve your ends. Because we had a common cause I agreed to take you on. You agreed to abide by our rules and regulations. In typical Maxwell fashion, you have chosen to renege on the deal because, suddenly, a small part of it is unacceptable to you. Let me put this in words you can understand. Tough. Due to the excellent work of my people, two dangerous young criminals have been apprehended today. They are subject to Time Police procedures. As are you. I suggest, for your own good, that you take yourself off somewhere and have your hissy fit in private because you will not find a single soul in this building who has even the slightest sympathy for two stupid children who could have killed us all. Now get out.’
I stood, paralysed for a moment, while my brain struggled for words to express what utter bastards they were and failed miserably. I whirled about and wrenched open the door. Captain Farenden and the two officers with him were on their feet, hands on their weapons. He moved to intercept me. I heard her call, ‘Let her go, Charlie.’
I shoved him aside, kicked a chair out of my way and stormed out. I heard her start to speak but the words were lost as I slammed the door behind me.
The corridor was empty. All the doors were closed but I could just imagine the ears pressed against them, laughing at the misfit from St Mary’s getting her comeuppance. I stood for a moment, chest heaving to get my breath back, and then headed for the lift because the best thing in this sort of situation is never to give yourself enough time to think, otherwise common sense kicks in with a hundred good reasons why the daft course of action you propose to embark upon is foolhardy – if not terminal – and the best thing would be to sit down with a cup of tea and write a strongly worded letter of complaint instead. I decided that would be Option Two.
Option One was to try not to get myself killed.
I’d been here long enough to realise there were corridors and staircases less used than others and I utilised all of them, eventually fetching up in their subterranean areas again. These were the working bits of the building. Here were the generators, the recycling room, the boilers, the air-conditioning units and so on. It was heartening to see that even the most sinister organisation still needs space for unwanted office equipment, broken chairs and old photocopiers.
I snaked my way down a dimly lit corridor, emerging through a single door at the other end.
Over there, off to the left, was the Pod Bay. The medical facilities lay ahead and, to my right, an area that was officially off limits to me. Off limits to practically everyone, actually. I rather suspected Room 29 might be close by.
I stared thoughtfully. Time to take stock. I only had a sort of plan. I’d been devising various wa
ys and means in my head but I’d always known the situation would be fluid and I’d been unable to devise a specific plan of action. Now . . . now the moment had arrived and I couldn’t hang around thinking. I had to act. And I did, because I’d just had a brilliant idea.
Trust me, mankind might still be living in the technical age, but she who wields the clipboard is king. Or queen. One of the two anyway. And there was one hanging off a nail not three feet away.
Backing up, I wrenched it off the wall. It was supposed to be a maintenance record of some piece of electronics housed in the metal box nearby, but I needed it for something far more important than that.
I folded the sheet over and reclipped it. Yes, I know we’re in the future but anyone who fondly imagines the paperless office had arrived should brace themselves for a big disappointment. Even these days, the clipboard reigns supreme, conferring dignity, gravitas and, above all, responsibility on the bearer. I had to work a bit at the gravitas and dignity but, trust me, I never have any difficulty being responsible for anything. And today was no exception.
I took three deep breaths, smoothed my hair, straightened my clothing, made a conscious effort to release the tension in my shoulders, marched down the corridor and tapped sharply on the door. Not a timorous do you think you could let me in if it’s not too much trouble please tap, but a brisk please don’t keep me waiting because I’m very busy. Polite, but peremptory.
The com box on the wall squawked. ‘Yes?’
‘Hi. I’ve just come from Commander Hay’s office and I need to see our latest acquisitions, please.’
This could be easy.
‘For what purpose?’
Or not.
‘I’ve had previous experience with these two. The Commander has instructed me to exploit that and get some answers.’
‘Turn to your right and face the camera.’
I turned to my right and faced the camera, flourishing my clipboard just for good measure.
Nothing happened for so long that I was convinced they were checking my story with Commander Hay, in which case there might be a teeny tiny problem. And then, just as I was beginning to wonder if I should walk away while I still had legs, the door hissed open. Of course, its opening could be the prelude to something unpleasant happening to me, but I’d just have to risk it. I could hardly ask them to let me in and then not go in, could I? Because that wouldn’t be suspicious at all.