by Jodi Taylor
The doors opened before I could do anything suicidal.
A pod was ready and waiting for us. One of the smaller ones. A crew stood inside. We were formally handed over. An officer motioned us up the ramp.
I stopped dead at the foot. Once I climbed into this pod there would be no coming back. I looked back over my shoulder, measuring distances, calculating chances . . .
The officer gestured with his gun. ‘Into the pod.’
My legs wouldn’t move.
The officer poked me with his gun. ‘Move.’
‘If you do that again,’ said Dr Bairstow, pleasantly, ‘I will make you eat it.’
Good, we were going to make a fight of it.
The same thought had obviously occurred to Ellis and Farenden. Ellis stepped forwards. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant. You can dismiss your men. Captain Farenden and I will take it from here.’
‘But sir, my orders are to . . .’
‘Don’t make me thank you again, Lieutenant.’
They exited the pod and stood back. Although none of them put down their weapons.
Dr Bairstow said, ‘Come along, Max.’
I couldn’t move. This was my Rubicon. If I stepped into this pod then I’d lost Matthew forever. I remembered our Friday nights with holos and pizza. I remembered him huddled on the end of my sofa after he’d broken the Time Map. I remembered him playing football with Markham and the Security Section. I remembered him showing Leon his dirigible plans. I remembered his skinny little body with the scars and the healed burns, the hollows of his temples, the way his hair always seemed to need cutting. I remembered his rare, swift smiles. I remembered him saying to Leon, ‘Mummy’s awesome.’
Dr Bairstow said softly, ‘Time to go, Max.’
His voice broke the spell. My feet moved. I walked slowly up the ramp and into the pod.
They didn’t hang around. Ellis sat himself at the console. ‘Initiating jump procedures.’
‘Jump procedures initiated.’
And just like that, it was all over.
40
We touched down in complete silence. In every sense of the word. No one spoke and our landing was as light as thistledown.
Ellis said, ‘Ramp,’ and cool, crisp air flooded into the pod. I stared out at St Mary’s, unchanged in the autumn sunshine.
Markham had an armed team waiting. He always had a team waiting. Just in case – and it would seem that today, just in case had arrived.
‘Max . . .’ We walked down the ramp. I stood on St Mary’s ground. The fight had gone out of me.
Dr Bairstow pitched his voice for everyone to hear.
‘Mr Markham.’
‘Sir.’
‘I shall be making a formal announcement later today, but you and your team should be aware these people are no longer welcome at St Mary’s. Should you find any member of the Time Police on these premises without express permission from me then you may regard them as being here with hostile intent and shoot them.’
‘A pleasure, sir.’
Ellis stepped forwards. ‘Dr Bairstow . . .’ and at once the security team brought up their weapons.
‘Can we start now, sir?’
‘If they are still here in thirty seconds, then yes.’ He turned to Ellis and Farenden, both standing very still. ‘You are no longer welcome here. The behaviour of the Time Police in this matter has been deplorable. You appear to be completely unaware of the standards of behaviour to be expected from friends and allies. You are entirely without honour. You have exercised your might and your power over individuals who cannot respond in kind. These are the marks of a bully. You have manipulated and exploited my people, all of whom acted in good faith. Since it is a well-known fact that bullies are physical cowards, I warn you now, in future, to avoid St Mary’s. There are people here with scores to settle and who would welcome the opportunity to do so. Now get out.’
Ellis looked past him to me.
I said, ‘I wish I’d left you in the dust at Pompeii.’
He turned very white. ‘Max . . .’
Markham brought up his gun. ‘Security Section, prepare to fire.’
There was the sound of whining blasters.
Farenden touched his shoulder and said something. Not taking his eyes from me, Ellis stepped back. The ramp came up. The last I saw of him he was still staring at me. Then the ramp closed. There was a brief swirl of wind and they were gone.
Dr Bairstow still had hold of my shoulder. I found I couldn’t move.
Markham shouldered his gun and approached. ‘Max, are you hurt? Should I alert Sick Bay, sir?’
‘Thank you, Mr Markham, but no. Where is Chief Farrell?’
He gestured over his shoulder. ‘Hawking, sir.’
‘Thank you. Come along, Max.’
The pressure on my shoulder increased and I was walked towards Hawking. Markham on one side, the Boss on the other. The big doors were open to let in the welcome sunshine.
‘I hope you understand, Max, that my priority was to make it as difficult as possible for the Time Police ever to come back here.’
I wasn’t listening. They were just words. All my effort was in putting one foot in front of the other.
It was only as I stepped inside and saw that Hawking was fully occupied that I remembered they’d had some trouble here themselves. I should ask. I should find out about Halcombe and Peterson and all that had happened here and I would. I remember, I wasn’t even surprised Leon hadn’t been there to greet me. My fuel tank was empty and I was running on fumes.
Dieter was talking to Polly Perkins, both of them poring over a diagnostic printout. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Max.’
‘Chief Farrell?’
‘Number Eight, sir.’
We walked in silence. I became aware my legs were growing heavier with every step. I so badly wanted Leon. I wanted to feel his arms around me. I wanted to close my eyes and let go – even if only for a second.
And I dreaded seeing Leon. Dreaded seeing his face when I told him what the Time Police had done. That I’d had to come home without Matthew. That Ronan was still free. That people had died and would continue to do so.
‘Just a little further, Max.’
We reached Number Eight. He handed me up on to the plinth, said, ‘Mr Markham, a word if you please,’ and the two of them disappeared down the hangar.
I took a deep breath, lifted my chin and stepped into the pod.
It was déjà vu all over again.
Leon stood alone in the middle of the pod. I made myself look at him. I must have looked terrible. Filthy dirty, exhausted, utterly finished.
He didn’t come to greet me. My heart, just beginning to slow down, started to race again. Something was wrong.
We looked at each other for a moment and then, slowly, he stepped to one side and I saw he’d been standing in front of Matthew.
He was here. Matthew was here. He was here. Right here. Right now. Standing in front of me. He was still wearing a red life jacket. I stared, first at Leon and then at Matthew. I think I wondered if I’d finally gone insane.
We all stared at each other, and then Leon said, ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ dropped a kiss on the top of my head and left the pod.
I had to put a hand on the console to steady myself. I had to swallow twice before I could say, ‘Matthew?’
We looked at each other and then . . . he held out his arms to me.
I dropped to my knees, partly to hug him close, but mostly because my legs had abandoned me and gone off to look for someone who would take better care of them.
I don’t say this anything like often enough, but my husband is a hero. And my boss isn’t bad, either. I’ve never been more glad to work for someone who knows everything and plans accordingly. He’d known the Time Police weren’t to be trusted, probably rig
ht from the moment I’d first laid my plans in front of him. And he’d planned for just that eventuality. Yes, Halcombe had been a minor blip but there isn’t much Dr Bairstow can’t incorporate into his schemes. He’d known they wouldn’t – couldn’t – execute Clive Ronan and from that he’d inferred they wouldn’t release Matthew.
I was willing to bet he’d had Leon scooping up Matthew before we’d even had our row with Commander Hay. Matthew had been gone before she knew it.
Now, I remembered his instructions to Leon. ‘Chief Farrell, I would be grateful if you could retrieve all our young people.’ Not both our young people, but all of them. Adrian, Mikey . . . and Matthew. And he’d issued the instruction right in front of the Time Police. I made a mental note to congratulate him on style.
Matthew was regarding me with some severity. ‘You’re very wet.’
‘So are you.’
‘And you smell.’
‘Sorry about that but I’ve been fighting off dinosaurs.’
I peered at him, hoping for at least a flicker of a Wow! My mum is so cool expression but there was nothing.
‘I’ve been canoeing.’
It was obvious which he rated more highly.
I’m a mother. I know my duty. ‘Wow, that is so cool.’
‘I turned my canoe over.’
‘Wow,’ I said again, my conversational repartee fast dwindling. I leaned against the console for support. My legs were still in the Cretaceous and I’d left my temper back at TPHQ where, I hoped, it was still roaming the corridors seeking whom it might devour. What was left of me in the here and now was definitely feeling a bit ropey.
I hugged him even more tightly. He was taller than he’d been last time we’d done this. The Time Police had looked after him well. I sighed. The immediate future was going to be choppy. ‘And now you smell, too.’
‘Will I have to shower? Again?’
His tone implied he’d exceeded his weekly quota already.
‘If I have to then so do you.’ I climbed to my feet. I really, really needed a cup of tea. The proper stuff. No more brown water for me.
There was going to be a major row, of course. A major, major row. Once the Time Police discovered Leon had removed Matthew from his school trip they would . . . what? What would they do? What could they do?
We’d find out soon enough. On the other hand, we’re St Mary’s and we drink proper tea. It occurred to me that I was a little light-headed.
Hawking was full. Every single pod was in. And the teapot was here as well. Again, I heard Dr Bairstow giving his word it would be destroyed. Well, they’d broken theirs, as he knew they would, and he’d broken his. I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.
The hangar was full and black umbilicals snaked everywhere. I told Matthew to watch where he was going.
He wasn’t listening. I don’t know why I bother.
We were heading towards Leon and Dr Bairstow, talking together at the far end of Hawking, when Adrian’s head appeared out of the teapot. He was calling down to Mikey, who appeared from behind the pod, scratchpad in hand.
Matthew stopped dead, staring, and, not expecting it, I nearly fell over him.
The moment dragged on and then he said, ‘She was here before.’
I nodded. ‘She was. At the croquet match.’
‘Who is she? And who is he?’
My spidey-mother senses woke up.
Quite casually, I said, ‘Brother and sister. Adrian and Amelia Meiklejohn. She goes by Mikey.’
He stared some more. He has a very intense stare. And you can’t rush him. I waited.
‘Why is she called Mikey?’
‘Because anyone calling her Amelia suffers immediate and catastrophic damage to their nose.’
He stood stock-still and watched her. Reaction had set in. I was sick, cold and desperately, desperately thirsty but I’m a mother. I know my duty.
Mikey was jumping about in her scruffy flying jacket, calling readings up to Adrian. The sunlight from the open door caught her short blonde hair and turned it into a halo of gold. She looked like a dancing angel.
I’m not psychic but I suddenly foresaw a whole new raft of problems.
She stowed her scratchpad, climbed up the ladder and, still shouting at Adrian, disappeared inside.
Matthew watched her go and then said, quite casually, ‘I’m going to marry her.’
‘Good choice,’ I said, equally casually. ‘Shall we go and find your dad?’
THE END
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Kate Foti for allowing me to use her idea to rename TB2 as Tea Bag 2.
Thanks to Rebecca Lloyd, my editor, for her support and patience.
Thanks to Phil Dawson, who advised me on Time Police procedures, sex-clubs and smartdust.
Thanks to everyone at Headline for all their support and encouragement.
Thanks to everyone at Accent Press for being amazing.
We hope you enjoyed Hope for the Best.
Read on for a preview of Jodi Taylor’s brand-new
TIME POLICE series, an irresistible spinoff from the much-loved
CHRONICLES OF ST MARY’S …
A Brief History of the Time Wars
A long time ago in the future, the secret of time travel became available to all. Naturally, everyone wanted it and because the implications were imperfectly understood, the world nearly ended.
Old wars were fought and refought as world leaders continually pressed ‘Reset’ hoping for a more favourable outcome this time around.
New nations emerged, flickered briefly and then disappeared. The Confederate States of America, for example, arose from the wreckage of North America, was defeated, emerged again and refused all attempts to dismantle it. The subsequent long, bitter and bloody struggle so distorted the timeline that, for a dangerously long time, the Confederacy and the Union existed side by side, playing out their own histories simultaneously.
All over the world, people lived, died, then lived again.
Events happened. Then didn’t happen. Had never happened. Then happened again but differently. Some moments vital to the development of the human race never happened at all. Some happened more than once.
Everyone wanted to change the past for the better, but what was better for A was not necessarily better for B. Not surprisingly, whole new wars broke out.
Many, whose minds could not encompass the many versions of the same events, went mad. History was written and rewritten so many times that the fabric of reality began to wear thin. The world began to spiral downwards to destruction.
At the last moment, when it was almost too late, the Time Police were formed. It was an international effort. Personnel were drawn from the military, from the police, and even a few from a tiny organisation known as the Institute of Historical Research at St Mary’s Priory, situated outside Rushford in England, where they would explain, at enormous length, that they definitely didn’t do time travel – they investigated major historical events in contemporary time, and they’d been doing this for some time without anyone being any the wiser and that all of this was nothing to do with them.
A series of international laws were passed to deal with the situation. The punishment for time travel was death. Anyone caught indulging in time travel faced summary execution – together with everyone else involved. Or even those unfortunate enough to be standing nearby. No one ever bothered with a trial.
Every citizen was required to cooperate fully and completely with the Time Police. Failure to do so was death.
Armed with these powers, the Time Police set about their task of saving the world from its own stupidity.
Thus began what were known as the Time Wars. The Time Police’s remit was simple: to shut down time travel everywhere. No matter what it took – shut it down. With extreme prejudice if
necessary. Just shut it down and get the situation back under control. They answered to no one. No one nation had overall control. Their reputation was fearful. Word soon got around. If the Time Police turned up, then things were not going to end well. Not for anyone within a five-mile radius, anyway.
It was bloody and brutal for a long time. A lot of people died. And not just the illegals, as they were known. The Time Police themselves paid an astronomically high price. After the first year, nearly all the original members were dead. Casualties were massive. It is doubtful whether they could have sustained these losses for very much longer but they never faltered, relentlessly pursuing their targets up and down the timeline. At one point they numbered less than thirteen officers in the whole world. No one ever knew how close the Time Police came to extinction.
Fortunately, by then, people were beginning to realise that possessing time travel is like holding a snake in your hand. If you don’t know what you’re doing, sooner or later, it will twist in your hand and bite you.
One by one, nations were induced to give it up. Many were secretly glad to see it go. They simply hadn’t wanted to be the first to surrender it. And by then, big business had discovered the past was not theirs to plunder. Their massive investment had led to no returns at all. They too lost interest.
In the shell-shocked aftermath, it was the Time Police, politically neutral, who brokered agreements, treaties and accords or, if that failed, knocked a few heads together. When done at street level, that sort of thing is known as a brawl. Do it at international level and it’s called diplomacy.
After a long while, things settled back down again but, as is always the way, those who had been the first to extol the virtues of the Time Police now began to perceive that the existence of an organisation with such wide-ranging powers might not be such a good thing after all.
Time travel, however, was not completely eradicated. There was Temporal Tourism – illegal but lucrative. Attempting to hide in another time to escape the consequences of an illegal act in this one was always popular. And every now and then, someone would put something up on the Dark Web, and armed with not even moderately accurate information, a hundred enthusiastic amateurs – for whom death by radiation was something that happened to other people – would beaver away in lock-ups, garages, spare bedrooms and science classes, apparently oblivious to the Time Police heading their way, determined to resolve the situation – whatever it took.