“You have a procedure for chestnut throwing incidences?”
He grimaced. “Surgeons are a rather volatile lot. Confrontations do occur.”
I hated confrontations. I hated Jessica Harding and Mikaela Pratt more.
“I see,” I said, refusing to lower myself to their level. For the second time in one night. “How long, sir?” I needed to find Carrie.
“Twenty-four hours should do it,” he said cheerfully.
Harding started to splutter. “That’s hardly long enough, sir!”
Crawford turned his big baulk to look at her, seeming to suddenly take up more space and air.
“Twenty-four hours, Dr Harding,” he snapped. “Now if you don’t mind, that will be all.”
She ignored the dismissal. “Who will be flying with Dr Evans tomorrow?” she demanded. “I would gladly offer myself as second chair.” Her smile was sickly sweet. I almost gagged.
“That won’t be necessary, Dr Harding. The flight has been reassigned to Dr Fawkes. You will be accompanying him.”
“Jack doesn’t want the flight?” she asked.
“Doctor Evans has other concerns.”
“Concerns?” I found myself saying. What sort of concerns? And did they involve me?
Crawford frowned at both of us and straightened his tie unnecessarily.
“That will be all, Doctors,” he said finally.
“She’s not a doctor,” Harding snarled under her breath, offering me a sneer while she was at it, and then turned her back and left.
I let out a slow breath of air. I had landed in the Twilight Zone. Maybe that was what was wrong with this time. Ivanov was fucking with us, sending us back to grade school.
“I should be very careful of Drs Harding and Pratt, if I were you, Miss Wylde,” Crawford suddenly said.
I looked up at him and saw the intelligence behind his ageing eyes. He’d not been fooled by Harding at all.
“I will, sir,” I said in agreement.
“They have a superior belief in themselves and their place at RATS,” he added.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I wanted to point out that they were psychotic, but held myself back.
“Jolly good, then,” he offered, clearly thinking I’d received the reprimand and warning as intended. And then he was gone.
He could certainly move for a man with a limp.
“That was bloody awesome!” Dean’s disembodied voice announced from behind a bush.
“What a bitch,” Sally offered in commiseration, stepping into the light.
I sighed. Clearly, I wasn’t getting rid of them. Friends or foes, at least they hadn’t abandoned me under a chestnut tree to face off against lunatic nut throwers.
“Come on,” I said resignedly. “I need a drink.”
“Mouse!” Dean exclaimed. “What a bloody fantastic idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Sally whacked him on the back of the head and then wrapped her hands around my upper arm, starting to herd me inside the building.
“Ignore him,” she said conspiratorially, then leant in to deliver the next words on a laugh. “He just wants in your pants.”
“Not my pants…” I began to say, only to have Dean wrap his hands around my other arm and squeeze. Hard.
I started to laugh too, as they both pulled me inside RATS, each clearly with ulterior motives. I just couldn’t decide what those motives could be.
Friendship? Or something else? Only time would see.
Ready?
Jack
The Orion had a fault. That was the only explanation I could see. A multi-million-pound dimensional wave surfing device didn’t just up and vanish all on its own. Everyone was accounted for. RATS at full capacity. No one from our team had launched that Vehicle without clearance. It had obviously followed a previous trajectory when something electrical short-circuited.
“Well?” I demanded, hovering. I hate hovering. But damned if I could move away from the technician frantically tapping keys on his tablet screen.
“Nothin’ out of the ordinary, sir,” Dean Jordan declared.
“Are you certain?”
“Positive. It just up and vanished. All on its own-some.”
“That is hardly a scientific hypothesis.”
“You want scientific, ask Mouse.”
“Miss Wylde would have no bloody idea what has transpired here.”
“Well,” Dean said, “Neither do we.”
“Not exactly a ringing endorsement for your friend, Mr Jordan. Rather a sad indication of your own expertise.”
Dean merely huffed out a breath but didn’t reply. Wiser than I’d thought, then.
I scratched my day’s old beard. I hadn’t had a chance to shave this morning. The Orion had departed at half past three. All hands on deck afterwards. Clive was demanding answers. Orion Two was missing.
Thank God its crew was all here.
“Anything?” Fawkes asked as he approached from the other end of the hangar.
“Tech Support is coming up blank as well,” I replied.
“So is Dispatch. Nothing in the logs.”
“Crawford’s confirmed everyone is accounted for.”
“Then we’ve got a rogue Orion. How the fuck did that happen?”
“No idea,” I said with force.
“Doctors,” Dean called. We both walked over and hovered. “I’ve traced its last flight path, and there is a chance that it’s gone back to Cape Canaveral. The Kennedy Space Center to be precise. I’m picking up a rip in 1969.”
As soon as he said the words the Dispatch Centre’s alarm began to sound. A soft whoop-whoop announcing a detected tear in Time.
“That’d be you, Jack,” Fawkes declared. “I ain’t got a Vehicle to fly.”
“Sebastian’s up next on the rota,” I argued. “And one of my crew is grounded.”
“Winchester’s been assigned my flight plan. He’s prepping for that already.”
I let a slow breath of air out. Clive wouldn’t let Mimi fly, not when she’d been officially grounded.
“All right then,” I said. “Where’s Miss Groves?”
“Cafeteria when I last saw her.” I raised an eyebrow at him; since when did he keep tabs on Novitiates? He shrugged his shoulder. “Fair warnin’, she’s got a hangover.”
“Brilliant,” I growled and stalked towards Dispatch.
“Page Miss Groves, if you please,” I instructed the dispatcher as soon as I walked in the door. The room was buzzing, as it usually is when a rip is detected. Not every day affords us the opportunity to do what we’re trained for. Some days it’s just another failed search and rescue. Today, we’d be Surgeons. RATS would justify its expensive existence. Clive would breathe easy for another twenty-four hours. Parliament would be satisfied until the clock shifted and the sun sank, and another night reminded us that we were all still here.
Worse for wear.
I strummed my fingers on a filing cabinet as I stared at the sinusoid up on the screen. International Orange. It shouldn’t have surprised me, Cape Canaveral in 1969 was an Origin Event. And I was getting used to seeing that colour. But even so, it was a foreboding thing.
“Did you dream anything useful last night?” Rafe asked from beside me; I hadn’t even heard him approach.
“No.” I had dreamed. But I could hardly call Mimi and I entangled in bed sheets useful. “You?”
“Not a bloody thing.”
“Then we do this the hard way.”
“Maybe Mimi dreamed something?”
“She isn’t flying with us, Groves is.”
“Is that wise? Mouse is connected to this location more than any of us.”
“She’s grounded,” I snapped. “Rules are rules, Dr Hoffman.”
“How the hell did she get grounded? And where was I?”
“Chestnuts,” I said succinctly. “And you were quite occupied.”
He barked out a laugh. “What a night. Chestnuts, you say? Didn’t see that one coming
.”
“Neither did Dr Pratt, apparently.”
He guffawed a little longer and then brought himself back under control with the muttered words, “Can you blame her?”
I stared at him for a suspended moment and then sighed.
“It is most inconvenient.”
“You would say that,” Rafe replied. “Sally’s not nearly as tempting to look at.”
“Thank you, Dr Hoffman,” Miss Groves offered from over his shoulder. “I do try.”
Rafe grimaced obviously and muttered an apology in reply. Miss Groves just smiled sweetly. I was really beginning to like the girl.
“Miss Groves, you’ll be with us this morning,” I said smoothly. “Cape Canaveral. 1969.”
“Not again,” she complained.
“Well,” I offered, “this time, let’s get it right.”
“It was hardly our fault we picked up a passenger last time, sir,” Groves argued.
“Indeed. Maybe we’ll pick up somebody else.”
“God! Does Mouse have another twin or something?” Rafe demanded.
“Not as far as I’m aware,” I replied.
“And we’re not likely to pick up Carolyn,” Groves supplied. Then flicked concerned eyes to my face. “Does she know?”
“Who know?” I was playing coy and we all knew it.
“Mouse, sir. Does she know we’re going back without her?”
Silence. Then I manned up.
“No. And we’re not going to tell her, Novitiate.”
“Your call, sir,” she said with obvious sarcasm. “That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”
“And give you a flash office,” Rafe added.
“And invite you to all the fundraising balls,” Sally offered.
“And polish your brass plaque every day.”
“And let you sit in the command chair.”
“That’s enough!” I practically shouted. All eyes in Dispatch turned to look at us. “Why the bloody hell I put up with you two is beyond me.”
“We make a good team,” Rafe and Sally said together, then turned to look at each other, grin maniacally, and high-five.
I made a strangled sound of defeat and reached out to accept the flight plan from the dispatcher.
“Thank you…” Fuck! I’d forgotten her name again. I smiled - perhaps more of a wince - and stormed out of the room.
My flight crew obediently followed. Thankfully silent. Rip flights do that to you. Sober you up in a hurry.
The Orion sat on its launch pad softly gassing liquid oxygen. Dean Jordan was disconnecting the power supply that keeps the Vehicle powered while on standby and saluted as we walked past. He busied himself with the cord, not making eye contact. Perhaps I’d been a little rough on him earlier. But he had been the one to get Mimi rip-roaringly drunk last night.
I’d watched from the corner of the cafeteria, nursing a whisky and bad attitude. Clive had told me what had happened, and if either Harding or Pratt had dared to approach me, I would no doubt have been grounded as well. Instead, I’d sat fuming, at them, at Clive, at the whole bloody fucking situation. But most of all at Dean Jordan, who’d been there for Mimi when she’d needed him.
I had left before they did. But I’d seen enough.
And I hadn’t seen Mimi since.
It felt wrong to be flying without saying goodbye. Without trying to mend the rift that had grown between us. It didn’t help that my dreams had been crystal clear last night. That I still tasted her on my tongue. My fingers still twitched with the phantom sensation of her smooth skin. Even the scent of the soap she’d been using hung in the air as if she’d been here mere seconds before we’d walked in.
“Coordinates,” Rafe announced, passing me a sheet of paper. I sat down in the command chair, ran a palm over the armrest, and stared at the dimensional numbers in my hand.
“This could be a rough ride,” I said softly. “Anything could transpire.”
Neither crew member argued that point.
“Are you armed, Dr Hoffman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Miss Groves?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Well, then,” I said. “Let’s do this. Let’s find out what 1969 still has in store for us.”
“Always liked that decade,” Rafe supplied, confirming the coordinates.
I stood up and reached for the door from the technician outside. It was Jordan again. And he still didn’t meet my gaze. I frowned down at him, but the door swung closed before I could gain his attention. Before I could see what look he was keeping from me in his eyes.
I shook my head as I locked the capsule portal and returned to my seat, buckling my harness.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Ready,” both crew members replied.
I hit the button and the Orion warped. Stars and clouds and an infinite galaxy engulfed us, and then silence wrapped itself around our bodies and squeezed tight.
The Vehicle shuddered, rattled, and something in the bathroom thudded against the wall. Bloody Jordan had probably forgotten to secure it. With an earsplitting roar, sound returned and the Orion touched down with barely a jolt.
Rafe immediately started checking our location against the coordinates, as Sally flicked switches getting us a view of outside the MPCV. The Vehicle Assembly Building loomed over us, complete, intact, no sign of an Orion sized hole in its side. Sixties-era vehicles were parked outside, one of them a Corvette, as inside a Saturn V rocket was getting its final makeover.
An Apollo capsule already attached to its side.
I was about to unbuckle and open the Vehicle door when I saw it. Orion Two. Parked up inside the VAB, behind the shelter of scaffolding and tarpaulin sheets, in an area of the building that was obviously used to store equipment. At the moment it was devoid of people, but that wouldn’t last long, I should think.
“There it is,” I whispered.
“What’s it doing there?” Rafe demanded. “In plain sight.”
“Can we tether it?” Groves asked.
“Excellent plan, Miss Groves. Dr Hoffman?”
“On it, sir. Tethered and linked. It’s empty inside.”
“How the hell did it get here?” I wondered aloud.
“Why is it here?” Sally offered.
“I have no bloody idea,” I replied.
“Would you like us to shift dimensions, sir?” Rafe asked.
“Yes, but keep us in this time. I want to find out why it’s here.”
“Shifting,” Rafe offered, as the view from outside our Vehicle morphed, removing those people who had been working on the Saturn V.
We sat in silence, staring at the screen and Orion Two outside. Nothing moved. The entire VAB stood still. If things were happening in this time, we wouldn’t see it. They would simply come into existence on our plane. Our brains absorbing the difference but not recognising that anything had happened at all. One shift in dimensional planes was all it took, to keep us present but out of the loop.
“OK,” I said. “Miss Groves you’re with me. Dr Hoffman, keep an eye on things. If Orion Two moves, I want you to follow it.”
“And leave you, sir?”
“You can always come back.”
“That’s rather risky, Jack.”
I automatically checked my communicator in the sleeve of my jumpsuit. I’d pressed it before even realising that’s what I’d do. A red light flashed on the Vehicle’s console; the Orion confirmed over the speakers that we were on board and accounted for, before deactivating the call sign in the next breath.
“We’ll be in touch if we need you,” I said to punctuate all of that. Rafe let out a slow breath of air as Groves sucked one in.
It was risky, but we were connected. We wouldn’t be alone for long.
“All right, then,” I said, looking down at Groves. “Ready?”
She lifted her chin and replied, “Ready, sir.” I smiled.
And then the door to the bathroom opened.
&nbs
p; I Call You Mouse In My Dreams
Mimi
“Bloody fucking bollocks!” Jack exclaimed. I winced. This was going to go down like a cup of cold sick.
Everyone had been conspiring against me. Ruining everything. I’d been desperate. The longer Carrie was with Ivanov, the worse things would be. I knew it, even if I didn’t know how I knew it. I just knew that Time needed to be mended. But not by Surgeons. By me.
I’d taken a risk. A huge risk. But worse than that, I’d pulled someone into the danger zone with me.
Dean could lose his job over this. But if I fixed Time, like I had to fix Time, maybe I could save him too.
Being grounded made that impossible. Having Pratt and Harding breathing down my neck had turned the tide. I did not respond well to bullies. For once in my life, I took the bull by the horns, and I shook the mother-effing shit out of it.
Carrie needed me, and no stick wielding old man and his infantile bunch of Time Surgeons was going to stop me. I’d had enough. The mouse had grown claws.
“Miss Wylde?” Jack shouted. “What the bloody fucking hell are you playing at?”
“Getting my sister,” I said with vehemence.
His head pulled back, and he blinked.
“You organised this?” he demanded in a slightly lower tone of voice.
“I don’t know how to fly these things,” I admitted. “And,” I mumbled, “I needed help.”
His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again.
“Have you gone completely insane?” he finally managed to rasp.
I straightened my shoulders and tipped up my chin, staring him in the eyes.
“I will not stand by and watch you all arrange my return to the 21st century while my sister is with that man.”
“You’ve gone completely insane,” he surmised.
I took a step forward, aware Sally shrank in on herself, and Rafe kept his hand hovering over his gun. I ignored them, thrust out a finger, and jabbed it into Jack’s chest.
“You think I don’t know what you’re all planning. You think I don’t understand what it will mean for Carrie. RATS’ only concern is for its missing Interns. Not my sister. And certainly not me.”
Losing Time (Lost Time, Book 1): A Time Travel Romantic Suspense Series Page 23