Plan for the Worst

by Jodi Taylor

  Carefully keeping his distance from both of us, Ronan was staring at the teapot. ‘Why are you here, Edward?’

  ‘To extricate my people from the difficulties in which they appear to find themselves.’

  I don’t know why he thought he was assisting me. I had a massive gun. I wasn’t having any difficulties at all.

  ‘I mean – why have you brought . . . that?’ He gestured to Mikey and Adrian’s beloved teapot.

  ‘This? Needs must, I’m afraid. All our pods are already here.’

  No, they weren’t. Numbers Two and TB2 were both back at St Mary’s, ready for instant use. And in the unlikely event of us ever running out of pods, there was always Leon’s tucked away in the paint store. He was lying again.

  Ronan was eyeing the teapot. ‘This really is very kind of you, Edward. Both of you together in one neat package. And the indescribably irritating Dr Maxwell, too. And her two ­colleagues are out of the picture, as well – permanently, one can only hope. This is really turning out to be a very fortunate day for me.’

  ‘I’ve only come for my people, Clive. Do not get in my way or I will shoot you. Dr Maxwell, make your way into the pod, please.’

  ‘Markham and Peterson are missing.’

  ‘Not important at this very moment,’ he said, and as if to contradict him, a really strong tremor shifted the rock beneath me. That was a big one. Loose stuff clattered down the hill again and the teapot shifted slightly. I had been about to make a joke about it being as unbalanced as its owners but Dr Bairstow’s habit of sacrificing his employees to the greater good was beginning to annoy me.

  ‘Dr Maxwell, over here, if you please. Time is short.’

  Easier said than done. The ground was trembling almost continually. I couldn’t guarantee my footing. And Ronan stood between us. He’d be waiting for an opportunity. Why give him the chance?

  I hesitated. Smoke drifted past, stinging my eyes. Whether from Knossos or from the wooded area behind me, I didn’t know. I only knew Peterson and Markham were here somewhere and I had to find them.

  I turned to face Dr Bairstow. ‘Put up your hands, please.’

  He stared at me. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Step back, please, Dr Bairstow. Away from the pod.’ I gestured with the gun.

  He moved a reluctant step.

  ‘And another, please.’

  I turned to Ronan. ‘Take it. Take the pod and go.’

  Dr Bairstow wheeled on me and nearly lost his balance. ‘Are you insane?’

  ‘Yes. Probably. There’s nothing we can do.’ I let contempt bleed into my voice. ‘We’re not allowed to kill him. Let him kill himself in that thing. Or the Time Police will catch him eventually. Let him become someone else’s problem. I’ve more important fish to fry at the moment.’

  I gestured to Ronan. ‘Go. Up the ladder. Pull the hatch down after you. Get out of my sight. If you’re still here in five seconds, I will shoot you.’

  Ronan looked at me. ‘Sensible.’

  I shrugged. ‘Just piss off out of it, Clive. I’m bored with you.’

  He flushed with rage. Good.

  I gestured with the gun. ‘Four.’

  ‘Dr Maxwell, I order you to surrender your gun.’

  Ronan put his foot on the first rung of the ladder. ‘Turned on you at last, have they, Giles?’

  Dr Bairstow’s voice was icy. ‘It’s Edward, Clive, as you well know.’

  ‘Well, that’s so typical of you, isn’t it, Edward? Discard the name and discard the guilt. I knew they’d find you out one day. Has your ability to sacrifice friend and foe alike finally opened their eyes? How many has it been over the years? Since the day you killed Annie, those around you have just dropped like flies, haven’t they?’

  ‘You don’t ever get to speak her name, Ronan.’

  I jumped at his tone. I’d never heard him use that voice before. Not even in his more exasperated moments.

  ‘Cut the moral crap, Edward. I’m doing this for her. So she can live again.’

  Dr Bairstow gestured. ‘All this? Everything you’ve done over the years? All the destruction you’ve wreaked? The lives you’ve ended? You’ve done it all for Annie?’ His voice dripped contempt. ‘I don’t think so, Clive.’

  ‘She was the reason. She’s always been the reason.’

  ‘She was the excuse.’

  ‘I can save her. With this pod I can save her. I will save her. She can live again.’

  Shit. I knew suddenly why this pod was so important to him. He was planning to use it to rescue Annie and that would bring down disaster upon us all.

  A long time ago in the future, Ronan, Annie Bessant and Edward Bairstow were the dream team. And then there’d been a falling-out when Annie became sick. Ronan had shot his former friend, Edward Bairstow, and left him for dead while he and Annie jumped away. He shouldn’t have done it. He’d taken her back to St Mary’s for treatment – in direct contravention of the rules – and when they discovered what he’d done, they’d tried to arrest him. He’d made a desperate effort to escape, grabbing a still sick Annie and trying to fight his way to a pod.

  She’d died in the crossfire and he’d escaped. Alone. And now, it seemed, he had a plan to rescue her before she died. Up until this moment that hadn’t been possible because he was already there. It’s an inviolate rule. You can’t be in the same time twice. Now, partly thanks to Dr Bairstow and partly thanks to me, he could. He had a pod that could bypass all the safety protocols. And, probably, destroy the universe in the attempt. We were in trouble. So much trouble.

  Dr Bairstow’s voice cracked. ‘You have to face it, Clive. She’s dead. Dead and gone.’

  If I hadn’t seen Ronan speaking, I wouldn’t have recognised his voice. ‘No, she’s not. I won’t let it happen. I won’t let them kill her.’

  ‘She’s dead, Clive. She died in Hawking. In the crossfire.’

  They were shouting at each other.

  ‘She didn’t just die. You bastards killed her. She wanted to be with me and they killed her because of it. They deliberately killed my Annie.’ He was beside himself. Shaking with rage and emotion. Very nearly as unstable as the volcano behind me.

  Dr Bairstow wasn’t much better. I could see the effort it took for him to regain self-control. Taking a deep breath, he spoke very quietly. ‘No, they didn’t. No one deliberately killed Annie. It was your own sick, obsessive behaviour that dragged her from Sick Bay. If you’d left her there, she’d have been safe. You killed her, Clive. She was caught in the crossfire of your escape attempt.’

  ‘They should have just let her go. If they’d just let her come with me . . . She wanted to be with me.’ His voice broke.

  I was suddenly aware of how quiet everything was. At this moment, the earth was still. The air was still. Was this the calm before the storm? I wondered if I should mention the volcano. You know – just a casual reminder. I wasn’t given the chance. I think they’d forgotten I was here. They’d forgotten everything except each other. Long buried emotions came boiling to the surface as they confronted each other at last.

  Dr Bairstow’s words scythed through the thick atmosphere like a pendulum slicing time. ‘I said you killed her, Clive, and it’s the truth. It was your bullet. In all that hail of gunfire, in your frantic scramble to get away, Clive, accidentally or otherwise, you were the one who killed Annie. Your bullet. Do you hear me? You killed Annie Bessant. No one else. Annie died because of you.’

  The blood poured into Ronan’s face. His eyes bulged. A big blue vein throbbed in his temple. His cheeks turned purple. I honestly thought he was about to burst a blood vessel. Or perhaps even have a stroke. And then it all drained away, leaving him white and hard and vicious. ‘You’re lying. It was them. They – you – killed her. You killed Annie.’ His voice was rising. The emotion in the air was thicker than the lava abou
t to engulf Thera while they stood on the brink of catastrophe, shouting at each other.

  I thought, shit – he’s going to do something stupid – and I wasn’t sure which one of them I meant. I had to do something.

  It was so tempting just to let Ronan go. To tell him to take the pod and piss off forever. I could find Markham and Peterson and get them, together with Dr Bairstow, to the safety of higher ground and wait for St Mary’s to rescue us. After all, wasn’t that what Dr Bairstow had originally intended? That’s why he’d said he was here.

  Unless, in his own way, he was as insane as Ronan. Consider his recent behaviour: interfering with History. Abandoning me to die. Breaking every rule in the book. About which I still felt justly aggrieved because breaking the rules was my job.

  I honestly had no idea what to do for the best. Letting Ronan go would solve the immediate problem, but what greater crisis would that precipitate? If there were two of him in the same time . . .

  Or I could shoot him – that also would solve the immediate problem – but ditto with the greater crisis. If there were still actions he had yet to perform . . .

  I stood upon a knife edge of indecision. These events were beyond me and I no longer trusted Edward Bairstow to do the right thing. I took a deep breath of smoky air and invoked the first rule. Always deal with the now.

  ‘Stop talking, both of you.’ I gestured at Ronan. ‘You – get into the pod and piss off forever.’ I gestured at Dr Bairstow. ‘You – step back out of his way and shut up.’

  I’m not sure he heard me. ‘Give me back my gun, Dr Maxwell.’

  I shook my head. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘In order that events may take their designated course.’

  I stopped. What designated course? Was Ronan about to die? Or Dr Bairstow himself? Or most likely of all – were they both about to kill each other?

  He said very quietly – I don’t think Ronan would have heard – ‘It is very important that you attempt to give me my gun, right now.’

  There was something in his voice. I had no idea what was going on and I was almost too hot to think straight. I should give him back his gun and let him sort it out. I took a cautious step towards him. The ground was covered in loose rocks and shale. Stumbling now would not be a good idea. Slowly, carefully, never taking my eyes from Ronan, I held out the gun to Dr Bairstow – and at the same moment, seventy miles away, without any preamble – the volcano exploded.

  The shockwave came fractionally ahead of the sound. I felt it in my chest. As if someone had given me a hard push. I staggered. We all did. The heavy gun slid from my sweaty hand. At the same time an almighty crack seemed to explode inside my head and hurt my ears, all the way down to my jaw.

  The sky turned orange. The glow on the horizon exploded and expanded until all the sky was molten red and orange with a white-hot glowing core that seared my eyes. I looked away before I went blind. Purple and green after-images danced in front of my eyes. There was something. Something important.

  The gun.

  We all lunged for it. Ronan, who must have been waiting for the opportunity, got there first. He threw himself at the gun, rolled and fired. But not at me. Dr Bairstow fell backwards out of my view.

  On the horizon, massive volcanic plumes split the sky. An immense pillar of white fire stabbed the heavens. For all the world like a giant Roman candle on Bonfire Night. The force was astonishing. And the height. Both were beyond anything I’d ever seen. As if a gigantic ancient god had opened his mouth wide and was spewing forth red hot rocks and lava to cover the earth.

  I saw Dr Bairstow on the ground. Ronan, on his knees, raised his arm for the kill shot – and somehow, this made my decision for me. Suddenly it was easy. I couldn’t let Ronan go. I mustn’t let him go. Whatever had happened to Tim and Markham – this was more important. Whatever Edward Bairstow had or hadn’t done was not my business. My priority was to prevent Ronan from carrying out his crazy scheme to rescue Annie because that would endanger everything. And by that, I did mean everything. In reverse order of importance – me, St Mary’s – present and future – History, Leon and Matthew. Everything. This had to be stopped. And it had to be me. There wasn’t anyone else. I had to do my duty. Oh God, I was turning into Miss North.

  I threw myself at him as another tremor hit us. For once it worked in my favour, driving me hard into him. Ronan went down. I went down. It hurt. There are no soft rocks on Crete.

  He kicked out at my head and for a moment all I saw was red flashes – although that might have been the volcano – and all the time, in my head, I was cursing Dr Bairstow for having brought Ronan the very thing he wanted and the very thing he shouldn’t have.

  By the time I could focus properly again he was trying to get himself up the ladder. He hung on one-handed and turned back to Dr Bairstow for another attempt at the final shot.

  For a moment we were frozen together. Just the three of us. And then Dr Bairstow, white with shock and blood loss, lifted his head. ‘For God’s sake, Maxwell, get off your arse and sort this out.’

  When Dr Bairstow uses that tone, you don’t hang around. I grabbed the ladder and tried to yank it away but it was too heavy and Ronan’s weight made it heavier. My effort did, however, unbalance him sufficiently for him to abandon his attempt to kill Dr Bairstow and concentrate on getting himself into the pod instead.

  I followed him up the ladder, grabbing at his ankles. I think I planned to yank his feet off the rungs. A fall of six or eight feet on to sharp Cretan rocks – again, there are no other sort – wouldn’t do him any good at all.

  It didn’t work. He was hanging on for dear life. He kicked back, missing my head by a fraction of an inch, and I had to let go. He climbed another two or three rungs and then he was at the hatch, which Dr Bairstow had, unaccountably, left open.

  I went up after him. I had no idea how to stop him. I just knew that I must. I closed the distance as he was wrestling with the hatch, trying to pull it shut, and suddenly it was coming down and I was in the way. I saw it coming and did the only thing I could. It was too late to go back. I could only go forwards. I hurled myself headfirst into the teapot. Sadly, one arm didn’t quite make it in time.

  Hot red pain exploded all the way up to my shoulder.

  I dangled for a moment and then my own weight pulled me free and I crashed down on to the floor, bringing Ronan down with me. That bloody hurt as well. I was really losing my enthusiasm for today. I heard the gun skid away somewhere out of sight.

  Ronan was able to pull himself to his feet before me. By the time I’d got myself into a sitting position, he was staring at the console.

  I didn’t blame him. For a start, the interior of the pod was lit with a lurid blue glow that always makes the occupants look as though they’ve been recently embalmed. And he was obviously completely unfamiliar with the toxic health hazard that is the average teenager’s bedroom. The console was littered with drinks containers, dirty paper plates, odd scraps of scribbled paper, a paperback with its spine bent back and a half-eaten sandwich that I swear had been there since the last time I climbed into this pod. Somewhere underneath all that were the controls. He swept his arm across the console and the whole lot tumbled to the floor.

  I thought I had him now. He’d have to take a moment to study the panel. He would have to calculate his coordinates. No one can just leap into a strange pod and immediately expect to drive the thing off the forecourt.

  The pod rocked from side to side. They must be having some serious tremors out there. No time to think about that now. Or Markham. Or Peterson. Or even Dr Bairstow. I was trapped in the teapot with a madman who was about to do something incredibly stupid and even more incredibly dangerous and I was the only person who could stop him.

  Ronan was still studying the console. I didn’t waste time trying to get up. I rolled over and tried to pull his legs out from underneath him. I w
as only partly successful. He staggered but stayed on his feet.

  The pod tilted again and I heard the gun skid somewhere else. I had to find it. I had to stop him. Before he killed us all.

  The pod tilted again and down he crashed. Now we were both on the floor. And there was the gun. Under the console. I lunged and so did he.

  I was shouting, ‘Clive. Clive. For God’s sake. Let it go. You can’t go back to Annie. You’re there already. You can’t take the risk. Let it go.’

  The pod tilted back the other way. The gun skidded again.

  He was screaming with rage and coming at me with knees, fists, teeth, panting, his breath hot in my face. ‘No. No. I’ve spent years working this out. I can do it.’

  ‘No, you can’t. No one can.’ Our faces were only inches apart. I made a huge effort to speak calmly and quietly. ‘Please, Clive, your younger self is already there. I beg you – for God’s sake, for everyone’s sake – let it go.’

  He rolled away from me and pulled himself to his feet. Bending down, he seized a handful of my poor, mistreated blouse and hauled me up. ‘You underestimate me. I have the exact moment . . . that split second . . . I can do this. I can jump—’

  It always amazes me that people wait politely for their ­opponent to finish making their threats before kneeing them in the balls.

  It wasn’t as successful as I would have hoped. We were both a little off-balance. I hurt my knee but I hurt him more. He made a kind of ‘oof’ noise and let me go. I dropped to the floor and rolled under the console. Partly to get out of the way because he wasn’t going to be in the best mood, and partly to find the gun.

  Sod the bloody Time Police and their ‘let him get on with his life to avoid disrupting the timeline’ attitude. This was all their fault. Because if he did this – if he jumped back to try to prevent Annie dying – then he’d do more than disrupt the timeline – he’d destroy it. St Mary’s and the Time Police agree on only one thing: you can’t be in the same time twice. You just can’t. And that was exactly what he was about to do.

  The gun was here. It had to be. I was certain I’d seen it skid under the console. I groped frantically. I could hear Ronan moving around. It was here somewhere. Where the bloody hell had it gone? I was scrabbling around in God knows what. You would not believe the crap under here. Where was it? I had to find it before we jumped.