An Argumentation of Historians

by Jodi Taylor

  Somewhere to my left, the straw rustled. I held my breath. Someone was in here with me.

  Fresh sweat broke out all over my body, prickling my hair and running down my back. My instinct was to stand up. To face whatever it was and defend myself.

  Second thoughts kept me where I was. It was equally dark for both of us. Sitting here against the wall, I was a smaller target than if I was standing. I kept very, very still and listened until my ears nearly fell off.

  Nothing. I heard nothing. Was it possible I’d imagined it?

  And then I thought – idiot. It’s a rat. Of course it is. The place would be riddled with them. They probably nipped in and out through the hole in the floor which was probably some sort of open drain. I leaned back against the cool wall and closed my eyes in relief. I wasn’t old or infirm, or sick. I was in no danger. I could deal with a rat or two.

  The straw rustled again. In exactly the same place.

  I froze and held my breath, straining all my senses. And then it happened again. A little closer this time. This was not a rat scuttling around my cell. This was something slowly drawing nearer – an inch at a time.

  I’d lost my reticule with my pepper spray inside. I had no means of defending myself against whatever was in here with me. I don’t know why I thought something rather than someone, but I did. My eyes were stinging. Sweat was pouring off me. I was dreadfully thirsty. My head ached fit to burst. And something was in here with me.

  The straw rustled again. Very close this time. I was convinced I could hear breathing. This was no rat.

  I had a sudden picture of something climbing out of the hole in the floor. Silent and menacing. Something that could see in the dark whereas I was blind. Something that would stalk me around this tiny space. Something from which I could not escape.

  I was gasping for breath. Panic. Fear. The heat. I couldn’t breathe properly. My head was throbbing. If I’d had time to eat before I left then it would have been all across the floor by now.

  I could hear breathing. I swear I could hear breathing. Long, slow and heavy. And I could smell something. Even over the robust aromas of a 19th-century prison cell, I could smell decaying earth.

  My mind flew back to another small space. When I was trapped in a pod with Kal and we were fighting something that would not die. Had it found me again?

  I couldn’t sit still any longer. I struggled to my feet and stood swaying, keeping one hand on the wall for support.

  The straw rustled again and a voice breathed, ‘I see you ...’

  I screamed and at exactly that moment, the cell door opened. It was only a feeble light, but it stabbed at my eyes and did my splitting headache no good at all. I heard men’s voices and Leon said, ‘I’ve got you, Max.’

  I tried to warn him. ‘There’s something here. Something dangerous.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said grimly. ‘Me.’

  I was convinced I had gaol fever.

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Peterson. ‘Nothing as classy as gaol fever. You’ve just picked up some horrible nameless infection that will probably kill you. Nothing to worry about.’

  He was fussing around with the med kit. Leon was laying a welcome cold cloth on my forehead. My temperature was about a hundred and eighty. You could have boiled the kettle on me.

  Our medications are colour coded for safety. It’s quite simple really. Blue and green can be used with each other. Orange can be used with green but not with blue. Red can only be used on its own and not with any other colour. Simple. We have to do this because we carry a bewildering array of drugs to counteract the bewildering array of diseases an historian can contract if she really puts her mind to it.

  I had two blues and a green.

  ‘Pretty,’ I said groggily, admiring the colours.

  Peterson rolled his eyes.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Leon.

  I looked around. I was back in the pod with no memory of how I’d got there but I wasn’t in gaol so I didn’t really care. Speaking of which …

  ‘Did you see it?’

  ‘See what?’ said Leon, reapplying the cloth.

  ‘See what was in the cell with me?’

  ‘There was nothing in the cell with you.’

  ‘Did it escape through the hole?’

  ‘What hole?’

  ‘The hole in the floor,’ I said impatiently.

  He said quietly, ‘There was no hole in the floor.’

  ‘Yes, there was,’ I said, becoming quite cross with him. ‘I felt it with my foot. Or rather I didn’t feel it with my foot if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Max, there was no hole and no one else. You were on the floor in a perfectly normal ten by four room.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ I said, trying to sit up so I could put him right.

  ‘Yes, you were,’ said Peterson, putting the medkit away. ‘You were on the floor rabbiting on about God knows what and as high as a kite.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ I said again, getting angry now because they were both completely wrong. ‘I wasn’t there all that long.’

  They exchanged glances. ‘You were there overnight.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. Was I?’

  ‘Yes. It took us that long to get you out. They wouldn’t let you go without a magistrate’s signature and it took us all night to track one down.’

  ‘I thought you’d blow up the gaol,’ I said, disappointed.

  ‘That was Plan B,’ said Leon gravely.

  ‘And they let me go?’

  ‘Once they realised you were the wife of a respectable citizen, they couldn’t wait to get rid of you,’ said Peterson. ‘My heart went out to them.’

  ‘I don’t feel very well,’ I said plaintively.

  ‘No,’ said Leon, ‘but the antibiotics will kick in and you’ll be fine in the morning.’

  He got that wrong.

  We all spent a lively night.

  I awoke with a fit of coughing and couldn’t stop.

  I remember Peterson running his long fingers over the medkit before saying, ‘I think we’ll try … this one. And this one.’

  Shadows came and went. I asked Leon if he’d found the problem with the pod and my mind slithered away before he could reply. I drank vast amounts of water. Dark dreams danced before my eyes before, at long last, the meds kicked in and I fell properly asleep.

  I awoke to a silent pod. Peterson was stretched out in a sleeping module and Leon was sitting at the console, scratchpad in hand, frowning at a readout.

  Everything was peaceful and quiet. My fever had gone.

  And then, to my right, a locker door swung open and there stood Clive Ronan. Fresh from the Egyptian desert. I could clearly see sand caught in the creases of his jeans and T-shirt. A little pile of it had collected around his feet. He was still wearing his bandana. He was standing there – in the locker – with my baby in his arms. Matthew was holding out his little arms to me. I had to save him because, somehow, I’d been given a second chance. A chance to save my little Matthew. I tried to kick my legs free so I could get up. A huge weight bore down on me. Someone was shouting. They wouldn’t let me get up and I had to save Matthew. I was shouting. Someone was shouting back again. I couldn’t move.

  Clive Ronan grinned at me and the locker door closed. He was gone, taking my baby with him. I screamed and kicked. Something pricked my arm and I went back to sleep.

  I opened my eyes. Leon and Peterson were sitting at the console, talking quietly.

  I said, ‘Hey,’ and they both turned around.

  Leon got up and knelt stiffly at my side. ‘Max, do you know where you are?’

  I tried to get up. ‘Did you see him? Did you see Ronan? We have to get after him.’

  He gently pushed me back again. ‘You’re hallucinating, Max.’

  I had to make him understand. ‘No. He was here. He was in the locker over there. He had Matthew. We can still catch him. We can get our baby back.’

  At the console, Peterson made a sound and turned a
way.

  Leon pushed my hair out of my eyes. ‘Sweetheart, you’re dreaming. It’s not real. You have a fever.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ I said, coughing up a lung. ‘I’m fine.’

  He passed me some water.

  ‘We’re going to get you back to St Mary’s and let Dr Stone take a look at you.’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ said Peterson, quietly.

  Leon turned impatiently.

  ‘It’s no good looking like that, Leon. We’ve been over this. You know the rules as well as I. Whatever Max has – we can’t take it back with us. We wait until she’s better.’

  ‘It’s been two days – she’s not getting any better.’

  Two days? Really?

  ‘She will. We just have to find the right meds.’

  ‘I tell you – we should go back, declare a Code Blue and let Dr Stone sort it out.’

  ‘Out of the question,’ said Peterson quietly, and turned back to the console.

  There was a rather nasty silence and then Leon said, ‘Just because you’ve lost Helen doesn’t mean I’m going to lose Max.’

  Peterson turned slowly from the console and his face was … no. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

  He took a deep breath and his voice was too calm. ‘Leon, I am not risking St Mary’s – and possibly the rest of the world – for just one person. The rules are clear. We stay put.’

  ‘Until she’s dead or better?’

  ‘Until she’s dead or better, yes.’

  I lay still and watched them argue, hoping – praying – this was another hallucination. But it wasn’t. I watched their mouths open and close. There was the strangest sense of déjà-vu. Had I done this before? Had this happened before? I tried to kick my sluggish brain into action.

  Yes. Yes, it had. A long time ago in the future, two men had argued over a sick woman with catastrophic results. People had died. And continued to die to this very day.

  I tried to speak and was overtaken by yet another coughing fit. Peterson brought me some water. Leon snatched it off him. I remember sipping something cold and closing my eyes. Just for a minute …

  I awoke to raised voices. They were shouting. Two men who never shouted were shouting now. Shadows danced before my eyes. Did we carry a gun? There’s a lockbox in one of the lockers for any weapons we feel we might need. Which we don’t very often. We’re not allowed to shoot contemporaries. Although the rules about shooting each other are less stringent. I should do something. I should ignore my temperature, my sweats and shakes and double vision and deal with the situation. Before it got out of hand. Before someone died …

  Too late. I heard the sounds of a scuffle. Something broke. A mug, I guessed. There was grunting and the sound of a blow. This was a nightmare. A waking nightmare. What might they do to each other? Could an event repeat itself before it had actually happened? They fell against the locker in a tangle of arms and legs. I rolled out of the way before I was trampled. Under the console seemed a good idea. I could see feet and legs and everything was slipping away again ..

  ‘Max? Max talk to me.’

  I opened my eyes.

  It was just me and Leon. Peterson was nowhere to be seen. I peered out from under the console, but it wasn’t that big a pod. Peterson definitely wasn’t here. I’d been hot and now I turned cold.

  Leon tried to help me out. ‘What are you doing under there?’

  ‘Not being trampled. Where’s Peterson?’

  ‘Outside.’

  I froze and then tried to squeeze further back under the console. ‘What have you done?’

  He sat back in surprise. ‘Nothing. What do you think I’ve done?’

  A long time ago in the future, a man had shot his friend, thrown him out of the pod and abandoned him to die.

  I opened my mouth to give utterance to the unthinkable and then stopped.

  ‘Leon, what’s this?’

  ‘What’s what? Will you come out from under there?’

  ‘Leon, there’s something under here.’

  ‘Yes, you. Come out, Max. Please.’

  I was almost completely entangled in my sweat-drenched sheet. I struggled feebly and got nowhere.

  ‘Here.’

  He pulled me out. I was too weak to be of any assistance and even not assisting brought me out in another sweat.

  The door opened and Peterson appeared in the doorway. He had a cut on his cheekbone and, now I could see Leon clearly, his lip was split and he had a slight bruise over one eye. They looked at each other.

  Leon said, ‘Come back for more?’

  His tone was ugly. Peterson’s lips curled. ‘Beating up a sick old man is just too easy.’

  I said, ‘What’s going on?’

  No one was listening to me. The atmosphere was thick and toxic. Yes, it was, wasn’t it? Toxic was exactly the word to describe it.

  I rolled back under the console. ‘Leon …’

  They still weren’t listening. At any moment they’d start circling each other. I reached up and pulled. It came away with a slight reluctance that told me it might be magnetised.

  Leon said, ‘What are you doing?’ And at the same moment, Peterson said, ‘What’s that?’

  I held it up. Leon snatched it off me. ‘For God’s sake, Max, it could have been fitted with an anti-tamper device.’

  ‘It’s an air freshener,’ I said woozily. ‘Surely blowing up is slightly counter-productive.

  ‘Actually,’ said Peterson, scooping me up and dropping me back on the sleeping module. ‘When it comes to thinking, Max, you might want to leave the heavy lifting to us men.’

  ‘Yeah. You’ve both been such a stunning success at it so far, haven’t you?’

  Leon laid it down carefully and disappeared under the console again.

  ‘Open the door.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m shutting down the ventilation system.’

  ‘Why?’ My turn this time.

  ‘Because we’re being drugged. I suspect my feelings of dislike for Peterson, justified though they are, have been chemically induced. As was Max’s Ronan hallucination.’

  ‘You mean I’m not ill.’

  ‘No, you’re very ill, but you’ve been drugged too. We all have.’

  Even as he spoke, the little air freshener gave a tiny squirt, releasing something into the air.

  ‘Peterson, get a container. Something airtight.’

  Peterson seized the medkit and upended the contents onto the floor. Leon dropped the air freshener inside and sealed the lid. We all peered at it as fresh, cool air blew gently into the pod.

  Peterson went to stand by the door – we never leave an open door unguarded – and breathed deeply. No one spoke for a very long time until he said, ‘Well, what do you know. My very reasonable desire to strangle Leon is slowly beginning to fade.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said, ‘because my urge to bang your stupid heads together is increasing with every second,’ and closed my eyes to let them sort things out between them.

  We stayed for another twenty-four hours. I didn’t do a lot. I just lay around looking feverish.

  ‘I think,’ said Leon, reading the temp tape, ‘It’s safe to take you back.’ He showed the reading to Peterson who said, ‘I agree.’

  There was no hostility or aggression. They were exactly as they’d always been. Leon caught me watching them and put his hand on mine. ‘It’s fine, Max. Really.’

  I was too tired to argue.

  At least if you’ve had gaol fever you’re excused report writing. Both Leon and Peterson said anything I reported would be wildly inaccurate anyway. Apparently, I’d been in my own world most of the time. Imagining all sorts of things, they said, not looking at each other and I agreed that, yes, I’d imagined all sorts of things.

  The canister was sent off to Professor Rapson who reported that it contained a mutated form of DMT, or ‘Dimitri’ as he called it, a drug quite easy to manufacture and known for its abilities to induce ha
llucinations. To give nightmares shape and form, he said. They had to restrain him from knocking some up there and then just to demonstrate. And yes, before anyone asked, there were fingerprints all over the canister – mine, Leon’s and Peterson’s, so that wasn’t very helpful.

  Dieter gave Number Four a clean bill of health. Every other pod was rigorously searched by both the techies and the Security Section. No one found anything at all.

  The three of us were shoved into the isolation ward together, which was, apparently, to be known in future as the Maxwell Ward.

  Dr Bairstow spoke individually to Cox, Prentiss and Clerk and then left them alone together. I’ve no idea what their personal crisis had been – they never said and no one ever asked. We didn’t say much about ours, either. I know that Leon and Peterson had a long and quiet talk together one night when they thought I was asleep. I’m not saying anything about that, either, so don’t ask. Incident closed.

  Mostly.

  Peterson was discharged first, Dr Stone informing him that he appeared to be disappointingly normal and he would therefore appreciate him ceasing to lower the tone of his Sick Bay and to regard himself as expelled.

  Leon was also given permission to depart, but offered the option to remain with me since I was detained at Dr Stone’s pleasure for another twenty-four hours. It was up to him.

  He took up the option, returning to his own corner of the ward, not looking at me.

  When you have so many things to talk about, where do you begin? And who makes the first move?

  I watched the door close behind Peterson and then got off my bed and went over to him. My poor Leon, wounded in just about every way it was possible to be hurt.

  I said very gently, ‘Leon, how are you feeling?’

  He stayed silent, looking everywhere but at me before finally saying, ‘Not wonderful.’

  ‘Great. Now I’ve made my husband cry.’

  ‘Yes, well, he’s not doing that well these days.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. He’s not doing too badly.’

  ‘He’s a bit of an idiot.’

  I snorted. ‘He’s a complete idiot,’ and took his hands.

  Eventually he cleared his throat and said, ‘I have something I want to say, Max.’