by Jodi Taylor
Something inside me soared.
He pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘Well, then.’
I waited, but that seemed to be it. About par for the course. Of course, the ward was packed full of people, all of whom were desperately pretending to be asleep.
I had a medical glove on my broken hand, and the other hand was on the far side of the bed with tubes and other medical paraphernalia, so not a lot of me was accessible. He briefly touched my forearm and then drew back.
‘What happened to your hair? Again.’
I said, with dignity, ‘There was an explosion.’
‘Why weren’t you wearing a helmet?’
‘I took it off to make it easier for Barclay to shoot me.’
He smiled, but it was an effort.
I looked at his worn face. ‘For how long have you been gone? In real time?’
‘About six months. I gather it’s been about three weeks here.’
I nodded. He’d seen some wear and tear in those missing months. I was no longer the one with the most scar tissue. But he was here now.
There was so much to say. Too much. But sometimes, you don’t need words.
I reached out my gloved hand and he took it between his own, cradling it like a broken bird. We said nothing. There was no need. Someone’s tear plopped down onto the glove. He gently wiped it away with his thumb.
The door opened and someone called his name.
Without looking taking his eyes from me, he said, ‘On my way.’
The door closed. Silence fell again.
Without opening her eyes, Mrs Mack said, ‘Oh, for God’s sake, just give the girl a kiss, will you.’
I asked to see Peterson and was trundled into the other ward the next afternoon. I had to take a couple of breaths to steady myself. Dieter was in the bad bed nearest the door, but it had to have been a toss-up between him, Peterson and Guthrie. I’ve never seen so many wound dressings in so few square feet. As in the female ward, there weren’t enough beds. Sands and Roberts reclined on mattresses on the floor, trying to play cards. Markham lay nearby, his eyes and face heavily bandaged.
My heart broke for him. If he was blind, there was no future for him here. I noticed how Guthrie watched him without seeming to. They all did. Even as they scoffed at his efforts to find his water jug, one of them would gently slide it within his grasp.
I told Markham he looked like the invisible man.
Roberts said, ‘If only …’
Leon offered me his chair, but I preferred to sit heavily on Peterson’s bed, which served the dual function of breaking Sick Bay rules and crushing his feet at the same time.
‘How come you’re up and about?’ said Guthrie. ‘Were you hiding at the back? Typical bloody historian.’
‘We always stand the Security section at the front,’ I said. ‘Cannon fodder.’
‘Have you noticed,’ said Markham, plaintively, ‘only senior officers get beds? The true heroes have to pig it on the floor.’
‘It’s disgraceful,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you come back to the female ward with me? ’
He cheered up immediately.
‘Oh, yes. You’ve no idea how I suffer, Max. The snoring. The grunting. The farting. The smell of feet.’
‘Don’t worry – we can supply all of that. And you can have my bed.’
‘Great.’ His little battered face brightened hopefully through his bandages. ‘Will you be in it?’
‘No,’ said Leon, severely. ‘She will not.’ He turned to Guthrie. ‘He’s in your crew. Why don’t you do something about him?’
Guthrie closed his eyes. ‘So long as he’s not in bed with me, I don’t really care.’
Chapter Seventeen
For some reason, the ceremonial signing of the Charter was to be held at our St Mary’s. Ours had been the final battle, apparently therefore, ours was to be the honour – the honour of signing the Time Police out of existence.
We’d survived SPOHB – a feat in itself. The main building was shored up with scaffolding and wreathed in plastic. St Mary’s wasn’t beautiful but it was safe – a statement that could not have been truthfully uttered at any point during our occupancy.
Most of us had been medically discharged, but I still lived in Sick Bay. Anywhere was better than the concrete room to which Barclay had assigned me.
Now, over the next few days, strange faces appeared and disappeared. Conferences were held. There was a great deal of noise and bustle and commotion.
And then everything stopped. We wondered why.
‘Getting things done at St Mary’s is a bit like elephants mating,’ explained Peterson. A remark that caused some mystification.
‘You know – there’s frantic activity at high level. There’s screaming and stamping. A lot of dust is raised. Nothing happens for two years and then you’re crushed by the result.’
Three long tables had been pushed together in the Great Hall. There were seven seats down one side for the Time Police and eight down the other for representatives of St Mary’s. I couldn’t help laughing. All that effort and they hadn’t needed me after all. Now that Leon was Caretaker/Director, they actually had their seven directors.
I said as much to Mrs Partridge.
She gave me a very strange look. ‘You should not underestimate the importance of your presence here today, Dr Maxwell,’ and with that typically enigmatic statement, slipped away before I could ask.
Pods and people arrived all that day. People whose social skills far exceeded my own tactfully kept Time Police and St Mary’s apart.
The only thing that kept us on even moderately polite terms with them was that everyone was recovering fast. No one dared to die of their injuries, which was a tribute to the fear in which Dr Foster was held.
The other piece of good news was that Mr Markham could see – a fact which had led to an astonishing explosion of wrath from Hunter that easily dwarfed all her previous efforts, impressive though these had been. For some time it looked as if his Time Police-related injuries were the least of his worries as she sought him up and down the corridors of St Mary’s, terrifying in her rage.
It transpired he’d actually recovered his sight fairly early on, but caught up in the earthly delights of bed baths and other personal treatments the like of which he had hitherto only dreamed, he had somehow neglected to mention this to Nurse Hunter. This situation lasted for nearly a whole day, until Helen turned up to give him a routine check and blew his cover. With the entirely inappropriate relish of one with many scores to settle, she had conveyed this news to Nurse Hunter, with the result that Markham was now being hunted the length and breadth of St Mary’s. So far, she had been unsuccessful in locating him. Popular opinion said he was on a tramp steamer to Tristan da Cunha and never coming back.
Before the signing, however, we had a small ceremony of our own.
We assembled in the echoing Hall. Everyone who was medically fit was there, together with quite a few who weren’t.
Dr Bairstow and Chief Farrell faced each other on the half landing and complete silence fell.
‘Director, you are relieved.’
‘Director, I stand relieved.’
They shook hands to enthusiastic applause.
We arranged ourselves down opposite sides of the tables with the careful politeness of two groups of people who really don’t like each other very much. Madam President sat at the head. In a tactful and conciliatory move, she wore civilian clothing.
Dr Bairstow sat opposite a young woman with a prematurely aged face. I wondered if she had sustained some sort of temporal accident. It can happen, apparently.
My opposite number was a very young officer, recently promoted by the looks of him. His brutal crewcut had grown out. I grinned discreetly at Lt Ellis. He grinned discreetly back again.
Apart from Ellis, I knew no one on the other side of the table. Arranged down my side were Dr Bairstow, Chief Farrell, and Pinkie, who was an old friend from the future. I would try for a word
with her before she left. There was also an elderly man, fiercely bright-eyed, whom I guessed was Dr Bairstow’s director – the man who would send him here all those years ago. All the others were strangers to me, but all of us were, or had been, directors of St Mary’s.
History was being made today and just for once, instead of merely observing and documenting, we were part of it. A nice change for us.
Madam President stood and addressed the assembly.
‘Some time ago – in the future – the organisation known as the Time Police was formed to counter a very real threat. Their response to this threat was everything that could have been wished and I would like to place on record, here today, our grateful thanks for this response. Their task was not easy and involved considerable sacrifice on their part. Members of the Time Police – St Mary’s thanks you for your service.’
A polite ripple of applause ran through the room.
A movement caught my eye. Mrs Partridge was edging her way politely along the second row. Just as she sat down, she caught my eye and all the doubts and uncertainties that had, for days, been whirling around what passes for my brain suddenly coalesced and became clear. I stared at the table and wished I was somewhere else.
Madame President continued. ‘However, as we are all aware, circumstances change. The threat has been removed and the time has come to disband the organisation formed to deal with it. Delegates from the Time Police, together with everyone who has ever served as Director of St Mary’s have gathered today to do just that.’
I leaned back in my chair and looked along the table to my left.
Pinkie was staring at me.
Madam President gestured to the pile of documents before her and smiled ruefully.
‘This could take some time.’
She was right. It did. It took longer than anyone expected because it never happened.
Because I refused to sign.
* * *
I put it that way for dramatic effect, but actually, I wasn’t the only one.
I watched one set of documents travelling down the other side of the table, each delegate signing the copy in front of him or her, and then passing it along for the next signature.
I watched the same thing happen on the St Mary’s side with growing unease. I really wasn’t sure about this. And I wasn’t the only one.
We had a bottleneck. A pile of unsigned documents was growing in front of Pinkie. She made no move to pick up her pen.
I was conscious of a faint murmuring around the Hall. Lt Ellis signed the last of the Time Police copies, stacked it neatly with the others, and waited for ours to be passed over.
He never got them.
Madam President said, ‘Is there some problem, Director?’ and everyone looked at Pinkie. Personally, it would have intimidated the hell out of me but she was made of tough stuff. To dignify today’s occasion, she’d put up her sandy hair, which only made her look more stubborn and more pugnacious than usual. She stared belligerently around the Hall, daring anyone to disagree.
She spoke. ‘I know, Madam President, that many sacrifices have been made to get us to the table today. I know that many at St Mary’s have worked long and hard to achieve this. Perhaps I should have spoken before, but if I had done so, events might have turned out differently and we would not be negotiating from today’s position of strength.
‘And we are, Madam President. Today we are in a position of great strength but we should not let that lead us in what I think might be the wrong direction. The Time Police were formed to counter a terrible danger. We cannot close our eyes to that fact. Knowledge about time-travel is out there, and I’m certain a time will come when they will be needed again. It will happen. And on that occasion it may be too late for them to be reformed. I’m sorry, Madam President, Directors, members of St Mary’s, but I am not at all convinced that by signing them out of existence today, we are taking the right step.’
There was a rather nasty silence. I suspected both sides were thinking of those who weren’t here today and wondering, in that case, what the bloody hell it had all been about. A very valid point. But, today, we had the chance of a new beginning. Not something that could have happened if Colonel Albay had still been in command.
The silence lengthened until a rather shaken-looking Madam President said, ‘Does anyone else here agree? Or is Madam Director alone in her thinking?’
‘No,’ I said, getting up. ‘She is not.’
I didn’t dare look at anyone. God knows what St Mary’s would do to me now. ‘The Director is perfectly correct. One day we will wake up to find it’s all happening again and if we’ve disestablished the Time Police then we’ll be in no position to deal with any future threats. I think we should take the time to remember the catastrophes that can occur when others use time-travel so indiscriminately. Neither must we forget the purposes for which it could be used by the unscrupulous. I believe we need the Time Police. Surely, there must be some way in which we can all work together? A system of checks and balances that allows each of us to operate successfully?’
Silence.
I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wasn’t easy. Not when I looked around the Hall for faces that weren’t there. Would never be there again.
I persevered. ‘We have fought each other to a standstill. People have died. I think we should all take a step back and reconsider why we are here today.’
Absolute silence. No applause. On the other hand, no heckling.
Somewhat sheepishly, I sat down. I looked for Mrs Partridge but she’d gone. Perhaps to fetch her flaming sword. Again, I wished I was a million miles away.
Eventually, the old/young woman broke the silence. Almost as if she was thinking aloud, she said, ‘The integrity of the timeline must always be maintained.’
Dr Bairstow looked at Team St Mary’s ranged on either side of him and then said, ‘We agree.’
‘Perhaps a Code of Conduct …?’
‘That could certainly be addressed.’
Silence.
A Director I didn’t know cleared his throat and said, ‘St Mary’s would require the freedom to pursue our research without let or hindrance.’
She said, ‘We agree.’
‘No permission need be sought?’
She said, carefully, ‘There should be an understanding perhaps, that permission could be withheld, but probably will never need to be.’
More silence as most of St Mary’s worked that out on their fingers.
Dr Bairstow nodded. ‘We agree.’
‘The Time Police reserve the right to advise, consult, and warn.’
‘We agree. St Mary’s reserves the right to implement its own plans and strategies.’
‘Subject to the Code of Conduct, yes.’
‘Such Code to be the subject of mutual agreement.’
She nodded. ‘We agree.’
He grew stern. ‘The purpose of the Time Police will be clearly defined. You will protect and defend the timeline. That is all. You cannot be the judicial system as well. You are not our masters. We will regulate ourselves. I can, however, envisage occasions when we would be glad of your assistance or advice. I hope you will make it easy for us to ask for it.’
‘We agree.’
Silence fell again. Everyone looked at everyone else.
‘Does anyone else have anything to add?’ asked Madam President in tones guaranteed to dissuade anyone else from doing any such thing.
No one had. Apparently, we’d all decided to quit while we were ahead.
‘Did anyone think to write all that down?’ enquired Madam President, hopefully.
An excited Professor Rapson shot to his feet. ‘Yes, yes. I’ve got all that.’ He tore a leaf out of a battered notebook. ‘If someone could just make some copies, please.’
And so the historic Treaty of St Mary’s was scribbled in red felt-tip on a page torn from a battered notebook, photocopied, signed by all, and distributed with the reverence of Magna Carta. Which, in its own way,
it was.
That done, everyone relaxed for a moment. They would be serving tea soon.
Ellis and I, duty done, stood, stretched, and stepped away from the table.
I checked no one was listening and said quietly, ‘You saved my life. Thank you.’
He looked over his shoulder to check no one was listening. ‘One good turn …’
There was no need to say any more.
‘How’s the leg?’
‘Fine. How’s the arm?’
‘Fine.’
He looked around the room.
‘I see she’s not here today.’
I was baffled for a moment and then realised he meant Barclay. I’d more or less forgotten all about her. How stupid am I?
He continued. ‘It would have been interesting to watch her try to twist this situation to her advantage.’
‘Yes, a Time Police/St Mary’s coalition would be the last thing she wanted. I wish I could see her face when you tell her.’
He turned his head, suddenly intent. ‘When I tell her?’
I’ve had the ground shift beneath my feet on several occasions, but never with as big a shock as now. And for him, too. I could see it in his face. We thought they had her and they thought we had her. We’d all taken our eyes off the ball.
I saw Dr Bairstow’s head snap round. He never missed a thing.
‘You don’t have her, Lieutenant?’
‘No, sir. Don’t you?’
‘Why should we have her? We thought she’d been arrested by the Time Police because of that business with Maxwell.’
‘We thought you had taken her into custody, sir, and were dealing with her yourselves.’
‘So where is she?’
A very good question.
I knew I should have shot her.
Sometime in between me accidentally kicking her downstairs – twice – and Leon leading the rescue, against all the odds, she’d got up and got away. Probably just after the explosion when everyone was on their backs wondering what the hell had happened. Somehow, she’d escaped.
It was a blow. I’d been happily imagining her availing herself of all those very uncomfortable facilities unique to the Time Police and they obviously thought we’d spirited her away for purposes of our own. But no. She’d got away and it was far too late now. I tried to push it to the back of my mind.