1. Just One Damned Thing After Another (5 page)

A notice on the wall said:

NO STORAGE IN THIS AREA.

L. FARRELL (CTO)

It wasn’t visible from the door, which made it ideal.

I started stockpiling. Sleeping bag, water, chocolate, torch, batteries, pods revision notes, and backpack. Food I would get the night before, pack it all away, and hide the backpack in the store. So long as I kept quiet, I should be OK. After all, I would be revising. It was practically my duty to cheat.

Talking to the others, they were strangely evasive about their own plans. I suspected they all had their contingencies stashed away around the countryside. I could only hope they weren’t planning something similar. It would be a bit of a bugger if no one at all got on the transports.

I breakfasted ostentatiously in woodland camouflage gear, making sure I packed away enough to keep me going for the day, then slipped quietly away. Years of bunking off at school had finally paid off. I never thought I’d say this, but nothing you learn at school is ever wasted! In the toilets, I stood on the cistern, bundled my greens up into the false ceiling, and pulled out blacks, a cap, and a clipboard.

I wandered slowly down the long corridor, consulting my clipboard, occasionally peering at a fire alarm point, and making a tick on my paperwork. I felt horribly vulnerable, but no one so much as looked at me. No one came racing down the corridor shouting my name, so presumably I’d not been missed at the transports, either.

I strolled into the paint store and closed the door behind me. Retrieving my backpack and stuff from behind the cobwebbed tins of Battleship Grey at the back, I made my way to the empty corner.

And a door opened in the middle of nowhere and Chief Farrell stepped out.

It would be hard to say who was the most gobsmacked. I stood rooted to the spot, waiting for him to realise where I should be, compare it to where I actually was, and fire me on the spot.

It didn’t happen. Long seconds ticked by with nothing happening and it slowly dawned on me that he looked as guilty as I felt. And where had he come from? He just appeared. There was nothing. Then there was an open door. Then he stepped out. And here he was. In the middle of the room. We stared at each other.

‘Miss Maxwell,’ he managed, eventually, ignoring the fact I appeared to be disguised as the unit’s IT officer.

‘Good morning, Chief,’ I said politely.

What now? While we were grappling with this social crisis, I heard sudden voices in the corridor outside. Panic gripped me and I stared wildly around for somewhere to hide. He grabbed my arm.

‘Come with me. Door!’

Four strides and I was inside a pod. I could tell that with my eyes shut. The smell was unmistakable. I looked around. This one was small. Maybe a single-seater. The layout was different, with the console on the left-hand wall. The colour was different – a boring beige instead of the standard grim grey. Everything was different, not least the fact it appeared, from the outside, to be invisible.

I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t get me into even deeper trouble, so I shut up. I suspect something similar flitted through his mind and he was a man of few words anyway.

Eons passed. My backpack slid off my shoulder and hit the floor with a thump that made us both jump. At last, he said, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for somewhere quiet to do my pod revision,’ and pulled out a folder, as if that would convince him.

‘Shouldn’t you be …?’

I cut him off with a gesture and a complicated, ambiguous noise intended to convey – if you don’t ask then I won’t have to lie and you won’t have to take any action we might both regret, because, let’s face it, I’m not the only one up to no good here.

We both paused to contemplate the massive rule-breaking going on here.

‘Would you like some tea?’

‘Oh. Yes, please.’

We’re St Mary’s. If hitting someone doesn’t cure the problem, then drinking tea will. There was only one seat so we sat on the floor and sipped.

‘You picked the wrong day to … study … in the paint store. It’s inventory day and people are going to be in and out all day, counting things.’

Bloody typical. It had been such a good plan, too.

He sighed. ‘You can stay here.’

I looked around.

‘In my pod.’

I looked at him.

‘This is my pod. My own pod. I keep it here out of the way.’

I carried on looking at him.

‘It’s experimental.’

‘Ah. That accounts for some of its more unusual features.’

‘Yes, I use it as a prototype. If things test OK then I incorporate them into the mainstream pods.’

I nodded.

‘Only it’s not generally known.’

I nodded again.

He turned and looked at me directly. ‘Is this likely to be a problem for you?’

‘No.’

‘Edward mentioned this.’

‘Edward?’

‘Dr Bairstow. The Boss. He said he found it one of the most unusual things about you. He said the more extraordinary things he told you, the quieter and calmer you became. You’re doing it again.’

‘I’m sitting here in an invisible room!’

‘Only from the outside and invisible is not a good word.’

‘Don’t tell me we’re “cloaked”.’ I did the hooked fingers thing.

‘No, it’s camouflage. Simply a combination of high def. cameras and a sophisticated computer putting it all together and projecting the images back again. It works well against simple backgrounds like plain walls, less so against complex subjects – a leafy jungle for example.’

I nodded and looked around. A small telephone-like object resting on a stand caught my eye. ‘You have a telephone?’

‘Funny you should pick up on that. It’s a remote control. Someday you’ll be using one yourself.’

I nodded again, having no idea what he was saying.

‘I’ll leave you then to get on with your … revision. You’ll probably find around six thirty on Sunday morning will be the best time to finish and take a walk in the woods, coming in through the East Gate.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘Leave the place tidy,’ he said, paused as if to say something else and then left. I made myself comfortable in his chair and pulled out my pod files.

He was right about the inventory. People wandered in and out all day, including Polly Perkins from IT and a small, dark girl and they had a very interesting conversation. They were counting tins of Sunshine Yellow, which is, apparently, the colour of the cross-hatching outside the hangar, when the Chief stuck his head round the door and without even a glance in my direction, asked them to count Lamp Black as well.

After he’d gone, they put down their paperwork and prepared for a good gossip.

‘Is he shagging Barclay?’

I turned up external audio and stared at the screen.

‘No, that never really got off the ground, although not for want of trying on her part. She did everything she could and at the last Christmas party, it was just plain embarrassing. But fun to watch.’

‘Whatever did he do?’

‘Nothing. He was polite but distant. You know how he can be.’

‘Yeah, and I know how she can be as well. Don’t tell me she’s given up.’

‘She might as well. The word on the street now is that he’s very interested in someone else.’

‘Oh? Who’s that then?’

‘Can’t you guess?’

‘What? Her? You’re having me on!’

Her? Who’s her? Why does everyone always know what’s going on but me? Come on, ladies! Clarify for the confused eavesdropper.

‘Well, she’ll lead him a merry dance.’

‘Already is by the sound of it.’

Why was I so upset?

‘No wonder Barclay’s so pissed.’

‘Yeah, great isn’t it?’

‘And they say,’ she continued, ‘that cocky git Sussman’s sniffing around as well.’

What? Who?

‘Did you hear she chucked a bucket of cold water over Barclay the other day? Apparently they all nearly wet themselves trying not to laugh and old Swanson doubled her score on the spot.’

Wow! I never saw that coming. An inner voice said, ‘He’s not interested in you. Who would be?’ But inside, a little warm glow spread.

It went well. I had nearly forty-eight hours solid revision time in this oasis of peace. I un-jangled my nerves, gave my aching body a rest, made sandwiches, ate chocolate, slept, and revised big time. And spent some time thinking about what I’d overheard. I did try to concentrate on operations, procedures, and protocols but snippets of that conversation kept intruding. Occasionally, I grinned to myself.

I eased myself out of the building at six thirty on Sunday. He was right; it was a good time. Hardly anyone was up and paying attention at that time on a Sunday morning. The night watch, in their last hour of duty would be thinking of breakfast and writing their logs and everyone else was still in bed. I changed back into greens and strode confidently towards the woods. The rain bucketed down; thus confirming my decision to give the whole exposure and hardship thing a miss. It was three long miles to the East Gate. By the time I’d hacked my way through wet woodland, tripped over roots, fallen into boggy patches, had my face whipped by branches, and been splattered with mud, it looked as if I’d been out there for a fortnight. I was soaked to the skin.

I got lost twice – I’m not good with direction, eventually arriving at the East Gate. They laughed at me but gave me a slurp of hot tea while I signed in. They must have rung ahead because Major Guthrie was waiting for me. I knew he was suspicious, but I looked so authentic: wet, muddy, bleeding, limping, and I’d only gone three miles.

‘How did you get back?’

‘Found a stream and followed it down.’

‘How did you find the stream?’

‘Fell in it.’

‘How did you get in?’

‘East Gate.’

‘How did you find the East Gate?’

‘I was looking for the South Gate.’

‘Where were you dropped?’

‘Some God-forsaken, windswept, rain-lashed, barren landscape not previously known to man.’

‘I can’t seem to find your name on the transport list.’

‘Bloody hellfire, sir, does that mean I didn’t have to do this?’

Long, long pause. I returned his stare with a look of blinding innocence and batted mud-clogged eyelashes at him. I’d cheated. He knew I’d cheated, but I stood before him, authentically bedraggled and there wasn’t a lot he could do.

‘Go and get cleaned up and get something to eat.’

‘Yes, Major.’

Yay!

Afterwards, I said to Sussman, ‘How did you do?’

‘I paid a guy to follow the transport at a discreet distance. He picked me up and I spent the weekend clubbing in Rushford.’

‘What? Baby seals?’

‘Very funny.’

‘What about Grant and Nagley?’

‘They planned ahead, planted two mobile phones in the transports, used the GPS, rang for a taxi, booked into a small hotel, and shagged themselves senseless for forty-eight hours.’

And I’d spent forty-eight hours living off sandwiches and sleeping on the floor. Alone.

‘Does anyone actually take this bloody exam?’

‘Not in living memory. That’s the whole point. It’s an initiative test. They know we all cheat. It’s expected. The trick is to look them in the eye and lie right down the line.’

Well, bloody, bollocking hell!

I was still somewhat aggrieved over the Outdoor Survival thing, but the three-day pod exam was a triumph, as were Thursday’s simulations. The end was in sight, which was just as well, because I was absolutely knackered. It would be typical if I fell at the last fence. Only the sims weren’t the last fence. The last fence was on Tuesday. Tuesday was the real deal.  

Chapter Three

Tuesday was the day when we finally found out if we had what it took. No more hiding behind the theory or the lectures or the sims. No more hiding from our own fears. This was it at last.

I kicked off the covers and bounded out of bed. Not something that happened too often. After a quick shower I dressed, with luck for the last time in the now-despised greys. Skipping down the corridor, I banged on Sussman’s door. ‘Come on! Today’s the day.’

I heard his door open behind me, but didn’t stop. Dancing round the corner, I ran into Chief Farrell. It was like hitting a warm wall.

‘Sorry, Chief. Did I hurt you?’

He smiled patiently. ‘No, Miss Maxwell, I have survived. Your big day, then?’

‘You betcha, Chief. Shrewsbury, circa 1400. Can you believe it?’

‘I seem to remember you mentioning it almost incessantly this last week. You’ve got Number Eight, by the way.’

‘Great! Eight is my lucky number.’ I grinned like an idiot and hopped from foot to foot in my impatience to get going,

‘Go, Miss Maxwell, before you break something.’

‘Bye, Chief.’ And I was gone.

I helped myself to eggs, bacon, hash browns, and grapefruit juice. The others did the same, although Nagley just pushed hers around the plate. I thought she looked a little pale and when I spoke to her she only nodded. Sussman, naturally, was nearly as full of it as me.

As soon as we finished, we set off to Wardrobe. I was issued a thick, coarse, brown woollen dress of ankle length.

‘Forget sweeping around with a long dress,’ said Mrs Enderby, supervising my transformation
.
‘This is not the movies. Nothing picks up dust, dirt, wet, excrement, and the occasional dead dog as much as a sweeping hemline. You’ll thank us when you’re tip-toeing through the delights of a medieval street.’ She was kind enough not to mention occasionally having to run for my life as well. The look we were going for was a young, respectable housewife, maybe a journeyman’s wife or an upper servant to a prosperous household. A young, unmarried, and seemingly unprotected girl wandering around the streets would be asking for trouble.

Underneath I wore several linen shifts and, underneath them, a sports bra and modern thermal underwear. There was no way I would be wandering around medieval Shrewsbury in early spring with no drawers on. And, as Mrs Enderby so cheerfully said, if things got bad then the wearing of anomalous underwear was going to be the least of my problems.

I also got a linen coif to show my married status, a pair of stout leather shoes, a dark green cloak, and a basket. We always carry something. It helps us blend in and gives us something to do with our hands.

They showed me the waterproof matches, compass, and water purification tablets all carefully sewn into concealed pockets.

Sussman was off to a Victorian village cricket match, Nagley to Restoration London, and Grant got Roman York. All quiet and unspectacular jumps since we were, for the first and last time, going solo. It only ever happens on the first jump; for all other jumps there are always at least two historians.

Wardrobe checked us over for watches and jewellery and then despatched us to the hangar. Of course, everyone knew where we were going and why. Best wishes and good luck calls followed us down the corridors. I don’t know how the others felt, but my insides were somersaulting and I was equally torn between fear and excitement.

We entered the noisy hangar. All the pods were in on that day so there were a lot of people around.

We scattered towards our respective pods. Number Eight was at the end. Chief Farrell was waiting. The computer read the codes and opened the door. I climbed in and looked around. The console sat to the right of the door in this pod and I could see the co-ordinates already laid in.

‘All done,’ said the Chief. ‘It’s all on automatic for this jump. There’s really nothing for you to do but sit back and enjoy the ride. Let’s just rein you in a bit so we can go through the pre-flight checks.’ He pulled his scratchpad from his knee pocket and began punching keys while I walked around checking everything. Opening a locker door I was surprised to see it fully stocked with rations; lots of rations.

‘What’s all this?’

‘Oh, I forgot to say. We’re turning this one round as soon as you come back, so it’s ready loaded for fourteen days. Is this a problem for you?’

‘No, that’s fine.’

‘Well, the head’s working. Try and keep it that way. So is the incinerator. The tanks are full and the cells charged. It’s the easiest jump you’ll ever have; absolutely nothing for you to do. How long are you going for?’

‘Only six hours. I used to know Shrewsbury quite well, so I’m looking forward to having a good wander round. They won’t let me stay any longer.’

He smiled. ‘Six hours is long enough for your first trip.’

‘Am I going in real time?’

‘No. Six hours for you and thirty minutes for me. After I’ve seen you off, I’m going to make myself a cup of coffee and wait over there for you to come back. You’ll be back here before I’ve finished it.’

‘If you have a cup of tea ready for me, then I’ll tell you all about it.’

He looked at me with his head on one side. ‘Yes, all right.’

I was suddenly embarrassed. ‘Oh, no, it’s OK, Chief. I just thought … you know … of course, it’s nothing special for you, is it?’

‘I shall demand a blow-by-blow account from you in return for a mug of tea. Now, are you all set?’

Putting the basket on the second chair, I settled in the left-hand seat and checked the read-outs. I took a deep breath, turned and grinned at him. ‘Yes!’

‘Good luck! See you later.’

After he had gone, I said, not without a bit of a wobble, ‘Computer, close the door.’ The door shut. Well, so far, so good. Across from me, Pod Three disappeared. I said, ‘Computer, confirm co-ordinates are laid in.’

‘Confirmed.’

Another deep breath. ‘Initiate jump.’

‘Jump initiated.’

There were no flashing lights, no calendars with the dates peeling away, and no dramatic music. The world went white for a few moments and then cleared. I peered out eagerly at what had to be the most un-Shrewsbury like landscape on the planet.

Green grass flowed as far as the eye could see. On the horizon, huge snow-capped mountains jutted up into a clear blue sky. I didn’t know where or when I was, but it sure as hell wasn’t Shrewsbury. It probably wasn’t Kansas, either. I’m pretty sure I said, ‘Shit!’ and switched on the other cameras, in case Shrewsbury was hiding round the corner. But there was no corner. No Shrewsbury. No nothing. Only waving grass.

I sat for a bit and had a think. After a while I said, ‘Computer; confirm date and location.’

‘Shrewsbury, England. 1408.’

‘Computer; confirm time of jump remaining.’

‘Five hours, fifty-six minutes.’

Given the socking great Shrewsbury-shaped gap in the landscape and the fact that my plans for the day had been kicked into touch, I really should go home now. On the other hand …

‘Door.’

The door opened and cold, fresh air flooded in. I stood up slowly. Standing in the doorway, I put one hand on each side of the door jamb and cautiously peered out.

In front of me, the grass rippled and shimmered in the breeze. The sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky. Apart from the hissing wind, it was utterly silent.

I turned back into the pod, paused, and then looked to the door again, considering my options. I could demand emergency extraction from the computer, which would whirl me back to St Mary’s at nose-bleeding speed almost before the words had been uttered. It’s quick and definitely not painless. That’s why it’s for emergencies only. I certainly wasn’t where I should be and it would be the cautious, the sensible thing to do. But, for God’s sake, I was an historian and cautious and sensible were things that happened to other people. I wasn’t in any danger; the worst that could happen would be an afternoon of mild tedium.

People usually only shrieked for emergency extraction when they were actually on fire or bleeding from multiple wounds. What would I say? What emergency could I declare? ‘I’m not in Shrewsbury,’ hardly seemed to cut it. What was the point of doing this if not to explore a little? And the pod wasn’t going anywhere for five hours.

On the other hand, there had obviously been a major malfunction. If I went outside and the stupid thing went off without me then I was in deep shit. Presumably it and everyone else thought I was in fifteenth-century Shrewsbury. Yes, a sensible person would definitely not go outside.

I picked up the basket and wedged it in the doorway. If the door couldn’t close then the pod couldn’t jump. Theoretically.

Standing in the doorway I took a long step outside. Nothing changed, so I took another. Even not knowing where or when I’d landed could not detract from my excitement. I was in another time! I was an historian! I held out my arms and twirled around and around. I was an historian! The sights I would see. I shouted, ‘Yes!’ turned a cartwheel, and my coif fell off.

It seemed wise to calm down a little. I didn’t want my first jump to be my last. Protocol says the first thing to do is to establish personal safety – always a bit of an optional extra for historians. I scrambled up on to the roof and revolved slowly around 360 degrees. Shading my eyes, I turned around the other way. The computer remained silent. None of the proximity alerts went off. I still had no idea where I was, or when, but this world was empty. Nothing impeded the view from horizon to horizon; nothing in the sky; no smoke; no vapour trails; not even a bird. Only the swaying grass moved in the wind. I was completely alone.

It could have been frightening, but the assignment was only for five hours and after all those years at Uni, more years post-grad work, the archaeology experiences, and then all that training at St Mary’s, I found it very pleasant just to stand, eyes closed, with the sun on my face, and listen to the silence.

After a while I decided I could improve on this so I jumped down, made myself a cup of tea, snagged a bar of high-energy chocolate from the rations locker, spread my cloak on the ground, and sat with my back against the sunny side of the pod.

I was happily sunning myself when the computer cleared its throat and announced sixty minutes to the return jump. I’d done it! Assignment completed!

I did a quick tidy round because historians never go back with a messy pod. I picked everything up, did the outside FOD plod (Foreign Object Drop) to check nothing had been left behind and the inside POD plod to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently picked something up.

Very important that, because the pod wouldn’t jump if I had. I put the folded cloak inside my basket and placed it on the second chair, incinerated the chocolate wrapper, washed my face and hands, settled myself in the chair, and watched the numbers count down.

At thirty minutes the computer reminded me again. And again at ten minutes, five minutes, one minute, and finally, at thirty seconds. I’d be back in seconds, shout at the techies for not knowing their Shrewsbury from their elbow, have a brew with the Chief, check in with Sick Bay, sign something official, exchange the despised greys for blues, drop the word ‘trainee’ from my life, and become a proper, fully-fledged historian. Look out world.

‘Ten, nine, eight,’ said the computer. ‘Five, four, three,’ and the voice stopped as the entire console went dark.

The entire bloody console went dark.

This time I did panic. My heart stopped and it wasn’t until my chest began to hurt that I remembered to breathe. Gripping the edge of the console, I shouted ‘No, no, no, no!’ and began to thump the panel. Strangely, this failed to work at all.

I struggled to stay calm. I kept staring at the console, desperately willing it to fire up again. This was unheard of. I’d never seen a dark panel because no pod had ever failed before. This could not be worse. I was stranded at an unknown destination. The pod had malfunctioned and thought it was in Shrewsbury in the 1400s and so any search initiated by St Mary’s would go there. If I didn’t know where I was then how would they? And it was all my own fault. If I’d gone back immediately when it became apparent the jump had gone wrong, then I wouldn’t be here now.

‘Computer.’

No response.

‘Computer, status report.’

Nothing.

‘Computer, open the door.’

The door stayed shut.

I pushed the manual control and the door slid open. So, I still had power and I still had life support. I just didn’t have a working pod. For all intents and purposes it was now just a bloody hut. I switched the lights off and then back on again. It was noticeably colder outside, so I shut the door. The sun was lower. It would be dark soon.

If in doubt, make some tea. I curled up in the first chair, spread the cloak over my lap, cuddled my tea, and tried to think what to do. It didn’t take long to reach the conclusion there was nothing I could do. I could take the panel off and have a look. Then I could shrug my shoulders and replace the panel. There were tea bags with more electronic know-how than me. I could see no way round it. I was fucked.

Strangely, I found the conclusion quite liberating. When you’re fucked, you’re fucked. Things really can’t get much worse.

With that thought, the last sunlight disappeared outside. The sensible thing would be to conserve power and go to bed with the sun. But I don’t sleep well anyway and there was no chance tonight, so I thought I would use the time productively. I began opening and closing doors, pulling out drawers, checking my resources, and generally taking stock.

I had rations for about fourteen days. Or more, if I stuck to just two meals a day. Water, ditto. The head worked (for the time being). The incinerator worked. I found two old-fashioned scribble pads I could use for my log, something I’d forgotten about until now. I had heavy weather clothing and boots, all too big for me. I had matches, a compass, and water tablets, two sleeping modules, and a spare blanket that smelled a bit iffy. It could be a lot worse.

I shoved an arm into the rations pile and pulled out two trays at random. Chicken curry and stewed apple. Sod that for a game of soldiers. I tossed the stewed apple and pulled out sticky toffee pud. If I was going to die alone and abandoned I was buggered if I was going to do it on stewed apple.