by Jodi Taylor
It was quite nice, actually – even though it didn’t have Leon in it. I found myself facing the future with a small sitting room enjoying an amazing view over the river, two tiny bedrooms, a kettle and a jar of coffee.
Someone tapped at the door. I went to open it, remembered I didn’t have to and called, ‘Come in.’
The door opened automatically. It was Matthew.
‘Hello,’ I said, really pleased to see him. ‘How are you?’
He nodded to indicate he was fine.
‘Oi!’ said someone behind him and gave him a poke. ‘Speak.’
‘Very well, thank you,’ he said, politely.
‘That’s better,’ said Captain Ellis. ‘Max, welcome to TPHQ.’
‘Thank you. It’s very nice to be here.’
There was a short pause during which I remembered you’re not supposed to tell fibs in front of children.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘As you can see, your uniform is on your bed. Your list of duties is on your desk downstairs. Here’s a map of the building showing the few areas you have access to and the many more that you don’t.’ He handed me a sheet of paper. ‘Plus, the usual Things You Should Know folder, as well.’ He handed me a folder. ‘We’ll leave you to unpack and then come and collect you.’
‘Done that,’ I said.
He looked around at the small featureless room entirely bereft of any personal possessions. ‘Oh. OK.’
‘If you can give me a minute to get changed I’ll be with you.’
‘Before you go, there’s something we need to discuss.’
My first thought was only one thing? but I nodded. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘No problem at all, but we need to discuss where this young man is going to sleep in future. Would you like him to join you here – that’s why we gave you this suite – or . . . ?’
Or remain in the dormitory with his friends was what neither of them were saying.
My first impulse had been to say, ‘Here, of course,’ but I swallowed that down. ‘Well, sleeping here is a nice thought, but I’m probably going to be coming and going at all hours of the day and night. It’s up to you, though, Matthew. What would you like to do?’ He would want to stay with his friends. Of course, he would. I made it easy for him. ‘Would you prefer to stay where you are for the time being?’
He nodded.
‘Speak,’ said Ellis sternly.
‘Yes, please.’
I swallowed down my disappointment. I had hoped . . . well, never mind. ‘All right then.’ I was struck with an idea. ‘Tell you what, this Friday, if you’re not doing anything, come round and we’ll watch a holo. I’ll get a pizza, you bring your favourite movie and we’ll have an evening together. What do you think?’ I looked at Ellis. ‘Not a school night, so no problem.’
‘Well,’ he said, reluctantly, ‘there’s usually a nine o’clock curfew.’
We both watched Matthew work out that his mother probably didn’t do nine o’clock curfews. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’ He looked at me severely. ‘No anchovies.’
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘no Transformers.’
‘Attack of the Killer Zombie Robots?’
‘Sounds good. See you Friday, if not before.’
He nodded and looked at Ellis who said, ‘Off you go, then.’
He disappeared.
Ellis looked at me. ‘Nicely played, Max.’
‘Yep, here less than an hour and undermining all your good work already. Um . . . can I ask you something?’
He looked wary. I didn’t blame him. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘It’s something I don’t want you to do.’ I stopped, a little unsure.
‘Yes?’
‘I think Leon . . . I mean . . . well . . . Not sure how to say this . . . And don’t think I’m – we’re – not grateful for what you’re doing with Matthew, but I know Leon is looking forward . . . Well . . . could you not teach Matthew to shave?’
There was a moment’s silence and then he said, ‘Well, I don’t think that’s likely to be an issue for a while yet, but yes, I do understand what you’re saying. Inasmuch as anyone can ever understand St Mary’s.’
He did understand. I felt rather mean. ‘I don’t want you to think we’re not aware of . . .’
‘It’s not a problem,’ he said. ‘I volunteered and I don’t regret it. Now, we need to get a move on.’
‘OK. Give me two minutes.’
Nothing had changed since my last visit. We walked down long, anonymous beige corridors, each one labelled with its floor number and tower name – North, South, East or West. Doors opened off either side. Other than their numbers, there was nothing to identify any individual rooms or their function. None of them were labelled. Every corridor was almost identical to the others. It was very easy to get lost. Intentionally so, I guessed.
We headed first for Commander Hay’s office – the big one at the front, overlooking the river. The one with the wonderful view out over the Thames crowded with river traffic and with airships chugging slowly overhead.
I strode along beside Ellis in my stiff, unfamiliar uniform. Black T-shirt – long-sleeved in my case because I feel the cold. Almost everyone else wore them short so everyone could admire their bulging muscles. Even the girls. Not having any muscles – or indeed bulges of any kind – I kept my sleeves down. I also wore the black combat trousers and what I persisted in referring to as Batman’s utility belt. There were pouches and loops for all sorts of equipment. Not having any equipment to speak of, mine jangled emptily.
‘You’ll soon acquire all sorts of bits and pieces to hang off them,’ said Ellis, ‘and then they’re bloody heavy, let me tell you.’
All officers were permitted to go armed and I rather hoped I’d get one of their big sonic guns. Not because I intended to shoot anyone but because I thought it would make me look like one of those movie heroines, heaving around some massive piece of weaponry while inexplicably – but they all do it for some reason – stripping down to my vest. Sadly, no one else shared my vision and I remained weaponless. The uniform was comfortable and practical, though, and in no way resembled the skintight bodysuits all professional women seem to feel obliged to wear in today’s movies and holos.
I wore my own boots. They weren’t Time Police regulation issue but they’d seen some action over the years and looked much tougher than I did. There was even a possibility they might still have some Time Police DNA on their toecaps. They were boots that would be respected in a place like this and I reckoned I could bask in their reflected glory.
We clumped along what seemed like miles of their featureless beige maze. For an organisation inhabiting one of the most iconic buildings in the world, their interior designer had seriously missed the mark.
I asked him if they’d done the décor themselves.
‘What décor?’ he said, looking around.
‘Well, I think that answers my question.’
Commander Hay was waiting for us in her office.
I’d encountered her before on several occasions. We’d both been at the treaty-signing after the Battle of St Mary’s. She was a very different person from Colonel Albay, former head of the Time Police. I hadn’t liked him at all, not least because he’d tried to strangle me. That sort of thing can put you off a person.
Commander Hay was, on the face of it, a much more benign person than Albay. Until you remembered that there weren’t that many women in the Time Police so for her to rise to this position was an enormous achievement. And she’d fought in the Time Wars – that period of anarchy when the secret of time travel was out there for everyone to grab. The story was that that was when she’d incurred the injury to her face. There’d been an emergency extraction and the door had blown off the pod. Everyone had died except Marietta Hay but, when they were eventually able to get to her, one sid
e of her face was older than the other. As always, I wondered what she thought when she looked in the mirror every morning.
She’d been appointed because she was the more acceptable face (no pun intended) of the Time Police. The bad old days of Colonel Albay were gone. Under her leadership, the Time Police were working hard at being nice people. A bit of a struggle for some of them but I was sure they’d get the hang of it. One day.
As part of her We in the Time Police are lovely people, really scheme, they’d opened up the ground floor to the public. A beautifully designed atrium was the focus of the public side of the organisation. There were indoor trees and gardens and a splashing fountain. There was a lot of smart glass and shafts of sunlight made exciting patterns on the floor.
Crocodiles of chattering children could frequently be seen wandering around the place with their lunchboxes and worksheets. There were lectures and holos open to all. Discreet offices staffed by specially selected officers – those with if not friendly then at least less-scarred-than-usual countenances – who encouraged people to report any suspicions they might have about something sinister being built in their neighbours’ garage. Friendly, cheerful, smiling Time Police officers stood in full view, all ready to direct arrivals or answer questions and not shoot anyone. Not in front of the children, at least.
We were shown in by Captain Farenden. Despite his having the bad taste to work for a bunch of psychotic thugs with a thing for black clothing, I quite liked him. He was a former helicopter pilot and another who had been injured in the Time Wars. His helicopter had been shot down and only his first-rate piloting had avoided a heavily populated area and major loss of life. He smiled at me as he ushered us into Commander Hay’s office and took his place at a side table, his scratchpad glowing expectantly.
Commander Hay stood up as I entered, which I thought was pretty good of her, considering I was now just an anonymous oik in her organisation. Her face, however, even allowing for its natural lack of expression, was not that friendly.
‘Dr Maxwell, good morning.’
‘Good morning, ma’am.’
‘Welcome to the Time Police.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
She seated herself and clasped her hands on her desk. I was not asked to sit.
‘Before we go any further, I want to be absolutely clear that you are absolutely clear about your duties and responsibilities during your secondment to us.’
You can never go wrong with yes, ma’am. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You will forgive me if I say that, given your past behaviour, I find that hard to believe. Gentlemen, if you could give me a moment alone with Maxwell, please.’
As they were leaving the room, she said sternly, ‘Please understand that while you may use the public areas, the atrium and some of our facilities, there are many other areas you may not access. For instance . . .’
The door closed quietly behind them and we were alone.
‘Sit down, Max. Everything all right so far?’
‘Yes, thank you, Commander. My accommodation is very comfortable, I’ve unpacked, I’ve seen Matthew and now I’m ready to get to work.’
‘Not everyone is happy with your presence here.’
‘I’ll just have to live with that, ma’am.’
‘How soon before you’re in trouble, do you think?’
‘Hard to say, ma’am.’
‘Try.’
‘I shall endeavour to live up to expectations, ma’am.’
She paused a moment and then said, ‘There is another dimension to our problem of which you might not be aware. At least, I hope you are unaware.’
I waited.
She shifted in her seat. ‘There are certain factions here within the Time Police who are unhappy with the direction in which I am taking them.’
I nodded, remembering the gardens outside. The beautifully landscaped atrium. The lines of excited children all clamouring to join up. The guided tours. The smiling face of the Time Police.
She sighed. ‘The Time Wars are finished. Over and done with. Mostly.’ Unconsciously she touched her face. I wondered if she had been young and half her face had aged more quickly as a result of her accident, or had she been middle-aged already and half her face had become younger. If the former, what would happen when the other half of her face caught up?
I made myself concentrate. She was still talking. ‘Or we thought they were over and done with. Colonel Albay . . . ?’ She cocked an eyebrow at me and I nodded.
Don’t get me wrong. They were the right people for the right job at the right time. Unlicensed time travel was at epidemic levels and doing nobody any good at all and the Time Police got out there and quite literally saved the world. The trouble was, they hadn’t known when to stop. These days, it was very apparent to everyone that their shoot first, destroy everything in sight and sell the survivors into slavery approach might possibly need some slight modification.
Poles apart ideologically, St Mary’s and the Time Police had always been on some sort of collision course and there had been a massive firefight which we won and they lost, and Colonel Albay celebrated by trying to strangle me in a particularly unpleasant manner – a fact I tried hard not to hold against them and usually succeeded.
After the famous Battle of St Mary’s, we’d thrashed out an agreement, which all parties had signed – and, give them their due, they’d pretty much stuck to it. There was no doubt, however, that many of them hankered back to the good old days.
She continued. ‘Colonel Albay might be dead but his spirit lingers on. We are, at the moment, a divided force. They call themselves the Albayans. There aren’t that many of them, but they are vociferous, pugnacious, and well-connected. And they’re just waiting for an opportunity. They disapprove of my approach. They certainly disapprove of me.’
I nodded. The small number of women in the Time Police suggested they were not an enlightened organisation. On the other hand, you could argue that most women had more sense. And I’d signed up. Make of that what you will.
I cast my mind back. ‘But it’s working, isn’t it? You’d never have caught that idiot who jumped back to 1536 if his girlfriend hadn’t grassed him up. Crisis averted. Obviously, it pays to be approachable.’
‘At the moment, I have the upper hand. My people hold most of the key positions. There is no doubt, though, that our failure to capture Clive Ronan is seriously weakening me.’
‘Well,’ I said cheerfully, ‘we’d better get him, then.’
She smiled. Only half her face moved. ‘I’ll let you get started. Please be clear – there will be no preferential treatment. To single you out in any way would look suspicious. You are, on the face of it, simply an ex-member of St Mary’s, here to provide historical background and perspective to our jumps. I shall protect you as much as I am able but you will need to make your own way here, Max.’
‘I understand completely, ma’am. And I do think a certain amount of friction between us will make my inevitable treachery so much more believable.’
‘Good luck, Max. You’re going to need it.’
‘Thank you, Commander.’
I was allocated a study carrel in one of the libraries, all done out in grey, sound-deadening material. It was quite large, actually, almost a small room. I had three shelved walls, a desk, a moderately comfortable chair, and two screens, both voice-activated – one to access the internet and one for the intranet. There was a firewall the size of China between them. On my desk sat a much better scratchpad than I was used to back at St Mary’s, four or five blank notepads, a mug of pens and pencils, and a list of passwords to the sites I was able to access. Each of the screens read Welcome, Dr Maxwell, which I thought was a nice touch. Sadly, there was no kettle – only a drinks dispenser at the far end of the long room. Still, exercise is supposed to be a Good Thing.
A blue folder revealed a l
ist of forthcoming Time Police projects. Three were asterisked, denoting they were for my attention. Officially, I was here to provide detailed historical background to their missions. I don’t know how Commander Hay had persuaded her people these would form an important part of future assignments, but she had and it was up to me now.
The first was to industrial Liverpool, 1826. The purpose of the assignment had been redacted, but I’d expected that. The Time Police are not St Mary’s. They don’t give a rat’s arse about History. It’s the timeline and the maintenance thereof that floats their particular boat. Someone, somewhere, was doing something naughty in Liverpool, 1826. Their job was to sort it out and mine to assist them in doing so.
After a few false starts, I got the hang of things and started to pull up the information available. My programme said the briefing was for 11:00 tomorrow. Whether I would present my own findings or pass them on to someone else was unclear. In fact, it wasn’t even clear whether I’d be allowed to attend the briefing at all. I really was at the bottom of the pile again.
I sighed, opened a notebook, selected a pen, and got stuck in.
I did attend the briefing. And I did the presentation as well. It didn’t go too badly. For one thing, I remembered my audience and briefed accordingly. I kept it short and simple. A bit like me, really. I didn’t bang on about not interfering with History because I could go on about that all day and they still wouldn’t understand me.
I stood in front of a room filled with about thirty officers. I gave them the background. I told them what they could expect to see, what they should look out for, areas where they might expect to encounter problems, and so on. I even gave them a quick outline of subsequent events, just to put things into context. I’d given myself ten minutes to get all this across, reckoning this was about the limit of their attention span. Any longer and they might start throwing things. Or shoot me.
