by Jodi Taylor
Already on edge, Sullivan was even more rattled. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘I tried to tell you,’ I said. ‘You’ve jumped to a Triple-S site.’
‘What does that mean?’
These days I make an effort to moderate my language – you know, mothering responsibilities and all that – but frankly, at that moment, I couldn’t be bothered. Some of you might want to look away.
‘It means we’re fucked, you monumental pillock. This pod will terminate in . . .’ I peered at the console, ‘. . . four minutes forty-nine seconds.’
‘Switch it off,’ he shouted.
‘Well, if you say so, but it won’t help.’
‘I mean – shut it down.’
‘No can do.’ I made myself comfortable. ‘Sorry.’
‘Open the fucking door. Let us out.’
And here we go. ‘Nope.’
‘This pod is about to blow. Let us out.’
‘Nope.’
He thrust his gun painfully into my ribs. ‘Get us out of here.’
‘Nope.’
‘Four minutes thirty seconds.’
He leaned over my shoulder and stabbed buttons at random. Nothing happened. Of course, it didn’t. What did he expect?
‘I’m ordering you. Open that door.’
‘No.’
He thumped a clenched fist on the console, roaring, ‘Open the fucking door.’
‘No.’
I think that was the moment he began to realise this was a situation over which he had no control.
I swivelled the seat around. ‘Celia, I’m so sorry.’
She even managed a smile. ‘Not your fault, Max. You have to do your duty.’
‘Yes, but I hadn’t planned on doing it all over you.’
Sullivan swung around to face her. ‘What do you mean? What are you talking about? Tell me. Tell me now.’
‘I’d be happy to,’ I said. ‘If I could get a word in edgeways.’
He took a couple of deep breaths, regaining control. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Nothing. Nothing’s happening. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re here. That’s it.’
His two men with him were looking around. They were worried but not panicking. Not yet. That would come.
Sullivan continued. ‘What do you mean – that’s it?’
I spread my hands. ‘That’s it. We’re here. I’ve done my bit. My assignment is completed.’
‘What assignment?’
‘To remove this pod from Halcombe’s reach. To remove enough of his team to weaken his position at St Mary’s. To demonstrate very clearly, and without ambiguity of any kind, exactly what happens to those stupid enough to try this sort of thing. And, of course, to ensure we all die here and the pod is destroyed and can never be used again.’
Sweat gleamed along his top lip. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Four minutes remaining.’
I shrugged. ‘What you do or do not believe isn’t important. All you need to understand is that you’ll never leave this place. Ever. We’re all going to die.’
He was shouting now. ‘Discontinue the countdown.’
‘Of course,’ I said, pleasantly, and turned to the console. ‘Computer – discontinue countdown.’
‘Three minutes fifty seconds.’
‘Oh dear, that doesn’t seem to have worked, does it? What would you like me to do now?’
His brain was still working. ‘Can you freeze it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, honestly. ‘I’ve never actually done this before.’
‘Do it.’
‘Computer – freeze countdown.’
‘Three minutes forty-five seconds.’
He was still banging around the console. ‘Isn’t there any way to stop it?’
‘I don’t know. Jumping away might do it. Not that that will do you any good because I still won’t open the door. So even if we get out of this – which we probably won’t – in about two hours’ time – probably much less because you’ve overloaded the pod – you’ll be on the floor, purple-faced, desperately trying to suck in air that isn’t here. I can tell you now it’s not going to be pleasant.’
I turned to his men because I’m a troublemaker and can’t help myself. ‘Of course, he could always increase the amount of air available by shooting you two.’
I could see by their faces exactly the same thought had occurred to them.
He thrust his gun in my face again. ‘I could shoot you.’
‘If you want. Although you will be shooting fifty per cent of the people here who can actually save this pod so I doubt you’ll do it. You’ll never give up the hope you can persuade me to change my mind, so I’ll be the last to die.’
He pointed his gun to North. ‘True, but I could shoot her. To save on oxygen and change your mind. So, open the door or I’ll do it.’
North smiled faintly. She was very white but holding up well. Not so Sullivan and his team. He was red-faced and getting sweatier. To be fair, I could feel sweat running down my back, too. It wasn’t my imagination. Inside the pod, things were getting very warm.
‘Three minutes fifteen seconds remaining.’
‘Stop it,’ shouted one of his men. I looked at him properly for the first time. He was only a young man. ‘Stop it,’ he shouted again, spittle flying. There was a note of hysteria in his voice. ‘Make it stop. Shut it down.’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, I can’t do that. I tried to warn you. Well, I tried to warn your boss, but you know what he’s like. He obviously considers you expendable.’
He stared at the console. The computer was barking out its Triple-S warning again. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard. ‘I don’t understand. What’s happening?’
I was irritated. These were my last minutes on earth and I didn’t want to spend them talking to idiots. ‘It’s telling you what’s happening. Why don’t you shut up and listen for once? You’ve jumped to a Site of Special Significance. It’s a forbidden area. We’re not allowed to be here. It’s part of the safety protocols built into the pod.’
The other soldier was banging on the door with his gun butt. ‘Let us out. For God’s sake, let us out.’
‘Tell them to stop,’ I said wearily. ‘No power on earth can open that door if I don’t want it to open. There’s nothing you can do.’
‘You think?’
The blow came out of nowhere. I never even saw it coming. Straight to the kidneys. I fell against the console and from there to the floor.
He lost all control, wading in with boots and fists and most of it bloody hurt, I can tell you. The only thing saving me from a real beating was that the pod was too small for him to really get going. Plus one of his men, together with North, was shouting and trying to pull him off me. I guessed that the gist of the argument was that if he killed me then they’d never get out of here. The other soldier was curled in the corner, crying. Time travel doesn’t suit everyone, you know.
Eventually, the shouting stopped. I think his man had prevailed. I climbed back into the seat, bent double with pain. The sound of his panting filled the pod.
He made an exasperated sound, shrugged off his man, wiped the sweat off his face and stared at his feet. I’d like to think he was engaging in a little rational thought but I wasn’t optimistic.
I was panting, too. There was blood on the console. Leon would do his nut about that.
There must be some damage to my ribs. I was struggling to get my breath. I tried to breathe slowly and smoothly, trying not to jerk my ribs too much, and then I realised that it wasn’t just me. Everyone was panting for breath. This wasn’t the smallest pod but there were still five of us in it. And they’d used up a great deal of oxygen by panicking, threshing around, shouting, hitting me . . . If there’s a shortage then the accep
ted practice is to sit quietly and keep as still as possible. We hadn’t really been doing that, had we?
There was a big splat of nose blood on the console. I used my finger to draw a tiny heart with an L in the centre.
The man who had restrained Sullivan made a huge effort and said quietly, ‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’
I shook my head. ‘Nothing.’
Sullivan intervened. ‘What do you mean – nothing? You can return to base. Return to base immediately. That’s an order.’
In an instant he had North pinned against the wall, a gun at her head.
I shrugged. ‘Fire that in here and this pod never goes anywhere again. You’re really not bright, are you?’
Suddenly he was ice-cold and dangerous. ‘Brighter than you,’ he said quietly. ‘This fires bolts, not bullets. Something along the lines of a humane killer. I’d like to think she’ll never know anything about it but I suspect she will.’
And still, in the background, the computer was counting away to itself. The two soldiers were shouting themselves hoarse. My whole body throbbed. The temperature was soaring. My back was soaked in sweat. The emotional temperature was even higher.
‘Open the door,’ he shouted. ‘Now. Let us out or she dies.’
It was never going to happen. This was Jerusalem. The thought of them running around out there . . . They had weapons. They weren’t prepped. With or without a crucifixion, Roman-occupied Jerusalem was a powder keg.
North turned her head until she was looking directly at him. The bolt was an inch away from her right eye. He smiled at her. I swear he was enjoying himself. ‘You are going to die.’
She shook her head. ‘You really don’t understand St Mary’s at all, do you?’
I was sitting quietly, but inside I was frantic, desperately formulating and discarding stupid, crazy, ridiculous plans to get us out of this. I couldn’t think of anything. Obviously, the Time Police hadn’t fixed the Time Map because otherwise they’d have been here faster than . . . I couldn’t think of anything at that moment. I was so angry with them. Yes, they’d only been a faint hope, but I was still pretty miffed they were letting me down. Typical Time Police. Whenever I’m up to something dodgy they’re about three seconds behind me and here I was, doing something very dodgy indeed but in a heroic manner, and where were they?
I tried not to remember it was my own son who’d broken the Time Map.
Celia North was very white but very calm. Because, for her, it had always been all about duty. The overriding principle of her life. And of her family, back through the ages. Yes, we’d joked about them crushing the peasants and so on but doing one’s duty had been bred into her bones.
And so should I. I had to do my duty. I had to take the straight path. No hedging or dodging or evading the hard decisions. I had to do my duty. She was doing hers. I must do mine. It was the least I could do for her.
Sullivan was screaming. ‘I’ll do it. I swear I’ll do it.’
‘Two minutes remaining.’
I looked at her and she looked at me. I could vaguely hear the background noises of the pod. Men were shouting at me but Celia and I were the only people here. The only people who mattered, anyway. She nodded. I nodded. And the deal was done.
Sullivan was shouting now. ‘I’ll do it, you know. I will do it.’
We both ignored him.
She smiled slightly. ‘You have to do your duty, Max. For both of us.’
I would have stood but I knew my legs wouldn’t hold me. ‘Miss North, St Mary’s thanks you for your exemplary service.’
Her voice wasn’t quite steady. ‘An honour and a privilege, Max.’
It was like a scene from hell. The heat. The flashing red lights. The screaming. The inexorable voice . . . counting down to oblivion. There were bloody handprints on the door where they were trying to force it open. I was killing people . . .
Someone thumped on the door. From the outside.
‘One minute thirty seconds.’
I sighed. It’s typical, isn’t it? You decide you’re going to die. Bravely, obviously. You forgive all your enemies – or not, in my case – you turn your thoughts towards higher things, you make your peace, and then some bugger bangs on the door. It’s just not good enough.
I ignored it. Things in here were complicated enough. There was no way I was opening that door. I could just see Sullivan and his men erupting out of the pod, shit-scared and desperate and causing all sorts of grief. If you think St Mary’s can be a bit volatile, you should try 1st-century Jerusalem on what might, just possibly, be Crucifixion day.
Actually, don’t think I hadn’t considered it. Not opening the door, obviously, but definitely activating the screen. Who wouldn’t want to see events unfold. I’m St Mary’s. We always want to see . . .
But – no. Whatever was happening on the other side of that door must go on unhindered by St Mary’s. Events – whatever they were – were all progressing as they should do. All thanks to me. I did think it was rather a shame the Christians were never going to give me the credit I deserved. I should be up there with the greats. St Max. There should be statues. They could name a chocolate after me. I realised I was rambling. My thoughts were scrambling themselves. But the thing about the chocolate was good. I could see it now.
‘I’ll have a big bar of Max, please.’
‘Certainly, madam, plain Max, milk Max or white Max? Caramel Max is on special offer this week.’
I rather liked the sound of that. Caramel Max . . .
Sullivan was banging on the door. ‘Help. Help. Open the door. We’re trapped in here. Get us out.’
Bloke was an idiot. Well, he worked for Halcombe so that was a given. You see, this is what happens when you bring amateurs on a jump. I wondered if I could be bothered to tell him he was wasting his time.
Nah . . . I went back to Caramel Max. Looking good . . .
Whoever it was knocked again. And not just any old knock. The old shave-and-a-haircut knock.
Well, that was odd. From everything I’d seen of contemporary pictures, the men of those times had never met a barber in their life. Big biblical beards burgeoned boldly. Hey, that was quite good. Who said I was passing out through lack of oxygen?
They knocked again. Shave and a haircut. OK.
Someone grabbed me and shouted, ‘Open the fucking door, you stupid . . .’
Well, that was a very rude word.
We were all panting now. The sweat was pouring off me. Or it might have been blood. That’s St Mary’s for you. Blood, sweat and tea. Hey, that was good as well. I was on fire today.
The young lad in the corner lifted his head. His face was mottled with tears. For some reason – lack of oxygen, whatever – the years rolled back and I saw Matthew Ellis, a young lad abandoned by his colleagues at Pompeii. I saw him trapped under the wreckage as pumice rained down upon both of us. I saw him struggling to keep his face clear of the suffocating ash. I saw him look up at me.
Oh, for God’s sake. I’m such a sucker for young men.
I flipped on the screen. I couldn’t see much. Either it was dark or there was a massive storm going on. And, of course, we were scheduled an earthquake later on, as well. But, storm or not, there they stood. Four Time Police officers. The one looking up at the camera was Matthew Ellis.
I wondered idly what he was doing here.
Someone shook me violently and all the aches and pains that had begun to subside fired themselves up again and I became Mrs Throbby. And my chest was beginning to hurt with the strain of breathing.
I said to no one in particular, ‘I’ve had better days, you know.’
The lad was still looking at me. ‘Please.’
I turned to Sullivan. ‘See – that’s all you had to say,’ and opened the door.
Warm, dusty air flooded into the pod, heavy with spices and
animal dung.
I could hear their blasters whining. ‘Max – what the hell?’
‘One minute remaining.’
‘Tell you later,’ I said, scrabbling at the controls. ‘Need to leave. Now.’
‘Where to?’
‘Anytime but this.’
‘Move on ten years.’
I nodded. ‘Copy that.’
I slammed the door closed, moved the coordinates on ten years and trusted to luck he’d taken himself out of range.
‘Computer –’
‘Fifty seconds.’
‘Initiate jump.’
‘Jump initiated.’
The world went white.
And with a whole forty-five seconds to spare.
Piece of piss.
20
We landed like a feather. It was really a shame Peterson wasn’t there to see it. Given my stress levels, it was a bloody miracle. There was a nasty moment or two while the computer weighed up our new coordinates and decided they were acceptable. ‘Countdown cancelled.’
Five people exhaled all at once.
I looked around. Crisis over. Back to business.
‘Right, you lot – I suggest you lay down your weapons. You are about to be on the receiving end of the Time Police and if you think I’m a bit of a cow you just wait until you meet them. Or not, of course. I really don’t care if they shoot you on sight. It’s up to you.’
Reluctantly, they put down their guns. Major Sullivan was the last to do so but he really didn’t have a lot of choice. We waited and eventually he broke his gun and laid it on the console. I moved it out of his reach.
‘I’m opening the door to let in some air,’ I said. ‘I don’t advise making a break for it. They’ll shoot you where you stand.’
The light outside was soft and peach-coloured. The sun, out of sight, was casting long indigo shadows. It was early morning or late evening. We’d lived to see another day.
The Time Police were about four minutes behind us. I think it was a sign of Sullivan’s demoralisation that no one tried to make a bid for freedom. His two men slid down the walls to sit with their hands over their faces and just enjoy being able to breathe normally again. North joined me at the console. Sullivan stood. We waited in silence. I’m not sure what words would have been appropriate anyway. Apart from, ‘You’re going to die, you utter bastards.’ Always a useful fallback phrase.
