by Jodi Taylor
He frowned. ‘Hasn’t the whole thing been rather a waste of time, then? An expensive waste of time.’
‘Not necessarily,’ I said, more calmly than I felt because he might have a point. ‘We sometimes don’t get it right the first time. That’s why we have Pathfinders. Atherton’s team. They jump about establishing precise time and dates for us. But in this instance, another jump with a couple of strategically placed historians to ascertain who greased the newel post and who was in the litter should easily sort that out.’
‘You’re demanding yet another jump?’
I wasn’t going to fall into that trap. ‘No, that’s up to you. I would recommend another jump because otherwise the first jump will always be inconclusive.’
‘More expense,’ he interrupted. ‘Because you didn’t do the job properly the first time.’
‘We operated on the available data. Prior to the jump, no one was ever aware of the presence of Verney actually on the scene, or the queen, or the greased newel post. The situation is obviously far more complex than anyone realised. Now, having surveyed the site, we know where to place our people for best effect.’ Talk about making it all up as you go.
Treadwell shut down the data stack with a final gesture. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Permission denied.’
There was a note of finality in his voice and I left his office with quite a lot to worry about.
Things continued to hurtle from bad to worse. We woke up one morning to find six new Security guards among us. Hyssop’s people. Or Hyssop’s Half-Wits, as they were soon known.
One or two, perhaps, we could have integrated. Six was too many. And they upset the balance of the building. They were everywhere, shouting to each other across the Hall, and I had to tell them to tone it down because this was a working area. For some reason the dining room suddenly became the mess hall. Rooms became quarters. Military slang was batted around the building. Not to be outdone, historians started to speak to each other in Latin, Luwian or Ancient Greek. People began to talk in terms of us and them.
‘Well,’ said Evans, reasonably, when I pinned a small part of him to the wall in an effort to find out what was going on, ‘Major Guthrie brought his own people in – why shouldn’t she?’
‘But why so many of them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where have they come from?’
‘Military police – same as her. Same as most of us.’
‘Why are they here?’
He shrugged and requested I let him go so he could get some breakfast before it was all gone.
Noisy and visible, Security was now a much stronger presence than before. Actually, they reminded me a little of the Time Police. There was Harper, big and blond. Glass, tall, thin and weedy; Scarfe, whom I disliked as soon as I clapped eyes on him. I made a mental note to ensure I never went anywhere with him if I could help it. Lucca and Jessop, whom I could never tell apart. And the one whose name I can never remember. In fact, I’m not sure I ever heard it.
From the start, they made no attempt to integrate. Following their leader’s example, they stuck to their army gear, not the usual Security green jumpsuits. As if they were deliberately marking themselves out as different. I watched their behaviour in the dining room one day, had a bit of a think and then assembled all the historians in my office and instructed them not to engage.
‘Difficult, I know, but do not provoke them. Hyssop will use it as an excuse to draft in even more of her own people and the situation will get worse. I suspect a lot of this is deliberate. Don’t allow yourselves to be manipulated.’
It was Atherton, their usual spokesman, who expressed the general misgiving. ‘Max, I don’t want to jump with these people. I don’t fancy any of them watching my back.’
‘Relax,’ I said. ‘We’ll probably have to take at least one of them along, but I promise you for every one of them we’ll have one of ours. And we know we can trust them. Remember, it’s me who selects the people for every assignment.’
They appeared somewhat mollified and got to their feet. For a moment I thought my well-reasoned arguments had won them over but it just turned out to be nearly time for lunch and they wanted to be first in the queue.
I wandered along to Peterson’s office where Mrs Shaw would make us both a cup of tea.
‘What ho,’ he said amiably. ‘Just the person.’
I regarded him suspiciously. I’m not accustomed to being just the person. ‘What?’
He opened his desk drawer. ‘What do you think?’
With great ceremony, he donned a pair of spectacles and I hated him and them immediately because they really did make him look both intelligent and sexy.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what to say. Honesty is struggling with not wanting to hurt your feelings.’
He peered closely at me. ‘Dear God – is that what you actually look like? I had no idea. Is it too late to pretend I don’t know you?’
I grinned. ‘Wait till you see Markham.’
‘Yes, I suspect that will be a nasty blow. Why are you here?’
Putting my feet up, I said to him, ‘Why do you think they’ve brought in so many new people? Do you realise we now have thirteen Security guards and only eight historians? That’s nearly one and a half guards each. Why?’
Peterson took off his new specs, looked at them as if they’d done something wrong and put them back on again. ‘Because . . .’ he said slowly and stopped.
‘What? Because what?’
He checked the door was closed but lowered his voice anyway. ‘I suspect they’re going to replace historians with Security guards.’
I took my feet off his desk in a hurry. ‘What? He can’t do that. Why would he do that?’
‘Because they cost a lot less than a bunch of overeducated disaster magnets. Because it’s easier to train Security guards to record and document than it is to teach historians to become Security staff. You know – like astronauts and geologists.’
I was bewildered. ‘I worry about you sometimes. What’s like astronauts and geologists?’
‘When they went to the moon, they needed geologists to analyse the rocks and bring back samples, but it was easier to train astronauts to be geologists than the other way round. I think they’re getting ready to replace historians with Hyssop’s people.’
‘Treadwell specifically said there would be no redundancies.’
‘He won’t get rid of us. We’ll be utilised in some sort of academic way – analysing the data, perhaps – but the jumps will be manned by trained-up Security guards. How many of us would stick around for that, do you think? Atherton was right. That’s how they’ll get rid of us. We’ll leave of our own accord.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I tried to think how I’d feel about being handed the results of someone else’s jump to analyse and so forth but never actually being there. Never stepping out of a pod again. Never again to experience that heady whiff of woodsmoke and horseshit. Never to hear the chatter of different languages around me. Never again to experience that special mix of exhilaration and pants-wetting terror. And not only never to know any of that again but to have to watch other people depart to do it on a daily basis. People who weren’t me. I might as well go and get that office job I’m always banging on about.
I wanted to deny it but there was a horrible logic to Treadwell’s scheme. It was clever – replacing the expensive people with cheaper people would garner enthusiastic support. His employers would love it. And he wouldn’t be sacking anyone. He’d just be creating conditions where the expensive people – yes, that would be us historians – wouldn’t want to stay.
‘And,’ said Peterson, ‘I don’t think it’s only the historians under threat. I think they’re about to replace all our own Security people with army personnel. With one stroke they’ll have rid themselves of the two bi
ggest departments – and I’m sure you won’t disagree – the two sections likely to give Treadwell the most trouble.’
He was right. Not about the trouble bit, obviously, but right about everything else. R&D could be outsourced to Thirsk. Only the Technical Section would remain – until their secrets had been plundered and then they’d be as redundant as the rest of us. And it was easily done. Leon had come to St Mary’s from the army. I sat with all sorts of thoughts whirling through my head.
‘Of course,’ continued Cassandra Peterson, obviously feeling he hadn’t depressed me enough, ‘he could go the whole hog and just replace all of us with a couple of drones.’
This was not something I wanted to think about on the eve of the Babylon assignment. And I wasn’t going to say anything to him, but what of Peterson himself? Treadwell wouldn’t want him hanging around. Dr Bairstow’s choice of Peterson as his successor would surely make him the most expendable person in the building.
I was properly indignant. ‘How could a non-historian possibly have the depth of knowledge to react appropriately when things don’t go to plan? Or to direct the drone to the right place? Suppose they frighten a horse at a crucial point in a battle? And drones will terrify the wits out of people. A swarm of drones hovering overhead is not what religion-obsessed people need to see. Not when they’re looking for the next witch to burn.’
‘That’s just it, Max,’ Peterson said heavily. ‘I don’t think there’ll be any more battlefields, or coronations or anything. Remember the lists Dr Bairstow wanted us to draw up? I think, very soon, it’s going to be all search-and-rescue-based. St Mary’s is going commercial.’
I thought back to the comments Treadwell had made when I’d taken him around the building. ‘That makes sense.’
He looked at me. ‘You’d better make the most of the Babylon assignment. It might be your last.’
All this was pretty grim – I seemed to spend my days doing nothing but fighting departmental fires and mediating – but night-time was even worse. Night-time was when I shut the door on the clamour of St Mary’s and was enveloped in the silence of our empty rooms. This was when I missed Leon the most. Night-time was when I would wonder if I was doing the right thing. There was no doubt my life would be a lot easier if I capitulated to Treadwell. Except that all my instincts told me to fight him every inch of the way.
And I missed Matthew. I even missed our usual twenty-minute argument every night over the futility of washing his face and cleaning his teeth – actions which took only a fraction of the time spent arguing about them. As I frequently pointed out.
And I really missed Dr Bairstow, clever enough to remain in his office and let us get on with it but there when needed. And always several moves ahead of everyone else. All unexpected deaths seem cruel but this one particularly so. He’d been on his own for years – decades even. Trust me, running St Mary’s is not a job for the faint-hearted, and just when it seemed he had met someone who was perfect for him – bang! Game over. Life over.
And then I’d have to wipe my eyes on the pillow and try to think of something else.
I’ve forgotten to explain about the Babylon jump, haven’t I? Sorry about that, although I think everyone will agree there’s been a lot going on. Believe it or not – Babylon was Treadwell’s suggestion. I suspected he’d been watching one of Calvin Cutter’s more sensational cinematic offerings. Actually, all Calvin Cutter’s stuff was sensational but for completely the wrong reasons.
Anyway, back to Babylon. Right from the off, things did not go well. I’d selected my team. Me – obviously – Clerk, Prentiss and Sands – all experienced historians – Evans, and because I had to – Hyssop. Two teams of three. Clerk, Prentiss and Hyssop. Me, Sands and Evans. If Hyssop had the sense to step back and let Clerk and Prentiss get on with things, then it would be a useful training exercise for her, which she could then pass on to the rest of the new Security Section. Their training would be better coming from her, and then gradually – and painlessly – we’d get her people integrated.
Well – that didn’t happen. The daft bat produced her own list of personnel, which basically was herself and her six goons.
There was no way I was going out on an assignment this big with six inexperienced Security people and said so. At length and at some volume. And, I said, Hyssop could huff and puff and run to Treadwell as fast as she pleased, but no one else would go out with an inexperienced team either.
It was her section, she said. Her responsibility. She’d choose the right people for the job, not me. I’d never interfered in Markham’s choices and she wasn’t going to allow me to start now.
I never had to interfere before, I said, because I could completely rely on Markham’s judgement, and every single one of his team was experienced and capable. And, I said, not allowing her to get a word in edgeways, the whole point of a Security escort was to provide protection and assistance to the historians whose assignment this was – not undermine that assignment by insisting on inappropriate and inexperienced staff just to make a point.
I had to stop then and draw breath and Hyssop nipped in with the quite valid point that if her people never jumped then they’d never gain any experience would they and I said I was glad she’d grasped my point so easily and we both stepped back from the edge before we killed each other and neither of us went on the assignment.
Four historians and six Security people, she said.
Four historians, I said, and four Security people. Of whom at least two must be real Security guards.
Stalemate again.
All this took place in Markham’s office. When I eventually emerged, nearly everyone in the building had found a reason to be in the corridor outside. They scattered as I opened the door.
It didn’t end there, of course. The next person to be involved was Treadwell himself.
‘Dr Maxwell, our new staff will always remain untrained if no one undertakes to train them.’
I shook my head. ‘I am unhappy at having more untrained than trained people on such a crucial jump. We don’t know how they will react.’
‘They are professionals. You can have every confidence in them.’
‘To do what?’
‘Their job, Dr Maxwell.’
‘Which will be?’
‘To learn, Dr Maxwell.’
‘Yes, that’s what bothers me. Until our change of ownership, their purpose would have been to protect historians as we did our job.’
‘And it still is. Close protection requires the same procedures in 565BC as it does today. But if you are having misgivings . . .’
‘I am. Mainly over the number of so many inappropriate people I’m being compelled to include. I would so much rather take one or two at a time and do the job properly. Can I encourage you to think long-term on this? Let’s take our time and . . .’
‘Time is of the essence in this instance, Dr Maxwell.’
‘In that case,’ I said firmly, before he could boot me off the jump completely, ‘your people can form their own team and get on with whatever it is they’re supposed to be doing, and I’ll take Mr Evans and Mr Keller, who can perform their normal function during this assignment which, since no battles or violence will be involved, I hope you will agree is women-appropriate. I promise if anything looks like it’s going tits-up, we’ll all sit down and knit something.’
‘Ah, the typical Maxwell tactic – masking hostility with humour.’
‘Well, let’s hope I don’t have to move on to the next stage – masking hostility with violent actions. Although I always enjoy that one, so I do hope you won’t deny me the pleasure.’
‘Four historians, Dr Maxwell, whom you yourself may select. Six Security staff, to be selected by Captain Hyssop.’
I wasn’t going down without a fight. ‘At least half of whom must be experienced personnel.’
‘Name those acceptable.
’
‘Evans, Keller, Cox, Hyssop and any other two.’
‘Evans, Keller, Hyssop, Harper, Scarfe and Glass. My best offer, Dr Maxwell. Evans, Keller and Hyssop will provide the experience.’
I wasn’t going to get a better offer. It was like arguing with a polite wall. An amused, polite wall that never gave an inch, and after a while you realised you were just hurting yourself. Sometimes I felt like a butterfly hurling myself at a battleship for all the impact I was having. Everything just glanced off him. He never raised his voice but he got his own way every time. And he wasn’t a stupid man, either. I had to make sure I wasn’t giving him grounds for dismissing me.
‘You leave me with no choice but to accept your allegedly best offer. Please regard this meeting as my formal protest as to the inadequacy of the Security provision and a warning as to the consequences of your unwise actions.’
Treadwell sighed loudly. ‘Was there anything else, Dr Maxwell?’
I shifted my files. ‘Yes. Since this is your first assignment, perhaps you could tell me how much you want to be involved. Dr Bairstow was very hands-off – I planned and set everything up, ran it past him for clearance and then got on with it. Would I be right in assuming you want to be involved at every stage?’
He smiled, being Mr Reasonable again. ‘You would, but before your worst fears are realised, only because this is my first assignment and I want to see how it’s all put together. Quite reasonable, I think you’ll agree. Nothing sinister.’
I ignored this. ‘Well, my first task will be to talk to Dieter about pod availability, then Mrs Enderby about costumes because she’ll need plenty of notice. There’ll be ten of us – practically an invasion force – so we’ll take two pods. We’ll land in two separate areas of the city so if there’s any trouble there will always be a second pod available. Any questions or criticisms?’
‘Not at this moment, although you shouldn’t have any expectations that happy state of affairs will continue. I’d like to be with you at every stage of the planning.’
