Marx didn’t budge an inch, but he did shove Kez into the gap between himself and the door, leaving her an eyeline below his. “Good ear, kid. Shut up and watch.”
They heard Arabella’s voice said, in her prim, clear way: “–and you’ve got no idea what I was thinking, sir.”
“You were blushing adorably,” said Mikkel. “Obviously you were thinking about what a good kisser I am. I’m sorry to say that you’ve got a one-track mind, ensign.”
Kez’s sharp elbow made repeated forays on Marx’s solar plexus, a vague whiteness in the dark of the closet suggesting that she was grinning. Marx removed the elbow, but his own teeth gleamed in the crack of light.
They could see Arabella and Mikkel now, standing still in line with the closet door. Arabella was slightly pink, but quite calm.
“We’ve gotten off tr– er, topic again, sir.”
“I was quite happy with where the conversation was going,” complained Mikkel. “Besides which, if we’re going to try and stop Kez and Marx, I really don’t know why we’re not at the locker right now. The theft should take place in, oh, about half an RMU now.”
“That was one of the ideas I had, sir. Suppose this isn’t about the box? I mean, not completely about it. I think the box has been gone for some time now: in fact, I think they might have even swapped it out before it got to Eighth World. But suppose Kez and Marx wanted to get to Eighth World for some reason, and that they couldn’t do it because of the filters on the Other Zone?”
The listeners drew a collective breath, and Marx was once more called upon to remove Kez’s elbow from his stomach. This time the jab had been more indignant than congratulatory.
“If I was supposing that,” said Mikkel’s voice, thoughtful and just a bit too clear; “I would suppose that they needed our help to get in. If it was me, I’d have laid a trail for the Core monkeys to ‘discover’ and sneaked aboard one of the Time Corp vessels as they set out. I’d need something big to attract their attention, though; something like the theft of a highly covert, highly prized item.”
“Here we go, sir. Three, two, one– and that’s time.”
The lights died, suddenly and effectively, plunging the hallway into darkness. Kez and Marx, in their little cupboard, seemed to relax just a little. Outside, there was strained silence until, exactly one RMU later, the lights flicked back on as if they’d never been off.
Arabella and Mikkel were discovered to be just where they’d been before the lights when off, but now Arabella had her fingers in her ears, and Mikkel was just about to cover his own with a pained expression.
Marx said something savagely in Third World dialect just before the alarm went off. He and Kez clapped their hands to their ears one agonising moment too late and endured the muffled shriek until it was mercifully cut off mid-wail.
“That’s it, then,” said Mikkel, just a little too loudly. His personal messenger pinged and he flipped it open. “Cook says the box is gone. He seems a bit upset. Kez and Marx should be popping up any time soon if they want a ride back out of here.”
Marx made another muttered remark in Third World dialect. “They know we’re here, kid.”
“Oh, good!” said Kez. “I need the loo.”
She pushed herself up and marched out of the cupboard, leaving Marx crouched on his knees and swearing.
“’Allo Bells, ’allo golden boy. Where’s the loo?”
“We did actually steal it, yanno,” grumbled Kez, some time later.
“We gathered that,” said Mikkel dryly. “Commodore Cook seems to have noticed as well.”
“Only we didn’t ’zackly steal it today.”
“I knew it!”
“Shut up, Kez.”
“I knew it,” corrected Arabella. “Sir. You said it might be worth checking out.”
“Nah, we just sorta switched it out with something we could make go boom when we needed it to. An’ it wasn’t ’zackly what we came for.”
“Shut up, Kez,” said Marx again. “What’s the plan, Mikkel? Taking prisoners today, eh?”
“No, Arabella threatened to knock me out if I tried. I just wanted see you crawling in a cupboard. Very satisfying, on the whole.”
Marx grinned, and even his narrow eyes held a certain grim amusement. “Still a bit sore, eh?”
“You could say that. My headache hasn’t gone away since I’ve known you.”
“Well, whatever you were up to, you’d better finish it up and get back to the carriers,” said Arabella. “Commodore Cook’s pulling all the carriers out in half an RHU.”
“Won’t need ’em by then,” said Kez gleefully, darting behind Arabella to escape Marx’s snarl and grab.
“Kid, stop hiding behind the femme fatale!”
“Help, Bells! He said he’ll skin me if I tell you!”
“Oh, well now, why didn’t you say so?” remarked Arabella, grinning. She snatched Marx’s wrist as he grabbed for Kez and pulled him into a tight spiral, slamming him into the opposite wall with a satisfying thump!
Marx sucked in a ragged breath and said hoarsely: “If you wanted to dance, you could’ve just asked.”
“No fun in that,” said Arabella cheerfully. “Why won’t you need an out in the carriers, Kez?”
“Didn’t come to get summink out. Came to put summink in.”
Arabella looked into Kez’s black eyes and saw a certain, sharp mischief there. “You’ve spliced yourself into their Other Zone security net? How on earth did you manage that?”
Kez chortled, a distinctly impish sound. “Got a friend who knows about ‘ow biology an’ tech mix: shoulda kicked in by now! Look, Bells, you gotta look after it; it’s important. Don’t let ’em have it!”
“Have what?” said Arabella, to empty space. A flicker of movement flashed between herself and Marx, and then he was gone too, and Arabella lurched forward into the wall. She laughed unwillingly, and thumped the wall lightly with the hand that had pinned Marx.
“Hard to keep down, aren’t they?” said Mikkel. “Do you think they’ve really spliced Kez into the Eighth World security?”
“If I say yes, will you have to report it?”
“That’s what I love about you, ensign: your ability to ask the right questions. Yes.”
“In that case, sir: no. I have no reason to think it’s possible to plug a human into a security system. Not even a human who can travel through time and space. Not even when that human shifts directly in front of me.”
“I’m glad to hear it, ensign. In that case, it’s about time we returned to the carrier. I have an after action report to fill out.”
*
Arabella had showered and changed into a loose-fitting shift when her door-hailer buzzed. She groaned and looked longingly at her cup of tea, tempted to ignore the summons. Unfortunately, the caller wasn’t inclined to be ignored, and leaned on the hailer again despite her silence.
She opened the door and said: “It’s Friday. I’m off duty.”
“It’s not, you know,” said Mikkel, as she dropped back down on the couch. “You’re looking very ah, comfortable, ensign.”
“It’s my Friday,” Arabella said defiantly, stretching out to prop her bare feet on the coffee table. “Protocol says that I get one day off after a double shift.”
“I brought you something.”
A folder slapped onto the coffee table beside Arabella’s feet– old-fashioned, fat, and made of paper. Mikkel, who seemed to be trying very hard not to stare at her legs, cleared his throat and said: “You should probably look at the pictures. Good night, ensign.”
Arabella stared after him, unsure whether to laugh or gape. Neither seemed to be a particularly useful option, so she took a sip of her tea and opened the folder instead. The pictures were slightly newer than the paper folder would suggest, though they were still the relatively simple two-second movement pixs that had been in fashion fifty years ago. Arabella paged through them, tea in hand, and found the tea-cup dropping from her nerveless fingers.
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“Oh, they didn’t!” She sprang to her feet, pix in hand, and dashed for the tiny pantry that hid behind a sliding panel in her kitchen. The chocolate box was there, smelling of chocolate mint-crème and looking exactly like the box in the pix. The box that Time Corp had tried so very hard to keep hidden. The box that Kez and Marx had stolen regardless.
They had put it in her cabin. No, they’d put it in her life. The chocolate box had always been there: it had come with her when she moved out of home.
“They did,” she said limply, turning the box over. “They hacked my life.”
And then, because she couldn’t do anything else, Arabella laughed.
***
Internal memo from Commodore Cook to Admiral Levinson
Admiral,
An initial look at the A.A.R.s seems to suggest that the high presence of Time Corp and WAOF personnel acted as a deterrent to the presence and capture of wanted criminals Marx and Kez. There are no records or footage to suggest that they were ever on Eighth World or in the Grid.
An attempt to preserve the Newlands Box has been unsuccessful. Early reports indicate that the theft occurred some time ago, and may be the work of one Marcus Solomon, who is occasionally contracted by Time Corp. The team issued for the purpose of investigating Marx and Kez’s alleged involvement in this incident are likely to be sent on to other reports.
A full report will be sent to your personal messenger as soon as possible, with a request for further instructions.
Cdre Cook
***
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A Time-Traveller's Best Friend: Volume One Page 10
