JUST ONE DAMNED THING AFTER ANOTHER

by Jodi Taylor

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The assignment was James VI. Annie got caught. You know James and his witches. Suspicion everywhere. Maybe she was careless – used her com perhaps and someone saw her, maybe some little modern mannerism. They rescued her eventually but she’d been knocked about a bit. Broken arm – concussion.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And she’d picked something up. It came on fast. She said she was fine, but the rules are very clear about this sort of thing.’

  I nodded. They were. They were very, very clear. It was our nightmare, letting loose some God-awful infection on an unprotected world. The Boss was paranoid about it. I began to see why.

  ‘She was coughing and had a fever, which meant she couldn’t return immediately for treatment. They should have stayed put, done the broad spectrum antibiotics thing, kept her warm, you know the drill. Ronan grew frantic. He insisted on returning so she could get treatment for her injuries, especially the concussion. Edward argued. Annie tried to argue, started to cough, couldn’t stop and that was it for Ronan.’

  He stopped again.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He shot Edward in the leg and pitched him out of the pod, returning to St Mary’s with Annie, who was by now unconscious.’

  I sat appalled. He’d left the Boss to die! I tried to imagine Kal or Peterson doing such a thing. Or me, even. What would we do? I’d like to think we’d do the right thing but I suppose you never know until it actually happens to you.

  And after Sussman, I was beginning to think I didn’t know anyone very well.

  After a long while he continued. ‘He brought Annie back. Edward, he said, was dead; killed in the rescue. Obviously, they got her to Sick Bay as soon as possible. When they realised she was contaminated, they moved her into isolation. Well, you know us – we’re St Mary’s. We never leave our people behind. A search team went back for Edward and found him in a bad way, lying under someone’s cart. They brought him back, operated and he’s limped ever since.’

  ‘And Ronan?’

  ‘They tried to arrest him for breach of medical protocol and attempted murder. Knowing St Mary’s, probably in that order. He didn’t wait around. He took Annie from Sick Bay and attempted to reach Hawking with her. Shot two techies. One died. She put up a fight. He tried to force her into a pod. She wouldn’t go. They struggled. Security turned up. She was caught in the crossfire. He stole Number Nine – and vanished.’

  ‘Did she recover?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does he know she’s dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he blames himself?’

  ‘No. He blames Edward and St Mary’s and just about everyone but himself.’

  ‘So it’s – revenge?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘And the Boss?’

  ‘Never mentions it. Go and get the blankets. It’s getting chilly.’

  His voice was final. There would be no discussion.

  We did sleep outside. I wrapped myself in a blanket and stared up at the stars. Something moved nearby. I sat up and stared into the darkness. A muffled voice said, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I thought I heard something.’

  On the other side of the fire, his breathing deepened.

  I got up, picked up my blanket and walked round the fire. ‘Move over.’ He shunted over. I lay down beside him and he covered us with the blankets. I lay with my back to his front and pulled his arm over me like a cover.

  He said, ‘Rumour has it you snore.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

  I fell asleep listening to his heartbeat.

  We stayed for two days and he never stopped winding me up. He gave way on the rations but I became chief wood-gatherer, water-getter, tea-maker and anything else he could think of. We bickered our way through the days. I felt my thoughts sharpening again and climbed out of my pit of self-pity.

  Ronan was never mentioned.

  We snuck back to St Mary’s. I had a sunburned nose. No one noticed.

  I found Kal and Peterson sitting on the stairs. I tried to remember that although it was two days for me, for them it had only been a couple of hours. The routine of St Mary’s closed around me.

  They helped me organise my material while I gave them the details. I expected all sorts of ‘I told you so,’ especially from Kal, but she only rubbed my arm briefly, expressed regret she’d been unable to tear him apart herself and changed the subject. I described everything. We always do this. It helps us get our heads together for our report and presentation – the next big event on my horizon.

  After lunch, I got down to it. Fortunately, I’d done so much work on-site there wasn’t a huge amount still to do, which was just as well because I’d had an idea.

  I went to see the Boss. Mrs Partridge waved me through.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir. Can I talk to you for a moment please?’

  ‘Of course. Please sit down. What can I do for you today, Miss Maxwell?’

  ‘I’ve had an idea, sir.’

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  ‘Do you remember, a long time ago when we met, I said it was a good idea there was no such thing as public-access time travel?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Because of the damage that could be done to the public themselves, to the timeline and to History?’

  He nodded.

  ‘You know we made a holo?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Maxwell. I hear it’s something a little above and beyond our normal records.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking, sir, maybe that’s a way we could make time travel available to the general public without them actually knowing. We can continue to film and record as we usually do. But, instead of simply filing it all away in the archive for future reference, IT could fiddle about with it; we could put in a commentary and then hire our films out to show in holo theatres around the country. People would know that they were watching dinosaurs for instance, but not that they were watching actual dinosaurs. They could watch the Battle of Hasting, Stephenson’s Rocket, the pyramids being built, or the Crystal Palace Exhibition. Being produced by us sir, under Thirsk’s umbrella of course, will ensure its credibility.’

  I remembered to take a breath. ‘And we can charge, sir. The public, academics, educational establishments, theatres, they’ll all pay to see what we produce. It will be accurate, informative, educational and entertaining. They’ll just never know how accurate, informative etc. I think we’ll never have a better opportunity than now. Everyone loves dinosaurs. With your permission, I would like to take it with me to Thirsk and see what their reaction is. If they like it they can contribute to the costs of future films and take a cut. If they don’t want to then we keep it all for ourselves. We offer it as a loss leader. If we could regularly bring them material of this calibre, sir, they might change their minds about wanting a permanent presence here, or God forbid, actually wanting a representative along on each assignment. We tell them there’s no need for them to risk life and limb. We can do that and they could reap the benefits.

  ‘And, on a more personal note, the eyes of the world are fixed on Mars at the moment, sir. Everywhere I look the arts are being shunted aside for technology. It’s not necessarily a bad thing but maybe in some small way this could redress the balance a little. History – the new sex. Sir.’

  He stood looking out of the window, face quite expressionless. No clues there. I sat quietly and let the silence gather. I’d made my point; there was no use boring on. I wasn’t Barclay.

  He turned back into the room and picked up his pen again. ‘Take it to Thirsk. See how they react. I’ll talk to the Chancellor, tell her what to expect so she can put the word around and make sure you have an audience worthy of the occasion. We’ll see how it goes, shall we?’

  Barclay sent for me at 1600 to discuss the holo. The Chief had sent her the material and I’d given her a list of the highlights I wanted included, but left the re
st to her. Half of me looked forward to seeing what she had done; half of me didn’t want to go out and mix with people just yet and half of me (presumably the half that can’t add up) didn’t want to see her because I knew she would blame me for Sussman.

  As it turned out, she was reasonably OK. The Chief attended in his role as buffer zone and this helped. She showed me what they’d put together so far. She’d changed two of my suggestions (for the better) and added some new ideas. I was pleased.

  ‘Only two things, Izzie,’ I said. She bridled immediately. ‘Can you make sure our logo and copyright appear on the title page? This is going to be big and I’m sure the Boss will want to make sure St Mary’s is shown somewhere. Otherwise Thirsk will be all over it.’

  She nodded. ‘And the second thing?’

  ‘The dedication to Sussman.’ She started to speak. I cut across her. ‘Put it at the beginning. This is so good they’ll be in no fit state to notice at the end, so put it up first, while they’re all still able to pay attention.’

  I looked at the Chief. ‘His idea and his work. He should get the credit.’

  I got one of his full-on smiles. The crinkly-eyed one. It made me feel better and it pissed Barclay off no end, so no downside there, then.

  ‘Chief, before we show it at Thirsk, I thought we could give it its world premiere here in Hawking tomorrow. Let everyone at St Mary’s get to see it. After all, everyone contributed. If the Boss agrees, of course. ‘

  ‘I’ll talk to him. I can’t see a problem.’

  ‘Oh, and Izzie?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Make sure your name and your team’s names are on it somewhere. It’s a cracking piece of work.’ And walked out before she could speak. Ha!

  The world premiere in Hawking was a huge success. The IT section, thrilled at the thought of producing something creative instead of the daily uphill struggle to instruct the computer illiterate, really put their backs into it. Everyone in the entire unit assembled in Hawking and waited to be impressed. I couldn’t stand still. I went from Barclay’s last-minute tweaking to the Chief setting up the streamers around the designated area. They both, in their own ways, told me to go away. Eventually, I ground to a halt near Kal. She rubbed my arm encouragingly. ‘It’ll be OK.’

  ‘It’s got to be better than OK. It’s got to be bloody fantastic.’

  ‘It will be. Stand still. Breathe.’

  The lights dimmed, to simulate dawn and we were off. Poets bang on a lot about rosy-fingered dawn and that’s just what we got, beautifully reflected in the still water. Tendrils of mist floated above the ground. The quality was amazing. The Cretaceous period was all around us, three hundred and sixty degrees. And solid – this was no cheap, wobbly, see-through simulation. I looked down at my feet, watching them sink into holo mud.

  Far away, just on the edge of hearing, I could feel a deep rumbling in my chest. Looking around, I could see people looking at each other, hands on their own chests and laughing, but nervously.

  The rumbling increased and out of the mist emerged the long, grey neck of an Alamosaurus, then another and another, then a whole group of them. Necks swayed sinuously and the noises increased. They were greeting each other and the day. One long neck snaked down towards the camera, revealing a small head and cow like eyes. The bovine resemblance increased when it emitted a long, low mooing noise. The camera trembled. Satisfied we were no threat, the head moved away.

  The mist cleared away and the neighbourhood came down to drink. We had some beautiful shots of a group of Ankylosaurus moving around the waterline, struggling to drink and protect their young at the same time. A familiar green smell rose up around us. Industrial-strength farts. Even a T-rex thought twice about biting into one of these. A miracle the cameras hadn’t melted. A large herd of slow-moving Proceratops, manoeuvring their bulky bodies through the swamps gave them a wide berth. Ankylosaurus tails could shatter bones and teeth.

  The Proceratops were shadowed by a small group of fast-moving Oviraptors flitting in and out of the dappled shade, looking for nests.

  The quality of the shots was excellent. Colours, skin patterns, markings, all the frills, horns, cheek plates, crests, sclerotic rings, everything the well-dressed dinosaur wore those days – all crystal clear as Barclay’s team had steadied wobbly camera work, re-focused close-ups and generally sharpened up the whole thing.

  The day wore on, we were past noon now. She’d managed to get our very few Triceratops shots incorporated. And a fleeting glimpse of a herd of Deinonychus (I looked away); enough to give an impression of their deadly speed and co-ordination.

  The now much fewer numbers of animals at the shoreline dwindled even further. You could see everyone thinking it must be siesta time. We’d done that deliberately, so when the T-rex exploded into camera view everyone nearly wet themselves. Its prey, a half-grown, limping, exhausted Edmontosaurus turned to face the end. When we’d picked this up, we’d hardly been able to contain our excitement, but the best was yet to come. The T-rex leaped, finishing its prey with a skull-crushing bite. The Edmontosaurus’s skull cracked and it went down like a tree. Red gore splashed the T-rex’s face, jaws and chest. The shot clearly showed its little forelegs opening and closing spasmodically. I wondered again if this was a display of excitement, supporting the argument that these little forelegs, too small even to touch each other, were for sexual tickling. Alternatively, maybe just a reflex action. Others would decide.

  The successful T-rex however, made the mistake of bellowing his triumph in an echoing bellow. A red cloud of blood and flesh fragments belched from his massive jaws. Everyone stepped back. Hardly had the echoes died away when another, much bigger, T-rex erupted into shot; possibly a female this time. At this point, even Sussman had been in two minds whether to run or not.

  Earsplittingly, they screamed their rage as they circled each other. Dust flew in clouds as they stamped their feet. They lashed their tails. They battered each other with their enormous heads. The bigger one, by virtue of her size, seized the smaller by the scruff of his neck. Instead of pulling away, he closed and ducking his head even lower, clamped his jaws on one of her tiny forearms. She screamed, shook him like a rat and hurled him away from her. He cartwheeled over and over and, before he could stand, she leaped on him. She raked a hind claw across his belly and as he raised his head to get up, she went for the exposed throat. No messing. He gurgled and was dead in seconds. She strutted, roared her victory to the skies and settled down to feed on his kill.

  Professor Rapson beamed. ‘It’s not a chicken after all! Not a feather in sight! Well done, Max.’ Although how I could take the credit for disproving the theory that T-rex was nothing more than a giant, scavenging chicken was hard to see. Still, it’s good to know the image of the world’s favourite predator remained intact.

  We faded from that and before anyone had time to draw breath, the hangar began to vibrate. Dust fell from the roof. Tools rattled and clattered to the floor. And from the far end of the hangar, slowly and with majesty, came a herd of Alamosaurus. The first one was colossal – fifty feet high and seventy feet long easily, with a body the size of a swimming pool. Unarmoured – they didn’t need to be. Size matters. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Others emerged from behind the leader.

  Izzie gave us maybe thirty seconds worth of establishing shots. Enough to appreciate their size and proportions and then cut to shots from me and Sussman, ducking and diving like the idiots we were that afternoon. In and out, weaving around giant, slow-moving legs, getting close ups of bellies, armpits, feet, orifices, you name it – we filmed it. Bloody great haystack-sized dollops of Alamosaurus shit splatted to the ground around us. We could see the different textures of the skin, the callouses on the joints, thick skin, thin skin, the creases and folds.

  People gasped. Even over the deafening thud of their feet hitting the ground, we could hear their ghastly gurgling digestive noises. They were so much larger than anyone had thought. Previous estimates of si
ze must have been based on immature bones. They were magnificent. They plodded endlessly on. Finally, the last of the herd passed through the hangar, to eventual dinosaur oblivion, leaving total silence behind. The hangar drew a collective breath, but we had one last spectacular shot to come.

  As the sun set, orange and smoky blood-red behind the distant volcanoes, a solitary flying shadow came out of the clouds and the only Pteranodon we ever saw dipped low across the water. Slowly and serenely, he spread his wings and glided over the water, racing his shadow. A long snake neck whipped out of the water, seized his wing and dragged him under without a sound and barely a ripple. The sun sank. The day was over.

  Chapter Ten

  I spent the next two days incessantly going over the data. I wrote a commentary for the holo. I checked all the data cubes, disks, sticks and stacks were loaded and correct. I collated all the documentation and labelled everything. I couldn’t leave it alone. Peterson took me for a drink but I couldn’t settle, so I guess they thought it would be easier just to let me be.

  The Chief and I set off early – the Boss had loaned us his Bentley; a rare favour. The boot and back seat were stacked with archive boxes filled with the fruits of our labours. With Sussman gone, the Chief was coming along to handle the technical side of things.

  ‘You’ll be all right once we get started,’ he said, accurately reading my mind.

  I sat and stared out of the window and fretted. Had I mentioned iliac crests? Did I mention the Proceratops eggs laid in spiral patterns? And the flap of skin covering Saurolophus nostrils? Yes, yes and yes. Calm down and focus, Maxwell.

  We were met by the welcoming committee, the Chancellor and her gang, all of whom seemed very pleasant. I don’t know why the Boss always carried on as if they were the Antichrist. Although I suspected if this presentation failed and they weren’t happy with our data then I would soon be finding out. The Chief disappeared off in the direction of their main Lecture Hall and I went alone into the lion’s den to meet the Senior Faculty.

  In the privacy of the Chancellor’s office I introduced myself, listed my qualifications and experience and detailed the mission parameters. I always start that way. It gives my brain a chance to catch up with my mouth.