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Authors: Jodi Taylor
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either, but there really wasn’t a lot of wiggle room.
I said encouragingly, ‘It’ll be fine. You just wait and see.’
Nobody replied.
When the Chief’s pod landed, my initial reaction was one of huge relief. Our first jump into the future and the pod was a smear of jelly on the timeline. With that anxiety out of the way, I could now focus on worrying about the next part of the plan. I checked all the visuals and proximity alerts very carefully, said, ‘Well, it’s now or never,’ and activated the door.
I’m not sure to whom I was talking, and since I didn’t get a reply, I suppose it didn’t really matter.
The hangar was on emergency lighting and I could make out only two other pods. One sat on the plinth nearest me. I’d never seen that plinth occupied – ever. My heart began to thump. This must be the long lost Number Four. This was one of our two stolen pods. Clive Ronan had stolen Four and Seven years before I arrived at St Mary’s and killed the crews. Five historians lost. If Four were here, then I was in the right place. There was no sign of Seven. The other pod was right down at the far end. Number Nine. Not one of ours.
My pod was camouflaged, but in this gloomy corner of a gloomy hangar, it would have been almost invisible anyway.
The hangar was deserted, everything shut down, and only the exit lights glowed faintly over the doors. I stood for a long, long time, watching and listening, but I really was alone. The overhead gantry was empty as were the offices at the other end.
I walked quietly along the wall. The floor felt gritty underfoot. Now that I was used to being here, I could smell stale air. This place hadn’t been used for a while. I reached the doors and peered through the glass window. The blast doors were open. It was dark in the hangar and it was dark on the other side of the doors, as well. I wondered what time of day it was. In my St Mary’s, even in the small hours there were lights on and people around. I’d half expected to exit the pod to a ring of armed guards, but there was no one. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad.
The security system was disabled and the door opened easily. The place seemed deserted. God, I hoped not. If Leon wasn’t here, then I had no place else to look. I eased open the door and slipped through the narrowest possible gap. I felt the door close silently behind me. Now I had to make a choice. Did I go forward along the long corridor to the main building? Or turn right to the storerooms and the paint store? Or up the stairs to Sick Bay?
I decided to be methodical, rather than zigzagging around the building at random. Sick Bay first, then the storerooms, then the main building. I started up the stairs. Again, apart from the emergency lighting, everything was completely dark and deserted.
They’d fitted fire doors at the top of the stairs since my time. Trusting they weren’t alarmed, I squeezed through. If they were then it was a silent alarm. I heard nothing, but someone was here. I could see a light shining dimly through the viewing window in a door on the left-hand side. They’d moved the nurse’s station and had added more treatment rooms at the expense of the seating area, but otherwise the layout was very similar to my own Sick Bay.
I glided down the corridor. The nurse’s station was deserted. Just opposite, was the door with the light. That didn’t mean it was the only occupied room, however, and I listened carefully at every door. Nothing. No machinery on, no vents humming, no medical noises, not even the burnt paper smell of the medical waste disposal unit.
Returning to the lighted room, I lifted myself up and peered very cautiously through the window. It was the men’s ward, dimly lit by a nightlight. A young nurse dozed in an armchair, wrapped in a blanket. Asleep on one bed, unshaven, bruised, and shadowed, lay Chief Farrell.
Well, that was easy.
I gently pushed down the handle and passed silently into the room. The
I said encouragingly, ‘It’ll be fine. You just wait and see.’
Nobody replied.
When the Chief’s pod landed, my initial reaction was one of huge relief. Our first jump into the future and the pod was a smear of jelly on the timeline. With that anxiety out of the way, I could now focus on worrying about the next part of the plan. I checked all the visuals and proximity alerts very carefully, said, ‘Well, it’s now or never,’ and activated the door.
I’m not sure to whom I was talking, and since I didn’t get a reply, I suppose it didn’t really matter.
The hangar was on emergency lighting and I could make out only two other pods. One sat on the plinth nearest me. I’d never seen that plinth occupied – ever. My heart began to thump. This must be the long lost Number Four. This was one of our two stolen pods. Clive Ronan had stolen Four and Seven years before I arrived at St Mary’s and killed the crews. Five historians lost. If Four were here, then I was in the right place. There was no sign of Seven. The other pod was right down at the far end. Number Nine. Not one of ours.
My pod was camouflaged, but in this gloomy corner of a gloomy hangar, it would have been almost invisible anyway.
The hangar was deserted, everything shut down, and only the exit lights glowed faintly over the doors. I stood for a long, long time, watching and listening, but I really was alone. The overhead gantry was empty as were the offices at the other end.
I walked quietly along the wall. The floor felt gritty underfoot. Now that I was used to being here, I could smell stale air. This place hadn’t been used for a while. I reached the doors and peered through the glass window. The blast doors were open. It was dark in the hangar and it was dark on the other side of the doors, as well. I wondered what time of day it was. In my St Mary’s, even in the small hours there were lights on and people around. I’d half expected to exit the pod to a ring of armed guards, but there was no one. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad.
The security system was disabled and the door opened easily. The place seemed deserted. God, I hoped not. If Leon wasn’t here, then I had no place else to look. I eased open the door and slipped through the narrowest possible gap. I felt the door close silently behind me. Now I had to make a choice. Did I go forward along the long corridor to the main building? Or turn right to the storerooms and the paint store? Or up the stairs to Sick Bay?
I decided to be methodical, rather than zigzagging around the building at random. Sick Bay first, then the storerooms, then the main building. I started up the stairs. Again, apart from the emergency lighting, everything was completely dark and deserted.
They’d fitted fire doors at the top of the stairs since my time. Trusting they weren’t alarmed, I squeezed through. If they were then it was a silent alarm. I heard nothing, but someone was here. I could see a light shining dimly through the viewing window in a door on the left-hand side. They’d moved the nurse’s station and had added more treatment rooms at the expense of the seating area, but otherwise the layout was very similar to my own Sick Bay.
I glided down the corridor. The nurse’s station was deserted. Just opposite, was the door with the light. That didn’t mean it was the only occupied room, however, and I listened carefully at every door. Nothing. No machinery on, no vents humming, no medical noises, not even the burnt paper smell of the medical waste disposal unit.
Returning to the lighted room, I lifted myself up and peered very cautiously through the window. It was the men’s ward, dimly lit by a nightlight. A young nurse dozed in an armchair, wrapped in a blanket. Asleep on one bed, unshaven, bruised, and shadowed, lay Chief Farrell.
Well, that was easy.
I gently pushed down the handle and passed silently into the room. The
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