few times for good measure. “One of the founders was a Nazi. One out of fifteen I think. Or maybe fourteen. I think it’s safe to say that less than ten percent of the people who founded the original MI37 followed the tenets of National Socialism. Not sure how that compares to national averages at the time, don’t have the data to hand, but I could look into it, if you wanted me—”
“No.” It’s my turn to cut Clyde off. “Let’s get back to the part where we had to fight a giant clockwork robot that was designed by a Nazi.”
“Oh.” Clyde stops for a moment, looks around himself, shrugs twice, then comes back to me. “Well, we did that. That was sort of the end point.”
I mull this over.
“So,” Hannah looks at me, “yesterday you guys fought a giant Nazi clockwork robot?”
Which, in the end, I suppose we did.
“Feckin’ sweet, right?” says Kayla.
“Maybe,” Felicity says, “we could be a little less self-congratulatory, and a little more outcomes-focused.” She points to the schematic. “This is for a prototype. What we fought yesterday was not a prototype. It was real. It was created by a man who for all we know was committed to serving one of the vilest evils to face mankind in the twentieth century. I doubt he stopped at just one.”
“But it’s 2015,” Hannah objects. “Why the piss are they coming out the woodwork now?”
“That,” says Felicity, laying both her hands on the table, “is exactly what you lot are going to find out.”
8
Work out if the Nazis hid a clockwork robot army somewhere in England. Just another everyday assignment at MI37. I wish I’d made a bigger coffee. In its absence I go with massaging my skull and trying to crack my neck. When that doesn’t work, I just study my hands.
“OK,” I say, working my way through it. “So two leads. Joseph Lang, and a Scottish pub. Front end and back end of the problem. Front end is located 1935—Lang conceives of this thing and draws up some plans. Back end is yesterday one of the bastards emerging from the ground up in Scotland. So trace the dots forward and back until they join up in the middle. That means two teams—”
I hear muttering and look up. Kayla has leaned across the table and is showing her phone to Tabitha.
She notices the silence and looks up. “What?”
“Yeah,” says Tabitha, still staring at the phone and ignoring both of us. “He looks OK.”
My eyes narrow. But given the conceivable array of scenarios that could have led to that statement, I decide that I really don’t want to know.
“Who looks OK?”
Damn you, Clyde. Damn you.
Tabitha grabs Kayla’s wrist and angles the phone toward Clyde. “Potential genetic material,” she says.
Clyde’s eyes narrow too. I think he’s just realized the course he’s steered us onto.
“Don’t ask,” I say. “Please for the love of all that is good and kind in this world, do not ask.”
Hannah looks around the room. “This still isn’t a hazing ritual, right?”
Felicity seems to be resisting the urge to facepalm.
Watching her struggle through her disappointment in us, her desire for us to, just once, behave like professionals, allows me to slough off one more layer of my hangover.
“This is the kid’s thing, isn’t it?” I say to Kayla. “If I were to look at that phone, I would see a man you are thinking of trying to coerce into sleeping with you.”
Tabitha’s hand twitches.
“Do NOT show me,” I say. “I just want to say two things, and then move rapidly on. One, I still think it is a staggeringly bad idea for you to retread the path of parenthood. Two, assuming this isn’t really relevant to the whole tracking down hidden clockwork robots thing, and that the young man on your phone is not the great grandson of a prominent Nazi thaumatophysicist, then can it please wait until later?”
Kayla grinds her teeth. Close enough to a yes.
“So,” I say, trying to smudge out the last of my headache with a palm to
“No.” It’s my turn to cut Clyde off. “Let’s get back to the part where we had to fight a giant clockwork robot that was designed by a Nazi.”
“Oh.” Clyde stops for a moment, looks around himself, shrugs twice, then comes back to me. “Well, we did that. That was sort of the end point.”
I mull this over.
“So,” Hannah looks at me, “yesterday you guys fought a giant Nazi clockwork robot?”
Which, in the end, I suppose we did.
“Feckin’ sweet, right?” says Kayla.
“Maybe,” Felicity says, “we could be a little less self-congratulatory, and a little more outcomes-focused.” She points to the schematic. “This is for a prototype. What we fought yesterday was not a prototype. It was real. It was created by a man who for all we know was committed to serving one of the vilest evils to face mankind in the twentieth century. I doubt he stopped at just one.”
“But it’s 2015,” Hannah objects. “Why the piss are they coming out the woodwork now?”
“That,” says Felicity, laying both her hands on the table, “is exactly what you lot are going to find out.”
8
Work out if the Nazis hid a clockwork robot army somewhere in England. Just another everyday assignment at MI37. I wish I’d made a bigger coffee. In its absence I go with massaging my skull and trying to crack my neck. When that doesn’t work, I just study my hands.
“OK,” I say, working my way through it. “So two leads. Joseph Lang, and a Scottish pub. Front end and back end of the problem. Front end is located 1935—Lang conceives of this thing and draws up some plans. Back end is yesterday one of the bastards emerging from the ground up in Scotland. So trace the dots forward and back until they join up in the middle. That means two teams—”
I hear muttering and look up. Kayla has leaned across the table and is showing her phone to Tabitha.
She notices the silence and looks up. “What?”
“Yeah,” says Tabitha, still staring at the phone and ignoring both of us. “He looks OK.”
My eyes narrow. But given the conceivable array of scenarios that could have led to that statement, I decide that I really don’t want to know.
“Who looks OK?”
Damn you, Clyde. Damn you.
Tabitha grabs Kayla’s wrist and angles the phone toward Clyde. “Potential genetic material,” she says.
Clyde’s eyes narrow too. I think he’s just realized the course he’s steered us onto.
“Don’t ask,” I say. “Please for the love of all that is good and kind in this world, do not ask.”
Hannah looks around the room. “This still isn’t a hazing ritual, right?”
Felicity seems to be resisting the urge to facepalm.
Watching her struggle through her disappointment in us, her desire for us to, just once, behave like professionals, allows me to slough off one more layer of my hangover.
“This is the kid’s thing, isn’t it?” I say to Kayla. “If I were to look at that phone, I would see a man you are thinking of trying to coerce into sleeping with you.”
Tabitha’s hand twitches.
“Do NOT show me,” I say. “I just want to say two things, and then move rapidly on. One, I still think it is a staggeringly bad idea for you to retread the path of parenthood. Two, assuming this isn’t really relevant to the whole tracking down hidden clockwork robots thing, and that the young man on your phone is not the great grandson of a prominent Nazi thaumatophysicist, then can it please wait until later?”
Kayla grinds her teeth. Close enough to a yes.
“So,” I say, trying to smudge out the last of my headache with a palm to
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