‘Indeed, my lady.’
They resumed their careful scrutiny.
Some twenty minutes later the Time Police had all gone and the landscape was as empty as before.
Until . . .
Slowly, a dark head emerged from the broken doorway. Then another. Then a whole group. Still very carefully concealed, Smallhope and Pennyroyal watched the Neanders depart. Single file. Hastening through the snow towards the cliffs. The last one, a female clutching a tiny infant, could barely walk. Two of the bigger males helped her through the snow. No one was hanging around. They all moved as fast as they could go.
‘Oh good, Pennyroyal, they’ve let them go. Compassionate Time Police officers. Who’d have thought?’
‘Indeed, my lady.’
‘Not that that helps us, of course . . .’
Her companion maintained a gloomy silence.
Stillness and silence descended again as they watched the Neanders disappear into the deepening dusk. When complete stillness had returned to the landscape, they emerged, brushed off the snow and regarded the destruction around them.
The facility had a battered look about it. The outer door lay some yards away in the snow. A plume of black smoke drifted out into the ice-cold air. Discarded boxes, crates and equipment lay in the trampled snow. There was a desolate and deserted air about it.
‘Sodding arseholes, Pennyroyal. Those bastard Time Police have just walked off with the equivalent of a year’s income for us.’
‘Indeed, my lady.’
‘In fact, Pennyroyal, sodding bloody arseholes.’
‘Eloquently put, my lady.’
‘We’ve been working on this for bloody months.’
‘We have indeed, my lady.’
‘We’ve had to put up with that great greasy, pus-sucking troglodyte Geoffrey . . .’
‘As you say, my lady.’
‘And now a bloody fortune has just slipped through our fingers.’
‘As you say, my lady, but in this case, perhaps . . .’
‘Oh yes. Can’t begrudge those poor buggers their freedom, I suppose. It’s just that we’d have got a tidy sum for this lot and I had my eye on a rather nice little property in Tuscany. How about you?’
‘A very promising two-year-old, my lady. Rather appropriately named Daughter of Time.’
‘Oh, what a shame. Never mind. And those poor sods deserve their freedom. Don’t mind betting they’ll all be a long way from here by morning.’ She looked around at the smoke pouring from the broken door and the trampled and bloody snow. ‘Mind you, I can’t help feeling that the shit’s really going to hit the fan chez Parrish.’
Pennyroyal shrugged. ‘What else is shit for, my lady?’
‘Very true, Pennyroyal, and very profound, but the trick is always to ensure the fan it hits is not one’s own.’
‘A little late, my lady.’ He surveyed the empty landscape, turning slowly. ‘It would appear that at this moment we’re right royally buggered.’
‘I’d be inclined to agree, Pennyroyal, if I didn’t know you better.’
Glove in his teeth, Pennyroyal was rummaging in an outside pocket, pulling out a small hand-held device. He turned slowly and then his snowy face cracked into a grin.
‘Nil desperandum, my lady. If you would care to glance over your right shoulder . . .’
She did so and their pod materialised. Untouched. Unscathed.
‘Oh, I say, Pennyroyal. Camouflage device. Jolly well done.’
‘I can take no credit, my lady.’
‘No, no. Beg to differ. You take as much credit as you like.’
‘Not sure how the Time Police managed to miss it, my lady.’
‘No – you’d have thought they’d have picked up the signature. And that major at the back looked straight at it, didn’t he? Still – I do think we should bugger off while the buggering’s good.’
They set off, crunching through the snow, their breath steaming. The snow had stopped but the night skies were now clear and bitterly cold. The stars were coming out. The moon had risen over the horizon. Somewhere a wolf howled.
‘A trifle on the nippy side tonight, my lady.’
‘I commend your restraint, Pennyroyal. I’d describe it as brass monkeys, myself.’
‘Never mind, my lady. A nice cup of tea once we get inside. And I have some Battenberg put away for a special occasion.’
‘Bugger the Battenberg, Pennyroyal. I intend to give the nearest cocktail cabinet a bashing it won’t forget in a hurry.’
‘Very good, my lady.’
40
MedCen was packed. Busy medtecs trotted from one bed to another, snarling at the security guards to get out of their way. The guards ignored them. With so many illegals receiving treatment, the number of security staff actually exceeded medical teams.
And there were civilians, too. The more serious had been air-evacked to civilian facilities, but a handful remained and were being regarded with deep suspicion by everyone.
The wards were bustling. The only quiet space was that around Captain Farenden’s bed. He lay flat, staring up at the ceiling. Which was never a good sign. His face was white and drawn with shiny purple shadows under his eyes. Commander Hay paused on the threshold, took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and crossed to his bed. Pulling up a chair, she fixed him with a fierce stare.
‘You’re not allowed to die, Charlie. I refuse to have bad news brought to me by anyone other than you.’
His voice was still very weak but he made a heroic attempt. ‘In that case, ma’am, I shall make every effort to do the not-dying thing.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’ She sat back in her seat and looked around. ‘Well, this brings back memories, doesn’t it? You malingering away and me at your bedside trying to work out what I’ll do without you.’
He smiled. ‘Oh yes . . . the helicopter crash. What a long time ago that seems now. It’s a bit more than . . . just my leg this time, ma’am.’
She patted the small part of him that wasn’t bandaged. ‘A piece of sticking plaster and two aspirin and you’ll be fine in the morning.’ Her gaze roved around the crowded MedCen. ‘Everyone turned out to fight, didn’t they?’
‘They did, ma’am . . . even the civilian staff.’
They watched a long-suffering medtec endure a female civilian admin clerk instructing him on how to bandage a wound properly.