I pushed off from our spot and walked back onto Orchard Road, letting the heat and noise wash away my concerns. Sergei was trying to gain information pertaining to time travel. I hadn’t been aware that the Luna programme significantly contributed to Orion, but obviously he knew something we didn’t.

  I scanned the street for my nemesis but failed to spot either Sergei or Carolyn.

  But I did spot someone else.

  “Well I never,” I murmured, moving off in the direction the figure had started walking.

  “What is it, sir?”

  “Gerald Anderson,” I said.

  “Who?”

  I flicked a glance at Malcolm and scowled. He hadn’t been in on the senior Surgeon’s meeting. But considering what we’d seen so far, he - like the rest of RATS - needed to know.

  “A CIA spy known to be in this time with connections to NASA,” I said, keeping Anderson in my line of sight.

  He said in a quieter tone of voice, “Do you think he’s here for the Lunik, sir?”

  “Yes,” I replied just as quietly. Not that anyone could hear us over the sound of Orchard Road midweek around noon. “Clearly, he was waiting for the Russians to load the Luna module and move out. Which would make me believe he expected some form of trouble.”

  “Trouble, sir?”

  I nodded and stepped onto the bus Anderson had just boarded. I purchased our tickets from the conductor and slipped into a seat well behind the agent. Studying him, I decided there was really nothing outward in his appearance that would lead you to believe he was a spy. He blended into the mixed crowd onboard the vehicle, even though the majority of passengers were of Asian descent and he wasn’t.

  “Where’s this bus going?” I asked Malcolm.

  “Ah, you bought a ticket to the end of the line, sir. Bukit Timah.”

  “Not the end stop. What’s of significance along the route that an American spy in Singapore would consider worth visiting? There’s no airport in this direction,” I murmured. “He can’t be planning on flying out yet. And Bukit Timah is well away from the port. He’s not leaving by ship, either. He’s meeting someone.”

  Malcolm didn’t have an answer. I wracked my brain for something from history that would help, but as much as we prepared ourselves for travelling back in time, we couldn’t prepare in-depth for any journey. Rips were immediate; they happened without warning; there simply was no time to prepare adequately for each destination. So, we were given a thorough grounding in all major historical events. I knew Singapore was a haven for soldiers on leave from the war in South Vietnam. I also knew Singapore provided supplies to the Americans during that war. But what else transpired in Singapore at that time was beyond my meagre knowledge.

  I certainly had not known that Russia had brought one of their Luna modules to the island and shared information with the Chinese here.

  What was Luna to Orion? What was Luna to the CIA?

  Anderson was here for a reason, and the Vietnam war was only a side issue. A cover for both parties; the Russians being bold enough to swap information in a place they assumed would be too busy with war to notice, and the CIA using the American soldiers’ presence to cover their American spy’s arrival and departure.

  “He’s going to an American R&R centre,” I concluded. “There has to be one in Bukit Timah.”

  “He’s going to disappear in amongst the soldiers on leave,” Malcolm guessed.

  “Yes.” I smiled. Whatever Anderson had done or taken would become that much more protected from Sergei’s influence the moment the spy stepped foot in an R&R hostel.

  He disembarked on the Bukit Timah Road where it intersected with Shelford Road. There was already evidence of Americans in the vicinity. Army vehicles, men in uniform, signs in nearby shop fronts with images of American cigarette packages.

  We stepped off the bus well behind Anderson and walked toward the shop, away from his direction which appeared to be Shelford Road itself.

  “There has to be a hostel down that street,” I said.

  “Are we going to follow him?” Malcolm asked.

  I checked my watch. We’d been here three hours already. Harding would be spitting tacks. I watched as Anderson moved farther away and made a snap decision. We needed to make sure Sergei didn’t interfere, and I wanted to know what the Luna programme had to do with Orion. The more we knew, the more we could prepare for Sergei’s next move.

  “Call the Orion,” I said. “Check on the rip and Dr Harding. Then shift dimensions and wait. I’ll be ‘alf an hour at most.”

  “Um, yes, sir. OK, if that’s what you think is best.”

  I looked at Malcolm and smiled. Perhaps it was more of a grimace.

  “I’ll just be thirty minutes, Malcolm. Check on Harding and that rip in case this has nothing to do with it. If it’s still international orange, then come find me at the hostel.”

  “And how do I do that, sir?”

  “Make a scene outside, and I’ll know.”

  Malcolm nodded, not looking in the least convinced, but one thing to be said for the Novitiate, he knew when to follow orders. Bryan had trained him well.

  I stretched my neck as the muscles tightened on the thought of my dead friend, and then marched off down Shelford Road as if I had every right to be there. I wasn’t in military dress, but I was dressed like most of the non-uniformed personnel. I blended in, and for what I intended to do next, that was the best I could ask for.

  I spotted Anderson farther ahead, heading up the steps of what had to be a military R&R hostel. The sign outside said Shelford House. I hadn’t heard of it before, but then my history studies had not included potential hostels for American soldiers.

  The place was guarded, and Anderson showed identification at the door, but it was just a hostel. A large house with verandas and palms and neighbours who weren’t as well guarded.

  I entered a property several down from my target and then crossed over back gardens to reach the fence that surrounded Shelford House. No one was home, which was bloody marvellous, because climbing up the side of a building when someone looked out of their window wouldn’t have been helpful.

  I crouched down on the veranda of the neighbouring house and peered into the backyard of the hostel.

  Soldiers were lounging around in the shade supplied by a few rain trees, but as luck would have it, or maybe it was Time helping me out, I had an uninterrupted view into one of the bedrooms, which happened to have Gerald Anderson and one other man in it.

  Their window was open. But Singapore even in the sixties is loud. I couldn’t hear what they said, but I could see. I pulled out a small set of binoculars I keep on me when travelling - spotting danger from a fair distance away is always preferable to waiting for it to poke you in the chest - and took in the papers that were being exchanged. Along with a roll of film, a Kodak Instamatic movie camera, and several Polaroid instant photographs.

  The man had come prepared.

  I took a long look at the images of the Luna module and managed to get a glimpse of the specifications sheet for Luna 14. A case was opened, and everything was deposited into it. The case had an American seal on it. That meant the man Anderson was handing the intel off to was high up in the military.

  Exchange done, Anderson left the room. The man sat down and took out a cigarette. I lowered the binoculars and considered what I had seen. The spy had stolen Russian intellectual property. Luna technology. And the Russians didn’t even know what had been done. Sure, the truck drivers had noted the Luna had been shifted, but they didn’t stop to ascertain why it appeared to have been.

  I scratched at my jaw, worrying my scar. I’d bet a bottle of single malt that what had been taken here would find its way to NASA and then find its way into the Orion program.

  We owed a debt of thanks to the Russians for contributing to our time travel capability, it seemed.

  I scowled and climbed down from the veranda and then walked a few gardens over and pulled on my sleeve.

  Sergei had missed his chance here in Singapore, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try again later. In Japan? Was that why the first rip appeared there? Or was that merely geography and a Time out of whack?

  Whatever the case, Clive needed to know about this. RATS needed to be prepared, because Sergei wanted Orion, but he wanted to have it in a world where RATS did not exist.

  Wiping out every single Surgeon, Intern and Novitiate we had.

  I turned when I heard the Orion arrive and walked toward the hatch.

  It opened before I could touch it…and Rafe Hoffman stared out, gasping for breath.

  36

  Are You OK, Mouse?

  Mimi

  I found Sally in the cafeteria. She sat alone, but she was far from being alone. A couple of Mikaela’s sycophant followers were over by the salad bar. They shot disgruntled looks at me and then made a show of whispering something to each other and laughing uproariously. They all glanced at me in unison as if I’d been the butt of their joke. But it wasn’t the joke that made me shudder; it was the way they turned as one, like some hive-minded organism. It was decidedly creepy.

  I ignored them and headed directly for Sally.

  I didn’t make it. Dr Rider stepped into my path and crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at me.

  “You missed your checkup,” he said.

  “I wasn’t aware I had one scheduled,” I offered, and attempted to sidestep him.

  He countered my steps, blocking me.

  “Of course you had a checkup scheduled, you received a nasty bang to your head. Plus,” he added, lowering his voice slightly, “there’s that whole prophetic dream we need to discuss.”

  Why was he harping on about this? No one had come to me about my last prophetic dream, which quite frankly was an enormous relief. Regaling anyone about Jack’s naked body and my penchant for scratching up his back in the dreams was not a welcome thought.

  “There’s nothing to tell you,” I said.

  “I don’t believe that Miss Wylde,” Dr Rider argued. “You mentioned something about Jack not flying. You seemed quite adamant about it, in fact. Why don’t we take a seat over here and discuss it further.”

  He indicated an empty table, far enough away from the others so we could talk unobserved.

  “As you seem not to want to return to the infirmary,” the good doctor added.

  He smiled when I scowled at him. It was friendly and called bullshit on my avoidance tactics.

  I sighed, took one last look at a morose-looking Sally, and sat down in the chair he held out for me.

  “Now, tell me, what’s got you so worried about Dr Evans flying?” Rider asked.

  “It wasn’t my dream,” I said, still clinging to some misguided attempt at stalling.

  “Was it Dr Evans’ dream?”

  I nodded, chewing on my bottom lip as I watched the Pratt crowd exchange lippy. Probably Estée Lauder Pure Envy red. Bitches.

  “He told you about his dream?” Rider pressed.

  “Look,” I said, sitting straighter in my chair. “It’s not my dream to tell.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Miss Wylde. What if something happens to Dr Evans on this flight? He’s not back yet, is that correct?”

  The doctor said that with a healthy dose of concern, for Jack or me, I couldn’t say. But the reminder that Orion 6b was well overdue now only made the panic inside swell higher and higher until I was sure I’d drown in it.

  “Breathe, Miss Wylde,” Rider instructed, handing me a glass of water.

  I hadn’t even seen him move away to get it. But I accepted the offering and took a sip, trying to still my rapidly beating heart. It fluttered like a dying bird. Or a drowning one.

  “Can you see now why it’s so important that we keep an eye on these dreams?” Rider said softly. “What was in the dream, Mimi?”

  I placed the glass of water down on the table and stared at the liquid until it stopped rippling.

  “He went to alternate RATS,” I whispered.

  Rider said nothing for a while and then said, “Alternate RATS?”

  I looked up at him. He smiled and nodded his head as if to encourage me to go on, but there was something there briefly that made me think he didn’t know about alternate RATS. Which, considering he was the Academy’s doctor and kept an eye on the dreams, should mean he was privy to everything.

  “You know about the two Orion 6s?” I asked, studying him closely.

  “Of course,” he said.

  There was nothing there that indicated he didn’t. And really, everyone was talking about it; it was hardly something Crawford could keep under wraps; too many people had access to the hangar. But the alternate RATS theory that the senior Surgeons knew about was something else altogether.

  I wasn’t even sure Pratt and her sycophant followers knew about that. They would have been present for my debrief in the doctors’ meeting, but not many believed me at that point. It wasn’t until I’d been alone with Crawford and Jack, that the official line on alternate RATS became real.

  I studied the doctor again. He seemed at ease and waited patiently for me to go on.

  I opened my mouth…and something caught my eye; a bead of sweat dribbling down the side of his neck, into the collar of his shirt. Rider didn’t wear overalls like the rest of us. He wore scrubs or a white doctor’s coat over civilian clothing. He was part of RATS, but he also was apart from it.

  My mouth closed and I shrugged my shoulders.

  “I don’t know much more than that. You’ll have to ask Jack.”

  I stood up. He stood up.

  “You must know something,” he urged. “You were frantic when you knew he was about to fly. What was it that had you so worried?”

  “It was nothing,” I tried.

  The doctor sighed. “Look, I understand you don’t trust many people here yet, but I’m the doctor, Miss Wylde. Whatever we discuss is entirely private. Doctor-patient privilege and all that.”

  And all that. Ah-huh. My Spidey-sense was tingling.

  “We had a fight, all right,” I snapped, the excuse coming to me in a flash of brilliance. “I didn’t want him to fly because we hadn’t made up yet. And Sergei is out there somewhere with my family. What if he takes Jack, too? What then?” I started to pace, really getting in on the act now. “What am I meant to do, Doc? Crawford won’t let me fly. I can’t get my sister back. I have no idea where Sergei is in this time or any other. And Jack’s the only one who believes in me. What am I meant to do?”

  The last was practically a wail, making the Pratt Bitches stop their makeup session and stare at me; eyes wide. Even Sally had stopped pretending to eat and blinked across the room at us.

  I took the moment of undivided attention to realise my acting potential and reached out to grasp the doctor’s sleeve.

  “Doc,” I said, plaintively. “What am I supposed to do? Tell me!”

  He blinked at me and then slowly unclasped my fingers from his shirt sleeve.

  “I think you might require a little more rest, Miss Wylde,” he offered. “Come and see me as soon as you can and I’ll give you something to help you sleep.”

  I nodded my head as if that made complete sense.

  “OK, Doc,” I mumbled, staring at the floor and letting Mousey Mimi come out to play.

  “Good,” he said. “Good.” He patted my arm and then practically ran from the cafeteria, everyone’s eyes following his rapid escape from the crazy loop.

  I searched out the Pratt Princesses and snarled, “What are you looking at, bitches?”

  A few gasps and muttered curses followed, and then they trailed out of the room, too.

  I looked across the now empty cafeteria to Sally, who was watching me with a stunned expression on her pale face.

  “Alone at last,” I quipped and walked toward her.

  “Are you OK, Mouse?” she asked.

  God, Sally, I wanted to say. I’m fine. My parents are alive. My sister is alive. Lost to me but alive. I’m the one who should be asking, Are you OK?

  “Fine, Sal,” I said sitting down beside her. I reached out and took hold of her hand, then sat back in the seat and stared at nothing.

  After a while, Sally went back to staring at nothing too.

  I couldn’t take away her heartache. I had enough of my own to contend with. But I could sit with her as her heart slowly mended and hope that together we’d somehow make it out the other side in one piece.

  37

  My Luck’s Not Been So Good, Jack

  Jack

  “What the bloody fucking hell?” I shouted, reaching out and gripping Rafe’s arms. He’d almost stumbled out of the Orion and landed flat on his face. “Rafe? Rafe! Where have you been?”

  “Orion’s empty,” he said, licking parched lips. “Water tank’s depleted. Rations have gone. I need a drink.”

  I had the distinct impression it wasn’t a drink of gin on this occasion.

  “OK. OK,” I said, looking around the backyard we were in. This house was empty, too, thankfully. I’d checked before calling the Orion to me. I glanced at the Orion Rafe had just stumbled out of. It was definitely Orion 6a and not my 6b. Where the hell had Jessica and Malcolm gone?

  I stared into the dimly lit interior of Rafe’s Orion and noted the mess inside. Rafe was not a disorderly person. I’d seen inside his room back at RATS. But this wasn’t a representation of laziness on his part. He’d been in there a long time to run out of water and rations.

  The bog was probably full. I grimaced.

  “If it disappears on us, then so be it,” I muttered, helping Rafe toward the house’s back door.

  Sooner or later, I was sure Clive would send someone after us. If Rafe’s Orion got snatched by Time before we could use it to get back to RATS, then we’d just bide our time here in 1967 Singapore. There were worse places to hole up until we were rescued.