When I stood, the room swayed. I managed a strangled laugh. Fucking brilliant. I was drunk, and we had an emergency. I might not have been the Surgeon on call tonight, but I was senior management, and the bloody fucking sirens had gone off.

  I shook my head and attempted to make myself presentable, and by the time I reached the doors Bryan had only just pushed through, the world wasn’t rocking and rolling quite as much.

  But a headache had begun. I grimaced as I passed beneath an alarm bell, but hastened my steps to Dispatch.

  “Status,” I said as soon as I entered.

  “Orion 3, sir,” Amanda replied. “On Return.”

  “Huh,” I managed and then crossed to the window that looked out on the hangar.

  I watched Bryan saying something to Simon Cathcart, using hand signals to communicate over the incessant noise of the alarm. And waited for the module to appear.

  No one had flown since the two Orion 6s had turned up. Surfing Time’s waves right now seemed a risk we simply couldn’t take. So, this could be Winchester, or it could be an alternate Orion 3 and God alone knew who would step out.

  I should have been down there. But the sirens were louder in the hangar and more muted inside Dispatch. So, I stayed where I was, and I watched, and I waited, and at some stage, I sobered up.

  Dave and his team were scattered about the hangar, and Clive made an appearance but then retreated to the observation platform. And then Mimi walked out and crossed the space to say something to Fawkes and Cathcart.

  I made a move to turn away and go down there. To grab her by the arm and pull her to safety. But at that exact moment, Orion 3 winked into sight. Making a textbook landing on its launchpad.

  The sirens stopped blaring. The MPCV let off some gas. Cathcart strolled towards the Vehicle with Sanders hot on his arse. And then Sebastian Winchester opened the hatch, looking dishevelled and dust coated and covered in gashes.

  He stumbled down the steps. Cathcart caught him. Sanders shined his rifle’s light inside the module over both their shoulders. No one else came out.

  And then Mimi was there. And Cathcart was struggling with Winchester. And Sanders barked out a command. And rifles were raised, but their target was moving, and they could have hit Mimi. And then Winchester reached Mouse.

  His hands wrapped around her neck and he started squeezing.

  For a suspended, heart-stopping second, I couldn't move.

  And then I snarled, “Blood fucking bollocks!” and ran out.

  18

  This Could Be Quite Convenient

  Mimi

  I couldn’t breathe. Black spots had started dancing before my eyes. Winchester looked crazed, more than half mad, spittle flying out of his mouth. My vision dimmed. The world turned dark. A buzz had started inside my head.

  And I knew this was it. Death by lunatic Surgeon. Strangled by a sanctimonious prick.

  My fingers tried to pry his hands off my neck, but they weren’t responding to my commands. My feet kicked feebly, but I couldn't tell if they were connecting or not. My head pounded; my pulse an erratic beat inside my skull. I made a sound, or at least tried to. The word “Stop!” was on repeat inside my head.

  But I wasn't sure anything got out.

  And then the pressure was gone and the cold concrete of the hangar registered, and I tried to suck in air, but all I got was a hacking cough and a pitiful wheeze. And someone was saying, “Just breathe. Just breathe.” And I was thinking; I’m trying! I’m trying!

  And then Jack wrapped his arms around my body and held on tight.

  “It’s OK,” he said. “It’s going to be OK. I’ve got you.”

  I might have cried, but how I could sob when I couldn’t make sound was anyone’s guess. But a warm hand ran through my hair, and hot breath washed over the skin below my ear, and hard forearms held me up off the concrete.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” Dave Sanders, Head of Security, yelled.

  “Easy,” Dr Fawkes said. “Just…Goddamn, what the fuck?”

  Jack’s arms tighten for a second and then eased when I must have managed something resembling a sound.

  “It’s OK,” he whispered, but I wasn’t sure if the words were for him or me now.

  “Let me go!” Winchester growled. “Let me go, you motherfucking bastards. Let me fucking go!”

  “Doctor!” Clive Crawford shouted from across the hangar. “Stand down!”

  His cane made a whacking sound as he thumped it into the hangar floor with every step he took towards us. I turned my head slightly but any more hurt my neck. I just managed to see the Chief Surgeon’s red cheeks and irate scowl out of the corner of my eye. And then he came into full view with one last thunderous crack of his cane on concrete and stared Winchester down.

  “Now,” he said, voice low and hard, “you will explain yourself.”

  Winchester breathed like a man who’d just been drowning. I envied him the ability to suck in full breaths of air. His eyes darted about the hangar, perhaps taking in the increase in security, and then came to settle on me.

  The hatred that speared me when our gazes connected almost felt like a tangible thing.

  “She left me there!” he snarled.

  “Left you where?” Crawford asked.

  “At RATS. At RATS!” he yelled.

  “Miss Wylde told us you left her in Japan,” Crawford replied steadily.

  “I..she..well, yes,” Winchester stuttered, “but somehow she got back onboard the Orion; hitched a ride. I don't know. The woman’s been hitching rides since she bloody well got here. And this time, when the Return took me back to that RATS, she waited until I exited the Vehicle and then stole it.”

  Everyone looked down at me. I couldn’t speak let alone offer an explanation. We’d been together when we’d visited alternate 23rd Century RATS. I didn't leave him there. He left me.

  I shook my head, feeling strangely sorry for the man. He’d definitely gone quite mad.

  “Don’t you bloody give me that look!” he growled, trying to take a step toward me. Sanders held him back. “That wide-eyed, innocent look. As if you don't know what the fucking hell is going on.” He turned to look at Crawford again. “From the moment she got here, she’s been corrupting the timeline. Corrupting RATS.”

  His narrowed eyes landed on Jack this time.

  “Corrupting the Surgeons! But I caught her. I got her this time. She left me at RATS because I left her in Japan. She’s a spiteful little bitch!”

  “That argument is somewhat lacking in its credibility,” Crawford remarked mildly.

  “What?” Winchester snapped.

  Crawford straightened himself up to full height, which didn’t make him taller than Winchester, but somehow made him the bigger man.

  “Get a hold of yourself, Surgeon. This is not how we act.”

  Winchester backed down, but for a moment there, I wasn't certain he would.

  “You fully admit,” Crawford went on as if nothing had happened, “that you left a Novitiate in a foreign time and place. On purpose.”

  “I was going to go back for her.”

  “That is irrelevant, Doctor. We do not leave anyone behind. Or have you forgotten our history?”

  “I haven't forgotten anything. But you might like to consider she’s pulled the wool over your eyes. Sir.”

  Crawford stared at him for a moment longer and then said quietly, “Take him to the sickbay and get him cleaned up.”

  “And her?” Winchester demanded. “What about her?”

  “I’ll deal with Miss Wylde.”

  “She’s a spy. I tell you! She’s a spy!” Winchester’s voice trailed off as Security practically carried him away.

  Crawford turned to look at the Orion and then walked the necessary steps to look inside. I watched as his shoulders slumped and he aged about ten years in front of our eyes.

  “Someone take care of Jessop,” he murmured, turning away and looking at Jack and myself.

  I pushed to my feet, still having trouble catching my breath. My throat ached. I reached up a hand and touched the bruises forming on my neck. Crawford winced.

  “Perhaps you should see Dr Rider as well, Miss Wylde.”

  “Not while he’s in there,” Jack snapped.

  Crawford lifted tired eyes to Jack and then nodded.

  “Perhaps later then.”

  “What…” I rasped and then tried to clear my throat which only made tears stream out of my eyes.

  “It might be best if you say nothing,” Crawford offered kindly.

  I shook my head, but then Jack rested his hand on the back of my neck to stop me from trying to speak again.

  “He’s right. You’ll have some damage there that speaking will only make worse.”

  I glared up at him, and he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

  Turning back to Crawford, he said, “Mimi caught Orion 6 in Japan. She was there when we landed.”

  Crawford stared at him for a moment.

  “How do you know this? You saw her?”

  Jack sighed. Fawkes let out a snort that was definitely a laugh.

  “I see,” Crawford said, but I didn’t.

  I knew Jack had been in Japan when I had, but if he didn't see me, how did he know I was there?

  “Perhaps we should discuss this in my office,” Crawford finally said.

  “Yes,” Jack agreed. “After I get Mimi settled.”

  One thick grey eyebrow rose, but the Chief Surgeon didn’t object.

  “Ten minutes, Dr Evans.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I watched Crawford walk away, his cane now gently tapping and then turned to look up at Jack, my arms crossed over my chest in defiance.

  I opened my mouth, and Jack reached forward and pressed a finger to my lips, halting me.

  “This could be quite convenient,” he said and then added when I scowled, “You not being able to talk.”

  I punched him on the arm, and he started laughing.

  Several people stopped what they were doing to watch.

  Jack cleared his throat and then stepped closer to say quietly, “I thought he was going to…” But he couldn't finish.

  I reached out and laid a hand on his arm for support. So did I, I thought.

  He shook his head. Something emotional flashed in his eyes and then disappeared.

  He scratched at his jaw. At the scar.

  “Let’s get you to your room,” he said, and I didn't have it in me to argue.

  He was hiding something. And I couldn't tell if it had something to do with that flight to Japan or something to do with us. But I did know as soon as I got my voice back, Jack Evans was going to talk.

  19

  That Can’t Be Good

  Mimi

  We buried Michael Jessop the next day. I still couldn’t manage more than a hoarse whisper, and the doctor had insisted I shouldn’t even do that. Sebastian Winchester attended the service. Until then, I hadn’t seen him since the confrontation in the hangar. I reached up and touched my neck, my eyes taking in the support group he had around him. It didn't surprise me that Harding and Pratt were at his side, shooting me daggers.

  He had every right to be there, of course. Jessop had apparently been his Intern for three years. To lose someone who worked closely to you so suddenly and in such a senseless manner would affect anyone. And Winchester did look like he was a shadow of his former sanctimonious self.

  But the fact he was walking around unencumbered by Security, and I had my faithful guard at my back again made me angry. I’d gone from being tolerated and surreptitiously watched to being outrightly suspected of conspiring with Sergei Ivanov.

  I even wondered if Jack thought that. Not consciously, of course. But a part of him must have wondered. I had no idea what he’d said to Crawford in their closed meeting; I’d been dropped off in my room, tucked into bed like a fragile child, and left behind a door guarded by Palmer.

  I only learned upon arriving at the service for Jessop that both Dean and Sally had been turned away at my door last night.

  Jack hadn’t even visited me. Not that I thought he should. Not after us spending a memorable afternoon in my bed only once. Despite the number of times we’d made love in those few short hours. No, I hadn’t expected he’d appear the next day and ask for a repeat performance. Not at all.

  I bit my bottom lip and stared at the pile of dirt beside the hole Jessop’s coffin had just been lowered into.

  I hadn’t known him well, but I thought perhaps we could have become friends.

  Someone let out a little sob when Dr Crawford finished his eulogy. Someone else blew their nose, making honking sounds like a gaggle of geese. Someone else started covering the coffin with dirt.

  Eventually, we all turned away and headed back towards RATS. The sun had hidden behind dark clouds all day, and just as we reached the manicured lawn that surrounded RATS, the heavens opened up, and rain poured down in sheets. I looked back towards Jessop’s last resting place and watched as the rain came down in layer upon layer towards us.

  “Quick,” Sally said. “Let’s get inside before it reaches us.”

  “Yeah and find a warm fire and a stiff drink to chase away the chill,” Dean offered.

  What else was there to do, I thought moodily. I was still grounded. And RATS as a whole was, too.

  We ran through the narrow halls and pushed through into the library. The smell of old books and dusty tomes greeted us. The fire was already roaring over in the corner by the window. Rain pelted against the panes as we settled into couches. The sound drowned out Dean’s complaint about there being no booze.

  “Someone had the same idea as us,” Dean said, nodding to two glasses left sitting on the table. He picked one up and sniffed. “Whisky. The good stuff.”

  “Where’s the bottle?” Sally asked.

  “Maybe it’s ‘idden behind a book? A book whose title is a clue to what’s ‘idden there.”

  “You read too many mystery novels,” Sally said with a laugh.

  “Better than those soppy romances.”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little tender love and care.”

  “Sure,” Dean agreed with good humour. “But does it get you anywhere?”

  “Anywhere?” Sally asked, as I stood from my seat and started looking at book titles in the futile hope that Dean had been right.

  Their conversation became background noise the closer I got to the window and the torrential rain. I wondered absently if God was sad Michael had been buried today. And then I wondered if God actually existed or maybe Time was who we should be praying to instead.

  My shoe hit something under the shelf I was next to; the sound of glass scraping across the wooden floor met my ears. I knelt down just as Dean was arguing with Sally about theory-based romance and the more enjoyable practical variety, and spied exactly what we were looking for.

  I pulled the bottle of whisky out and turned around, holding it up and whisper-shouting, “Eureka!”

  “Bloody fucking fantastic, Mouse!” Dean called out when he saw what I had in my hand.

  “You never fail to surprise me,” Sally offered peering into the closest glass and considering its previous owner, at a guess. “I think these haven't been washed,” she said.

  “That whisky will clean ‘em up proper good,” Dean said, snatching the glass out of her hand and adding it to the other.

  “There’s only two,” Sally complained.

  I poured a few fingers into each glass and studied the bottle. Then shrugged my shoulders and put the opening to my lips.

  “Tastes just as good,” I said and then coughed.

  “Easy, Mouse,” Dean admonished, taking one of the glasses and handing it to Sally, before picking up his. “Don’t wanna ‘urt your voice box any more than it is.”

  I took another swig, throwing myself into an armchair, and grimaced.

  “Bollocks,” I rasped, making them both cackle with laughter.

  “To a swift recovery!” Sally said, lifting her glass in a toast.

  We took a sip, smacking our lips and grinning at each other.

  “To Winchester getting his arse ‘anded to ‘im!” Dean said, and we took another sip.

  “To Michael,” I whispered, and both of my friends nodded, faces sombre.

  The whisky made my throat feel better. I just lamented the fact that there wasn’t nearly enough to make me drunk. I sat back in my seat and stared into the fire. It was several seconds before anyone spoke again. Each of us remembering Michael in the privacy of our thoughts.

  “Whaddya think they’ll do about any rips?” Dean finally asked.

  “They’ll have to fly,” Sally said. “Rips have to be addressed.”

  “‘Specially if they’re orange,” Dean muttered.

  “Is there any way to tether the Vehicles to the flight crew?” I whisper-asked.

  “To stop ‘em disappearin’ when you step out?” Dean queried. I nodded. “Nah, not that I’m aware of.”

  “But you can tether them to another Orion,” Sally offered.

  “And then lose two modules instead of one?” Dean asked. Sally frowned into her drink.

  “It seems erratic,” I offered. “There’s no way to tell if it would affect two Orions at once.”

  “Would Crawford take the chance, though?” Dean asked.

  “Rips,” I said, voicing what we all thought.

  Rips were our business, our bread and butter. But more than that, if rips in Time weren't fixed, then Time would get corrupted, and history could potentially change.

  “Wonder if Sergei’s having the same problems?” I mused.

  “Fuckin’ hope so,” Dean snarled.

  “He probably caused it,” Sally offered.

  And I couldn’t have felt more welcomed. More cared for. More accepted. Than right then. Because they didn't hesitate in making their observations. They didn’t look at me as if wondering whether I had something to do with what was happening to Time. It wouldn't have even crossed their minds.