Happy to oblige. Ralph triggered a small panel near the door.
It neatly unfolded to display a holokeyboard projected on a small tabletop. He tapped away at the keys.
Morrisey gave her a stern look. What about my job offer, Miss Lassiter?
Cynda shook her head. I don’t want to travel anymore. I want to do something else. Something that doesn’t tear my heart out.
There is little else you can do, Miss Lassiter. Your PLIS rules out nearly every other legitimate profession.
Cynda wondered when he was going to mention that. Her Personal Life Index Score had always been a problem. She’d answered a few too many questions inappropriately, at least from society’s point of view. Her honesty had earned her the Adrenalin Reactive label, reducing her employment opportunities at the same time.
Maybe I’ll go Off-Grid, she mused. My folks could always use an extra hand raising turnips, or whatever it is they grow.
You will not be at liberty to leave after the charges are filed,
Morrisey replied.
Cynda sat up again. The bed beeped in response. What charges? she asked in a bare whisper.
Supplying goods to Off Gridders.
I––
The government’s been watching your trips to the deli, he replied.
How do you know that?
He knows everything, Ralph murmured from his place near the door, still pecking away at the keyboard.
Unfortunately, you won’t be the only one charged, Morrisey continued.
Eli. This guy knows exactly what buttons to push. He’s worse than TIC.
Got it, Ralph’s voice announced, cutting through their standoff.
The image of Walter J. Samuelson, psychiatrist and erstwhile time-traveler, suspended itself in the air a few feet in front of Cynda. She blinked, and then swore.
It was the man in Colney Hatch Asylum.
Monday, 1 October, 1888
Idiocy is its own reward, Livingston mused, surveying the wreckage. A thin strip of wood hung from its torn hinges— remnants of the clinic’s door.
William crunched his way across the broken glass after a cursory tour inside. Not much left, I’m afraid, he reported. I asked around. The crowd was whipped up by two men.
One who could barely speak above a whisper and the other with a bad limp?
William nodded his assent. The two thugs threw around a few bob and that was all it took.
Any word on where the doctor is being held?
Bishopsgate is what I heard. A fair number have gone there in hopes of settling the matter of the two dead doxies.
Yes, I wouldn’t doubt. Livingston’s index finger tapped the head of his cane in thought. That will be all I need tonight, William. You’ve done well by summoning me. I believe you may have diverted a larger disaster.
The man glanced toward the rubble and then back again, as if he intended to challenge the notion. Instead, he nodded, tipped his cap and trudged away.
As Livingston headed west toward Bishopsgate Street, his mind took stock of the situation. True to form, Hastings had struck again without consulting him, no doubt hoping that the clinic’s destruction would force the erstwhile physician to leave town.
How little he understands human nature, Livingstone murmured. He doubted Hastings knew of the doctor’s arrest. The fool charged like a bull without any great amount of thought. As usual, it had worsened the situation. Now it was up to Livingston to put it right.