“I did, didn’t I?” Keats replied.
She held out both arms and they took them, walking three abreast. Cynda couldn’t help but notice some of the women shooting her envious looks.
“I’m leaving right after this,” she told them. “It’s time for me to go home.”
“We thought that might be the case,” the doctor replied. “You have a life there, a future, one that holds a great deal of promise.”
“That wasn’t always the case,” she admitted.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m so happy for you.”
“This Morrisey person, does he love you?” Keats blurted.
“Keats,” Alastair protested. “That’s a very personal question.”
“I know, but…”
Cynda squeezed the former sergeant’s hand. “Yes, he does love me, and I love him.”
Keats tilted his head in thought. “Well then, it will be all right,” he proclaimed. He gestured with his free hand. “Come along, I’ll show you the Medieval Court. It is very striking.”
As they strolled, Alastair mused, “When I look back on it, I have no regrets for how it’s fallen out. I still work with the poor, and yet now I truly make a difference.”
“Even the future king knows your name,” Keats jested.
“Oh, did I tell you?” the doctor asked. “Reuben has arranged for us to go to Edinburgh so I may meet Dr. Joseph Bell. Can you believe that?”
“That’s fabulous, Alastair. You’ll learn a lot from him.” She turned toward the former detective-sergeant. He’d lost the most of any of them. “What of you, Jonathon?” she asked.
“Well, I would have liked to be chief inspector, but that’s not in the cards now. As for my future, the jury is still out on that.”
“I suspect it will be just fine,” Cynda replied.
“I sometimes have my doubts,” he replied.
“Excuse me, sir?”
They turned as one.
“Are you the fellow in the paper?” a young man asked, addressing Keats.
“I am,” he replied, instantly ill at ease.
“It’s him!” the man said to a group of people. “It’s the man who stopped the bombings!”
There were tentative smiles, and then someone gave a cheer. Others followed. Keats’ face went crimson, his eyes darting around in extreme discomfort.
“Excuse me, but my friend here, Dr. Montrose, was involved as well,” he informed them, gesturing toward Alastair. “He put himself at great personal risk.”
“Don’t confuse them,” the doctor replied.
Cynda broke ranks with the pair, turning to face them. She began to clap.
“Bravo!” she shouted. Heads turned. People began to gravitate toward the noise. “Bravo!”
“What’s it all about?” someone asked. The news began to spread.
Not everyone clapped. Some remembered Keats’ face from when he was on trial. Luckily, those who did appreciate his heroic efforts made up for those who didn’t.
When it was over, Keats was mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.
“How embarrassing,” he murmured, his face still crimson. Cynda could see he’d been moved by the gesture.
“Very extraordinary,” Alastair remarked. “I shall always remember this moment.”
Cynda took their arms again. “You’d better get used to it, gents. The pair of you has just begun to take the Empire by storm.”
~??~??~??~
2058 A.D.
TEM Enterprises
The moment the transfer stabilized and she was able to stand, Cynda heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. She was home, not off-timed into the center of a volcano or the Thames at high tide. Given the nature of the people she’d thwarted, either of those options might have become reality.
Ralph was behind the chronsole, waiting for her. His glasses twinkled in the overhead lights. As soon as the pod door opened, he called out, “Hey!”
“Hey, yourself,” she said. This reminded her of the old days, before it had all gone wrong.
“Welcome back to TEM Enterprises,” he announced. “Heard about Copeland’s end.” He issued a thumbs-up.
“That seems to be everyone’s opinion.”
Cynda wedged herself in the time pod door to allow the disorientation to pass, methodically going through the Orientation to Place technique. Unlike Guv’s chronsole room, this one was pleasant. Artwork on the walls, some sort of flowering vine on a trellis that exuded a faint hint of jasmine. A light piece of Baroque music in the background. Classic.
Like Theo.
Once her head stopped spinning, she made her way to the chronsole, still unsteady. Ralph unwrapped a candy bar and pushed it toward her across the counter. She took a bite, and then frowned. Chocolate just didn’t taste good anymore. She ate it anyway.
“I hear you resigned,” her friend said. “What’s that all about?”
“Theo and I are…” She waggled an eyebrow suggestively.
A pensive frown appeared. “You mean…? You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Yes. I’m in love with him.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Ralph exclaimed. “First time for everything.”
She playfully punched him in the arm. He responded with a big hug.
“I don’t agree with your taste,” he said, “but if you’re happy, I’ll deal.”
They hugged harder.
Fulham sailed through the chronsole room door. “Welcome back, Miss Lassiter,” he said.
She grinned. “Hello, Fulham. How are you?”
“Quite well. Your return will certainly help.”
She followed him out into the corridor, toting her Gladstone.
“Mr. Morrisey has ordered that you are to see the company physician first thing. He is particularly concerned that your health remains sound.”
“Later,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So where is our fearless leader?”
“At TPB. It’s why I sent the message for you to return at this particular point in time.”
Her footsteps faltered. “Is everything okay?” Surely Ralph would have known if it wasn’t.
“Going very well. M.A. Fletcher is the new chairman. The boss is there for a meeting. They’re trying to get the truth out of ex-Chairman Davies.” Fulham gave her a sidelong glance. “Your presence might do the trick.”
“Consider it done.”
“I’ll arrange a grav-car,” he offered.
“No need,” she said, turning on her heel. “I’ll go the high tech way. Tell the boss to save me a seat.”
“That would violate a number of rules,” Fulham observed with a wry smirk.
She smirked back, pulling out her interface. “Yes, it would, but I have a legend to maintain.”