I was happily sunning myself when the computer cleared its throat and announced sixty minutes to the return jump. I’d done it! Assignment completed!
I did a quick tidy round because historians never go back with a messy pod. I picked everything up, did the outside FOD plod (Foreign Object Drop) to check nothing had been left behind and the inside POD plod to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently picked something up.
Very important that, because the pod wouldn’t jump if I had. I put the folded cloak inside my basket and placed it on the second chair, incinerated the chocolate wrapper, washed my face and hands, settled myself in the chair, and watched the numbers count down.
At thirty minutes the computer reminded me again. And again at ten minutes, five minutes, one minute, and finally, at thirty seconds. I’d be back in seconds, shout at the techies for not knowing their Shrewsbury from their elbow, have a brew with the Chief, check in with Sick Bay, sign something official, exchange the despised greys for blues, drop the word ‘trainee’ from my life, and become a proper, fully-fledged historian. Look out world.
‘Ten, nine, eight,’ said the computer. ‘Five, four, three,’ and the voice stopped as the entire console went dark.
The entire bloody console went dark.
This time I did panic. My heart stopped and it wasn’t until my chest began to hurt that I remembered to breathe. Gripping the edge of the console, I shouted ‘No, no, no, no!’ and began to thump the panel. Strangely, this failed to work at all.
I struggled to stay calm. I kept staring at the console, desperately willing it to fire up again. This was unheard of. I’d never seen a dark panel because no pod had ever failed before. This could not be worse. I was stranded at an unknown destination. The pod had malfunctioned and thought it was in Shrewsbury in the 1400s and so any search initiated by St Mary’s would go there. If I didn’t know where I was then how would they? And it was all my own fault. If I’d gone back immediately when it became apparent the jump had gone wrong, then I wouldn’t be here now.
‘Computer.’
No response.
‘Computer, status report.’
Nothing.
‘Computer, open the door.’
The door stayed shut.
I pushed the manual control and the door slid open. So, I still had power and I still had life support. I just didn’t have a working pod. For all intents and purposes it was now just a bloody hut. I switched the lights off and then back on again. It was noticeably colder outside, so I shut the door. The sun was lower. It would be dark soon.
If in doubt, make some tea. I curled up in the first chair, spread the cloak over my lap, cuddled my tea, and tried to think what to do. It didn’t take long to reach the conclusion there was nothing I could do. I could take the panel off and have a look. Then I could shrug my shoulders and replace the panel. There were tea bags with more electronic know-how than me. I could see no way round it. I was fucked.
Strangely, I found the conclusion quite liberating. When you’re fucked, you’re fucked. Things really can’t get much worse.
With that thought, the last sunlight disappeared outside. The sensible thing would be to conserve power and go to bed with the sun. But I don’t sleep well anyway and there was no chance tonight, so I thought I would use the time productively. I began opening and closing doors, pulling out drawers, checking my resources, and generally taking stock.
I had rations for about fourteen days. Or more, if I stuck to just two meals a day. Water, ditto. The head worked (for the time being). The incinerator worked. I found two old-fashioned scribble pads I could use for my log, something I’d forgotten about until now. I had heavy weather clothing and boots, all too big for me. I had matches, a compass, and water tablets, two sleeping modules, and a spare blanket that smelled a bit iffy. It could be a lot worse.
I shoved an arm into the rations pile and pulled out two trays at random. Chicken curry and stewed apple. Sod that for a game of soldiers. I tossed the stewed apple and pulled out sticky toffee pud. If I was going to die alone and abandoned I was buggered if I was going to do it on stewed apple.
The food actually tasted quite good. Fortunately, I’m a terrible cook, so my expectations of food are never high anyway. I think airline food is great. I pulled the red heating tabs and munched away. Afterwards I washed my face and hands, took down and plaited my hair, undressed, and pulled out one of the sleep modules. It moulded itself around me and sensing I was cold, began to warm up. If ever there was a time and a place to have a bit of a snivel then this was it.
I passed.
It was a long night; a long, long night. I think I dozed a couple of times but not for very long. I made mental lists of the Kings and Queens of England, then their spouses. I composed an imaginary essay on the causes of the Wars of the Roses. I listed my top ten favourite books, then my ten favourite movies. I played Shoot, Shag, or Marry. It was a long night.