She took a long step forward and seized his wrist. ‘Look at these hands. Did you even stop to pick up anyone out of the mud? Did you just step over them? Or did you actually knock them down in your mad dash to safety?’
The problem was that he’d done too little and he knew it. He was angry and guilty and defensive and it brought out his worst side. She’d done too much and she knew it – we’d both done too much and she was angry and guilty and defensive as well. They stood glaring at each other. I decided to risk life and limb and stepped between them.
‘Guys! Not now. Davey, go and check the disks are recording OK. No, now please.’
He stepped back and muttered something and that did it. She strode forward and pushed his shoulder. ‘What did you say?’
‘He didn’t say anything,’ I said, physically getting between them again. ‘He’s upset. We both are. It’s our first big assignment. It’s certainly the first time I’ve seen anyone die, and it’s possibly his as well and the noise from the horses didn’t help.’
It didn’t work at all. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, that’s a point. From what you said when we got here, you thought your partner was dead. Good to know you’re sitting here safely when you think she’s burned to death in an explosion; especially since you sent her there in the first place. You really are a total waste of fucking space, Sussman.’
That really did it. There was no going back now. Something ugly flashed briefly in his eyes and he squared up to her, right in her face. She held his gaze. It was a very long moment and then his eyes slipped sideways to mine and guilt was written all over his face. He pulled himself together.
Ignoring Kal, he turned to me and said, shakily, ‘Max, I apologise. I never thought for one moment you could still be alive. If I’d thought there was the slightest chance I’d have torn the building down myself to get to you. I’m really sorry.’
My own heart was thumping away, but I nodded at him and turned aside. He misread my action. ‘No, Max. Really, I’m sorry. Don’t look like that. It’s not true. Don’t listen to her.’
I nodded again, still not looking at him. Kal said in a quiet voice, ‘Let it go, Sussman.’ There was a nasty little silence. I wondered if all assignments ended like this.
Sussman took a long breath. ‘Let’s get back.’
Kal drew herself up again. ‘Stand away from those controls, mister. I call the shots here. You see to your partner.’
And indeed, I suddenly felt extremely wobbly. I opened my mouth to say, ‘I really don’t feel so good,’ and instead threw up violently all down his front. He was covered in it.
There was another silence and then Kal grinned wickedly and said, ‘Not so clean now, are you?’ We all laughed. Not good laughter, but we chose to interpret it that way and everyone’s face was saved. We shut things down and jumped back.
We landed with the gentlest bump. Sussman opened the door and left immediately after decon and without a backward glance.
It was at that moment that I realised just why St Mary’s was always banging on about interaction. You are not there to interact. Observe, document, and record. Don’t get involved. It wasn’t only the dangers of inadvertently changing history, but the emotional toll as well. How many people had died today? Matron? The blind boy? My job was to watch events unfold. To record and document. To observe. To stand apart. Not to interfere.
I thought about this and came to the same conclusion that every good historian should reach. Then I thought about it a bit more and came to the other conclusion that every historian not only reaches but implements. You don’t walk away from blind men struggling in the mud. You should, but you don’t. Well, Kal hadn’t and neither had I. Nor Kevin Grant. But Sussman had. Did that make him a better or worse historian than me? Or a better or worse person?
Yes, there was an emotional price to pay for interaction, but was it greater or lesser than doing nothing? And what about a vengeful History, always on the lookout for naughty historians?
Fortunately, Kal interrupted my thoughts. ‘We ought to be making a start,’ she said.
I sighed. It would be nice to sit here for ever. I loved this bit between two worlds. The cares of the past behind us and not yet in the present long enough to get into any real trouble. No sooner were her words spoken then there was gentle tap at the door.
‘It’s Farrell. Are you OK in there?’
‘Yes,’ shouted Kal in her best ‘Bugger off’ voice and after a long pause it opened and Farrell and Dieter, stood in the doorway.
‘Don’t come in,’ said Kal.
They looked at us.
‘It’s not personal,’ I said. ‘We smell a bit.’
Dieter stepped forward.