I leaned forward. ‘OK, here’s the thing. I agree, but it’s huge. It’s adding huge to an already huge workload. Thirsk have paid for this and they’ll want what they paid for, which is just unspectacular, boring, raw data; otherwise the shit will really hit the fan. I don’t want you spending all your time on this while I’m disappearing up my own arse like the backward-flying bird of fable trying to get all the other stuff done.’ I leaned back. He nodded.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’ll do climate and geology,’ as if conferring a huge favour. ‘You do the star map, which you want anyway. You can do flora, which I don’t fancy. We’ll both have to do fauna because it’s big.’
‘And the holo?’
I pretended to consider, turning the corners of my mouth down.
‘Oh, Max, come on. I tell you what, you let me do the holo and I’ll do all the housekeeping. All of it. And I’ll talk to Barclay about the star map specs so you don’t have to and then you can talk to the Chief about the pod, equipment, layout, etc., so I don’t have to. It’s perfect.’
It bloody was, too. Game, set, and match.
We shook hands on it and went for a late lunch.
We were, of course, the centre of attention. Sussman loved every minute of it. Professor Rapson dropped an extensive research programme on the table that would mean us not sleeping from now until the end of the next millennium. Major Guthrie produced a massive survival training schedule. I decided to forge a sick note. The Chief congratulated us with a handshake and a request that at least one of us attend sessions on pod and equipment familiarisation.
The next day I settled myself in a study carrel and began to review the material I would want uploaded to subliminal reference tapes. There was a lot; tons of it actually. I called up Gorecki’s Third Symphony and as Dawn Upshaw let rip, I got stuck in.
I was roused, hours later by Doctor Dowson, part of whose job was to ensure historians didn’t lose all track of time and become welded to the furniture. Stumbling stiffly off for a drink, I met Chief Farrell and we took our tea outside into the sunshine.
Gradually a routine developed. I spent the mornings researching, broke for lunch, usually with Chief Farrell, took my data to Barclay’s team for uploading, spent an hour or so discussing equipment operation with the technical section and rounded off the afternoon with Professor Rapson, setting up the next few days’ research programmes. After which, I collected my tapes from Barclay, had a working dinner with Sussman when we updated each other, grabbed a drink with him or Kal and Peterson, went to my room and wallowed in a long bath while playing the tapes (during which I usually fell asleep), before toppling into bed, entangled in my earpieces.
In between all this, I assisted Kal and Peterson setting themselves up for late nineteenth-century Vienna, debriefed them when they got back and saved Sussman’s life when he told Kal her bum looked big in a bustle. We updated our field medic skills and I began to talk to the furniture.
Having got what he wanted, Sussman knuckled down and got with the programme. He also got Barclay off my back for which I was grateful. I repaid him by ensuring Farrell dealt mainly with me which was no problem at all for either of us. The Chief and I usually lunched together and, when weather permitted, we sat outside against a sunny wall scoffing sandwiches. By unspoken agreement we didn’t talk work during lunch hours, preferring to take half an hour or so just to think about something else. Sometimes we didn’t talk at all, sitting with our faces turned towards the sun. ‘Like daffodils,’ I said on one occasion.
‘What?’ he said, laughing. ‘Daffodils?’
At that moment, Dieter said, ‘Hold it,’ and a camera flashed. He looked down and tinkered a little. ‘Yes, it’s working fine now.’
‘Let’s have a look,’ said Farrell. ‘Not bad. Do you want a copy?’
‘Yes please,’ I said. There were very few photos of me in this world and even fewer in which I didn’t look either drunk or criminally insane and this one had him in it as well. A couple of days later it appeared in my pigeon hole in a neat frame. I put it next to the Horse.
It was a lovely day. I spent a little longer than usual over lunch and most of the techies had disappeared for the regular Friday afternoon football match. I leaned back against the wall in the sun and closed my eyes, savouring the peace and quiet. No one was around and I was half asleep when someone sat down on the ground next to me. I knew who it would be without opening my eyes.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi yourself,’ he said, offering me half his sandwiches. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
He wrapped them back up again and put them down. ‘This is peaceful.’
‘Mm …’
The far-off sounds of violence receded in the afternoon sunshine. I enjoyed a pleasant feeling of isolation.
‘Miss Maxwell. Max …’
‘Mm …’ I said again.
‘Are you awake?’
‘Mm …’
‘I’ve been looking for an opportunity to talk to you; sometime when you’re not drunk, or obsessing about something. Sometime when you’re listening.’
‘I’m listening,’ I said, a little indignantly, because really, I hadn’t been.
The long silence made me open my eyes. ‘Chief, I’m here, awake, listening. Is there a problem?’
‘It’s not always all about work, you know.’