‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Learner driver.’ Thank God, she seemed more relaxed about this sort of thing than her sister Mrs Partridge did. I stood at where I thought the front would be and said, hopefully, ‘Door.’ It opened and I stepped inside.
Nothing had changed since I was last here. I inhaled the familiar smell. This was my world. This was where I belonged. I wondered when he had programmed me into the controls. Why had he given me a remote but not told me? He always maintained he knew nothing of the future after the day he arrived in my timeline, but I sometimes wondered. And if he didn’t know, I bet the Boss did. I couldn’t imagine the Boss not knowing anything.
I became aware of Mrs De Winter standing on the threshold. ‘Come in. Please.’ She began opening lockers and I activated the console.
‘Can you do it?’ she asked. I was flicking through past coordinates.
‘Theoretically, yes. His last jump but two was to the Cretaceous. I should recognise the coordinates.’
I heard my own voice saying to him, ‘But why did he send you? You couldn’t interfere – what was the point?’ Was the point to get the coordinates into the memory so I could use them later? Forget it. Deal with the now.
‘Yes, here they are. I need to sit down and work out how many days elapsed between these and our mission to the Cretaceous. Then I should maybe add a day for safety’s sake – I don’t want two of me there – and if they’re alive then I should be able to get them out. I hope.’
I wasn’t anywhere near as confident as I sounded. This was not my pod. I had no idea how it handled. It might not even accept commands from me.
‘Do you have a calculator?’ She nodded and slipped out, returning a few minutes later with that, two pens, and a pile of paper. I thanked her absently and began to fire things up.
I sat and worked it all out very slowly and carefully, showing my calculations in a way I hadn’t done since basic training. I checked everything. It seemed OK. I worked it backwards and the coordinates matched.
Mrs De Winter came back. I realised I’d been working for two hours. She asked me how I was getting on. I showed her and asked her to check. She said, ‘But I can’t do that!’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But you can check the maths, which is my weak spot.’
She did so and twenty minutes later said, ‘Your calculations are correct,’ which was encouraging. I just hoped they were the right calculations. She stocked the chiller with beer. I hadn’t thought of that.
And then, just as everything was going so well, I started to lay in the figures and the bastard computer wouldn’t accept them. Initially, I didn’t know if it was me or my figures it disliked, but it accepted commands for the door and lights happily enough, so it had to be the figures. I added one day, increasing the interval between our night attack and my proposed new jump, and it spat that back at me as well. I added another day and another and with increasing dismay, another. All the time, Mrs De Winter stood quietly beside me, whispering, ‘Keep trying, Max. Keep trying.’
Finally, it accepted the coordinates for no less than eleven days after that disastrous night. Eleven days! How could they survive that long? No one knew better than me how long eleven days could be in the Cretaceous period. And these were four men, possibly badly hurt, bleeding, and low on ammunition, no shelter, no food, and no clean water; not prepped in any way.
‘Stop that!’ said Mrs De Winter, accurately guessing what was going on in my head. ‘They’ll be fine. They’ll be tucked away, keeping themselves safe, ready for rescue, you’ll see. There might even be other survivors there. They may not be alone.’
I shook my head. ‘I doubt it. Eleven days. It will be a miracle if anyone’s left alive.’
‘It’s Guthrie, Farrell, Peterson, and the indestructible Markham. Do you want to put money on it? Now, in addition to essential beer supplies, there is bottled water, and some sandwiches for you. There are two torches with working batteries. Eight flares in that locker over there – fizzers I think you call them. As for weapons, there’s a wide-angle blaster, charged. There’s a Taser showing a small charge and a jumbo-sized pepper spray, half-full. There are matches, fire-lighters, and toilet paper. What else could you need?’
What else indeed?
I took a deep breath and looked at Mrs De Winter. She said, ‘I could come too,’ but I shook my head.
‘If I don’t come back, someone will need to tell the Boss where I’ve gone and why. Don’t let him waste anyone coming after me.’
‘You’ll be back. I know it.’
I had a sudden thought, just as she stepped out of the door. ‘What day is it today?’
‘Friday.’
Oh. Bugger.
She stepped outside and I closed the door behind her. Alone now, the familiar pod smell wrapped itself around me. Hot electrics, wet carpet, the head, the incinerator, a faint whiff of cabbage; awakening memories as painful as lemon juice in a paper cut. Eau de pod; the most evocative smell in the world.
I eased myself into the seat and checked the console. Everything seemed OK.