‘It would have to be big enough for fire-fighting equipment,’ contributed Guthrie.
‘We could have various containers with the right equipment for fire fighting, or underwater salvage or excavating and just load whichever one is required and go.’
‘How would we know what to take?’
Kal and Peterson jumped in. ‘We would need to set up reconnaissance jumps. Survey the library. Find out what’s where. What the building’s made of. Where’s the nearest source of water. The Pathfinders could do that.’
‘I think my team can help here,’ offered Guthrie. ‘I’ve got two ex-firemen on my strength.’ He walked off, shouting for Weller and Evans and a small crowd began to gather around them.
Peterson forged on. ‘We also need a team to suss out appropriate storage methods and containers. Everything will have to be obtained on site. It must all be contemporary. Anything anomalous will be a disaster.’
‘Dr Dowson is the best person for that,’ said Professor Rapson. ‘He should also supply us with a list of desirable scrolls, just in case we have time to pick and choose, rather than the approved St Mary’s method of just grabbing anything and running like hell.’
Dieter had his scratchpad out and was tapping away for dear life. ‘Say ten people aboard, food and water for ten days – Mrs Mack, how many …?’ He plunged off towards the kitchen staff.
Everywhere I looked, people were dragging tables together. Scratchpads were produced. Knots of people began to form. People rushed from one group to another, dragging long printouts behind them. Data stacks began to appear, glistening and ghostly.
‘Good God, we’ve created a monster,’ said the Boss, calmly, appearing behind me. ‘Peterson, stop writing on the walls. Don’t you know this is a listed building?’
Whiteboards were dragged in and set up. The noise level was enormous. It was all out of my hands. I turned to the Boss and he shrugged. ‘Welcome to my world.’
I wandered over to the Chief and his crew who were hunched over a table-top holo. A voice was saying, ‘And if we put doors at each end then the plant, equipment, whatever, rolls on and then rolls off. No reversing. We get the equipment out and the empty space doubles as a working area. Then we can put living quarters on a second floor, or a mezzanine, out of the way. That way, the tanks can go over here …’ There was a storm of protest.
I left them arguing and went over to Guthrie.
‘I’m saying we can’t use foam – too modern. We can’t use water, either – there’s no point in saving the books from burning by drowning them. We need fire mats – get Professor Rapson to see what they should be made from. And poles with hooks on. And wooden ladders, but we should be able to treat those with some sort of flame retardant …’
‘But what about protective gear? What do we wear? Do we have to fight the fire in sandals and tunics? Will there be contemporaries there? How authentic will we need to be? Professor …?’
‘And Field Medics. Everyone will need burns and crush-injuries training. Maybe at least one doctor should be part of the team. Dr Foster …?’
I left them arguing and made my way over to Mrs Mack.
‘Ten people, say three meals a day for ten days. That’s thirty times ten … Will they have any sort of cooking facilities? Or will they be entirely dependent on supplies shuttled in? And water? They’re going to be hot and thirsty. What’s the weight of a cubic foot of water? ‘
She looked up and saw me. ‘Well, Miss Maxwell, you’ve put the cat amongst the pigeons and no mistake. And to think two days ago we were nearly at meltdown.’
I smiled. ‘I don’t want to interrupt you, but I want to keep this going as long as possible. There’s some good stuff happening. Can you feed and water us in here?’
‘Already taken care of. Soup and sandwiches in ten minutes.’
‘I should have guessed. And what about you and your team, Mrs Mack? Can I tempt you to step outside St Mary’s?’
She grinned at me and I caught a glimpse of the girl who’d stood back to back with her husband the night they threw the Fascists out of Cardiff. She’d be there.
Lunch didn’t even slow us down. Two hours later the Hall looked like a war zone. Discarded printouts littered the floor, along with plastic cups and plates. Practically every surface was covered in scratchpads, disks, sticks, cubes, papers, file covers, and assorted debris. Three or four half-finished data stacks rotated slowly in unfinished limbo. Whiteboards were full. The noise had died down considerably. People were now grappling with the details.
I sat on the stairs with Kal and Peterson. Together we’d knocked out a tentative schedule and a pile of enquiries for other crews.