And Now For Something Completely Different Read online

  And Now For Something Completely Different

  A short story from The Chronicles of St Mary’s

  (without a great deal of Christmas content – but by all means wear a paper hat when reading)

  Jodi Taylor

  Dramatis Thingummy

  Commander Hay

  Commander of the Time Police. Rational, sensible, moderately benign – by Time Police standards, anyway – and currently dealing with the latest St Mary’s-related trauma.

  Captain Farenden

  Her adjutant. A nice boy. The still centre of the storm. Peacekeeper. Thwarted astronaut.

  Director Pinkerton

  Widely-acclaimed engineering genius. Innovator and pioneer – according to St Mary’s. Troublemaker and a menace to civilisation as a whole – according to the Time Police.

  Chief Rice

  Her Chief Technical Officer at St Mary’s.

  Miss Burroughs

  His deputy.

  Dr Peterson

  Deputy Director of St Mary’s. Not the St Mary’s of this story – an earlier one.

  Dr Maxwell

  Head of the History Department at St Mary’s. Not the St Mary’s of this story – etc.

  Both of them enthusiastic participants in a heinous crime. Or boldly going where no one has gone before*. You choose.

  First Officer Lewis

  He really should have looked where he was going, shouldn’t he?

  *The split infinitive ‘To boldly go ...’ has been removed at the insistence of Dr Peterson who gets very upset about this sort of thing. Don’t get him started on apostrophe’s.

  Author’s note

  I thought up most of this story some years ago. The jump to Mars was going to be in the first book, Just One Damned Thing After Another, because it dawned on me very early on that if St Mary’s were able to jump to say, Albania 1214 – in other words to move through time and space – then it would be perfectly possible for them to kick time into touch for once and have an adventure in space instead.

  The Mars episode didn’t make it into the finished book but I always had plans for it, so I slipped a tiny mention into A Symphony of Echoes. This was the research Pinkie was so desperate to hide from Clive Ronan, and which Max found concealed in a fire bucket.

  I’ve tried to incorporate the Mars Project into various stories but it just wouldn’t fit so in the end I decided to give it a story all to itself, not least because I worry the Mars landings won’t happen in my lifetime. When the moon landings occurred, I remember being glued to the TV, listening to scientists enthusing about the possibilities ahead of us. I can remember one man ending his interview with the words, ‘I can conceive of no more exciting time to be born,’ and neither could I.

  Sadly, for one reason or another – and, to be fair, some of them were good reasons – manned space exploration just fizzled out. NASA pursued other goals and nothing happened for a very long time.

  Now it seems the Mars landings might be less than twenty years away – prompting a lot of anxious counting on my fingers as I try to work out whether I’m likely to live that long. The best I could come up with was that I probably would but possibly wouldn’t. I’m now far too old to achieve my goal of being an astronaut – Elon Musk is unlikely to come hammering on my door – and so it seemed obvious that if I wanted to have anything to do with the Big Adventure of Mars then I was going to have to do it for myself.

  I cannot emphasise enough that this story is not supposed to be taken seriously, people. I really don’t want to be held responsible for massively fibrillating physicists. Or be spat on by outraged science-fiction aficionados for whom the SF genre is not to be taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly. It’s just an interesting possibility, isn’t it? Theoretically, if St Mary’s can jump anywhere in time and space, then surely it’s only a matter of calculating the coordinates. And tweaking your pod, of course.

  Anyway, this is the story of how St Mary’s would do it. Always supposing it gets past my editor, of course. I’m braced for, ‘No, no, no. We really can’t do anything with this. It’s too weird, even for you. Get back to the typeface and write another, more traditional Christmas story.’

  Rebecca – I should warn you now – I’ve got nothing.

  I’ve tried to use the story to discuss the issues a little – but not enough to be boring. It’s the old problem, isn’t it? Just because a thing can be done, does it necessarily mean it should be done?

  Yes – what a wonderful shortcut to the stars. But, as Commander Hay says, how do you value something that comes so easily? It’s the step-by-step, catastrophe-laden, triumph and tragedy method of space exploration that gives us a proper perspective on what we do. In other words, we prize what we have fought for. What we have earned.

  Or you can take Pinkie’s point of view. That it’s all within our grasp. People no longer have to die. We no longer have to devote a considerable percentage of the world’s resources to getting into space.

  I shall leave everyone to make up their own minds.

  Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I wrote it as light relief when I should have been concentrating on the latest St Mary’s novel. I could picture Commander Hay’s baffled fury at St Mary’s actions, the can of worms it opened up, and her complete inability to impress Director Pinkerton with the possibly catastrophic implications of her team just nipping off to Mars now. Back by teatime.

  I’m planning a book about the Time Police – possibly a series if it goes well – and I thought this might be a good way of getting my head around the characters.

  This is a St Mary’s story but not our usual St Mary’s. Yes, Peterson and Maxwell are involved – and with great enthusiasm too, but only as contemporaries, so to speak.

  My editor informs me that some words explaining the timeline might be helpful for everyone and, because I grudge no effort when it comes to persuading people to buy my books, here goes.

  In Book 2 – A Symphony of Echoes – Leon disappears. Max, Peterson and Guthrie track him to a future St Mary’s which is under attack by Clive Ronan.

  Ronan is defeated and, in the absence of their director, Max appoints the former Chief Technical Officer, Miss Pinkerton as the new director.

  Pinkie’s main fear is that Ronan was after a piece of secret research. She successfully hid this in a fire bucket whence it was retrieved by Max.

  The nature of this secret research is about to be revealed.

  Back at Max’s St Mary’s, they’re gearing themselves up to watch history being made, live on TV. Director Pinkerton, as a reward for their assistance, jumps back in time to offer them a unique opportunity and off they all go. Boldly go, you could say, where no man has gone before. (I prefer the original thunderous split infinitive to the slightly more politically correct Next Generation version.)

  I always think of the Time Police as Roundheads to St Mary’s Cavaliers.

  Roundheads – right but repulsive.

  Cavaliers – wrong but wromantic.

  The Time Police are perfectly correct, of course. The appearance of St Mary’s at the Mars landings changes History. And Pinkie’s plan to make her technology available to everyone, while well meaning, is just what they – veterans of the future Time Wars – would want to prevent. At any cost.

  This is Pinkie’s story. Director Pinkerton, as she should be known. Hers was the brilliant idea, after all. It was her hard work. Her effort. Her inspiration. Although, I suppose, some credit should go to Commander Hay of the Time Police, who graciously allowed them all to live even after she’d found out what they’d done.

  There’s a Christmas tradition at St Mary’s. Every year, on the flimsiest of
pretexts, they leap into a pod and for reasons that usually seem good at the time – especially after an eggnog or two – they hurl themselves at the timeline. To right wrongs. To vanquish foes. And, because he tends to take these things personally – to annoy the hell out of Dr Bairstow, as well. It usually ends well. One day it won’t, I know, but that’s up to them to deal with when it happens.

  Anyway, that’s their Christmas tradition – to instigate an illegal Christmas jump and do something a little outrageous. This is the story of Pinkie’s illegal Christmas jump. Because remember – when you’re at St Mary’s it’s always Christmas somewhere.

  Location: Time Police HQ.

  Date and time: Information redacted. At least until the dust settles and probably not even then.

  An anguished and bloodcurdling scream echoed down the corridor. It spoke of frustration, rage, and a dreadful, impotent fury.

  All along the corridor, people shut their office doors, turned out the lights and pretended they hadn’t come into work that day.

  On the floor below, safely out of harm’s way but not out of earshot, a minor clerk remarked that this was new and interesting – she’d never done that before. He was instructed to shut up and get on with his work.

  Back at the source of the scream, Commander Hay struggled for and apparently achieved a level of calm, although the other person in the room, her adjutant Captain Farenden, in no way found this reassuring.

  Thumping both fists on her desk, she demanded, ‘How the hell could this happen, Charlie?’

  ‘Well, Commander, apparently ... just before the time of Director Pinkerton, St Mary’s was attacked by Clive Ronan. They were betrayed by their director – you’ll remember Alexander Knox, I’m sure – and the whole thing was sorted out by Doctors Maxwell and Peterson, together with Major Guthrie and ...’

  She clutched her letter opener in a manner that might be construed as illegal in a court of law. ‘I gave instructions those names were never to be mentioned in my presence again.’

  ‘Very well, ma’am. In the aftermath of the attack by Clive Ronan, She Who Should Not Be Named ...’

  He was impaled by a Look. The letter opener might possibly be only seconds behind.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Charlie.’

  ‘No, ma’am. Well, in the aftermath of the attack by Clive Ronan and the execution of Director Knox, a new Director was appointed. Director Pinkerton. She was something of a technical wizard and was heard to remark to ... after the situation had been resolved she said to ... I’m really not sure how to proceed, ma’am, not without ...’

  She sighed. ‘Mention her damned name.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. She told Maxwell that she’d been pursuing a line of research that was quite revolutionary. That would change everything. In fact, that was what she thought Ronan had come for. That he’d got wind of her discovery somehow. She hid the data stick in a fire bucket to keep it away from him and from which it was subsequently retrieved by Dr Maxwell.’

  ‘And no one thought to follow this up?’

  ‘Well, we were unaware of most of the details at the time, ma’am. It was regarded as an internal issue. And Clive Ronan was not the threat then that he is now. And it’s St Mary’s, so the consensus was that it was unlikely most of them were aware of the existence of planet Earth, let alone anywhere else. In short, Commander, they’re idiots.’

  ‘But intelligent idiots, it would seem.’

  ‘Possibly, ma’am. I understand Director Pinkerton is widely regarded as an engineering genius.’

  ‘And this engineering genius – and several of her colleagues – have travelled ...’ she paused and breathed heavily. ‘Even now I can hardly believe it ...’

  ‘I assure you, ma’am, it’s perfectly true. They have ...’ He stopped.

  ‘Go on. Say it.’

  ‘Ma’am, it would appear that Director Pinkerton and several of her colleagues, together with Doctors Maxwell and Peterson, have, somehow, contrived to take a pod to ...’ He paused and gathered himself. ‘To the planet Mars.’

  A second scream did not reverberate along the corridor but it was touch and go for a moment, before she sat back in her chair and, to the relief of her adjutant, put down her letter opener, a wicked-looking blade modelled on a 14th-century misericord and in the right – or possibly the wrong – hands, more than capable of inflicting a lingering, painful, and very messy death.

  ‘All right,’ she said, a little more calmly. ‘Tell me everything. From the beginning.’

  Captain Charles Farenden, whose official job description was Adjutant to the Commander of the Time Police, and whose unofficial description was variously Buffer Zone, Sacrificial Lamb, Young Man with an Abbreviated Life Expectancy, or the Voice of Reason, depending on who was describing him, sighed heavily and painfully shifted his weight to favour his good leg.

  Commander Hay, catching this movement, pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down Charlie, for God’s sake.’

  Rightly interpreting this as a sign that the first flush of all-encompassing, incandescent, blood-demanding rage had subsided to mere red-hot fury, Captain Farenden gratefully obeyed.

  Silence fell in the office. Outside, and clearly visible through the window behind her, the noon-day dirigible chugged sedately past on its way to dock at Westminster.

  Commander Hay turned to watch it go. ‘Do you miss the good old days, Charlie?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think the Time Wars were that good for either of us, ma’am. Neither of us emerged unscathed, did we?’

  ‘True, but desk jobs aren’t that much fun.’

  ‘Mine is not without excitement, ma’am. Sometimes on an almost hourly basis.’

  She swivelled her chair to face him again.

  Commander Hay was a short, thin woman whose age would forever be undetermined owing to an unfortunate accident incurred during the Time Wars. During an emergency evacuation, her already damaged pod had lost its door, exposing herself and the other members of her crew to whatever was out there. One side of her face was now considerably older than the other. The effect was disconcerting – something she had no difficulty in exploiting to her own advantage when necessary. The other occupants of her pod had not been so lucky. They had died and it had not been pretty.

  ‘So go on, Charlie. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘Well, ma’am. Under the directorship of Dr Alexander Knox – and what a mistake he turned out to be ...’

  ‘Never mind that now.’

  ‘No, ma’am. Anyway, Dr Knox colluded with the known renegade, Clive Ronan, to invade St Mary’s. Their object was, apparently, to seize as many pods as they could lay their hands on. The plot failed, largely thanks to the determination of St Mary’s personnel to defend their unit to the end. I know, ma’am, that we generally regard them as irresponsible idiots with the life expectancy of a snowflake in a furnace, but no one can deny that, on that occasion at least, their stubborn defiance was a blessing. They held Ronan’s men off for long enough to enable Director Pinkerton – or Chief Technical Officer Pinkerton as she was then – to get the pods safely to their remote site. People died, ma’am, but Ronan was defeated in the end, largely thanks to the intervention of Doctors Maxwell and Peterson and Major Guthrie.’

  He paused, in case his commander wished to comment, but she remained silent.

  ‘Anyway, to cut a long story short, Director Pinkerton was heard to remark that she had been afraid that Ronan’s actual purpose was to seize a particular piece of research she had been working on. Something that, had it fallen into his hands, would have been very serious indeed.’

  The commander stirred. ‘And after this security scare, it didn’t occur to her to destroy this research and put it not only beyond Ronan’s reach, but everyone else’s as well?’

  ‘I think it’s safe to say, ma’am, that such a thought would not have entered her mind.’

  ‘Of course not. Why would it? Continue.’

  ‘Well, ma’am – that’s it really. It took
her some years, but Director Pinkerton finally completed her research and invited Maxwell and Peterson to accompany her ... um ... to witness the first manned landing on Mars. As a thank you gesture for the assistance they had rendered in her hour of need.’

  ‘She couldn’t just have sent flowers?’

  ‘Apparently she felt that gesture would have been inadequate.’

  ‘And Dr Bairstow gave permission for this ... this jaunt?’

  ‘I believe he expressed great regret he could not accompany them.’

  ‘He’s as bad as they are.’

  ‘Indeed, ma’am.’

  ‘In fact, they’re all as bad as each other.’

  ‘If you say so, ma’am. Anyway, our Map Master reported an anomaly with the Time Map. No one could make head nor tail of it for some considerable time but, after a great deal of investigation, not a little disbelief and even more investigation, she has advised me that Director Pinkerton, her Chief Technical Officer,’ he groped for his file, ‘er ... Chief Rice; his assistant, er ... Miss Burroughs; together with Dr Maxwell and Dr Peterson ... appeared to have jumped to Mars.’

  ‘Why? And do not say, “Why not?”.’

  ‘No, ma’am. Their purpose was to witness the first manned landing on the Red Planet, ma’am. According to Director Pinkerton, this constituted a perfectly legitimate historical assignment.’

  ‘As if it isn’t bad enough to have that bunch of history-watching half-wits rampaging up and down the timeline jeopardising Time and God knows what else, now they’re out there disrupting the space programme.’

  ‘Actually ma’am, it’s slightly worse than that.’

  ‘Dear God, please tell me the bloody woman isn’t orbiting Jupiter as we speak.’

  ‘No ma’am. At least, I believe not, but what I was going to say was that actually, yes, they did disrupt things. But only very slightly.’

  ‘How can you disrupt things slightly? It’s like being pregnant. You can’t be slightly pregnant. Either you’re pregnant or you’re not. Aren’t you?’