AllFreeNovel
Share Us
29
My People Now
Jack
Clivehadbeenbusysince I'd been gone. He hadn't wasted any time preparing his argument. I'm not sure what I thought the old man would do with the opportunity my rescue of him had afforded, but a level-headed, well-presented argument was not it.
Sergei knelt on the cold concrete floor of the hangar and watched the proceedings with absolute hatred on his face. He was bent almost double by the way Charles had hogtied him, and there was no way he could escape. But still, I watched him closely, as I watched the Prime Minister closely. My eyes flicked between the two as Clive began to speak.
At first, Clive seemed to be rambling slightly, while Sally and Dean did something at his back with a tablet computer. Rafe had said something to Dave Sanders and Simon Cathcart not long after they arrived, and both of those men had disappeared from the crowd, only to return a few minutes ago with a large mobile vidscreen from one of the classrooms between them. The screen was on rollers and big enough for everyone, including the press, to observe.
They positioned it behind Clive, while Clive finished his history lesson on Time and RATS' role in maintaining it. Background information, he said convivially to the reporters. Setting the scene, he added with a conspiratorial wink.
They were lapping it up. I'd forgotten how good Clive was at this sort of thing. How he could keep the attention of a crowd, even when he was stalling. I was worried he was stalling because he didn't have anything solid to say. But the fact that Sally and Dean were heads bent over a tablet, swiping at the screen and muttering to each other continually, led me to believe something was about to be revealed.
I just hoped it would be enough.
The oversized vidscreen was activated, maybe by Rafe, then. A vibrant blue light shone out, covering everybody, a flashing cursor waiting for input right in the middle of the screen. It was as much a part of the performance as Clive was.
"Got it," Dean muttered, an exclamation that was heard by all.
Sally busily did something to the tablet, and then looked up at Clive and nodded her head, her face set, her eyes alight with anticipation or accomplishment. I was unsure which. The look on Bryan's face, then, stole my attention. He'd been staring at Sergei trussed up on the floor, his hands bunched into fists at his side, his brow furrowed.
And then Sally caught his attention, and he couldn't look away from her.
This wasn't our Bryan. I still mourned our Bryan. But this Bryan deserved happiness, too. As did our Sally.
I turned my attention to Clive, then, who had accepted the tablet computer from Sally with his compliments.
"Now you have a rudimentary understanding of Time, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I may begin the story." He looked around the hangar at all those present. His people, his enemies, the means with which to save RATS. But it was the reporters he spoke to next. "This story starts over a century ago, in a time when space flight was still in its infancy, and travel to and from the International Space Station of that time was aboard an Orion Multi-Purpose Crew Vehicle. On return from duty on the ISS, a Russian cosmonaut was lost while aboard one of the Orion MPCVs. It was thought, the Vehicle had disintegrated on re-entering the atmosphere, but no debris was found. No evidence of any kind was found, in fact, so thoughts of espionage and defection were bandied about. The cosmonaut's reputation took a hit, of course. His achievements were wiped from the history books. His name was spoken with derision at the Kremlin.
"As we know now, that Orion MPCV did not disintegrate on re-entry, instead it travelled through time. Russia's once most famous cosmonaut, now its most infamous, was the first man to time travel. By the time his Vehicle reached our century, having travelled Time's waves in a way that took only moments for him, but a century for us, the Royal Academy of Time Surgeons had been around for several decades.
"If there is anything you take away from what I say today, ladies and gentlemen, it should be this. Time is not linear. Causal loops abound. And once a causal loop exists, there is no way to make it disappear again. Regrettably, time travel is here to stay. Rips will always happen now that they've happened once.
"But I digress. Back to our story.
"This Russian cosmonaut, thrown out of his time and into ours and then subjected to a history he had no part in making, became a Surgeon of Time at RATS. He rose through the ranks, acquitted himself well, established relationships with our people and then betrayed them."
Clive waved a hand at Sergei on the hangar floor. It was a strange speech; backhanded compliments, hidden amongst accusations. I couldn't see where Clive was going with any of this.
"Sergei Anton Ivanov," he continued. "The man who started time travel. The cosmonaut who made the first rip, therefore, is responsible for every rip thereafter. The man history forgot, but in such a harsh way. This one man, through his bitter anger and resentment, has threatened Time itself in an act of unfounded revenge.
"You see, ladies and gentlemen, Mr Ivanov blames RATS for his predicament, but it ishisexperiences, blameless though he may be in them, that created RATS in the first place. And so, in his efforts to gain his revenge on the very facility that keeps Time intact, Mr Ivanov has threatened everything."
Clive tapped at the tablet's screen and the larger vidscreen started to play. It was rather well done, I had to admit. Sally had acquitted herself marvellously in displaying Sergei's misdeeds in a clear and concise fashion, using archive footage of our interactions over the years, right up to footage from Orion 0, clearly taken just now from our Vehicle. It was shocking to witness his crimes laid out so bare. Our lost Interns. The stolen Orions. But more than anything, watching what happened to Mimi's parents, to Mimi herself because of his actions, was heartbreaking.
The reporters had started to stream their reports live from the floor of our hangar, the presentation beamed to every corner of our country, and possibly the world. The Prime Minister received a message at some point, relayed from one of his lackeys into his ear. He looked pale and tried his best to hide his reaction, but we all saw it.
Clive, however, was not done. It was as if he was just winding up. He continued to speak, and the reporters murmured into their microphones and their cameramen continued to film the large viewscreen and the Chief Surgeon of RATS.
"This is all history, ladies and gentlemen. Mr Ivanov's efforts are something RATS deals with every day. We do this without hesitation, without thought of risk to ourselves. We do this because it's our job. Because it's the responsibility of this learning facility to care for Time, to correct people's mistakes — people like Sergei Anton Ivanov — and ensure the safety of all of us.
"Not just those here in this fine country, either, but every man, woman and child throughout the world." On the screen was another of Sergei's attempts to sabotage RATS and therefore Time itself, but it wasn't in England, or even the British Isles, it was in Australia. The next shot was in the USA. The one after in France. The next and next and next flicked through several different countries. All recognisable. All outside of Britain. All stitched by determined and careful representatives of RATS.
We were all on the screen. There was even a shot of Mimi doing exactly what we all did. Stopping Sergei. Saving RATS. Fixing Time. Again and again and again. It was astonishing to see how much footage we'd accumulated over the years. The scenes, carefully stitched together by Miss Groves, came faster and faster and faster until the last scene was an internal camera view of an Orion.
Bryan and Mimi were arguing with one of Anderson's overseers. Their argument was sound. Their reasoning was sincere. And Clive, with the aid of Sally, had set the scene well. The overseer came across as unreasonable and uneducated. The SWAT-like guard simply appeared brutish and unthinking. A robot at the overseer's command.
