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I kept eye contact with Anderson for a fraction of a second longer and then glanced at Amanda over at the dispatcher's desk.
"How many others have we got active?" I asked.
"Two rips currently being repaired. Orion 2b went out again while you were...talking, sir. And another two rips that have just emerged, the one at Baikonur and the other back at Leningrad, both 1958."
"Who will finish mending their rip first?" I asked, staring up at the main viewscreen.
"Orion 6b, sir."
"Divert it to Baikonur. Send a probe."
"Done!"
"What about the rip at Leningrad?" Anderson enquired. I could almost envisage the man pulling out a bag of popcorn and settling back in a recliner chair to watch the ensuing action as if it were all a theatrical performance and not a crazy Russian ex-cosmonaut about to fracture Time itself.
"We have only two Orions," I said, "and Baikonur is the more important rip."
"The one at Leningrad looks bigger," he argued.
"Trust me, the Baikonur Cosmodrome is more important."
"It doesn't look it. It's barely just started."
I ignored the man and looked at Amanda. "Has 6b responded?"
"Not yet, sir. They're still working on their current rip. It appears to be proving a little bit of a problem for them."
I ran a hand through my hair and worried at my scar.
"Leningrad looks rather unhealthy," Anderson remarked.
He was right, of course. The Leningrad rip was International Orange and now pulsing, a sure sign of Time about to be ripped apart. In contrast, Baikonur was still a pale orange. It wouldn't stay that way for long, I knew. Sergei wanted Lunik and what better place to try to get its secrets than at the first Luna launch? They would be ripe for the picking. Baikonur was the more dangerous rip, despite what the sine waves told us.
"Orion 6b has fixed their rip, Doctor," Amanda said. "I'm diverting them to Baikonur."
"Belay that," Anderson said, striding across the room to loom over our dispatcher. His black-clad, armed security guard was at his back, and therefore a clear and present danger to Miss Cockburn. "Divert them to the bigger rip, Dispatcher."
Amanda looked at me.
"I thought you weren't here for Time, Anderson," I snapped.
"It's clear to me now why RATS is costing the British public so much money," he replied, glaring down at Amanda, who still hadn't followed his command. "You operate outside the rules, follow whatever path whimsy takes you, and have absolutely no care for your true role at this Academy." He moved a step closer to Amanda's chair. "Dispatcher, do as you're told."
"Of course, sir," she said pleasantly, and sent Orion 6b toward Baikonur as I had instructed and not Leningrad, as the International Orange sine wave would suggest.
"What did you just do?" Anderson growled.
"My job, Mr Anderson."
"Following orders is your job!" he shouted.
"Saving Time is Miss Cockburn's job, Anderson," I said, reaching his side and stepping between him and the dispatcher. "And Time is not linear, you fool! It's not represented by a single sinusoid or a single colour. It is fluid, responsive, reactive. And Baikonur on the 23rd of September 1958 is what will tear this time apart. Not Leningrad!"
"You've lost your mind," Anderson muttered as Orion 2b finished with its tear. "Completely lost your mind."
"Amanda," I said, keeping my eyes on Anderson.
"On it, sir. Done. They've diverted to Leningrad. Sine wave holding. They'll make it."
"Security!" Anderson barked. "Arrest them both!"
I had just enough time to sneer at Anderson with all the derision I could muster before the black-clad goon acted.
For some reason, arrest meant incapacitation to Parliament these days. The world went black, and along with it, any hope of protecting Miss Cockburn from Anderson's wrath.
Or his own brand of crazy.
