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"I don't think he got everything," Fawkes said.
"No Russian."
"No Russian and that was an Orion, not a Lunik on the other pad."
"Then what's changed?"
"Maybe just the atmosphere. Maybe the number of people in the space. Maybe the day. Whatever it is, it's not enough to make a big change. We can live with it."
What if it was something more, though? What if it was our relationships? What if Jack didn't remember me? What if our Prophetic Dreams had changed?
I followed behind Fawkes toward Dispatch, feeling lost and impotent all over again.
Things didn't improve when we made it there. Margaret was still sitting in the dispatcher's chair, so that was somewhat of a relief. But Mr Anderson and Grumpy 1.0 were waiting for us, and if I wasn't mistaken, Grumpy had handcuffs on his belt. A new addition.
"Maybe it's the handcuffs," I muttered. We'd always used flexi-cuffs. Handcuffs were Old School, a little bit Russian, actually.
Bryan slowed down his fast pace and came to a stop in front of the main viewscreen. He ignored Anderson and Grumpy completely and swiped at the console. 1958, Star City came up. Then he activated the history screen off to the side and started reading.
Star City, a common name for an area in Zvyozdny Gorodok, Moskow Oblast; officially known as 'closed military townlet No. 1'. Home to the Soviet Space Programme, cosmonauts live and train there. A highly secret and guarded military installation, Star City...
Nothing seemed unchanged, but the description was long. After a few silent minutes passed, where I was impressed with Mr Anderson's patience, Bryan shut the screen down and turned to face everyone.
"The rip was an Origin Event," he said. "Time has slipped because we weren't allowed to prevent what happened from happening. It hasn't changed significantly at the source, but it could well be on a divergent track now. This means the further along this track we travel, the more altered our time will become. The next rip Ivanov causes will be significant. If we don't thwart his efforts then, Time could be irrevocably changed. The more that happens, the more likely it is for Time to be fractured beyond repair."
"Thank you for your concise synopsis, Dr Fawkes. I will include it in my report to the Prime Minister," Anderson said. From the mocking way he said it, the PM would not read a word of what Bryan just stated.
Ignorant, belligerent moron. I shook my head in stunned disbelief.
"Now," Mr Anderson said. "I believe there is the matter of your insubordination to address."
Bryan simply stared at Anderson with all the disgust and disappointment he was no doubt feeling removed from his face. A blank mask stared back at the eagerly awaiting overseer.
"Nothing to say to that, then," Anderson finally remarked. "Very well. You are both grounded for the next seventy-two hours. You may not enter Dispatch or the hangar for any reason. And youwillbe expected to complete your written reports in full and file them before 20:00 hours this evening. I expect the reports to be detailed and to pinpoint exactly where you went wrong and what you could have done differently. If they do not meet with my satisfaction, you shall be suspended indefinitely. Do I make myself clear?"
We both stared at him for a fraction of a second too long and then said, in tandem, "Crystal clear."
There was no sir, and we didn't wait to be reminded of that fact. Offering up textbook about-turns, we spun on our heels and vacated Dispatch.
My fists were bunched, my breaths were forced out between clenched teeth. This was totally unfair. We did nothing wrong. It was all Black's fault that rip almost exploded. And now Bryan had warned him, and Anderson had dismissed his warnings without even pretending to hear them. I wanted to throttle the little weed. I wanted to stomp on his throat and kick him in the goolies. I was so mad, I didn't even see Jessica Harding until it was too late.
I slammed into the blonde-haired bitch, smearing Estée Lauder's Pure Envy Red all over my flight suit. Bryan reached forward and pulled me back by a hand fisted in my overalls.
"Jess," he said, once Harding had righted herself.
"Watch where you're going, Novitiate!" she snapped.
"That's 'Watch where you're going, Intern,'" Bryan corrected.
I grimaced and waited for the fireworks. I didn't have to wait long.
"What the hell are you talking about, Doctor? This useless piece of out of time bimbo is a Novitiate, not an Intern."
"No, she's not," Fawkes said.
Jess glared at him and then looked back toward me.
"Is he right, Novitiate?"
