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"Rather," I said, cheerfully. "So, shall we discuss my idea?"
"Your idea?" He sounded confused. Poor man.
"Yes, that's why I contacted you. You need money. I have a way of getting that for you."
"Are you going to sell your expertise as a con artist?"
I chuckled, as if what he said was funny. "Not quite. But I am willing to sell my expertise as a Surgeon of Time, and it won't even cost you a penny."
"Won't cost me a penny. How is that?"
"Well, I did note that you've stopped paying me and I expect that situation won't be corrected until you start seeing results, so how about this? I work for free, for now, and make you some money. You did say you wanted RATS to contribute to the billions of pounds it costs the taxpayers every year, didn't you? I have a way to do just that, and as I said, it won't cost the government a penny."
He stared at the screen and then said, "How?" Gotcha, I thought, but I didn't let myself crow about the success just yet.
Anderson still held most of the cards.
"Temporal tourism," I offered.
"What?"
"We offer a personal, firsthand experience to the rich and adventurous, charging an arm and a leg, of course, combining it with Miss Groves' rather ingenious efforts on the promotional video front for an all-around experience. A trip back in Time, watching contemporaries and historical events from the comfort of a working Orion Vehicle, giving an overview of history as it pertains to that particular location on the timeline, and returning them to the 23rd Century none the worse for wear only a mere few minutes after their departure. How many times a day could we do that, do you think? How much money could we make in, say, an hour?"
He glowered at the viewscreen; at me. "We have only two working Vehicles, Evans. Have you forgotten that? A third is due to be added to the lineup, but not before it completes its exhaustive test flights. We are stretched as thinly as is permissible. One wrong move and we're down to one working module and an untested Vehicle; I cannot in all good conscience assign one of them to joyrides, even if it would make us a tremendous amount of money in a very short amount of time."
"You agree my idea has financial merit, then?" I asked.
"Whether it has financial merit or not, it's not possible to implement it without endangering the safe running of RATS." He hesitated. "Is that why you suggested it? Did you think I would see the pound signs and condemn myself with an ill-advised move such as this? Were you hoping to entrap me, Evans, is that it? Well, unfortunately for you, I am not so single-minded as to not see the pitfalls, or trap, right before my eyes. Your idea is a no-go, Evans. So sorry."
He didn't sound sorry.
"But should it have been possible, it would have made us money, correct?"
"The fact that your idea would have made us money — a lot of money, as it so happens — is neither here nor there. We cannot stretch ourselves so thinly. No, the only solution is to open up to public bidding. Let some private company flush with cash solve our problems for us by creating a few extra time machines and doing exactly what you just suggested. We can afford to give them a percentage of the earnings, considering it would indeed be quite lucrative."
"Why would they work with us, if they could simply create MPCVs and charge customers directly for a, what was it you said? Ajoyridethrough Time?"
"We control Time," Anderson said, puffing himself up. "We alone have a licence to maintain Time, therefore we control who may traverse it. Any attempts by private enterprises to do just that must, at the very least, be monitored. It would be easy to have Parliament pass an act that required a RATS' overseer to be appointed to each flight. We could charge for that service alone, but I'm sure the structure could be made to favour us in a more lucrative fashion than that."
"Still," I said. "My idea is more profitable and we don't have to share a penny with anyone else."
"Your idea lacks an Orion, not otherwise committed to the running of this Academy and our obligations to Time itself."Hecould talk of our obligations to Time itself. The man did not care for Time at all. Simply the bottom line.
"But I have an Orion that is not part of RATS' obligations to Time itself," I innocently said.
Anderson stared at me. "What?" he finally asked.
"I have an Orion," I repeated. "It's not part of our stable. Never has been and never should be, I think. Therefore, my idea would not encroach on our current thin number of working and soon to be working Vehicles. We can still maintain Timeandmake some money."
"Impossible. All your Orions were stolen, bar the two down there in the hangar. You couldn't have made a new one faster than the Technical Division and they've been working twenty-four/seven as it is. You're lying. You're lying to save yourself."
I smiled thinly at the man.
"No, Mr Anderson. I'm doing my job as Chief Surgeon at the Royal Academy of Time Surgeons. I'm saving TimeandI'm saving RATS."
He shook his head, looking a little bemused. It must be said.
"What Orion, then, Dr Evans? What Orion have you kept hidden all of these years?"
