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Well, at least I was Dr Evans again. A psychological slip that could play in my favour. If I survived the next few minutes, that is.
"Not me," I said, silently apologising to my friend, and then thinking better of it. Hehadkept this particular Orion quiet, even from me. "Dr Crawford, Chief Overseer. How else did Clive return to his own time without anyone being any the wiser? Not even me."
"I see," Anderson said slowly. "Then did he make one himself? Where did it come from?"
"From Cosmonaut Sergei Anton Ivanov, actually. Before he became a thorn in RATS' side. It's the original Orion, Mr Anderson. It's what gave us the ability to travel through Time. All other Orions are based on this particular Vehicle. Rather a draw card, I should think. Won't the paying customer love the idea of flying in the exact same MPCV as the man who inadvertently gave birth to time travel?"
And then threatened to ruin Time itself.
Ironic, but a money-grabber. I just had to convince Anderson of that fact. But from the look on his face right then, he wasn't buying it.
"If you care to let me out of my room," I added. "I'd be happy to show you where Clive parked it."
For a moment, he did nothing. Then he flicked his fingers toward his security guard, who muttered something into his handheld radio.
A minute or so later, the door to my room swung open and a replica of Anderson's black-clad security guard beckoned me toward freedom.
I was out, and I hadn't had to shoot anyone. Not yet, anyway.
