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15
We Could Make A Lot Of Money, You And I
Jack
Ofcourse,Ihadn'ttold Anderson that the module was locked to me yet.
When we boarded the Vehicle, Rafe attempted to enter coordinates to a location of Anderson's choosing. A location I'd insisted on tweaking slightly. Ostensibly to offer a better view of a well known historical event, but was really because I needed to flex my muscles now so I could alter destinations in the future to better suit my purposes.
My purposes, of course, being tracking down our lost Interns and thwarting Sergei Ivanov. All I'd need was one plane matching where either of those two subjects happened to be. I could then switch the plane for the one I needed, still giving the impression I had entered the correct coordinates, and then explain that Time had interfered for some reason and brought us here. Here, being to the Interns or Ivanov.
It was risky but doable, I felt. And right now the only way we could fulfil our obligations to RATS and Time. Anderson sure as hell wasn't letting us.
First, though, I had to explain why Rafe was currently superfluous to requirements. I'd rather not do that — I needed the backup should we encounter our targets while underway — so I entered a command on my console that gave me access to Rafe's keyboard, tricking the system into thinking he was me.
If something did happen to me, Rafe would be as useless as tits on a bull. But Anderson didn't need to know that.
Rafe saw me do it and arched his brow at me. Thankfully, he wasn't born yesterday and didn't say anything. Still, I needed to clear the air on this one and now seemed a good time to do it.
Turning in my seat, I looked directly at Anderson, who, it must be said, hadn't been as observant as his claims of years spent perfecting the art of overseeing led one to believe.
"There is one quirk to the operation of this Vehicle," I told him.
"Yes?" Anderson snapped, thinking I was up to something, no doubt. I was, but I was also, in a way, being honest with him. Well, to a certain degree, in any case.
"Clive locked out everyone from this MPCV other than himself, me and my Intern."
"Excuse me?"
"It's biometrically set. No one else can fly this machine."
"Are you kidding me, Evans? Just why would he do that?"
"Security, of course. This was his only way to avoid upsetting Time."
"He could have used one of the other Orions. Back when you still had a full set." We hadn't had a full set since our Interns had been taken from us, but I didn't correct him.
"Not everyone was privy to Clive being out of time," I said.
"Secrets," Anderson snarled.
"In this case, the secret was warranted. Clive had a dream."
"A dream?" He rolled his eyes at me. "Prey tell, Dr Evans, did this dream upset him, make him crazy with worry, cry into his teddy bear each night, maybe?"
"Something like that," I murmured.
Anderson scowled at me.
"You've heard of Prophetic Dreams, of course," I said.
"Prophetic Dreams? What are you talking about now?"
I stared at the man for a few seconds and then sighed, running a hand over my face and worrying at my scar. I looked around the Vehicle for inspiration, but for the life of me, I couldn't fathom what Parliament was up to.
They knew about Prophetic Dreams. They knew about the consequences of Prophetic Dream Realisation withdrawal. They bloody well knew, damn it.
"Mr Anderson," I said, shaking my head. "It appears your education regarding time travel, in general, has been greatly curtailed for some reason. I don't know why Parliament would send you here without the basic knowledge you required to complete your task successfully. But for whatever reason, they have seen fit to deny you pertinent information — information the Prime Minister is well aware of — that could mean the difference between saving Time and RATS, and being responsible for tearing it all apart."
