Free 3. A Second Chance by Jodi Taylor Page A

all – there’s just one rule. No jumping about all over the place. Everyone moves in one direction. Forwards. They’d start in 1250 BC and slowly move forward until they established the dates for the Trojan War. Mr Markham was accepting bets. My guess was 1184 BC as stated by Eratosthenes – a bloke who really knew what he was talking about. I had quite a lot of money riding on it.
    ‘Chief Farrell, all pods to be serviced and ready to go. We’re using all of them except TB2 – too big. We don’t want to attract attention.
    Ian Guthrie snorted. ‘A bunch of historians all together in a war zone? We’ll not only attract attention, we’ll be lucky to last a week.’
    ‘Less than that if the security section operates to its usual deplorable standards,’ said Kalinda.
    I cleared my throat.
    ‘It’s going to be a huge amount of work. We’re going to need to go like the clappers to get it all done. But one thing – and this applies to everyone, so pass it along. This is a once in a lifetime event. No one has ever had this opportunity before and maybe never will again. Work hard, but don’t forget – lift your head occasionally and look around you. Remember where you are. And enjoy it.’
    And so it began. I’d done this before and I knew from experience that the lead-in to an assignment was often more strenuous than the mission itself.
    I spent hours in the Library, building data-stacks and assembling info packs with Dr Dowson.
    I ran a series of lectures on Troy and all matters Trojan, tailored to the special needs of the technical and security sections.
    I spent a lot of time arbitrating between Dr Dowson, our librarian, and Professor Rapson, head of R & D, as they fluctuated between their normal states of armed neutrality, frigid formality, and bull-headed hostility.
    I spent even more time avoiding Major Guthrie, who wanted to talk to me about latrines, which was a subject I found considerably less fascinating than he did. He pointed out most people had a colon that worked more than twice a year.
    I commiserated.
    Everywhere I went, glassy-eyed people with earpieces wandered around muttering, ‘Kuis – who. Kuwari – where. Kuwati – when.’ Only to bump into a group of people wandering back the other way, intoning, ‘Isarwilis – right. Ipalis – left.ʼ
    As I expected, I spent a considerable amount of time adjudicating between team leaders as they selected their teams. Phrases like, ‘I’ll swap you half of Miss Yilmaz if you let me have the use of Spencer and Travis every second day,’ were common. Whole peace initiatives were worked out more easily than this. I stayed well out of it, intervening only when things looked like getting bloody. We had eleven historians, for heaven’s sake. Back in the day, it had been just Kal, Tim, Sussman, and me and we managed.
    They got themselves sorted out eventually, but it was hard work and I was anxious we didn’t wear ourselves before we even started. I remembered the three months lead-in to our jump to the Cretaceous Period. This was very similar with the same enormous amount of information to assimilate. And even if I didn’t have to compile my own Dinosaurs for Dummies guide this time, there was still another language to learn, customs and traditions to remember to observe, fractious historians to soothe, and the latrine-fixated Ian Guthrie to avoid.
    I’m not paid anything like enough.
    I ran lectures for everyone, liaised with Leon over the shuttle schedule, discussed our wardrobe with Mrs Enderby, listened while Mrs Mack talked at me about supplies, and tried to remember to meet Leon for lunch. Not always successfully.
    But we inched our way forwards. Teams were selected and agreed upon. I laid down the historian rules and regs. Leon did the same for the pods and Major Guthrie left no one in any doubt over what would happen if anyone even thought about not complying with his security protocols. Helen terrified us all with a