Free 3. A Second Chance by Jodi Taylor Page B

series of illustrated medical lectures that put even St Mary’s off its collective lunch.
    One day, however, I woke up and every box had been ticked. Every eventuality prepared for.
    We were ready.

Chapter Six
    I stood outside Number Three, running through things in my mind. Even though this was only the pre-visit – a quick in and out to decide on our two sites – the excitement was still there.
    I was going to Troy. The Troy. The Troy of legend. The Troy of Priam and Hector and Andromache and all the rest of those never-dying characters whose deeds and voices still reverberate down the ages.
    I was going to see the legendary city of Troy.
    Whether the Trojan War did or did not happen – or Achilles – or Odysseus – or the Trojan Horse – no one can deny the impact the legend has had on western civilisation. And now … no matter how many times I did this, I never, ever lost the excitement. The anticipation. The eagerness to see … to be there …
    And then I remembered that this was the beginning of my last mission. That I wouldn’t be doing this for much longer. I felt a little twist inside. But I wasn’t finished yet. The end of this mission was still a long way off.
    Hawking was packed. All of St Mary’s hung over the gantry or waited behind the line. The Boss wished us luck. We stepped inside.
    The coordinates were all laid in. I took the left-hand seat. Leon seated himself alongside. Guthrie checked his weapons and waited. Leon ran his eyes over the console and nodded.
    This was it.
    I said, ‘Computer, initiate jump.’
    And the world went white.
    We were set to land about a mile from the city. And we did. Not in a swamp. Or at the bottom of the river. Or two miles out to sea. We were exactly where the Pathfinders had intended us to be. Excellent work.
    Leon shut things down while Guthrie checked the screen. I preferred to get my first view from outside. I swung a faded woollen cloak around my shoulders, shouldered a wicker basket, and waited by the door. Farrell and Guthrie both carried stout sticks and, in Guthrie’s case, any amount of hidden weaponry.
    ‘All set?’
    They nodded.
    ‘Door.’
    They let me go first, which was wise of them. They must have guessed I’d have trampled both of them into the dirt in my haste to get outside and see …
    We’d landed near a small copse, on the western bank of the Scamander. I turned slowly, keeping Troy for last. To the west, the Aegean glinted, bright in the sunshine, and a forest of masts dipped and swayed with the breaking waves. The harbour was on the western coast with direct access to the sea. Turning back to the north, I could see that the sheltered bay, which must have seemed such a benefit to the city many years ago, was badly silted. Small boats weaved their way up and down the narrow channels, but nothing big could ever get that far inland now.
    Well-defined cart tracks led from the cluster of haphazard buildings around the harbour, across the dust plain to the ford. We could cross there too and then it was just a hop, skip, and a jump to the city.
    To Troy.
    I took a deep breath and lifted my eyes.
    Troy stood about a mile away, although the heat haze made it difficult to judge distances accurately. Rising from the flat plain around it, the city dominated the entire area – the Troad, the Aegean, and access to the Black Sea. Standing foursquare on the plain, it made the statement. Fear me, for I am Troy. I am mighty and powerful, and you are as dirt beneath my feet . Just as it had been designed to do.
    And it was so much bigger than I expected. The extent of the lower city was far greater than modern-day archaeology had suggested. Estimates had put the population between five and ten thousand. I put it at ten thousand and possibly more. And although I could see defensive ditches and fences, the lines of the city had blurred to some extent. Small clusters of buildings dotted the plain. Patches of cultivated land nestled