Free Blackout by Connie Willis

door and switch on the ignition and—”
    “Oh, I can easily teach you that in an hour or two. Come with me to Balliol. You can get your approval, and then I’ll go with you and show you the ropes. And I’ll speak to Mr. Dunworthy about letting you do VE-Day.”
    “It won’t do any good,” Eileen said glumly. “I’ve already tried, and you know how he is when he’s made his mind up—”
    “True,” Polly said almost to herself. “But he must change his mind sometimes if…”
    “Polly!” They both turned and looked back. Seventeen-year-old, sandy-haired Colin Templer came racing up to them with a sheaf of printouts. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Polly,” he said breathlessly. “Hullo, Merope.” He turned back to Polly. “I finished the list of bombed Underground stations.”
    “Colin’s been helping me with my Blitz prep,” Polly explained to Eileen.
    Colin nodded. “Here.” He handed Polly several of the printouts. “This list is by station, but some of them were hit more than once.”
    Polly looked through the pages. “Waterloo…” she murmured. “… St. Paul’s… Marble Arch…”
    Colin nodded again. “It was hit on the seventeenth of September. There were over forty casualties.”
    I hope they don’t plan to stand here and go through the entire list
, Eileen thought, looking at her watch. It was already half past three. Even if they could get in to see Mr. Dunworthy immediately, they’d be at Balliol at least an hour, and if Transport closed at five—
    “… Liverpool Street,” Polly said. “… Cannon Street… Blackfriars. Good Lord, this is every tube station in London!”
    “No, only half,” Colin said, “and most of them only had minor damage.” He handed her another set of pages. “I also listed the dates so you’d know when not to be in them. I know Mr. Dunworthy doesn’t want you in the ones that were hit at all, but they’re only dangerous for that day, and how are you going to get anywhere if you can’t go to Victoria or Bank?”
    “A man after my own heart,” Polly said and grinned at him. “Don’t tell Mr. Dunworthy I said that.”
    He looked horrified. “You know I wouldn’t, Polly.”
    Hmm
, Eileen thought.
    “Is the list of air-raid and all-clear siren times here?” Polly asked, leafing through the pages.
    “I haven’t finished it yet,” he said, “but here’s the list of London landmarks that were damaged.” He handed her the rest of the pages. “Did you know they bombed Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks? And did you know it knocked the statue of Churchill over and took off Wellington’s ear, but neither Hitler nor Mussolini got so much as a scratch? I call that unfair.”
    “Yes, well, they got theirs later,” Polly said, looking through the pages.
“Thank you
, Colin. You’ve no idea how much help you’ve been.”
    He reddened. “I’ll have the list of siren times to you in an hour or two. Where will you be?”
    “Balliol.”
    He dashed off.
    “Thank you again, Colin! You’re marvelous!” she called after him. “Sorry,” she said to Eileen as they started walking again. “He’s been a wonderful assistant. All this would have taken me weeks.”
    “Yes, well, it’s amazing what a motivation love can be.”
    “Love?” Polly shook her head. “It’s not me he’s in love with, it’s time travel. He’s constantly after Mr. Dunworthy to waive the age requirement and let him do an assignment now.”
    “And what does Mr. Dunworthy say?”
    “You can imagine.”
    “Being in love with time travel may explain why he’s helping you with your prep,” Eileen said, “but it doesn’t explain why he blushes whenever you look at him. Or the way he says your name. Face it, Polly, he’s head over heels.”
    “But he’s a child!”
    “He’s what? Seventeen? In 1940, seventeen-year-olds are lying about their age and joining up and getting killed by the Germans. And whatdoes age have to do with anything? One of the evacuees