Free Elysium. Part Two by Kelvin James Roper

here at the behest of the MoD. It’s our job to entertain you, so you can go home and write your reports and tell the public that everything is well-groomed, trim, and in tip-top condition.’ His words were thick with sarcasm, and Toubec visibly stiffened with anger.
    ‘We’re also here to save lives, if that matters at all?’ Tranter said, looking up from his paperwork with a smile.
    Noriah scowled and pulled the door open, leading them into a concrete corridor that reeked of mildew. They followed him up a long stairway that opened out on to a recieving room and more regal furnishings; a Persian-blue carpet topped with plush rugs, potted palms, two leather club chairs and a squat yew coffee table.
    The Lieutenant Colonel rapped once on Matloff’s door. There was a moment’s pause and then there came a casual license to enter.
    The Colonel was a sallow-looking man in his late fifties. Lean and white-haired, he rose from his fine, green leather chair and offered them both a languid hand.
    ‘Please sit,’ he gestured. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel.’
    Noriah saluted smartly, before turning and closing the door behind him.
    ‘Now,’ Colonel Matloff said, offering them a case of cigarettes. ‘We’ve received a wire that there’s some terrible business occurring over the border. Some new pathogen? Is that right?’
    ‘That’s what we’re here to find out, sir,’ Tranter said, refusing the cigarette. ‘I have a report here for you, and can’t impress upon you enough the urgency of this matter. This new strain of S18K4 is outstandingly virulent. It makes Carnivora look like a mere headache.’
    Colonel Matloff took the report and laid it on the table beside him. ‘I’ll take a look at it,’ he said, picking up the hand piece of the telephone on his desk. ‘Frondel? Yes, come and show our visitors to the mess hall. They must be hungry after their journey.’
    ‘Sir,’ Toubec said, leaning forward, ‘we don’t have time to sit around eating. We need to organise an investigation into what’s happening on the coast.’
    Colonel Matloff returned the handset with a smile. ‘Nonsense. There’s nothing that would be better done on an empty stomach, dear.’
    Toubec scowled, and was ready to respond vehemently as the door opened and the Colonel stood, gesturing for them to follow suit and exit the office. ‘Private Frondel will escort you to the mess hall. We’ll reconvene in an hour, after I’ve read through this report.’
    Bemused and hustled from the room, Tranter and Toubec followed private Frondel into the humid afternoon light.

Chapter Seventeen .
    South-easterly wind.
    Eleven knots.
     
     
    Semilion called on Selina and Priya early the morning following their night in the Smuggler’s.
    Priya answered the door, her face grilled with red lines from a night of paralytic sleep. Her hair, for the first time, seemed dull and unkempt, and she looked at him with bag-laden eyes. He would never have believe this was the same woman who had mesmerised him the evening before. She wore the same linen dress, he presumed she had returned home and collapsed in bed, roused only by the sound of his knocking.
    ‘Please tell me you’ve come with paracetamol?’
    ‘For a hangover?’ He laughed. ‘Not a chance.’
    ‘ Then can we speak somewhere close to a toilet,’ she groaned, ‘I’m more than likely going to expel the contents of your pub without warning.’
    He had come to assign them jobs in the village. They knew the day would arrive, and part of them welcomed it. But not today. Nothing was welcome today other than sleep.
    ‘Everyone pitches in,’ he said once they were convened in the living room. ‘Selina, ‘I need you to help Hannah and Morag in the mill. George gives a hand when he’s free but, well, he’s needed more and more elsewhere. Hannah and Morag are getting on a bit and could use an extra pair of hands... But don’t tell them I said that. I'd never hear the end of it.’
    ‘Ok.’