public think that ChronoGuard work is straightforward, confidence might be shaken.’
‘Quite correct,’ asserted Flanker
‘Perhaps you’d like to do this interview?’ I asked him.
‘Hey!’ said Flanker, standing up and jabbing a finger in my direction. ‘There’s no need to get snippy with us, Next. You’re here to do a job in your capacity as a serving SpecOps officer. You are
Lush looked uneasily at me, I raised my eyebrows and shrugged.
‘Now look here,’ said Lush in a strident tone, ‘if I’m going to interview Ms Next I must ask questions that the public want to hear—’
‘Oh, you can!’ said Flanker agreeably. ‘You can ask whatever you want Free speech is enshrined in statute and neither SpecOps nor Goliath have any business coercing you in any way. We are just here to observe, comment and
Lush knew what Flanker meant and Flanker knew that Lush knew. I knew that Flanker and Lush knew it and they both knew I knew it too. Lush looked nervous and fidgeted slightly. Flanker’s assertion of Lush’s independence was anything but. A word to Network Toad from Goliath and Lush would end up presenting
We fell silent for a moment as Lush and I tried to figure out a topic that
‘How about commenting on the ludicrously high tax on cheese?’ I asked. It was a joke but Flanker and Co. weren’t terribly expert when it came to jokes.
‘I have no objection,’ murmured Flanker. ‘Anyone else?’
‘Not me,’ said Schitt-Hawse.
‘Or me,’ added Rabone.
‘
‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ she said in a loud and strident voice. ‘Mrs Jolly Hilly, governmental representative to the television networks.’ She took a deep breath and carried on: ‘The so-called “unfair cheese duty burden” is a very contentious subject at present. Any reference to it might be construed as an inflammatory act.’
‘Five hundred and eighty-seven per cent duty on hard cheeses and six hundred and twenty per cent on smelly?’ I asked. ‘Cheddar Classic Gold Original at ?9.32 a pound—Bodmin Molecular Unstable Brie at almost ?10! What’s going on?’
The others, suddenly interested, all looked to Mrs Hilly for an explanation. For a brief moment, and probably the only moment ever, we were in agreement.
‘I understand your concern,’ replied the trained apologist, ‘but I think you’ll find that the price of cheese has, once adjusted for positive spin, actually gone
She passed me a picture of a sweet little old lady on crutches.
‘Old ladies who are not dissimilar to the actress in this picture will have to go without their hip replacements and suffer crippling pain if you selfishly demand cut-price cheese.’
She paused to let this sink in.
‘The Master of the Sums feels that it is not for the public to dictate economic policy, but he is willing to make concessions for those who suffer particular hardship in the form of area-tactical needs-related cheese coupons.’
‘So,’ said Lush with a smile, ‘
‘Or he could raise the custard duty,’ added Mrs Hilly, missing the pun. ‘The pudding lobby is less—well, how should I put it—
‘
Mrs Hilly flustered slightly and chose her words carefully.
‘If there were another cheese riot following your
She looked at the Goliath representative as she said this. The implication wasn’t lost on Schitt-Hawse or Lush. I had heard enough.
‘So I won’t talk about cheese either.’ I sighed. ‘What
The small group all looked at one another with perplexed expressions. Flanker clicked his fingers as an idea struck him.
‘Don’t you own a dodo?’
2. The Special Operations Network
‘…The Special Operations Network was instigated to handle policing duties considered either too unusual or too specialised to be tackled by the regular force. There were 32 departments in all, starting at the more mundane Horticultural Enforcement Agency (SO-32) and going on to Literary Detectives (SO-27) and Transport Authority (SO-21). Anything below SO-20 was restricted information although it was common knowledge that the ChronoGuard were SO-12 and SO-1 were the department that polices the SpecOps themselves. Quite what the others do is anyone’s guess. What is known is that the individual operatives themselves are mostly ex-military or ex-police. Operatives rarely leave the service after the probationary period has ended. There is a saying: “A SpecOps job isn’t for probation—it’s for life”.’
It was the morning after the transmission of
‘Mail for you!’ announced Landen, dumping a large pile of post on the kitchen table Most of my mail these days was fan mail—and pretty strange it was too. I opened a letter at random.
‘Anyone I should be jealous of?’ he asked.
‘I should keep the divorce lawyer on hold for a few more minutes—it’s another request for underwear.’
Landen grinned. ‘I’ll send him a pair of mine.’
‘What’s in the parcel?’
‘Late wedding present It’s a—’
He looked at the strange knitted object curiously.
‘—it’s a…
‘Good,’ I replied, ‘I always wanted one of those.’
Landen was a writer. We first met when he, my brother Anton and I fought in the Crimea. Landen came