‘Paul, Clio, hotel now! Monitor all emergency band waves and traffic reports. Find that car. We'll join you in a minute. Ramin’s tending to some of the injured. Ponsonby and Bradshaw are dead.’
Having given my instructions, I now slid into the role of terrified bystander and ran screaming with the other patrons to the loos at the back of the café. In the panic, no one noticed as I slid away through the kitchen. Jogging around to the front, I joined the rubberneckers that had already started to form a crowd. Ramin came out through the shattered front door and lay a woman down, calling for help as he did so. As people rushed forward, he got up and walked away. I followed, and as we turned the corner, we linked arms and started laughing. Just another couple wandering through London as the sirens approached.
#13 Julius -Beta Earth
Julius pushed the books back and decided to head to the refectory early. It was no good, he just couldn't concentrate. He hadn’t heard from Charlie in days. He didn't think Charlie was going to find an egg, but it was still quite exciting to think about it. If he had found it though, it would explain the radio silence. A find this important would not be talked about for fear of the wrong parties getting wind of it; Russian oligarchs, billionaire Sheiks, Chinese Triads.
Julius grinned. This was more James Bond than Indiana Jones but this was Julius’ life, lived vicariously through his friend. And this was typical Charlie, blowing in all full of excitement and then disappearing for months on end. He would hint to Julius that he was on the trail of something massive, and the next thing Julius would hear about it, it was part of a museum tour. Sometimes over a bottle of red wine Charlie would share a hair-raising tale of recovery, though usually it was only the beginning and the end. No middle.
Occasionally some of Charlie’s deals were said to be a bit close to the bone. Maybe a secondary artefact was also found, but that didn't make it to the open market or the museums. Julius took those stories with a pinch of salt; Charlie had an excellent reputation and there were always people ready to put the knife in. Charlie played fast and loose, but he was essentially honest. If the museums turned down a piece he’d offered them, then why shouldn't he sell it? God knows the wages paid to curators and researchers was hardly impressive. He was regularly offered private employment for eye-watering sums of money, but Charlie knew those artefacts never made it to the light of day. He also knew that his potential employers didn’t care how an item was acquired. Playing fast and loose with the law was fine. Breaking it wasn’t.
The college refectory was loud and busy, with lots of students milling around, grabbing something to eat before the next lecture. Julius waved at some colleagues and went to join them. Some company and chat would help him refocus. He needed to submit his paper next week and now he was behind, thanks to Charlie’s egg hunt. Dan was an expert in the renaissance period, as was Wendy, and even if they didn't talk shop it would be an engaging lunch. Whilst Julius’ field was religious systems, linguistics and folklore, he still found most subjects to be fascinating. Especially when the people talking about them were knowledgeable and enthusiastic. Besides which, Wendy was also on the rowing team and regularly had fun tales about near collisions and battles with swans. Smiling, she shuffled along the bench. Julius stepped over and sat down beside her, catching up on what Dan, opposite, was talking about with great animation.
‘... well, you know, you can't tell a fresher!’
Julius nodded agreement and tucked into his sandwiches. He was on a pure research year and wouldn't have any teaching element until next year. Freshers didn't tend to bother him. First year students either got on with it, or they didn't. He didn't feel the frustrations that some of his colleagues did, but he suspected that was because he didn't care as much. He was only interested when they were. Too often in the first year they were adapting to the fact that everyone else was either brilliant or a phenomenally hard worker, sometimes both. They had lost the thing that had made them stand out in school and were loudly and desperately trying to find another one. The ones that generally succeeded through the maelstrom of Cambridge were the ones that hadn't been bothered by their achievements in the first place. They were here because they loved learning and were deeply curious about their subject. It was easy to feel intimidated and overwhelmed by the loud confidence of many of the students, but gradually people found their feet and settled in. Or left.
One such leaver, Miles, now hurried towards them across the hall. He had misjudged the balance between working hard and playing hard and had dropped out at the end of the second year. He had been reading English, as well as working on the student newsletter and as a stringer for some London tabloids. Eventually, his studies suffered as he partied harder and submitted more tabloid copy than academic essays. Push came to shove, and he
