‘Morning ladies. Who wants to explain the cock-up then?’
Captain Samuel Nymens was responsible for the quantum curators. He was our first port of call when things went wrong, and our first line of defence when the higher ups decided to chew us out for mistakes. He could tear into us, shout at us, kick our arses there and back again, but beyond this room he would defend us to the hilt. A good guy to have on your side. Even when he was screaming in your face. Today, he seemed to be in a forgiving mood. I took a risk.
‘My fault, Sir. Clio asked me to collate the item specifics. I forgot to get the weight.’
Sam raised an eyebrow whilst Clio stood stock-still beside me. Stepping in now to contradict me would suggest a lack of team unity. Possibly a greater sin.
‘Is that correct, Clio?’
‘Sir?’
‘Did Neith fail to log the weight of the sword?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘That you asked her to do?’
‘Sir?’
‘Neith says you asked her to collate its dimensions.’
‘Sir?’
‘Well?’
‘You haven't asked me a question, Sir.’
‘Did you, or did you not, ask Neith to calibrate the item's measurements?’
‘Sir. Neith has already stated that to be the case.’
‘What?’
‘For me to suggest otherwise would suggest that Neith had lied.’
A pause lingered between the three of us. A lie would suggest a reckless operative and an inharmonious team dynamic. The fact that the three of us knew I was notorious for not quite telling the whole truth was being happily ignored. So long as the job got done, who cared? That was my attitude. Besides, better a minor rebuke on my report than on Clio's.
Sam's face twitched, causing his moustache to quiver, and then he sighed. ‘Sit down and report.’
Clio gave her report as my eyes wandered around the room. Sam's office was lined with books, sporting memorabilia and musical instruments. Any spare wall space featured works of art by his children. Doodles by them mastering the art of crayons or paint. Where there weren't works of art, there were photos of his family beaming out at him. To be sure, they were a fine family. Sam was the very epitome of a good-looking man; tall and strong, with blue eyes and black hair. His skin was the colour of wet sand and his blue eyes sparkled. Even the crow’s feet around his eyes seemed to highlight just how attractive they were. Blue eyes weren’t uncommon here in northern Africa, but they were definitely in the minority. The rest of us just had to work our shades of brown. His children were all equally appealing, as was his wife. Sickeningly, they were all bloody lovely people as well.
‘Neith! I said report.’
I jumped, then confirmed that Clio had given an accurate report, whatever she had just said. I went on to relate my side of the mission. Clio agreed that, as much as she was able to comment on that, it was an accurate assessment of the extraction.
‘Right. Well done ladies. A successful, if unusual retrieval.’
King of the understatement. Normally we recovered priceless works of art, lost masterpieces; Leonardo's lost notebooks, Mozart's symphonies, Rembrandt’s sea paintings. All safely secured in our vaults. Every item was copied to the last detail in perfect holographic and 3D facsimile to be borrowed or studied by anyone on the planet. The original was safely cared for in the vaults, which again, anyone could visit. But why bother? We had made it as accessible as possible to the entire world.
The sword of some quasi-mythical warlord was not our normal fare. Certainly, it was talked about reverentially on Beta Earth, but not here on Alpha Earth. We had long since moved away from concepts of religion and warfare.
The theory was that our earth and their earth parted at the burning of the Library of Alexandria. At least that’s what the philosophers and scientists suggest. They also postulate that if we have one parallel universe, we can have a myriad. There could be earths where the dinosaurs were never wiped out; there could be earths where mankind never got going; there could be earths where mankind had already become extinct; there could even be earths where putting milk in your tea first was acceptable. Who knew? I tended to fall asleep during these lectures. All we knew for certain was that there was our earth, and there was Beta Earth.
Back when the Romans had burnt the library, we responded differently to the Beta Earth. The lands of northern Africa and Persia had banded together and history had pivoted. That’s pretty simplistic but it will do for now. The Roman army was attacked continually until, starved of grain and undermined by politics, it collapsed. Augustus fell and drowned in the glorious Aegean after a rowdy party, and the Roman Empire failed to emerge.
From there, the Conclave of Mali agreed that nation building was going to destroy us. Instead, we began to focus on sharing knowledge. Mouseions became the leading forces. Certainly, there were skirmishes between ruling Deans and Chancellors, but gradually we grew into a political structure based on knowledge and discovery. Without constant warfare for territorial rights, we worked on hunger and disease and an equitable division of population and resources. It was all perfect. Although, if I were honest and I said this to myself in perfect silence, it was incredibly dull.
I wasn't alone. On the Beta Earth, I'd have been a soldier or an adventurer. Words filled with concern or scorn over here. Instead, my sort became ground breakers. We would help tame the land for new colonies of people heading out onto new continents. Working alongside the indigenous residents, we would
