I can’t believe I’m still in the Time Police. And this time it’s all my own fault. I can’t say I wasn’t given every opportunity to blow them off for good. All I had to do was what my dad wanted – which is probably where it all went wrong because I’ve never been that brilliant at doing as dear old Dad wants.
Let’s be clear – at this very moment, I could be sprawled in a luxurious, rent-free Hong Kong hideaway, with an Asian lovely in one hand and something long and cold in the other. A statement open to misinterpretation but I’m too frozen to care.
My point is that I could be out there enjoying the excitement, the exhilaration, the buzz of cosmopolitan life and the wonderful, life-giving, incredibly hot sunshine. I’d have my own office – offices, even. My own staff, every one of them absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, all leaping to do my bidding whenever I bidded. My every need would be catered for, and trust me, my needs are many and imaginative.
Instead of which I’m trapped here in the Time Police as a trainee, the lowest of the low. I’ve been shot at and scared shitless on an Egyptian hillside. I’ve been menaced by a rabbit – and before you laugh, you should have seen the size of the bloody thing. And it was pregnant. If you think pregnant women are cranky, you should meet an artificially engineered, lab-produced super-rabbit. We had to chase it nearly the length and breadth of Australia – a country which, I might add, has been very slow to show the sort of monetary gratitude thatmight have made it all worthwhile. I’ve been attacked by barely sentient denizens of the 20th century and their feral children. And don’t even get me started on Sarah Smith. The list goes on and on and I’m not even a fully qualified officer yet.
Nor ever likely to be if someone doesn’t find us soon. I think Jane’s already slipped away. I can’t wake her. I should let her go. I can’t save her. I’d be doing her a kindness. I’ll just close my eyes for a minute.
Perhaps I should have listened to dear old Dad after all . . .
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