Traveller Inceptio
102

“Bloody shame,” stressed McAlister as he took a sip of tea. The Londoner looked around the cafeteria that had become their informal meeting place for over a year. Hunter noted how his nose still looked badly broken and his eyes a little swollen from the shield blow to his face. They had never realised how effectively a shield could be used as a weapon until it was almost too late.

Hurley grunted. “Well, thank God good old Brian’s still here. At least I can get a decent cuppa and some of his fruitcake. I’ll bloody well miss that.”

As the Saxon Traveller project disbanded, only a few of the administrative staff remained. With all Special Operations, fond farewells were a part of life. Hunter knew he would miss each of his Traveller teammates terribly.

“I’ve heard all is not lost,” added McAlister. “No doubt you lads have heard that we might be in demand.” He tucked his hands behind his head and leaned back in satisfaction. “Seems all that bloody footage that Taylor’s crew released has impressed the right people. The word is that Special Forces are toying with the idea of including traditional weapons as part of their training, while many are really just getting their shit together to set up their own Traveller programmes.”

“After all of that very vocal criticism about us going back in the first place,” added Hurley with a snort of derision.

“Yeah, well, the experts are still trying to determine if our being there changed anything,” added Hunter quietly. “Kitchener and Poxon have apparently removed all evidence of our intervention——”

“And the debate goes on, and on, and on,” cut in McAlister with a laugh. “If anything changed, you’d think the poncy historians would know by now.”

Besides the fear of Travellers affecting current time-lines, the real emphasis was on how potential disaster awaited any 21st Century Travellers who journeyed a thousand years into the past. Saxon Aengland had been the agreed target location because many, especially Professor Taylor, considered England of circa 1000 AD to offer potential for integration, and perhaps less violence than other civilisations of the era.

They were lucky no one was killed.

The real question was how the threat of violence would affect the planning for future Traveller missions. How could training and mission formats change to provide positive results at minimal risk? These issues, they knew, were to be addressed as future Traveller projects were planned.

Hurley had finally surfaced after escaping with Murdoch for some weeks, a move some deemed irresponsible, considering Murdoch’s pending court martial. Not only had Hurley sought to avoid the limelight, but he was also determined to protect Murdoch. Michael knew he had been infuriated that he missed most of the fighting with the Vikings because of his concussion, but he had to accept the hand life had dealt. It was, after all, a very good hand, as he and Captain Helen Murdoch had been discussing future plans. Despite the court martial, their future looked bright. Murdoch had taken an uncharacteristically blasé approach to the affair. As a decorated soldier, her record was impeccable and her decision to send the team to rescue Hunter was nothing short of a public relations’ coup. The militaries of the participating nations had seen a flood of recruits and there were rumours that if the British Military wasn’t careful, Murdoch could be contracted by any number of interested nations to train their own Traveller teams.

Hunter watched Hurley keenly. The normally imperturbable Irishman had dark circles under his eyes and might have post-traumatic stress. The psychologist to whom Hunter had been speaking suggested PTSD would be an issue with all of the team because of the horrors they had perpetrated and witnessed. The tough soldier was a good friend and they had experienced much together. He looked to be concentrating on how he would manage life back in the present. Like all of them, Hurley retained his Saxon moustache and long hair. No doubt he would be soon pressured to have the haircut, and the face shaved, but for these media darlings, there seemed to be little they could do wrong, and they were living it up. There had already been rumours of a book deal for some of the team members. Hunter hadn’t yet been approached, while Hurley, in his typical way, was keeping mum about the whole thing.

Of those in the cafeteria, Hunter was the only one dressed in Saxon gear: cleaned, repaired and comfortable.

“Well, you bastard, I know you’ll have the best life. She’s a peach.” Hurley stretched. It would soon be time.

“I know. I’m sure that life will be interesting. I’ll keep the dailies coming. I’m not sure what they’re going to do with the village. I hear Godric’s up and about as usual, so I’m keen to lend a hand. They’ve lost so many.”

They stood and walked through the old mansion to the car park where Tatae waited with Murdoch. It was never a question that Tatae was to be returned to the past, though the not-so surprise was that Hunter was to accompany her. That was their choice. While the Australian government and his old regiment had been concerned at the decision, Professor Taylor was understandably ecstatic. Every researcher sought the opportunity for more longitudinal research. With Hunter in the mix, a whole raft of academic careers, especially for a select Oxford group of Professor Taylor’s associates, looked to be made from the controversial decision.

McAlister was to drive them to the extraction point, the one Hunter had initially used and the one by which they had all returned. The return of Hunter and Tatae was to proceed without fanfare and would be managed by Mel and Zak Chandler, though Professor Taylor guaranteed it would also be carefully recorded. There was no doubt this event would emerge as a major story, especially if Professor Taylor was involved, but Murdoch stressed their right to at least a little privacy.

Murdoch smiled as Tatae kissed her farewell. Hurley had told Hunter that Tatae had inspired Murdoch about the real priorities of life and they had become almost inseparable of late. As they hugged, Tatae placed her hand onto Murdoch’s tummy and smiled.

“Well, farewell, Hunter, you old bastard,” Hurley exclaimed in Saxon, and he placed his arm around Murdoch’s shoulders.

As he climbed into the driver’s seat, McAlister’s eyebrows shot up as the normally frosty Murdoch snuggled into Hurley’s shoulder. Like all of the team, McAlister had known about the couple, but their relationship hadn‘t been in the open until now.

“Travel safe, my friends. We hope to see you again. Who knows what’ll happen in the future,” called Hurley.

Michael smiled. “Ah Hurley, me old mate, from where I’ll be, I’ll know exactly what’ll happen in the future.”

He smiled and took Tatae’s hand and helped her into the car. The weather had turned drizzly and cold. They were prepared with warm clothes, food, and some items that would assist daily life. The villagers were wealthy and safe, so they could stay where they were until spring. There were still crops to be harvested, a village to be rebuilt, and the injured to be nursed back to health, all with a little unobtrusive assistance from judicious use of 21st Century technology.

Hunter paused, gazed at Welbeck, and looked around the grounds to soak in the atmosphere and relive memories. He noted things he wouldn’t see for some time, if ever again. The previous evening they had dined on fish and chips, Tatae’s all-time favourite, and had eaten corn and peaches, all to be gone from his life. Gone would be potatoes, cars, tea, coffee, sugar, phones, apricots, avocadoes, electric lights, nylon, and plastic. There would be no printed word, no computers, and no guns. He turned to his friends who stood watching. Tatae looked up at him expectantly, happy and excited to be returning.

Yes, home beckoned.

Michael turned and waved happily. There were no regrets as he climbed into the plush interior of the car to hold Tatae’s small, warm hand.

And then, they were gone.