a Spectrum story

by

Marion Woods

“Most people will get over most things if they put their minds to it, you just have to give them an interest.”

Terry Pratchett, Equal Rites.

CHAPTER ONE

Young Edward Wilkie Jnr was passionate about mechanics and he liked nothing better than to spend his spare time constructing gadgets and ‘inventions’ of his own devising out of string, balsawood, an inordinate amount of glue and the eclectic collection of Meccano cadged from his much older brother, Tom. As he grew older these contraptions became more elaborate and complex. He spent his allowance on electronic parts, conducting wire and soldering irons, which littered his bedroom until it drove his house-proud mother to distraction and he was banished to a specially constructed shed at the bottom of their extensive garden, from which he often only emerged at mealtimes.

His father, a renowned paediatric oncologist, considered that his youngest son was wasting far too much of his time that would be better spent studying. Eddie was a good student and worked diligently at the subjects that interested him, but his father was convinced that with application he could do even better.

“You need to map out your path to a professional career, Eddie,” Sir Edward admonished him, as they sat at dinner one summer evening. “These contraptions are all very amusing, but nothing can come of wasting time on them.”

“But, Dad, can’t you see I’m putting what I learn into practice?”

“Leave him alone, Ed,” Mia Wilkie said. “He’s not doing any harm and he got a good report from school again.”

“A good report, but not an excellent one, my dear. This academic year will be an important one, which could have ramifications for whatever future career Eddie decides on; so, as I did for Tom, I’m considering arranging extra tuition over the holidays.”

“Oh, no, Dad! Give me a break!”

“Yes, the boy deserves some time to relax and if that means making a mess in the garden shed, well, there’s no real harm in it. He’s worked hard at school all year.”

Sir Edward was not convinced, but his wife’s unexpected support for Eddie was enough to make him hesitate. “Okay,” he said slowly, “but I want you to promise me, Edward, that you will do some reading and studying on your own for at least two hours a day. If you don’t I will engage a tutor.”

Eddie scowled but said grumpily, “Okay, I promise.”

Sir Edward nodded his acceptance of this begrudging agreement; he knew his son was to be trusted and that however reluctantly, he would abide by his promise.

Mia beamed. “Good, now that’s settled, who wants some dessert?”

Eddie was well aware that he had important exams looming and for the next few months he impressed his father by focussing on getting the grades he needed, in the subjects he needed, to pursue the career he had already chosen for himself. He was ambitious, far more ambitious than his brother, and intended to emulate his sister, Louise, and train for a medical career. His father was immensely proud when, at the early age of 24, his youngest son qualified as a doctor.

When he finished Med School, Ed was unsure of what he wanted to do next. He had spent an intense couple of years, studying in the teaching hospital without a break, and he felt the need to chill out a little and catch up with his family. When he reached home, his father’s hearty congratulations were accompanied by a beaming smile.

“Well done, lad. You’ve made me and your mother very proud of you!”

“Thanks, Dad. I have to admit, I did better than I expected.” Ed gave a rueful smile. “Someone up there must like me.”

“Nonsense, I could tell you were a natural.”

“You never told me,” Ed protested.

“I didn’t want you slacking. A little uncertainty did you no harm,” Sir Edward explained, jovially. “Now you are qualified, I have some news for you. Michael Bantry is looking for a junior doctor to work alongside him. I had a word with him when you called with your results and he’s expressed a willingness to take you as his junior.”

Ed was speechless. Michael Bantry was an old family friend, and even though he was a well-respected surgeon, the thought of the regular reports likely to be given to his father between drinks on the 19^th hole of the Golf Course was not a reassuring one. Besides, when he’d been accepted for Med School, he’d decided he would never call on his father’s extensive ‘old boy’ network for patronage, although it was what everyone expected him to do. For his own self-esteem he needed to forge his own career path and the first hurdle was going to be making his father understand that.

Sir Edward mistook his son’s silence for astonished delight. He continued, “You couldn’t do better, Ed. Mike Bantry is the best there is and working with him for the next few years will give you a sound foundation for a successful career.”

After a moment’s hesitation Ed replied, warily: “I know Dr Bantry’s excellent reputation, Dad, and I agree: whoever works with him will be on a fast-track to success in heart surgery. It’s just that,” he sighed, “well, I’m not sure that’s the field I want to specialise in. Not yet.”

“What did you have in mind?” his father asked, one dark eyebrow raised in quizzical interrogation.

“I dunno. Maybe just trying something different and seeing what comes from it.”

Sir Edward sighed. “This is not the time to let a lack of self-confidence lead you to reject a fantastic opportunity, Edward. Think carefully before you do something stupid. I know you’re an idealist and you’re still very young, but there’s your future to consider. You won’t always have no-one to please but yourself and when you have a family-”

“When, Dad? It’s surely an ‘if’ – and a bloody big one! Right now I have no intention of acquiring a family. I want to do something. Something useful.”

As doubt began to form in Sir Edward’s mind, he bristled with indignation. “Are you saying that cardiac surgery isn’t useful?”

“No – of course not – what I meant is: I don’t want to only do that… not for the rest of my life.”

His father pursed his lips. “Very well. I’ll tell Bantry you’re taking a short holiday while thinking it over; but consider, Edward, he won’t wait for ever and competition for the post is fierce.”

“Look, Dad, I know I’m not going to change my mind about this, and I’d hate to waste Dr Bantry’s time by stringing him along. You’d better thank him, from me - I appreciate the opportunity, really I do – but he’ll be better off getting someone who really knows that they want to dedicate their lives to cardiac surgery.”

There was no reply from his father and his stony silence was a clear indication of his anger and disappointment.

Ed felt obliged to explain further: “I really haven’t had a chance to give the future much thought. There’s a whole world of medical options out there and I … well, I’d like to see what it has to offer.” He put a gentle hand on his father’s arm. “And thanks, Dad; thanks for putting in a good word for me.”

“Harrumph,” his father snorted.

This encounter spurred Ed on to start looking for the opportunities that would give him a chance to consider what he wanted to do with his life, while satisfying his father that he wasn’t wasting his time. Surfing the online career websites was a rather disheartening experience, and he was beginning to wonder if he might not have been better working with Dr Bantry after all, when an advert for careers in the World Medical Organisation caught his eye.

He clicked the link to see what that might have to offer. There were a number of fascinating openings in various parts of the world, and he was seriously tempted by a few of them; but on impulse he applied for a short-term contract with the Australian branch of the World Medical Organisation based in Sydney.

“Maybe they’ll weigh the advantage that I won’t need to adjust to an alien culture, even if it is in Sydney, over the lack of experience…” he muttered, as he hit the submit button. “And it’ll give me a chance to gain some experience while deciding what I really want to do.”

The invitation to attend an interview at the WMO offices in Sydney was a pleasant surprise, and Ed went more out of a sense of curiosity than anything. However, while discussing the goals of the post and what exactly he would be involved with in order to achieve them, he quickly realised that this was the opportunity he’d been looking for; it had scope for innovative thinking and the possibility to improve things in a way that would impact positively on people’s lives.

He left the city really wanting the post and for the next forty-eight hours, he felt sure he hadn’t been successful. He was contemplating trawling the job sites again when his mother called him to the video-phone.

“A Doctor North is on the phone for you, Ed,” she said, watching the emotion that flickered across her son’s face with compassion; she knew how much this had come to mean to him much more than his father did.

Ed cleared his throat and said as calmly as he could, “Hello, Dr North? This is Edward Wilkie…”

“G’day, Ed; good to talk to you. I wanted to let you know, personally, that the Committee were all very impressed with your interview. We felt that such enthusiasm deserved a chance, and, as a consequence, we decided to offer you the post in Sydney.”

“What? Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you, Dr North – and thanks to the Committee.”

“There’s a letter in the post with all the details; but I wanted to welcome you to the team. I know you’ll have a lot to get organised, so let me know if we can help. The WMO is used to moving people about.”

“That’s very kind of you, Dr North. I’ll wait for the paperwork to arrive and get it back to you as soon as I can.”

“Great. Looking forward to seeing you, Ed. Goodbye.”

Ed hung up and turned to his mother, his eyes shining with excitement.

“I got the job, Mum! I got the job!”

He hugged her, grinning with barely contained delight.

“That’s wonderful, Eddie. I’m sure your father will be so proud of you.”

His initial euphoria subsided as he realised he was going to need help convincing his father this was a good idea. His mother’s opinion would not be enough to convince Sir Edward, who still had hopes that his son would decide on a conventional medical career.

Ed gave the problem some serious consideration and after an hour or so called his sister, Louise, who was already Senior Registrar in a city hospital in Western Australia, for advice.

She heard him out and didn’t reply immediately.

“Dad will be disappointed,” she said eventually, but the distortion of the phone made it hard to tell if her tone was critical or wistful. “He really hoped you’d follow in his footsteps and make a name for yourself, like he did. You were always his favourite, Eddie.”

“That’s rubbish. You’re the one he’s pinned his hopes on. You qualified top of your year and you’re a natural, Lulu.”

“He’s pleased I’ve made a go of it,” she conceded, “but I can never be the second Sir Edward, can I?”

“Nor can I!” Ed protested. “I can’t imagine anything worse. I’m not cut out for the professional infighting and posturing that goes with all that stuff.”

He heard Louise sigh. “Look, Eddie; Dad found it hard enough to accept when Tom decided he didn’t want to go into medicine. Let’s face it, he still finds it hard to think of advertising as a professional career. He was pleased when I went to Med School, but when all’s said and done, he’s a bit of a dinosaur when it comes to equal opportunities and he’s pinned all his hopes on you. I know you’re not into all the posturing – as you call it – but you’re a better doctor than I am in many ways.”

“Oh sure: with a bedside manner my consultant called ‘abrasive’?”

She chuckled. “Well, you and Dad both. Dad doesn’t exactly suffer fools, you know.” Her tone grew more serious. “But you’re a marvellous diagnostician, Ed.”

“Thanks; I rate that coming from you. But I’ve thought about this, Lou, and I don’t want to be tied in to a lifetime of heart surgery or any other specialisation, if I’m honest. Maybe, when I’ve got a taste of what might be possible, I’ll specialise and get the kind of job Dad wants to see me in; but right now, what I’d really like to do is research.”

“Well, I guess you’ve worked hard enough to deserve the chance to look around, Ed. I’ll see if I can get the weekend off and come home, so we can talk things over with Mum and Dad. Would that help?”

“You’d do that? That’s bonzer, Lulu!”

“Well, I guess someone who’s handy with bandages should be around when you and Dad go head-to-head. I’ll call you in a day or so, when I’m organised, and we’ll fix it up.”

Although Ed was going to be earning a decent salary he didn’t have much capital to fall back on and, reluctant to draw too heavily on the financial assistance his father had agreed to provide, looking for an apartment in Sydney proved to be a nightmare. He’d booked into a hotel when he arrived, but quickly realised that was too expensive to continue for long. After a fortnight he was desperate to find somewhere of his own so he could relax after a hard day’s work without worrying about how much it was costing him.

He began to fear he’d never find anywhere, as the rents were high and the options he could afford weren’t to his taste. Nevertheless, he kept on looking, reading the local newspapers and checking rental agents’ websites. He was sitting in the cafeteria of the hospital where his office was based, looking through the local paper one lunchtime, when one of the hospital’s new interns came to his table.

“G’day, Ed. Mind if I sit here?” Dr Shane Thompson, ‘Tommo’ to his mates, asked.

“Be my guest, Tommo.” Ed smiled in welcome. He liked Tommo, who he’d met on the Induction Courses the hospital had provided. They’d gone for a beer on a few occasions and were friendly acquaintances.

Tommo sat, ripped open his pre-packaged cheese sandwich and took a bite. He swallowed his mouthful and said: “I hear through the jungle drums that you’re still looking for an apartment?”

Ed nodded, indicating the newspaper with a rueful grimace. “It’s not going well. I can’t afford anywhere decent unless I live so far outta town I’d need to fly into work.”

With a sympathetic nod, Tommo continued: “Tell me about it; I’m still looking too. But, this morning I got a lead on a good possible. One of the seniors in my department’s moving to Melbourne and his place will be free from this weekend. Three bedrooms and good transport links to the hospital. Unfurnished. I’m looking for someone to share: 50-50 on the bills, to start with, until we can get a third. Wanna come and check it out with me?”

Ed thought for a moment and then nodded. “Sure, Tommo. Today?”

“Right now, if you’re free? Don’t want anyone else getting there first, do we?” Tommo finished his sandwich with a gulp.

Ed folded the newspaper. “C’mon,” he said. “This feels like it could be my lucky day.”

The apartment was on the 14^th floor of a residential tower block in some need of renovation. It had one, fairly small, linear living room, leading onto a small balcony with views onto the communal courtyard and heated lap pool. The compact galley kitchen had a small dining area with no natural light, apart from a small, grimy skylight, but the three bedrooms were a good size and there were two bathrooms. It was much better than anything Ed had seen for what he could afford to pay on his own.

He gave Tommo a surreptitious nod in response to a questioning glance and continued his exploration of the built-in kitchen, leaving the negotiating to his companion.

“Ed, we need to put a deposit down before we move in,” Tommo called, naming the amount with a slight grimace.

“No sweat,” Ed replied, giving the letting agent a reassuring smile. “My father, Doctor Sir Edward Wilkie, lives near Adelaide, and he has agreed to provide the deposit and cover any letting agency fees. I can give you his contact details if you need them, or shall I just get him to contact you to arrange the bank transfer?”

The agent smiled. “As long as the money goes into the bank, I won’t need to speak to your father, Mr-”

“Doctor,” Ed corrected. A little show of status never did any harm.

“Doctor Wilkie,” the agent concluded smoothly, and they shook hands on the deal. “If you can come into my office tomorrow, I will have the tenancy papers drawn up, ready for you to sign.”

“We’ll definitely need to get a third person, so that the bills don’t build up,” Tommo said, as they hurried back to work. “But I reckon we can cope until that’s sorted. I’ll put the word out around my family; there’re dozens of us, and someone is sure to know someone who needs a place. You sure your dad will put up the deposit?”

Ed nodded. “He might not have wanted me to move to Sydney but he did agree to cover my initial costs. And he knows I’ll pay him back. Eventually.”

“I’ll chip in with what I have,” Tommo assured him.

“Great. I’ll get hold of Dad as soon as I can and then get some of my stuff shipped over from home.” He grinned. “I knew today felt like a lucky day!”

They moved in over the following week. A trip to a shopping mall resulted in three inexpensive, foam-filled armchairs and a couple of flat-pack beds, a metal-framed coffee table and a bookcase that looked as if anything heavier than half-a-dozen paperbacks would cause it to collapse. It was enough for what they needed in the short term: they mostly ate at the breakfast bar, but did purchase a rickety, wooden, folding table and three folding chairs from a Garden Centre sale to serve as a dining suite. About a week after they moved in, they’d got to grips with the dishwasher and managed to put a load of laundry through the washing machine successfully, and the place really felt like home.

Ed’s bedroom looked over the courtyard and benefited from the evening sunshine. He soon felt at home there and had his belongings carefully arranged to maximise the available space. Tommo provided a huge TV monitor which they installed on the living room wall. It soon proved to be the sole focus of his off-duty time.

As promised, Tommo had been on the look-out for a third to share the bills. One evening, after they’d been in the apartment about a month, Tommo introduced Ed to a young electrical engineer called Nic Nguyen, who was moving to Sydney to take up a job.

“Nic’s a friend of my cousin Dave; they were at school together,” Tommo explained. “Dave told him we were looking for a third guy and Nic can pay his share of the bills okay. All we need is your say-so, Ed, so I brought him along for a pizza and some beers.”

Once Ed and Nic discovered a shared interest in robotics, they spent most of the evening discussing the topic, much to Tommo’s bemusement. When Nic left, it had been agreed that he would move in the following week and Ed felt sure the three of them would rub along together just fine.

Since the World Government’s formal inauguration in 2045 it had been compiling information about the resources and facilities of member states which, following the devastation of the European Atomic War, were often still in a parlous state.

Terrorism, and the resulting wars against it, had had a depressing effect on standards of living world-wide ever since the Americans had suffered the outrage of 9/11. Endemic violence and wars in the Middle East, Indo-China and Africa, as well as political unrest in Europe and South America, coupled with near-global environmental degradation, had damaged the international economy, eroding faith in democracy as a viable system of government and undermining even the most stable economies.

When the European Atomic War started in 2028, international trade, which was already taking a hammering, all but stopped, leaving even ostensibly neutral countries, like Australia, languishing in the economic doldrums. Politicians seeking to manage the expectations of populations used to ever-increasing prosperity and improved standards of living for succeeding generations, had to reset every economic benchmark to well below those of the late 20th Century.

The end of the war brought the need to fund recovery programmes across western Eurasia, and although the Australian economy had improved, thanks to the new demand for its resources, most of the profits were absorbed by the World Government’s recovery programmes for the countries devastated by the six years of war. As Assistant Medical Controller of the Australian Sector, it was Ed’s task to compile comprehensive reports on the facilities available for inclusion in the WMO’s global database and he soon discovered that Australia’s medical facilities now lagged behind much of the developed world, where the WMO was busily installing the latest technically superior equipment.

One Friday afternoon, several months after Nic had moved into the flat-share, Ed was back early from his latest visit to a provincial hospital. He sat in the lounge looking over the inventory he had just taken. He was feeling depressed at the enormity of the task the WMO faced and trying to imagine how the problem could be tackled. He looked up as the door opened and Nic came in.

“G’day,” Nic said cheerfully. He collected a beer from the fridge and came to join Ed in the lounge. “Wasn’t expecting you to be back till much later.”

“There was nothing to keep me there,” Ed explained, waving the inventory. “That place’s running on equipment that should’ve been pensioned off decades ago. If their maintenance man ever retires, they won’t even know how to mend it.” He dropped the papers and gulped a mouthful of his beer. “Makes me wanna… punch something – or someone! People deserve decent medical facilities, Nic, and we simply can’t afford to supply ‘em.”

Nguyen nodded thoughtfully and gave his friend a sympathetic glance.

Ed needed no encouragement and he continued: “It all boils down to money: you need money for the equipment and money to pay the people you need to use the equipment, and money to train those people how to use the equipment…” He leapt to his feet and started pacing restlessly about the room.

When he stopped, he glanced cynically at his friend. “But while the WMO is having to pay through the nose for machinery and equipment for new European facilities, everyone else has to wait. I mean, we’re not a poor country here and we do have some bloody good hospitals and doctors, but they’re all being hampered by antique equipment. Some of it is from the last century!”

“You don’t say,” Nic remarked, feeling that some response was called for.

Ed threw himself back into the armchair and said: “Oh, I’m sorry, Nic. I don’t know why I’m yelling at you. I know there are less fortunate places than Australia, where there’s only one doctor for about half the population, but it still makes my blood boil!”

“I can see it does,” Nic replied, with a half-smile. “Let me get you another beer while you order a pizza and maybe things’ll look better from the other side of something to eat.”

“Is Tommo due back?” Ed asked, giving Nic an apologetic smile.

Nic shook his head. “Late shift.”

“Okay; pizza for two coming up. The usual?”

Nic nodded and when Shane Thompson returned to the apartment after his shift, he found his friends deep in discussion over large sheets of paper spread across the rickety dining table and covered with abstruse squiggles and numbers. They glanced up to acknowledge his arrival and went back to what they were doing.

Exhausted after a busy shift, Tommo got himself a cold beer and switched on the TV in the living room. Not for the first time, he fell asleep in his armchair to the sound of the incomprehensible, but animated, conversation of his friends.

When the WMO confirmed they had the necessary funding and offered him an extension to his contract, Ed accepted without hesitation. This was partly because, along with Nic, he had become intensely involved with a private project to devise options that would improve medical technology and assist isolated practitioners around the globe. He was convinced there must be a way to combine the functions of some of the most commonly used medical machines and, in so doing reduce costs, thereby releasing funds to improve patient care in every hospital.

Nic, who had started the project as a favour to his friend, quickly became as obsessive as Ed in achieving their aims. His technical expertise, combined with Ed’s medical skills and enthusiastic, albeit amateur, proficiency in robotics, were being put to good use. They were working on developing an interactive medical bed that could automatically monitor the patient, giving real-time feedback to doctors or nurses who might be elsewhere in the hospital or even off-site. None of this was particularly new technology, but it had rarely, if ever, been considered for the purpose they proposed.

“You know,” Nic said one Sunday, as they were working on a potential scheme, “I think we’re getting to the prototype stage. I want to patent this, Ed. If we’re going to get it off the ground and into hospitals we’re going to need finance and that means going public to some extent. If we take this to some big medical company, they might fob us off and get their own guys working on the concept, and we’d have no comeback. What’s more, unlike what we plan to do, they’re likely to sell it for massive profits, rather than at cost plus enough to continue innovative development.”

Ed nodded, although he was surprised that Nic thought they were as advanced as that. “I know what you mean; but all of that is going to cost serious money. I must admit, I was kinda hoping the WMO might sponsor us,” he explained. “I know there are funds for this sort of project; although, in fairness, most of it is not readily available here.”

Nic shrugged. “They might do, but that could mean that once they were our backers, they’d hand the development over to a commercial firm for up-front cash. They’ve done that before, haven’t they?”

“Yeah, but they got roasted for it. More development is being funded in-house now, but, sadly, not here. The money’s all ear-marked for the European area. Our funding is earmarked for the ongoing renovation programme.”

There was a long silence as they contemplated the pitfalls before them.

“Do you think,” Nic said after a while, “that they might, at least, give us an old machine to start working on? Just to see if the circuits and new programming are at least feasible on existing hardware?”

“Yeah, that’s a possibility,” Ed said brightly. “Lord knows there’s enough broken-down hardware knocking about the place. I’ll make some enquiries.”

Tommo was half-listening to them and he glanced up from his newspaper to ask: “What’s the name of this wonder-tech anyway?”

Nic grinned. “I think of it as the Doctor-Wilkie Med-bed.”

Tommo snorted. “Way to go, Ed!”

“What about the Nguyen Med-bed?” Ed asked. “You’ve had as much to do with it as me.”

“Doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Nic, who was a far more shrewd and hard-headed businessman, replied.

Tommo nodded.

Ed was still cagey. “Well, I’m not sure you can use my name, because it isn’t just mine, if you follow me? My dad’s very well-known in the profession and he won’t appreciate being associated with something as ‘wacky’ as a med-bed,” he explained. “It’s him people are gonna think of when they hear the name Doctor Wilkie. Better not use it at all.”

“’Doctor-Ed’s-med-bed,” Tommo suggested, not really taking the conversation seriously.

“Yeah,” said Nic, “that’ll do, at least for the patent.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ed protested.

“That’s right, you don’t.” Nguyen smiled. “Trust me,” he said, and Ed had no choice but to nod his agreement.

Two months later Ed was called in to see his WMO superior, Doctor Julian North, who was on one of his regular visits to Sydney from his base in New Zealand. Ed pushed open the office door to be welcomed by a distracted smile as North beckoned him in and indicated he was concluding his phone call.

“Sure, Dr Johansson, I will update you as soon as I can. Bye.” North put the phone down with deliberation and smiled at Ed. “That was Dr Johansson,” he said.

“So I gathered,” Ed replied levelly. He had a sinking feeling that this unexpected meeting did not bode well, and wondered if the funding for his contract – which was always precarious – had been withdrawn.

“Have you met him?” North asked. Ed shook his head. “He’s the Health Controller for Scandinavia, at the moment. Keep it under your scrubs, but he’s just been promoted to Deputy Medical Officer and he’ll be leaving for Futura in a matter of months.”

“Are you telling me you’re moving to Scandinavia, Julian?”

“Me? I’m afraid not. The idea of moving from our home in Auckland to Stockholm is too far for the wife and kids, I’m afraid.” There was a certain amount of regret in his voice and Ed smiled sympathetically. “However,” North continued, “the post was offered to me and when I couldn’t accept it, Johansson asked for any recommendations I might have.”

“That’s some trust he has in you,” Ed remarked.

North nodded. “I’ve known him for a few years; hard not to get know your counterparts around the world in this job. Anyway, the situation is that the recent reorganisation in the European Division has accounted for the best of the local candidates. They’re all busy with new projects. On top of that, the Medical Officer has introduced a global programme of exchanging skills and experience across the divisions to broaden the WMO’s effectiveness.”

“Yes, I read that piece he did in the Update Report.”

“Given that Johansson is probably keen to fall in with his new manager’s policies and, I expect, that Australasia is about as far away as he can imagine, he asked for me to succeed him. You know, Ed, I admit that I was tempted, but Deborah wasn’t keen and with the kids about to start important years in their education it just wasn’t feasible, so we agreed I couldn’t go.”

North gave the younger man a rueful glance and continued, “There’s more than enough to keep me occupied here, anyway, as your surveys have shown. But the point is, when I turned Johansson down, he said that as there are no obvious candidates in the Scandinavian-European division at the moment, given the reorganisation and that his leaving deadline is such short notice, he’s willing to suggest a replacement from the Australasian Division to the Medical Officer, if I had anyone I could recommend.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” Ed said, with a wry grimace. “Ideally, you need to keep your best officers here, if you plan to follow up on any of the suggestions I’ve made, that is.” He wondered for a moment if he was about to be offered a full-time post to replace one of his senior colleagues heading off for a life in the cold of Scandinavia. There were some posts he felt sure he could do better than the incumbent and some he wouldn’t touch with a barge-pole, no matter how hard North might plead.

“Hmm, I agree; it is a conundrum. Anyway, Ed, that’s by-the-by, in a way. I’m sorry to have to tell you that, as you’ve completed your report far ahead of the schedule we anticipated, the chances of me being able to keep you on here are slight.” He studied the younger man’s expression and saw the disappointment there. With a reassuring smile, he continued: “Therefore, I’m asking if you would allow me to recommend you to Dr Johansson, as his replacement in Stockholm.”

“Me?”

“ You are one of my best officers, Ed, and the WMO would be foolish to lose you just because the money here needs to be redirected in the many ways you have so clearly shown are essential.”

“Won’t it put a lot of peoples’ noses out of joint, sir? I’ve hardly been here any time at all.”

“I would hope most of my officers – and indeed all WMO officers – would look beyond that to the suitability of the candidate for the post,” North remarked. "I’ve spoken informally to Johansson; he assures me that most of the physical rebuilding work has been completed and what’s needed now is new ideas, and initiatives to galvanise a somewhat jaded workforce. I told him about you, and that we’ve had some wide-ranging and interesting discussions during your tenure here. I told him that based on those discussions, I think you’re the man to make the Scandinavians take a fresh look at their systems and to make the best of the resources they’ve got. I also made the point quite vehemently that the WMO can’t afford to lose young doctors of your calibre. I can assure you that Johansson, who was not unaware of the work you’ve been doing here, agreed.”

“But I’m a total outsider,” Ed reasoned. “I know nothing about Scandinavia!”

“Don’t expect me to believe that would colour your judgement, Ed. Besides, Johansson’s obvious local successor accepted the post in South America some months ago, so they’ve known for some time that they’ll be getting someone from ‘somewhere else’, and are in no position to complain if a ‘Nordic-Virgin’, so to speak, gets the job.”

“Dr Bengtsson? Yes, I saw that and wondered why? Did she know Johansson would be moving on?”

“I have no idea; but her move can’t have anything to do with this appointment: she moved before even Johansson knew it was in the offing. Maybe she thought she’d never get a chance to progress in her career if she waited for what some would see as dead man’s shoes. Whatever the reason, she’s out of the equation for the Scandinavian post.”

“There have to be any number of doctors even from ‘somewhere else’ with more seniority than me,” Ed began cautiously.

“I thought you said you’d read that article? It said quite clearly that promotions would be on merit and not on length of service.”

“Some would doubt my merit.”

“’Some’ aren’t involved in the recruitment process… that’s down to Johansson and me,” North reminded him. “Count this as your job interview, if you like.”

Ed grinned. “How to talk yourself out of a job,” he said, chuckling.

“And you’re doing very well,” North assured him, equally amused. “Look, Ed, you don’t have to give me an immediate answer, although a quick decision would be appreciated.”

Ed had already been doing some thinking and he said, “Do you remember me talking to you about the techno-medical bed I’ve been working on?”

North wasn’t exactly surprised at the apparent change of subject. “I do; it sounded promising. I‘m only sorry I can’t provide any funding from my budget for the foreseeable future,” he replied, determined to make it understood that Ed could expect no help from him with this unofficial project.

“We’re about to undertake work on a prototype.”

“Well done; you’ve been very diligent, it seems.” North nodded thoughtfully, and divining the reason for Ed’s remarks, continued: “Nothing to stop you doing that in Stockholm, is there?”

“Would they let me?”

North chuckled. “Ed, you’d be the Health Controller for Scandinavia, they couldn’t even stop you using the hospitals for your field trials, if you wanted to. Rank does have some privileges.”

“How true.” Ed grinned at the thought. “Let me talk to my business partner and see how plausible a move would be. I’d hate to leave such a promising project behind me.”

North nodded, and as Ed headed for the door, he added, “You might also want to consider that at the moment the majority of the World Government’s venture capital for innovation and development is focused on European-based projects … which includes Scandinavia, of course.”

Ed turned and grinned. “That’s just what I was thinking, Julian.”

CHAPTER TWO

Nguyen Robotics opened its first offices in a small business park on the outskirts of Stockholm, a few months after Edward Wilkie took up his post as the WMO Health Controller for Scandinavia. Ed had been upfront and open about the project and his application for funding went through to the World Government rather than the WMO. Trusting to a successful outcome, rather than sit out the bureaucratic decision process, Nic had quit his job, moved to Sweden and the two friends had set up their fledging enterprise on a shoestring. At this stage of the project Nic was doing most of the practical work but they had agreed that Ed would become more involved when development started on the medical programming.

So, Ed was primarily occupied with getting to grips with his new WMO role and his colleagues. He was relieved to discover many of his new associates spoke perfectly adequate English and never ridiculed his attempts to learn Swedish – well, not to his face. He inevitably made mistakes, finding it hard to adopt the far more formal behaviour expected in Sweden than in Australia, but his colleagues were invariably tolerant of his faux pas, until he learnt how not to inadvertently ruffle feathers.

Nevertheless, it was always relaxing to get back to the apartment he and Nic had rented and unwind over a few beers, sharing news of their encounters and planning the next steps in the progress of the med-bed’s development. But it quickly became apparent that Ed’s new job was not going to leave him much time for involvement in day-to-day work on the project.

Five months after Nguyen Robotics opened their doors, the WMO granted them substantial funding, on condition that the results were handed over to the World Government, rather exploited by a commercial firm.

“Just about exactly what we asked for,” Ed said, raising his wine glass in a toast to their success. “We’re on our way, Nic! Here’s to Nguyen Robotics and the best Med-bed in the world!”

“I’ll drink to that, mate!” They clinked glasses and downed the wine. “You’ve got to make your day job your priority,” Nic reasoned, “while I need to crack on with the development. You know what I think? I think we need to get a Swedish partner. Someone who can advise us how to get things done here without coming a cropper.”

Ed nodded and Nic continued, “I might have the very person, actually.”

Ed swallowed a mouthful of wine and asked, “Oh, who’s that?”

Nic actually coloured as he replied, with apparent nonchalance, “She works for the law firm we consulted, the one Johansson recommended.”

“Have I met her?” Ed asked, knowing full well that he had.

Nic nodded. “Lynnea Westrom.”

Ed grinned. “If you’ve gotta have a sheila in the partnership, you might as well make sure she’s a damn good looking one!”

“Lynn’s a damn fine lawyer,” Nic protested.

“Did I say she wasn’t? Have you spoken to her about it? She might not want to throw in her lot with a couple of Aussie drongos determined to lose their shirts on making a robotic medical bed.”

“I did mention it over dinner one night,” Nic admitted.

“Strewth, mate, you don’t waste time, do you?”

“It was a business dinner!”

“And I’m Charlie’s Aunt.”

Nic grinned. “She’s a bit of all right, mate.”

“With brains?” Ed prompted.

“Oh definitely, brains by the bucketful. That’s what I noticed first off.”

Ed laughed derisively. “Of course you did! Well, I’ll trust you on this one, Nic.”

“Cheers, mate!”

“Just name the first one after me.”

Nic grinned, shaking his head. “And if it’s a girl?”

“Edwina Nguyen sounds okay to me….”

Ed stood at the entrance of his hospital office and watched Dr Tilde Lindström walking away down the corridor. An elfin creature with cropped, blonde hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, she was wearing the regulation white housecoat, but it seemed to cling to her in a unique way, emphasising the sway of her hips and the bounce of her stride.

She rounded the corner to the wards and he sighed.

“You will have to do something about that, Doktor,” said a deep voice at his shoulder.

He looked round and up, into the friendly face of Dr Bertil Persson, the senior Cardiologist at the WMO’s Stockholm Medical Facility.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he protested without rancour.

Bertil smiled. “I think you do. I mean you will have to do something about Doktor Lindström. You cannot go on making eyes at her all the time, yet not say something to her. Poor woman does not know if she is admired or not.”

“Oh, she is admired, Bertil,” Ed confessed, with a sigh.

“Then tell her so, min vän; are you a brave man or a timid mouse?”

“When it comes to intellectual women like Tilde, I can feel a distinct cheese fixation coming on,” Ed admitted. “I mean: why would she be interested in me?” He ran a hand through his dark hair and gave a rueful grimace. “I’m just a brash Antipodean, foisted on you all by the World Medical Organisation. I arrive full of bull and announce that I want to install new medical-beds in the wards she’s running, just so that I can see if the technology works. You heard her, Bertil: I haven’t had to try and practise medicine while the hospitals and support facilities were still being rebuilt around me, like she has, so I can’t possibly have learnt what’s needed in the time I’ve been here.”

“The reason you were given this job was to make us see beyond that experience, was it not?” Bertil responded. “You said you wanted to move us out from our comfort zones. This can be no bad thing.”

“Well, yes; but that’s just work. She probably thinks I’m totally uncouth, with about as much sophistication as a kangaroo.”

“Then you must prove her wrong. Tilde Lindström is a strong-minded woman, but she’s fair-minded too. You should – how do the English say? – show her your etchings?”

Ed laughed. “I wouldn’t know about that; I can’t etch to save my life, but I did go to the Sydney Opera House - once.”

“Well, there you are. Tilde would rejoice to know that.”

“Couldn’t understand a bloody word, mind you, and the plot seemed to require me accepting that a 150-kilo diva was dying of consumption; but some of the tunes were nice.”

It took Bertil a moment to realise he was being teased and then he shook his head, sadly. “Edward. I am a cardiac surgeon – I know much about the heart - and I say she is displaying her ‘not interested’ attitude too much. She likes you, but she wants to know you like her.”

“And if I say something to her and she turns me down?” Ed shook his head. “I can’t risk making our working relationship even more rocky than it already is on the slim chance she won’t be offended.”

“But she is waiting for you to say something - even if you say you do not intend to pursue her, or that you do not like her,” Persson reiterated with some slight exasperation, adding: “And is that something you are likely to say to her, Edward?”

“Yeah, but only when the pigs fly.”

Bertil shook his head again, despairingly. “How can you know that she doesn’t like you until you have researched? You, of all men, do not make assumptions without evidence, I think? Look, shall I ask Vera to invite her to supper and you can come also?”

Edward Wilkie looked up at his taller friend with wary eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I need to have my colleagues paying good attention to what they are doing and not moping about wondering if they are in love, or not. Take her to bed, and get it out of your system, Edward. If there is more to it than that, it is when you will find out.”

“There is a name for men like you, Bertil.”

“Ja – it is ‘a good friend’.”

“I was thinking more of ‘a pander’.”

“I am a black and white bear?” Persson asked in some confusion.

Ed smirked and shook his head, sometimes he forgot that his Swedish colleagues – excellent though their grasp of English was – didn’t always share his cultural references.

“No, this is something entirely different. But yes, I guess ‘a good friend’ will do as well, in your case.”

“Good! Come along on Saturday night, Edward. Be sure that Vera will make all very friendly and comfortable, so that you will not feel you need to be on your best behaviour with us, eh? And be ready to pay court to Doktor Lindström.”

The evening got off to a great start. Tilde Lindström showed no great surprise at meeting Ed at the Perssons’ house that Saturday night and he wondered how much Vera Persson had told her. She greeted him with a bright smile, and extended her slender hand to him.

“Good evening, Doktor Wilkie,” she said.

“Hello, Doctor Lindström; you are looking … wonderful. That colour really suits you – it brings out the blue in your eyes.”

She laughed, a sweet chuckle that set his spine tingling with desire.

“Thank you, Doktor. I think tonight we can be friendly together? We are not at the hospital, so please, call me Tilde.” She flashed him a glance from beneath her lashes. “I hadn’t realised you had even noticed the colour of my eyes.”

“Oh, I noticed, Tilde. I’m a noticing kind of guy, I suppose. My friends call me Ed, by the way.”

“It is the sign of a fine surgeon,” she replied, “to be noticing things at all times.”

“No – there is to be no talk of surgery!” Vera Persson exclaimed, bringing over their drinks. “Tonight we are not talking of sickness and surgery – tonight we are being normal!”

Tilde laughed and said something to Vera in Swedish that Ed couldn’t decipher.

The Perssons were marvellous hosts and the food and wine were excellent. Slowly Ed relaxed, and Vera skilfully encouraged him to talk about himself, his home and background.

“Well, my father is a paediatric oncologist in Adelaide, South Australia, although he’s coming up to retirement soon. He received a knighthood for his work and there’s a wing of the hospital named after him. I guess it was his example that led me to a career in medicine, although my path in the profession has been a very different one.”

“That is an honour indeed for your father,” Bertil said, “to have a hospital wing named for him. He must be an excellent doctor.”

“Yes,” Ed said thoughtfully, “yes, he is. I guess I forget that sometimes; I’m so used to it, I don’t give it much thought any more. My mother used to be a nurse before she married, then she stayed home in Yalumba with my brother, sister and me. I was very much the after-thought in the family: the others are older than me. Mum does a lot of charity work, raising money for the hospital and a nursing home for sick kids.”

“You never wanted to do the same work as your father, Edward?” Tilde asked.

“I didn’t know what I wanted to do, apart from make a difference to the quality of life for as many people as possible. I was lucky: I got a job with the WMO and found the way to do exactly that. Along with the work I’m doing with Nic Nguyen, my business partner who moved here from Sydney so we could continue the development of the med-bed, it ticks all the boxes.”

“What is a med-bed?” Vera asked.

“It’s a sort of robotic nurse, you might say, that can monitor and report back on a patient to the case doctor, in real time.”

“We spoke of this,” Tilde said noncommittally.

Ed nodded. “Yes, we did and you were extremely sceptical.”

Vera was about to interject and change the subject when she saw Bertil give a slight shake of his head and realised her husband had more motives in inviting their guests than simply aiding the course of true love. She said nothing and let Ed continue.

“Perhaps I should have explained that Nic is the real brains behind much of the technology. He’s an electrical engineer and he’s developed a system we call ‘Free Mind’ programming. The bed uses readily available scanners and sensors to check the patient and produces a report from that data in a matter of seconds. We’re working to refine it to make a prognosis and present options for treatment, given its knowledge of what medical resources are available on site, kinda like a junior doctor might, so that however remote the patient is from the expert physician, they can devise the best treatment.”

“But why introduce them here?” Tilde asked, with what came close to asperity. “We have no need of robot nurses to check our diagnosis – all of the doctors here are experienced.”

“It’s because there are experts here that I wanted to try them out in this hospital,” Ed explained. “These are still experimental and I don’t want to risk any lives by putting them out in the field, so to speak, without a backup.”

She snorted. “A human doctor as a backup to a machine! I do not like what you’re saying.”

“But, Tillie,” Bertil said calmly, “there are isolated communities all over Scandinavia where this could be invaluable. We cannot be everywhere.”

She drew in a deep breath and after a moment’s hesitation gave an abrupt nod of her head. “This I can see. But to place so much faith in a machine when a human would be better. I cannot like it.”

To her surprise, Ed agreed. “You’re right; and if there were enough humans, trained and willing to live in these places, I’d be the first to employ them. Money permitting,” he concluded honestly. “But failing that, at least if we can input that invaluable human expertise and insight into the med-bed, then it would allow these isolated communities – all isolated and impoverished communities across the globe - to benefit from high class medical care. I would never say that a med-bed diagnosis shouldn’t be challenged by a competent medic, but as a guide and a starting point, I think it could be invaluable.”

Tilde had listened carefully, seeing a genuine dedication as he spoke. “Perhaps I was… hasty to refuse?” she said, “but tonight I think is not the place to continue this discussion – or Vera will be angry.” She smiled at her friend. “On Monday we should have further discussions?”

Ed grinned. “Yeah, and I’d appreciate the chance to show you – and Bertil – just how far we’ve got with the prototype. I’ll contact Nic tomorrow and make some arrangements, if you’d like me to.”

Tilde nodded and gave a slight smile.

“And now we no longer speak of working,” Vera said firmly. “Edward, tell me, do you ski?”

He shook his head. “We don’t get much snow in South Australia.”

“Then you should learn here, in Sweden, before the winter comes,” Vera replied. “You won’t regret doing so.”

“Why not? I guess there’s only so many bones I can break, after all…” he said, smiling at their laughter.

When it was time to leave, he offered to walk Tilde to her apartment and, as they walked together through the persistent drizzle of the midsummer twilight, she agreed to meet him again. When he delivered her to her door, she kissed his lips, and smiling, went inside.

He turned to walk the rest of the way home feeling ten feet tall for the first time in his life.

With his habitual dedication to doing what he saw as his duty, Ed refused to allow his new-found happiness to divert him from his work. He was a good doctor, he knew that, but he also knew there was still a lot he could learn. He took his Hippocratic Oath seriously and considered the responsibility it laid on him, to prescribe treatment for the good of his patients according to his ability and judgment and –especially - never to do harm to anyone, as his guiding principles.

Scandinavia had not escaped unscathed by the devastation of the European Atomic war, and there were still pockets of displaced people living in deprivation. He believed his current post offered a perfect launch pad for some of his more revolutionary ideas around improving the poorly-resourced health services across the globe, and considered his primary responsibility was to allocate the finite medical resources to everyone – including the dispossessed. To this end, he worked tirelessly with Nic developing automatic systems that would monitor patients and perform routine tasks, freeing trained medical staff to deal with the most urgent cases.

However much the ‘robot nurses’ were regarded with scepticism by the hospital staff, by spending time with Ed, listening to his theories and seeing the work he was doing on his prototypes, Tilde Lindström quickly came to realise that he was genuine in his wish to make a difference to the lives of those less fortunate.

Tentatively at first, she started to volunteer her help at Nguyen Robotics.

Ed was more than happy to spend the days when their lunch hours coincided with Tilde, talking through every aspect of the medical programs and which of the myriad of diagnostic tools the machines would need access to. Tilde had an extensive network of contacts and she brought other doctors into the discussions until, gradually, Edward’s vision became known, understood and largely accepted, at least in the Scandinavian sector.

Such was Tilde’s conversion to the benefits of the scheme that they gradually became inseparable; yet for all their friendship their relationship remained platonic, which was not what either of them really wanted, but neither of them felt confident enough to take the next step. As the long summer days slipped away into the harsh northern winter – when the sun became a stranger to the gloomy sky – Edward tried to adapt to the conditions, although he was missing the warmth of his native land dreadfully.

Tilde was gradually introducing him to the Scandinavian way of life; she laughed at his complaints about the cold, and tried to show him the delights of living in a world that was under a blanket of snow. She took him skiing and sledding, and then, one weekend, they both took leave from the hospital and she took him north to Kiruna on an elk safari, enjoying the spectacle of the Northern Lights, before spending the night together in a Sami tent.

“Well, I may never get to join the ‘Mile High Club’,” Ed murmured contentedly, as Tillie snuggled against his shoulder in the afterglow of satiated desire. “But I reckon I must be a founder member of the Aussie branch of the ‘Twenty-Below Brigade’.”

Ed was keen to co-ordinate the work he was doing in Stockholm with the various pan-European initiatives in place, all seeking to improve medical services in areas still struggling to recover from the trauma of the European War, some twenty years ago. His increasing involvement with promoting his ideas, as well as the schemes he’d pioneered to revitalise and improve the World Medical Organisation’s services throughout Scandinavia, meant traveling extensively around the Baltic and attending meetings across the continent.

When he returned to Stockholm after one particularly intensive sortie, he got back to his apartment just after midnight. He no longer shared with Nic, who had now moved in with his fiancée, Lynnea Westrom, so he walked straight from the front door to the bedroom, stripped off his travel-stained clothes, fell into bed and was asleep in seconds.

The aroma of fresh coffee woke him, and he realised there was the murmur of the radio coming from the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes and slipped his feet into his slippers, ambling into the bathroom and pulling on a bathrobe before he went to investigate what was going on.

When he walked into the open-plan living room, he saw Tilde at the sink. She heard the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor and turned, smiling, to say hello.

“I am sorry if I woke you, but perhaps it is no bad thing?”

He rubbed his unshaven chin and shook his head. “No – I’ve probably slept for too long as it is. I have meetings at the hospital…”

“I cancelled them.” He looked at her in surprise. “I called round on my way home after my night shift finished, just to see how you were, and you were dead to the world. It was obvious that you were exhausted, so I’m afraid, as your doctor, Ed, I took the decision to make the calls and cancel the meetings. You need some break from it all.”

She had poured him a cup of coffee while she spoke and placed it before him at the table. Then she started to grill some bacon and put bread into his toaster.

“It isn’t that I don’t appreciate it, Tillie, but-”

“But you don’t appreciate it. I quite understand, Ed; but if you go to a meeting and you cannot think straight, isn’t that worse than not going at all? Hmm?”

He slurped the coffee and gave a non-committal shrug. When she put the food before him, he ate it eagerly.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked her, watching her refill his coffee cup. “And you’re not my doctor, Tillie.”

“Don’t you know?” He shook his head. “And you call yourself a master-diagnostician.”

“Female psychology is a specialism I was never very good at.”

She chuckled. “No; I realised that some time ago.”

She came to join him at the table and sat regarding him affectionately, her chin cupped in her hands and a sweet smile on her lips.

“You are beautiful,” he said. Her smile broadened. “Tilde Lindström, I love you.”

“At last…” she breathed, and reached out a hand towards him.

He caught it and pressed his lips against her fingers. “I have a confession to make, Tillie. I meant to speak to you before I left last week, but there never seemed to be the time,” he said.

“You’ve been working too hard.”

He shrugged. “Not from choice.”

She teased, “You would not know what to do with yourself if you were not working, Ed.” She paused, glancing down at their hands as they lay entwined on the table top. “But if it is not work that has preoccupied us, then I shall ask, ‘what is wrong, my dear?’”

There was a pause before he replied. “Tillie, I was offered the post of Administrator for the Advancement of Medicine a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been thinking it over. Now they need an answer in the next day or so and that’s why I’ve been trying to get everything sorted out in my mind. You see: I want to take it. I’m sure there’s such a lot I can do to improve services; so many places have inferior health services and I’m sure, with time and the funding the post would bring, we can refine the robot nurses, so that they can make a real improvement in those areas of deprivation.”

She withdrew her hands. “I know. Bertil told me.”

“How did he know?” Edward was genuinely surprised.

“Bertil has talent for gossip, you cannot keep a secret from him,” she said dismissively. “But, I wondered when you would tell me, Ed.”

He stared at her for a moment, seeing her sadness at her supposed exclusion from his life. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. He stood up and walked back into the bedroom, returning with an elegant and obviously expensive glossy-paper carrier bag. He placed it on the table and then held out his hand to her. A small ring lay in his palm.

“I found that ring you lost last time we went away. It was in the car, under the seat. I took it with me to Paris, because I wanted them to use it as a template.”

Tilde frowned at him. “Edward?”

“I want to ask you to come with me, Tillie – to come with me to Futura, as my wife.”

“Edward!”

He gave a wry smile. “I was going to do this all romantic-like, but here I am: unshaven, undressed and unprepared. I love you, Tilde, and I know that I can really only go to Futura if you come with me.”

He handed her the small leatherette box from the carrier bag and she opened it. Inside lay a ring, with a diamond set in sapphires – the colour of her eyes.

She was silent and looked at him over the lid of the box for a long moment. “I have something for you too,” she admitted. “I bought it after Bertil told me about the Futura job.”

She handed him a small box and he opened it to see a signet ring, with a small diamond chip in one corner.

“It is for your birthday – but now you can wear it as an engagement ring as well.”

“My birthday? That’s tomorrow.”

She shook her head, laughing. “You slept a whole day – it is the tenth of July today, Ed!”

He joined in her laughter and then caught his breath mid-chuckle. “An engagement ring?”

She nodded and slipped his ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

“Yes, Edward Wilkie, I will marry you.”

Ed took her into his arms and kissed her. His mind was filled with the certainty that the future would consist of never-ending happiness, as well as the satisfaction of knowing that he was making a difference, just as he’d always wanted.

They held the wedding in Futura, as a compromise between their families. It was a small, intimate affair followed by a short honeymoon in Mexico. Determined to settle in to their new life with enthusiasm, the only clouds on the horizon were Ed’s long hours and his frequent absences on business, which at least to begin with, Tillie coped with by getting herself a job at the local hospital and taking regular visits to see her family, or having them visit Futura.

For the next seven years, while working for the WMO in Futura, Ed kept in touch with the team at Nguyen Robotics led by Nic. The company refined and expanded the capabilities of the med-beds using skills and insight provided by some of the WMO’s best practitioners, to produce a wide-ranging diagnostic tool.

The WMO, recognising the potential of the technology, installed the devices around the globe wherever resources were sparse, despite the opposition from some in the medical establishment. Gradually, as the robot nurses proved their worth time and again, even the most rabid opponents were obliged to admit that they were valuable tools, and once the machines became commonplace, more practitioners volunteered their expertise until the robots had the capability to be proficient in almost every medical speciality.

Wary of overloading the med-beds and making them far too complex for the basic tasks they were intended for, Nic began work on ‘robot doctors’. These were intended to work in conjunction with real-time diagnostics provided by the med-bed robot nurses, and human practitioners, with motion-capture technology enabling robotic arms to perform operations in situ, even when the actual doctor controlling them was many miles away.

Ed’s involvement in these developments at Nguyen Robotics was necessarily restricted by the demands of his high-profile job, but his interest remained keen and he was always willing to discuss progress with the team. To cover Ed’s frequent unavoidable absences, their old flatmate Dr Shane Thompson was recruited as the director of ‘surgical technique development’ and Tilde continued working with Nic whenever she could, resigning from her Futura job and spending long periods in Stockholm while Ed was away on business.

The company was doing very well: profits were good and even though expansion was rapid, the fact that the five senior directors were good friends still gave the firm the air of a ‘family-run’ firm.

Ed had never been happier or felt more fulfilled in his career: if only he and Tillie could’ve had the family he knew she wanted, his life would’ve been perfect.

It came as a complete shock when, as they were eating dinner in their Futura apartment on his return from one work trip, Tillie told him she wanted a divorce.

“ What?” He was incredulous, putting down his knife and fork, he stared at her. “Darling, what are you saying? You can’t mean it. I know I haven’t been around as much as I’d’ve liked, but the job.... Look: I will delegate more, I promise. I’ll recruit a deputy and stay home. I shouldn’t have neglected you...I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you!”

Tilde shook her head and couldn’t meet his anguished gaze.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ed. It is I who should apologise. I admit, because you were away so much I was lonely. That is why I began to spend so much time in Stockholm.”

“Darling, that’s fine, you don’t have to apologise or explain. Nic’s been telling me what good work you’ve been doing. You and Tommo; I wish I could’ve been there too. I envy you.”

“It is not an excuse and I do not offer it as one. I have spent much of my time with Tommo, working on the robots and then after work, we would go for a drink and maybe have a meal. He was alone too, remember, and a long way from home.”

“Tommo always said that he could be at home wherever he was. I don’t imagine it took him long to get into the swing of things in Stockholm? He had Nic there, of course, to show him the ropes.”

“Yes, he was soon at home there. Oh, Ed, I do not know how to tell you in any way that will not hurt you; and I have never wanted to hurt you, God knows.” She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye as she announced: “Tommo and I are lovers.”

“ Tommo? No, Tillie...” He was pleading for her to deny her own words and she looked away from his anguished gaze.

“He cares for me-”

“I LOVE YOU!” Ed declared vehemently, taking her hands and forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I know and I do love you too; but not as it was. It cannot be as it was, Ed. I am pregnant.”

He dropped her hands and stared at her, reading the unspoken confession between her words.

“Tommo’s baby?” he whispered.

Tilde nodded. She was crying softly now and shaking with emotion. “It wasn’t planned, I swear. But you have to know: I want this baby, Ed.”

His heart contracted at her words; they had been trying to start a family in an ‘if it happens’ sort of way and now it seemed that it had happened, but not for him. He struggled to keep his voice steady as he said: “Darling, I know how you’ve longed for a family, but we don’t have to split up over this, Tillie. Your baby is my baby...”

“Tommo wants the baby too. He wants us to marry and have a family life. And so do I; the child deserves to be with its parents. I know you mean what you say, Ed, but could you really, honestly say that you’d never resent the child? I want a family life that has no deceit in it and where I can raise my child with a partner at my side who puts us before anything. Could you give me that? I don’t think so, Ed; you are dedicated to your profession, and I honour you for that. But I am tired of living half a life with you; I can no longer bear to be a part-time wife.”

“Tilde, everything I’ve done I’ve done believing you wanted me to do it; that we shared that vision of making things better for as many people as possible. I need you, Tillie.”

“I am sorry; I wish it wasn’t that way. You are a wonderful man, Edward, and I hope one day you will find a better woman than I am to make you happy.”

“There isn’t a better woman than you for me.”

“I hope that is not true.”

Slowly Tillie left the table and began to collect her things in readiness to leave. “I am going back to Stockholm tonight, my plane leaves in a few hours. The lawyers’ papers should arrive tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you myself first. I am not asking for anything from you; no financial settlement is needed. I owe you that much honesty. I hope you will be kind enough to me not to dispute them, Ed. I really am so sorry.”

Ed said nothing, staring down at his hands as they rested on the table.

“Goodbye, Ed.”

When the door closed behind her, he brushed the food and crockery from the table with one powerful sweep of his arm and sat staring silently into the gathering darkness for several hours.

Reluctantly, he realised there was no going back. He would agree to the divorce and spare her the distress of contesting it. Dragging the matter through the courts would solve nothing. He knew he couldn’t stay in this apartment, crowded as it was with memories of Tillie and their life together, so the next day, after the post delivered the divorce papers, he moved into one of the hotels in Futura and began looking for a new apartment.

The whole affair was conducted with a strained politeness and affability that had left Ed feeling as if his guts were being twisted inside him. Even so, the divorce began to sour relationships within the company, as Nic was faced with managing the rapidly disintegrating bond between his closest friends.

As the legal process ground on, Ed considered his future and came to the conclusion that, in everybody’s interests, he needed to divest himself of his shares in the company. His work in the WMO would more than provide him with a good living and he knew that however hard he tried, it wouldn’t be possible to continue working with Tilde or Tommo. He went to Nic and offered to sell out to him.

“I consider that to be fair to us all, I should resign my interest in the company and drop out of the research team, Nic. Quite apart from the personal side of things, it’s made me realise my WMO responsibilities have meant that I’m not really pulling my weight here any longer.”

“Don’t give me that, mate, the whole company is as much your brainchild as mine. I can’t imagine NR without you.”

Ed gave a rueful smile. “You don’t need me, Nic; you’re the driving force behind NR now and you have been for years, and I’m determined to go. Obviously, this is going to affect all the directors, but I prefer to offer my shares to you, as the original co-founder of the company, rather than divide them between… the others. If – and how – you choose to assign the shares thereafter, is down to you.”

“I don’t want you to go, but if you’re determined, then I’ll buy you out. Top dollar.”

“I’m not bothered by the money-” Ed began.

“I know you’re not!” Nic interjected fiercely. “You’re too bloody soft, Ed! Strewth, if it was my wife Tommo had moved in on, I’d swing for the bastard!”

“Please - don’t take sides, Nic. The company needs unity at the top if it is to complete the work we started.”

Nic sighed and moderated his tone somewhat. “I’m not taking sides, Ed, I’m just expressing an opinion. I promise you I won’t say anything to Tillie or even to Tommo, but you’re my closest friend – my daughter’s godfather, for Chrissake! I have a right to an opinion, don’t I? I also know that whatever I may think of them, I need Tilde and – damn him - Tommo, so I won’t stir things up. I know what the company’s objectives mean to you and I assure you, nothing’s gonna get in the way of our achieving them.”

Ed smiled. “And I can assure you that the WMO will be backing you for as long as the work you’re doing meets their needs and objectives. This wasn’t my decision; as you know, I declared an interest and recused myself from the negotiations, but I do get reports and the board are very satisfied with all that you’ve been doing.”

Nic thanked him and continued, “We’ve been through a lot together, you and me, and for that reason, I’m gonna buy your shares, but I won’t take all of them. I want you to retain an interest – a non-voting interest, if you like – but I can’t agree to cut you out completely.”

“Nic, I can’t promise to be around enough to justify even that!”

“Shut up, Ed; you’ve never had a head for business and I’m doing the talking, for once. I don’t care if you never attend another stultifying board meeting, or read another financial statement, but for my peace of mind, I need to know you’re still part of all this.”

Embarrassed, Ed gave a nod of his head. “Okay. I’ll do it for you. Thanks, Nic.”

Nic sighed and said, “Now, listen to me: you’re gonna take what I’m going to offer and you won’t quibble. What’s more, not one cent of it goes to Tillie and Tommo – understand?”

“The lawyers might have something to say about that,” Ed replied, rather surprised at Nic’s outburst and by the amount written on the note pad Nic handed him.

“They won’t; Lynn will see to that. This is a private matter between you and me. You have my word on it.”

They shook hands on the deal and a week later Ed signed the papers that ended his routine responsibilities to the company he had helped create.

The day after the decree absolute arrived, Ed ate a leisurely breakfast and opened his post before he went to his WMO office. He didn’t know what else to do. As he walked through the door, his secretary, a most efficient young lady with a very superior air, explained that a gentleman had already been on the phone several times, most insistent about seeing Doctor Wilkie as soon as possible, but he had refused to give any information about the purpose of the meeting.

“In the end, I made him an appointment for later this afternoon, in between the personnel board meeting and your dinner with the World President’s medical advisor. I hope that’s acceptable?”

Suspecting the persistent caller was a journalist, Ed grimaced at the appointment in his diary: Mr Robert Snow.

Snow was prompt in arriving for his appointment. Ed was surprised to see a tall, distinguished-sounding, English gentleman of a decidedly military bearing. His silver-grey hair must once have been dark, for above his blue eyes were severe black eyebrows. He expressed his thanks for being granted some of Ed’s valuable time, calmly took the seat he was offered and accepted a cup of tea from the secretary.

“How can I help you, Mr Snow?” Ed asked, intrigued despite the weariness that dogged his waking hours these days.

After some deft interrogation around the subject of his present post and his ambitions for the future, Snow said, “The reason I am here is that I am offering you the post of Head of Medical Services for a new global security service, which is in the process of being created by the World Government. The organisation will be under my command. It is intended primarily to deal with terrorism, on and off-world, and therefore, it will be a tightly run, self-contained unit. Security around the officers employed by the service will be tight; they must not be put at any undue risk by having their identities revealed to the public at large. For that reason, any officer agreeing to join will have to break most of their ties with family and friends.”

“Why are you offering me the job?” Ed said sharply, hyper-sensitive to any suspected reference to his divorce.

“For no other reason except that you are the best medical officer in the world at this present time and only the best will do. The World President himself vouches for your trustworthiness, probity and dedication.”

“Does he, indeed?” Ed felt himself blushing.

Snow got to his feet and passed an envelope across Ed’s desk.

“In this envelope you will find the basic job description and terms of employment. Unless and until you agree to take the post, I can’t give you any more information. I’m sure you understand that, Doctor? I can give you 24 hours to mull it over. You’ll hear from me again, tomorrow afternoon. A simple yes or no will suffice.”

Ed got to his feet and shook the proffered hand. He watched Snow leave the room and then waited for some time before opening the envelope. The terms were generous and the project, as outlined by the job description was fascinating. He liked Snow’s straight-talking approach and believed the man was a cut above the usual military commanders he’d had to deal with. He was confident that in itself would make it possible to work effectively with him.

So, despite his instinctive dislike of military organisations, and what he considered their restricted outlook on how to deal with the problems that beset the world, Ed grabbed at the chance to leave Futura and all that the city now meant, and accepted the offer. He reassured himself with the thought that the value of his work for the WMO was now so widely recognised he was no longer essential, because the project would be carried on by the next administrator.

And that was why, only a matter of months after his divorce, he found himself working on board Cloudbase, the impressive airborne headquarters of the World Government’s latest security organisation, Spectrum, under the code name ‘Doctor Fawn’.

CHAPTER THREE

The medi-jet landed and the emergency team swung into action. The triage nurses were well-trained and the small private ward, close to the Sick Bay entrance, was waiting for the patient before the gurney arrived. The paramedics lifted the body onto the med-bed, which was already beeping softly as it calibrated historical data from the patient’s medical records to compare with the readings it began to make as soon as the patient was in place.

Doctor Fawn strode across the ward, already wearing his surgical gown, gloves and mask. He saw one of the nurses helping the anxious Captain Blue settle himself down in the waiting room by bringing the young man a cup of coffee. He raised a hand in acknowledgment of Blue’s presence and went into the private ward.

Captain Scarlet’s body had been stripped of its tattered uniform and electrodes attached to his apparently lifeless body. A glance at the robot nurse screen on the med-bed confirmed that there were no life signs.

“Right, Captain,” Fawn said, “let’s see what you’ve done to yourself this time, shall we?”

Colonel White went down to the Sick Bay and joined Captain Blue in the waiting room. “At ease, Captain,” he said, as the tall American began to get to his feet.

Blue sank back onto the comfortable sofa with a grunt of gratitude.

The colonel glanced towards the private ward. “Any news?”

Blue shook his head. “Not yet, sir.”

White fetched himself a drink and sat opposite his officer. “Do you feel up to telling me what happened, Captain?” he said with some concern; Blue looked exhausted.

“Of course, sir. Scarlet drove the truck with the atomic device to the detonation site. I went ahead to clear the route in the SPV…” He paused. “By the way, I think you might get a complaint about that, sir. I had to shunt a stalled car out of the way and I don’t think the driver was too pleased…”

“I’ll deal with that, if it comes to anything,” White assured him, with a slight smile. He was getting used to handling complaints from annoyed organisations, or outraged citizens, who considered the enormity of the collateral damage they’d suffered during one of Spectrum’s missions outweighed the necessity of having caused it in order to save the world from the Mysterons’ threats. It was, White supposed, an inevitable consequence of keeping the actual nature of the Mysterons and their threat to destroy all life on Earth a closely-guarded secret.

“The elevator down to the detonation cavern was incredibly slow,” Blue continued in a dull voice. “It took so long to get down there that Scarlet was still on his way back up in the elevator cage when the device exploded…”

The captain took a swig of his tepid coffee, grimaced and put the mug down. When he continued, his voice was expressionless and only the short, punchy sentences as he relived the events of the mission, gave the colonel any indication of how tense he was.

“I felt the ground shake. I was knocked off my feet. Even from two miles underground the noise was deafening. When my ears stopped ringing, I could hear emergency sirens and klaxons wailing. I knew help was on its way. I called Scarlet on the radio. I got no answer.” He glanced up at his commander and explained, “Seeing his uniform when they got him out, it was obvious the connections wouldn’t have survived the blast, but I didn’t know if he had.”

White nodded. “They got him out pretty quickly,” he said, seeking to ease his officer’s guilt.

“They did,” Blue said grimly. “I made damn sure of that.” His lips twitched in a wry smile. “They thought I was crazy insisting they made getting Scarlet out their priority – they were so sure he was dead.”

“Was he?”

Blue nodded. “When the medi-jet arrived I got his body on board without any of their medics getting a look at him. I said Spectrum would deal with any radiation contamination.”

“Were there any signs of recovery by the time you got here?”

Blue shook his head, drew a deep breath and blurted out his fears: “He was up close and personal to an atomic explosion; how could anyone – even Scarlet – survive that?”

Colonel White didn’t answer immediately; yet, despite his determination not to reveal the extent of his own uncertainty, he could do nothing but resort to platitudes: “The Mysterons have powers we cannot hope to understand, Captain. All we can do is hope.”

Blue’s exasperated grimace pushed White to continue, “I feel sure that Doctor Fawn has the right of it and that, somehow, by their attempt to retrometabolise the original Paul Metcalfe, they have left this Captain Scarlet indestructible.”

“If he survives this, I’ll never doubt it again, sir,” Blue said with genuine fervour. They sat in silence until Blue asked, “Can I wait here for Fawn’s report, Colonel?”

White nodded. “Of course. Try and get some rest yourself, Captain Blue. You look like you need it, son.”

To the captain’s surprise, Colonel White laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder as he stood to leave.

“S.I.G., sir,” Blue said.

He watched the colonel go before getting up to replenish his drink. Then he settled down on the sofa, with his booted feet resting on the low coffee table, tipped his radio cap over his eyes and tried to forget his concerns for his friend by catching forty winks.

Fawn finished his examination by recording the extent of Captain Scarlet’s injuries in the robot-nurse’s database. The machine calculated every possible diagnosis in a matter of seconds and each one of them was fatal. He grimaced and over-rode the closedown command, telling the machine to keep recording and storing the data.

Glancing down at the motionless body on the bed, Fawn remarked, “Somehow, I’m gonna get to the bottom of this phenomenon, Scarlet. You just keep doing whatever it is the Mysterons have given you the ability to do, and we’ll keep taking the records until we can make sense of it all. In the meantime, I’m going to see if your field partner’s okay. I expect he’s still out there, cluttering up my hospital instead of getting some rest in his own quarters. Once I’ve checked he’s not suffering any ill-effects from the radiation, I’ll send him in to keep you company, shall I?”

He paused and took off his surgical gloves, concluding, “Keeping him out might be more of a problem, if it comes to that…”

He walked across to the waiting room and shook his head at the sight of Captain Blue. “Get ya feet off m’ furniture, ya drongo,” he said genially.

Blue’s lips twitched in a smile and he replied, in a passable Australian accent, “G’day, Doc.”

Fawn pushed the blue-suede boots off the coffee table and Blue sat upright and pushed his cap back, revealing a colourful black eye and a torn lip, which started oozing blood when he grinned.

Fawn sat down opposite him and stared at the American, who stared back, uncertainty clearly identifiable on his face.

“You had a once over?” Fawn asked.

Relieved that the scrutiny had been nothing but a detached professional assessment, Blue shook his head.

“I don’t need one. I’m fine; one of your pretty nurses gave me some coffee. Then the colonel dropped in for a report and he gave me leave of absence to wait for your report and that’s the only reason I’m still here.”

“Oh, so you’re a doctor now as well as a field officer?” Fawn retorted with heavy irony. He shook his head and jerked his thumb towards the open wards. “Get your sorry arse over to the examination room now! You’ve just been in the blast zone of an atomic explosion; I want to be sure you’re not about to mutate into something with two heads.”

“Two heads are better than one,” Blue remarked affably, getting stiffly to his feet and towering over Fawn.

“ Only assuming they both have brains in them and I sometimes wonder if you and Scarlet have a decent working brain between you! Quick march, soldier!”

“S.I.G., Doc.”

Fawn watched his colleague amble across to the examination room, noting the need to be sure the captain’s slight limp was due to nothing more than tiredness and the inevitable bruises. Before following his patient, Fawn went to the nurses’ station, where the three on-duty nurses were busy updating medical notes.

“Any one of you think to run a radiation test on Old Blue-Eyes, there?” He jerked his thumb towards the disappearing captain.

All three nurses looked guiltily apologetic and shook their heads.

Fawn tutted his disapproval. “Looks like we’ll need to go over the emergency procedures again then, doesn’t it? When it was decided that Captain Scarlet is a priority case, that didn’t mean his field partner shouldn’t be examined as well. In fact, in case you’ve forgotten: it isn’t Captain Blue who’s retrometabolic.”

“He assured me he was fine when I spoke to him,” Nurse Ingram, the senior nurse, explained, shame-faced. “Just tired…”

“What he knows about medicine can be written on a pinhead, Nurse. Next time, don’t let him charm you into providing coffee and a comfortable chair until he’s been examined. And I don’t care how persuasive he is!”

The three of them mumbled their acquiescence and, with a nod, Fawn went to assess the extent of Blue’s injuries – if any.

Seven hours after he had given Blue a cleanish bill of health and signed him off for 24 hours’ recuperation leave, Fawn was alerted to the fact that Captain Scarlet had developed life signs by the persistent bleep of the robot-nurse alarm on his desk. He gathered up his stethoscope and went to the private ward.

Blue was sitting beside the bed reading a newspaper; an empty plate of sandwiches and several coffee cups were on the table beside him. He looked up as the doctor entered.

“Not awake yet?” Fawn asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Blue shook his head, and then noticed the steady, if slight, indication of a pulse on the scanner. He exhaled and Fawn could actually see the tension in his body waning as he relaxed. “He’s done it again then, Doc?”

“Hmm; certainly looks like it.”

Fawn produced his stethoscope and listened to Scarlet’s chest. The heart beat was getting stronger even as he listened. “Won’t be long now,” he assured his colleague.

In fact it was a matter of minutes before Scarlet’s sapphire-blue eyes flickered open and his tongue licked his dry lips.

“Take a drink,” Fawn said quietly, raising the pillow supports until Scarlet was in a position to sip some water from a beaker. “You’re still weak, so don’t rush it, Captain.”

“I’m famished,” Scarlet retorted in a petulant whisper. He reached out a hand for the beaker and drained it in one go. “And thirsty.”

“I can order you something from the canteen,” Blue offered.

Scarlet realised he was there for the first time and grinned. “Sound idea, Blue-Boy. I fancy something with a bit of a kick… a nice chicken Vindaloo, perhaps?”

Fawn shuddered. “I think that might be a little too potent for a first meal, Captain, however quickly you heal.”

“No sweat, Doc,” Blue said, with a grin. “It isn’t Curry Night, so ‘battery-acid chicken’ is probably not on the menu; but I’ll ask,” he reassured Scarlet, as his friend began to protest.

Blue glanced at Fawn’s dubious expression and added reassuringly, “Paul’ll just have to settle for a chili con carne, and I’ll make sure it’s a mild one, of course.”

“One day, Yank, if your taste buds ever mature, you’ll get the hang of appreciating a decent curry,” Scarlet called after his friend, as he left the room.

He glanced up at Fawn. “Americans just don’t understand real food…”

He smirked at the doubtful expression on the doctor’s face.

Colonel White closed the medical report and looked at Doctor Fawn, who was sitting across the conference table from him, waiting patiently.

“You’re still unable to identify the factors that enable Scarlet to retrometabolise?”

Fawn nodded. “However, I have an idea that might resolve the problem, Colonel. I want to modify a dedicated robot-nurse and see if we can detect what’s happening post-mortem. At the moment, the sensors are not capable of doing more than recording the fact that he’s started breathing again, by which time it’s too late to learn anything.”

“Is this ‘retrometabolism’ likely to continue happening, Edward?” White’s voice remained as calm as usual, but his expression showed his deep concern.

“Your guess is as good as mine at the moment, Charles. Whatever happened to Scarlet on that first mission against the Mysterons is beyond the boundaries of known science – on Earth, anyway. If I could examine Captain Black I might be able to compare them and extrapolate from the data, but with only Scarlet to work on, it’s not going to be easy, whatever we try.”

“I doubt it is ‘easy’ for Captain Scarlet, either,” White said pointedly. “He’s obviously prepared to continue risking his life, based on your original hypothesis that he is indestructible, but I can’t help worrying about the effect it might be having on him.”

“I am keeping an eye on him, Colonel – on them both, to be honest,” Fawn assured him.

The colonel acknowledged the fact that two of his officers were involved in this unique and inexplicable situation, by asking: “How is Captain Blue coping?”

However remote and curmudgeonly a figure their commanding officer might seem, it was obvious to Fawn that he cared deeply about the welfare of all his officers. In response to this concern, he made sure the colonel was kept well-briefed about the medical well-being of every operative on the base and consequently, they had become friends as well as colleagues.

Now he gave a slight shrug and replied, “He’s on edge, naturally, but he seems to be handling it.” He neglected to say that he had his doubts that Blue would be able to continue ‘handling it’ indefinitely: he’d deal with that crisis if and when it came.

The colonel nodded. “Good; I do appreciate that it can’t be easy for either of them.” He paused for a long moment and then said, “Spectrum needs Captain Scarlet; I’m sure I don’t really need to tell you that, Doctor. The Mysterons are still an unknown element in all this and until we can find a way to prevent their acts of aggression against us, Scarlet’s our best hope. If I lost a man as often as Scarlet…” he hesitated.

“Dies.” Fawn supplied the word in a firm voice.

“Indeed.” White sighed and continued, “Spectrum wouldn’t be able to recruit and train new staff fast enough to remain effective.”

“I promise you that however Scarlet’s retrometabolism works, I’ll do all I can to make sure it keeps working.”

“I am sure you will. Keep me informed, Doctor.”

“S.I.G, Colonel.”

It was a few days after this conversation that Fawn set up a laboratory in one of the small rooms off the main Sick Bay. He requisitioned a robot nurse and console and searched his private records for the details of the basic configuration he and Nic Nguyen had devised, all those years ago back in Stockholm. Then, as the weeks and months went by, he spent as much of his spare time as he could working on Captain Scarlet’s dedicated robot nurse.

He undertook innumerable tests on an increasingly peevish Scarlet, as well as recording in minute detail every incident of retrometabolism he witnessed. He diligently questioned Captain Blue, who was often the closest, if not the only, witness to the events that led to Scarlet’s injuries and his subsequent remarkable recoveries.

The Mysterons’ attacks were many and varied, but whatever injury or fatality he experienced, Captain Scarlet’s retrometabolism continued to return the officer to health and fitness in an amazingly short time. Fawn’s determination to understand the process behind this ‘miracle’ became his main off-duty preoccupation. Yet, despite the numerous chances to examine and record Scarlet’s apparently inevitable recovery, nothing provided further insights into the mystery of retrometabolism.

Ed began to wish he could be there at the moment Scarlet was wounded, as he was coming to believe that whatever happened to trigger the retrometabolism must occur immediately the captain was hurt. The realisation that he was eagerly waiting Scarlet’s next incarceration in Sick Bay brought him up short and he was thoroughly ashamed of himself.

After busying himself with a mountain of outstanding paperwork as a penance, he took himself off to the Room of Sleep, despite his wariness of the enhanced sleep techniques it employed, and then wandered down to the Officers’ Lounge with the intention of joining the perpetual card game for an hour or two, even if it meant losing his stash of betting candy to the card-sharp skills of Captains Magenta and Ochre.

Nevertheless, only a few hours later he was back working on his proto-type post-mortem robot doctor, known as the PMRD, or, as Scarlet witheringly called it, ‘Doctor Death’.

Ed soon realised that the necessity of a radical re-calibration of the robot’s sensors, to record everything that might be influencing the retrometabolic process, was beyond his capabilities working alone. He discussed the problem in bewilderingly vague terms with Spectrum’s acknowledged computer experts, Lieutenant Green and Captain Magenta. Both men were aware of Scarlet’s unique physiology, which was a distinct advantage, but given Fawn’s inability to define what he wanted the programming to achieve, they were unable to be of much help. Still, with their skilled input, some progress was made, hampered though this was by busy shift rotas and the fact that both officers were only able to lend a hand in their spare time.

Nic Nguyen’s specialist programming also caused a few problems, as neither Magenta nor Green knew it, and the medical terminology it employed also complicated matters, even with Fawn there to ‘translate’.

Eventually, after Captain Scarlet was killed saving Spectrum’s Bensheba oil wells and refinery from a Mysteron attack, Doctor Fawn went to see Colonel White and put the problem to him.

“I’m going to need specialist help, Colonel; Magenta and Green have done what they can, but it isn’t enough. Of course, I wouldn’t do anything without your permission, nor would I reveal more than was absolutely necessary to achieve a successful outcome.”

White listened attentively to the request, his fingers steepled on the desk before him. “And do you consider you could get the assistance you need from Mr Nguyen without revealing the facts about Captain Scarlet?” he asked.

“I’ve known Nic for years, Colonel. We worked together from the start of the first med-bed project until I left the company just before I joined Spectrum. He trusts me when I say I want something done, and I trust him to achieve as much of it as it’s humanly possible to do. It’s true that this time the project would be for Spectrum, but he doesn’t have to know that – I doubt he’ll even ask, if I can interest him in the intellectual challenge. Of course, I’d make it clear that the World Government owned the technology and nothing learnt from the project could be used for commercial purposes without consent.”

“Which will not be forthcoming,” White remarked. “I can see why there’s a need for you to be able to monitor and record the incidents of retrometabolism,” he continued thoughtfully. “Imagine what a boon it would be if there is any way this process could be duplicated-”

“Now hold on there, Charles; my aim is to understand enough to advise Scarlet what he should not get involved with, not create genetically modified soldiers for Spectrum – or anyone else,” Fawn interjected.

“You think it is genetic, then?” White demanded tersely.

“ I don’t know,” Fawn replied with deliberate emphasis. “That’s what I need to find out. I can’t see that there is anything ‘mechanical’ about what happens; it is a natural process – for Captain Scarlet. It’s as if his body undergoes some kind of transformation, the outcome of which is life. The nearest analogy I can make is the pupal stage of the butterfly: the caterpillar breaks down and a butterfly emerges from the chrysalis. It’s a miracle to mankind, but not to the butterfly. And, before you ask: no, Scarlet’s body does not turn into some kind of primordial soup while he retrometabolises. If it did, I might not understand why it happens but I’d know how…”

The colonel said nothing, but it was obvious that he was considering the request very carefully.

Finally he said, “Very well, Doctor, you have permission to approach Mr Nguyen for his assistance. You may indent for whatever equipment you need. I would suggest you also seek assistance from Spectrum Intelligence’s Research and Development service. After all, one of them would be able to stay with Mr Nguyen while he works on the project, something I cannot allow you to do; I need you on Cloudbase. But you must not reveal anything about the Mysterons, Spectrum or retrometabolism.”

“S.I.G., Colonel.” Ed collected his papers and stood to leave before adding, “And thank you, Charles.”

The main NR production unit for med-beds and robot nurses and doctors had remained in Sweden, but the company’s administrative offices and research facilities had relocated to Futura in order to facilitate dealing with the World Government’s Byzantine bureaucracy. So, the day after his discussion with the colonel, Fawn caught Spectrum’s Futura shuttle from Cloudbase.

On his arrival in the Caribbean, he changed into a business suit and walked from the Spectrum compound to the main World Government building, where he picked up a taxi for the short drive to a shining glass and steel building that soared skywards in the prestigious business district. Ed paid the taxi and went up to the heavy, smoked-glass door.

There had been few if any changes to the personnel at Nguyen Robotics since his departure, but the receptionist was new: a young black woman with straightened hair, a crisp, white blouse and navy-blue pencil-line skirt.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely.

“I’m here to see Mr Nguyen; my name’s Doctor Edward Wilkie.”

She glanced at her screen and a slight frown appeared between her almost non-existent eyebrows. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”

“No, but I think you’ll find that Nic will see me.”

She gave him a doubtful smile and dialled a number. “Main reception here. I have a Doctor Edward Wilkie asking to see Mr Nguyen… No, there’s no appointment showing. Thanks.” She looked up. “Won’t keep you a moment, sir, someone’s on their way down to see you.”

After thanking her, Ed wandered away to study a display stand detailing the history of the firm. The photographs were familiar and his heart contracted at the sight of himself, with his arms around a happily grinning Tillie, as they stood outside the Swedish factory with Nic and Lynnea. He quickly moved on to inspect the perfunctory corporate abstract artworks that decorated the walls and, unimpressed, strolled towards the elevators.

As he approached, the door slid open and Nic sprang from the lift, all smiles and enthusiasm. He grabbed Ed’s hand and shook it heartily.

“Ed! Why didn’t you say you were coming? I’d have sent a car for you. How long can you stay? Where are you staying? Gee, it’s good to see you!”

“G’day, Nic.” Ed chuckled and returned the hearty greeting. “Can you spare me some of your precious time?”

“As much as you like. Come on up to my office. I keep a special stock of the amber nectar for my old friends, just as you like it. The stuff they serve here’s only fit to wash your feet in.”

Although it was pleasant to sit and talk over old times with Nic, Ed was acutely conscious of his friend’s unasked questions around the information he was not volunteering; but for years the mutual trust between them had been total and that had not changed, so it was no surprise Nic wasn’t about to ask more than he sensed Ed was willing to share.

Listening to Nic’s canter through his family’s news, Ed realised just how much he had missed his friend’s ‘can-do’ optimism and dry sense of humour, but as they broached the second ‘tinnie’, Nic got down to business.

“Like I said, it is good to see you, mate; but I’m thinking you haven’t just come here for a chat about old times. What can I do for you, Ed?”

“It’s like this, Nic: I’m working for the World Government on a medical research project. I can’t go into details and I know you wouldn’t expect me to under the circumstances.”

Nic nodded. “I know all about the World Government’s propensity for cloaks and daggers, so carry on.”

“I want some modifications done to the parameters and diagnostic programming of a ‘robo-doc’. I need it to do some … some far more detailed monitoring and analysis. No questions asked and no lies told. Can you help?”

“How soon do you want it done?”

Ed smiled. “Yesterday – ever met a customer who didn’t?”

Nic grinned. “Yesterday I definitely can’t do.” He flicked a switch and consulted an online diary. “I am assuming you want me to do this and not the programming guys?”

“Your eyes only,” Ed confirmed. “I can pay whatever you ask; it’s fully funded.”

“By them or by you?”

“Them.”

“Then they can pay the going rate, because, as sure as hell, they don’t qualify for ‘mates’ rates’. Hard to give you a completion date, Ed, without knowing what it is you want done, but I do have a few weeks’ leave in hand and I’m willing to take it. There are two meetings this week that I can’t cancel, but the rest can – and will – be delegated. If you can have the project brief ready for me by tomorrow night, I can start working on it next week. Soon enough?”

“Better than I’d hoped,” Ed said gratefully. He sipped the beer and added, cautiously, “What I want done may not make much sense, but if not knowing why it has to be done is a problem, I can’t give you the project.”

Nic smiled. “No sweat, mate. You’ve done me enough favours in the past, I’m not gonna make trouble. If you tell me it has to serve dinner in fishnet stockings and a bow-tie, I’ll do what I can.”

Ed laughed. “It won’t be quite that outrageous. Thanks, mate; I knew I could rely on you.”

He put down his drink and reached into his attaché case, pulling out an anonymous paper file. He handed it over.

“This is the basic project data and scope. If you think you can do it, I have much more data I can share with you. Some work – changes to the basic machine – has already been done, but how successfully, I don’t know. I’m out of practice, Nic.”

Nic glanced at it and quickly became engrossed. After some minutes he looked up and said, “Post mortem?”

Ed raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

“Forensics? Odd, but could be useful, I guess. Military?”

No reply.

Nic gave a wry grin. “Okay, I get the picture. I’d say it’s possible to calibrate a specialised program.” He handed the file back, rather to Ed’s surprise. “Take it away or I won’t be able to stop myself starting on it immediately and I do need to deal with the matters in hand. Where do you want the work done? You know we have a secure lab but I won’t argue if the World Government want me to work somewhere of their choosing?”

“Would you?”

“If you asked me to; but I’d need some of my own equipment shifting.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem, we have plenty of manpower. There is a lab here, in Futura, and I can offer someone to assist you, as well as me when I can. He’s a government research scientist, name of Doctor Robert Giardello. He’s a good man and an able technician.”

“Will you be there?”

Ed shook his head. “I will be there for some of the time, but I can’t promise to be there all the time.”

Nic drew in a thoughtful breath and considered for a brief moment. “Okay, Ed; bring it on – but next week, please…”

“Thanks, Nic. I owe you one.”

“Yeah; but if you can enlighten me on how I explain this to the wife and kids, I just might let you off.”

Fawn met Giardello at the Spectrum compound in Futura and took him to the lab that had been configured to his specifications in a basement room of the World Government’s main office block.

Giardello was a fairly taciturn man, dedicated to his work and as one of the few non-field operatives aware of the full extent of the Mysteron threat as well as the nature of Captain Scarlet’s unique gifts, he would be invaluable to the project.

Not long ago, Spectrum had, by a happy accident, discovered that while they were ‘active’ the Mysterons’ agents were impervious to x-rays and Giardello and Fawn had collaborated on the best ways to exploit it. Giardello had led the team which had devised the ‘Mysteron detector’, a clumpy, yet valuable, piece of equipment designed to x-ray suspects and produce a print-out photograph if they were Mysterons.

However, Giardello and his team had had to work alone on the electron rifle, when, rather to his own surprise, Fawn discovered his long-held belief in the unbreakable supremacy of his Hippocratic Oath meant he drew the line at creating a weapon, even one that was primarily intended to be effective against implacable alien enemies.

Now, Giardello looked around and expressed his satisfaction with the arrangements. “It looks like we have all we’re going to need for the immediate future, Ed. Mr Nguyen doesn’t know why we’re undertaking the work, I presume?”

“No. I’ve told him he won’t be told the full rationale behind the work and he’s accepted that. Nic’s a practical man and he likes a challenge. He’s already deduced that the new configuration is intended for forensic work and that will have to be as far as we go – if he asks, which I doubt he will. In fact, I’m more or less sure he won’t.”

Fawn perched on the edge of a work bench and continued:

“I’ll be here for a few days to make sure we’ve provided everything you need, then I’ll have to return to Cloudbase. I’ll be available to return at a moment’s notice, Bob, and will try to make a weekly visit to check progress.”

“Does Nguyen know he will be here until the work’s completed or abandoned?”

Fawn shook his head. “Once he’s engrossed it’d take wild horses to get him to abandon it. He won’t go home without a fight.”

“He has a family?” Giardello said, and as Fawn nodded he asked, “Have they been told?”

“Lynnea is used to him burying himself in a project. She won’t worry about late nights for some time.”

“He’s to go home every night?” Giardello sounded concerned. “That will make him vulnerable.”

“To prevent him going will make it too risky that the project will be exposed to external scrutiny. Lynn won’t bother too much as long as Nic goes home, but she’ll be hot on his trail if he doesn’t.” He could see that Giardello was still concerned, so he added, “Colonel White’s arranged for a discreet security watch, reporting direct to colour captains on Cloudbase, to be kept on Nic for the duration of the project.”

“And won’t his fellow directors at Nguyen Robotics be suspicious?”

“I doubt it.” Fawn drew a deep breath. “Dr Thompson and… his wife and kids are in Stockholm at the moment because Mrs Thompson’s father is very ill. I understand from Nic that NR’s Company Secretary is an extremely competent American with an MBA and all the personality and human warmth of a cuttlefish. They hold the monthly board meeting tomorrow. After that he probably won’t notice Nic’s away until the next one.”

Giardello nodded. “Let’s hope so,” he said doubtfully.

Fawn looked forward to his weekly visits to Futura and the time spent reviewing progress on the modifications. The discussions with Nic and Giardello were fascinating and resulted in potential improvements to be evaluated at leisure later. The days always dragged somewhat after he returned to Cloudbase, although there was more than enough going on to make sure he had very little time to relax.

Spectrum’s first anniversary provided a salutary lesson in the powers of the Mysterons to wrong-foot Spectrum, and Fawn wasn’t the only member of the senior officer corps to have cause to regret attending the unofficial and illicit celebration party, organised by Captain Scarlet, in Cloudbase’s Conference Room. The resultant headache lasted a full 24 hours and he vowed that if anyone ever offered him non-alcoholic champagne again, he would punch their lights out. However, he considered himself fortunate once the details of Captain Blue’s and Captain Ochre’s mission to Atlantica Naval base became common knowledge.

He was still chastened by the experience when he went to Futura a few days later and was heartened to see that Nic had made a potentially important breakthrough, so that, for the first time, Giardello was optimistic the project would succeed.

He presented Giardello with the auto-analyser’s breakdown of the Mysteronised champagne that had caused such chaos on Cloudbase and beyond.

“You might want to include a search for traces of these compounds in the PMRD’s diagnostics,” he suggested.

“These compounds are certainly unlikely to occur naturally,” Giardello remarked, as he scanned the list. “Do you anticipate that they may be indicative of...” he paused and glanced towards Nic, who was reading his copy of the report, “terrorist involvement?”

Fawn shrugged, seeking to make light of the question. “We have some evidence that these particular compounds have played a part in the terrorists’ previous plans. It’s speculative, because, of course, we can’t be certain they’d use them again, but we can’t risk not entertaining the possibility.”

Nic looked up from the document, a frown of concentration on his face. “I’m going to need technical advice on these formulas; I don’t recognise them.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Fawn explained. “I can give you a whole 48 hours.”

“No pressure then,” his friend remarked, with a wry smile. “Come on then, Dr Cool, let’s get this sorted so you can go back and play with the big boys…”

“Righto, Sport. I’ve a feeling today might be a productive one…”

“You may be right, Ed, but if we can’t edit the program between us, you’re gonna need to call on your ‘technical support’ for their help.”

Fawn looked blank. “Technical support?”

Nic nodded towards Giardello. “Bob’s told me your outfit has some of the best IT experts around on its books… and you did say I could have whatever I needed.”

Comments such as those were guaranteed to pique Nic’s interest in any supposed rival in his field and Fawn’s censorious glance at the blushing Giardello spoke volumes.

“Well, I suppose if Bob says they’re the best, they may well be… but for now, let’s see what we can do before we go calling on any other IT specialists, shall we?”

“Oh, I reckon we’re as good as the best,” Nic said, with a smirk at Giardello.

CHAPTER FOUR

In the recovery room dedicated to his exclusive use, Captain Scarlet gave a doubtful grimace as he stared at the prototype Post Mortem Robot Doctor – codenamed the PMRD - standing beside the med-bed.

The room was functional, sparsely furnished and isolated from the other wards in Sick Bay to ensure that his retrometabolism was kept as secret as possible. His friends had tried to improve things, despite Fawn’s objections, by fixing a brightly decorated banner on the ceiling over his bed, saying ‘Welcome Back, Paul’ where he could see it when he opened his eyes.

It never failed to bring a wry smile to his lips.

Of course, once he was declared ‘alive and well’ by Doctor Fawn the room would quickly take on a far less austere appearance, with gifts of flowers, books and magazines by the hundred-weight, large amounts of fruit, cake and ‘sweet treats’ provided by his friends to help him while away the hours of medical tests he was invariably subjected to. Two armchairs and a coffee table from the waiting room would also appear for the comfort of his many visitors.

Although he always complained long and loud when Fawn performed post-retrometabolism tests and monitored his responses to virtually every stimulus known to man, Scarlet realised, much to his surprise, that he had grown used to both the process and the equipment used. The dull, metallic-grey box, with its irritating bleeps and flickering lights had become a reassuring sign that he was back in the Real World, and although he had been – according to the medics and his field partner, at least - dead, he was now well and truly alive again.

The new equipment Fawn was so proud of, was a bigger, stand-alone machine mounted on a substantial metallic pedestal, about the height and width of a human body, so that it had a much more robot-like appearance. Above the main screen were mounted two video cameras to give 360-degree stereoscopic images to any remote operator. In the middle of the metallic stand there was a microphone and a speaker, whilst on either side telescopic arms with fully rotational clamps at the end would allow the operator to perform any necessary procedures.

“Well,” Fawn asked, his excitement evident in his voice, “what do you think of it?”

“I think the Spectrum logo on the pedestal is a nice touch,” Scarlet replied, giving his colleague an uneasy glance.

Fawn didn’t seem to notice the uncertainty and launched into what sounded very much like a salesman’s repartee: “It can function independently for up to twelve hours even if Cloudbase’s power fails, completing any of the many tasks it can be programmed to do. We can monitor you from anywhere on the base and make any adjustments for your care and comfort, without being in the room…”

“Great,” Scarlet interrupted. “That means I can spend days on end in here without sight of another human soul.”

“Don’t come the uncooked crustacean with me, Scarlet! You know that’s never going to happen! But, if there was ever an instance where it did happen, Robbo would see you were okay.”

“Robbo?”

“The robot,” Fawn explained. “It’s less of a mouthful than the PMRD. Listen; he can talk to you.”

He flicked a switch and the robot seemed to jerk into life. The stereoscopic cameras swivelled towards Scarlet and a quiet, unemotional, male voice that Scarlet couldn’t place, said:

Good morning Captain Scarlet. I am happy to be of service. Please state the nature of the medical emergency.

“You pinched that last bit from an old sci-fi movie,” Scarlet said, shaking his head with amusement at Fawn.

“Nic has a dry sense of humour and I doubt Giardello recognised it for what it was,” Fawn agreed, a surprisingly mischievous expression on his normally serious face.

“Is that the only voice option?”

“Yes; this is a functional tool, not a toy.”

“It’s just that it sounds a bit… creepy. Like some mentally deranged butler, or the psychotic computer in that film: ‘2001: a Space Odyssey’. Whose voice is it, anyway?”

“Some years ago, we used Doctor Shane Thompson, an old colleague of mine from Australia, to read a vocabulary of words that the programming could use to construct dialogue with the patient or the medical staff. It wasn’t used for the basic med-beds, but Nic Nguyen had kept it. Doctor Giardello – remember him from Spectrum Research? – added the specific touches, such as your name and references to the Mysterons or retrometabolism, but the electronic voice box modulates it so the voices sound indistinguishable.”

“Huh,” said Scarlet grumpily. “Well, at least you didn’t call him ‘Hal’, I suppose.”

“It’s not a ‘him’, it’s an ‘it’,” Fawn remarked.

“You called it a ‘him’,” Scarlet retorted. “’Listen, he can talk to you’ – that’s what you said.”

“Slip of the tongue.”

“Yeah? Well, I hope I don’t have to trust myself to its tender care for some considerable time to come.”

“Why not?”

“I told you: it gives me the creeps.”

“Well, it shouldn’t; it has been specially calibrated to suit your unique circumstances. The sensors on the bed will relay information to Robbo and allow it to monitor progress and diagnose any medical needs. There’s a facility for additional sensors to be attached as well, where additional data’s needed to allow a complete diagnostic. The technology is the most advanced available; it hasn’t been released into the public domain. Robbo was developed from the prototype of a whole new range of robot surgeons and once they’re installed, medical facilities the world over will be equipped to deal with the most complex emergencies – even the remotest clinic.”

Scarlet shrugged; he still couldn’t find it in himself to like the robot. “Well, I much prefer to be cared for by real people. Even the nurses here – living embodiments of Boadicea and Lucrezia Borgia though they be – are better than any machine.”

“Only because you think you can sweet-talk your way into getting them not to obey my orders,” Fawn said sharply. “Besides, they have enough work to do, without devoting all their energies to you, Scarlet.”

Scarlet frowned indignantly. “And here was I thinking I was your most frequent – if not most important – patient.”

Fawn looked at him intently. “You don’t need me to reiterate your importance to Spectrum, Captain, but every patient in my care is important. I don’t award points for ‘frequent fliers’.”

“Sorry, Doc,” Scarlet muttered, colouring slightly. He glanced at the robot and shook his head. “I guess I’ll get used to it, eventually,” he said, apologetically.

“You won’t have the option,” Fawn told him firmly, as he indicated that Scarlet should leave the room. He watched the younger man stride out of Sick Bay, and turned back to Robbo to switch off the power. The lights faded and the screen on the robot went blank.

Fawn was all too aware of Scarlet’s dislike of the tests he underwent every time he was in Sick Bay, and of his distrust of the motives behind those tests. This dislike was exacerbated by Scarlet’s propensity to consider himself an alien – or something no longer human, at least – and Captain Blue was constantly reassuring him this never crossed the mind of any of his colleagues and friends.

This well-meant reassurance was something neither Scarlet, nor Fawn, quite believed. The fact that whenever Scarlet was hurt on a mission, Fawn and his medical team would probe, test and monitor every little thing the captain did, in a way that they did not do for anyone else on Cloudbase, effectively plunged Scarlet back into the conviction that he was a freak, all over again.

He should realise I don’t do it for fun, Fawn thought defensively. The colonel was right: retrometabolism could be a huge boon to humanity if only we understood it and, as he’s the only man with that ability, I can’t let this opportunity pass by without making every effort to understand what’s happening. Scarlet will just have to grow up and stop sulking!

His hand travelled down the smooth surface of the PMRD and he smiled. Maybe now, the next time he’s here, I’ll get the lead I need to crack this case…

Realising that in his eagerness to test the new equipment he was now wishing Scarlet’s next fatal episode onto a man he considered as his friend, he pulled his hand away, exhaled deeply and went out to chivvy the duty nurses into doing some work. His next chance to unlock the secrets of the Mysterons would come soon enough – too soon for the men and women who faced the alien threat in the field, no doubt – and he would be ready.

“Give him a break, Paul,” Captain Blue pleaded. “He only has your best interests at heart.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Captain Scarlet snapped back. “He’s obsessed with discovering the secret of retrometabolism and I’m nothing more than a lab rat to him.”

Blue shook his head and swigged his coffee. They were sitting on the Promenade Deck, overlooking Cloudbase’s runways. Below them Angel One stood manned and ready for launch. He couldn’t see who was in the plane but he knew it was Rhapsody Angel and it was that fact that had led him, carrying two coffees from the canteen, to look for his partner there.

“We all have our job to do,” Blue murmured.

“Well, subjecting me to a constant battery of tests isn’t his!”

“I rather think it is, you know.”

Scarlet turned from gazing at Angel One to frown at his friend.

“Stop being reasonable,” he warned, although Blue recognised a slight glimmer of amusement in his voice, which disappeared immediately as Scarlet continued: “I’m sick of it all, Adam. It’s bad enough getting blown-up, or shot, or whatever it is, and going through the process of recovering, knowing full well I’ll have to face it all again, without Fawn prodding and poking me about like a side of meat for hours – if not days – after I’m fit. I swear, he’s not doing it for me, but for himself. I reckon he’s after a Nobel Prize or something and he’s using me to get it. If I want to complain about that, I have every right to do so.”

“You do,” the American agreed, with a nod. “And the colonel has every right to tell you to quit whining and get back to work – which is exactly what I think he’d do.”

Scarlet gave his friend a reproachful look, rather surprised at the apparent lack of sympathy.

“Whining? You think I’m whining? You know what happens every time I arrive in Sick Bay and you know how long it takes me to get out of there simply because of Fawn’s interminable tests, but you still think I’m making a fuss over nothing? Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a real people-person?”

Blue shrugged, shaking his head slightly. For once he had more than enough on his own plate to worry about, and he wasn’t prepared to spend the time and energy he knew it would take trying to reason Paul into a better mood.

“You and Fawn share a bedside manner akin to being bludgeoned to death with a wet fish,” Scarlet complained unreasonably.

Blue suppressed an incredulous grin. “Perspicacious, much.”

“Me or you?”

“Oh, me, every time,” Blue said flippantly, and drained his coffee cup. “It may not seem like it to you, Paul, but Fawn and his medical staff, Rhapsody, the other guys and even Symphony – who has the sensitivity of a blind rhinoceros at times – spend a great deal of our time and energies worrying about you. And d’you know what? There are times when you really don’t deserve it.”

Scarlet was in too bad a mood to register that his friend was obviously having ‘girl-friend trouble’ again, and retorted: “Blue-Boy, if I ever imagined you were anything but a by-the-book, running dog lackey of the Spectrum organisation, I was wrong.”

“Yeah? Yeah, you could be right. I never realised until now that I’m so hidebound I would never bunk-off duty just to bring my buddy a mug of the best coffee on the base, so he can ignore it, not drink it and insult me into the bargain.”

“You’re on duty?”

“Duh… I thought the uniform might be a clue…”

Scarlet waved a hand dismissively. “You’re always parading about in uniform. Unless, that is, you’re off to get up close and personal with Symphony.”

“Fat chance of that,” Blue muttered to himself, adding more clearly: “I’m going back to the Officers’ Lounge. If you want me that’s where you’ll find me, for the next three and a quarter hours, at any rate.”

He got to his feet and with a deep sigh made one last chance to get through to his friend. “Cheer up, Paul. It may never happen,” he advised, as he turned away.

“It always does and already has,” Scarlet muttered to himself, as he watched Blue stride towards the doors. Left alone, he sighed and frowned, a slight pout appearing on his full lips.

He knew it wasn’t Adam’s fault, but he had expected a little more sympathy from his field partner. Still, Blue was the best friend he had and he shouldn’t really take his irritation out on him. So, by way of an indirect apology and a penance for his bad mood, he drank the now tepid coffee with a grimace of distaste and then slowly got to his feet.

He’d go to the Lounge, apologise to Adam and find something useful to do… after all, he supposed Blue was right and Fawn was doing his job, although he could still wish the doctor was less officious about it.

Three weeks later, a North American drug-cartel began distributing powerful narcotics to their network, and addicts across America were running amok, causing panic and fear amongst the population. Tests on the drugs found in the bodies of the addicts revealed a concoction in which the effects were boosted by the same compounds the Mysterons had used in the non-alcoholic champagne sent to Cloudbase.

Spectrum was tasked with tracing the distribution network and the drug supply, and destroying any manufacturing facilities. Scarlet was partnered with Captain Ochre, whose experience in the World Police Corps was deemed a valuable insight into the problem, and they were made field commanders of a team of terrestrial officers. In the course of the final confrontation with the Mysteronised dealers, they both became involved in a ferocious gun battle. Ochre was wounded and, in the course of saving his partner from a concerted attack by the criminals, Scarlet received multiple gunshot wounds. By the time they returned to Cloudbase, Scarlet was hanging on to life by a thread.

As usual, the medical team sprang into action and he was in Sick Bay and on the monitors within minutes of the helijet touching down. Fawn came from his office to the Recovery Room at a run. He scanned the readouts from the med-bed and glanced at his handheld data screen, before issuing crisp instructions to Nurse Belinda Ingram, the senior Ops nurse with special responsibility for Scarlet’s care.

Scarlet opened his pain-filled eyes and looked up at Fawn.

“Play time, Doc,” he mumbled, then, grimacing with pain, he closed his eyes and sighed out his final breath.

The monitors flat-lined.

“Scarlet Alpha One – begin revival procedures,” Fawn snapped, unable to keep the hint of excitement out of his voice.

Scarlet’s last words had shocked and annoyed him, but, nevertheless, he switched on Robbo’s post-mortem sensors with a determined expression. “

“This time, we’ll watch every step of the process, Captain. I will learn what happens, so help me – and you!” he muttered, as he attached additional sensors onto Scarlet’s corpse.

Captain Blue was looking forward to getting something to eat.

He and Lieutenant Jonquil had just finished a rigorous debriefing by Colonel White, after returning from completing a security review of the Marmaray tunnel and Bosporus bridges in Istanbul. There had been minor seismic activity in the area and the colonel had wanted to be sure that this had not left any opening for Mysteron activity along the vital trade route.

Jonquil, a Turkish-Kurd with a background in engineering, had been the obvious man to perform the technical aspects of the review and Blue had appreciated the younger man’s local knowledge of the vibrant, historic and cosmopolitan city. The five-day assignment had allowed them some off-duty time to explore the museums and the World Heritage sites, but it had been hectic, and Blue was anticipating spending his off-duty period relaxing as much as possible.

He had just found a quiet table away from the windows and started on his plate of southern-fried chicken with vegetables and rice, when someone came and stood in his light. Reluctantly, he glanced up.

“Captain Blue, may I join you for a moment?” Nurse Ingram said, sounding unusually nervous.

Surprised at the identity of his visitor, Blue replied politely, “Sure.”

Although the diminutive Belinda Ingram was one of the senior nurses on Cloudbase, she wasn’t much older than he was. He knew her pretty well from the time he’d spent sitting waiting for Scarlet to revive and believed that her formidable reputation was largely exaggerated – mostly by Scarlet. He rather suspected she had a soft spot for his field partner and that Scarlet – and, therefore, by extension himself – got away with more than most of Sick Bay’s visitors. Nevertheless, she was not an easy person to say no to.

She sat opposite him at the small table and gave a slight smile. “Please, don’t let me interrupt your meal.”

He nodded and took another mouthful, chewing thoughtfully while he waited for her to begin speaking; when she didn’t, he swallowed and said, “Is there something I can do for you, Bill?”

She gave him a troubled glance and said hesitantly, “I don’t know. I don’t know who to talk to. You see, I’m worried.”

“That’s rather obvious. What’s wrong?”

Belinda sighed. “I’m not even sure I know, Adam.”

The fact that she used his given name and not his codename, further confirmed her uneasy state of mind.

“I’ll help, if I can; you know that,” he reassured her and took another mouthful while she battled her inner doubts.

She bit her lower lip and then, as if coming to a decision, she began at a rush: “Doctor Fawn is a brilliant man, a masterful physician!”

Blue nodded. “But…?” he encouraged.

“It’s this new robot doctor.”

“Aah.” Blue put his fork down and sighed. “I take it Paul’s in Sick Bay? No one’s mentioned it since I got back.”

“Yes; he was admitted this morning at 0400 hours Cloudbase time. He’d been shot; there are several wounds, any one of which could have been fatal. He was barely alive when he got back to Cloudbase and we lost him in the Recovery Room.”

Blue glanced at his chronometer. “That’s almost seven hours ago. Has he revived?”

“No.” Belinda shuffled on her chair. “Well, yes and no. I haven’t seen it myself, but the data shows… there must have been moments, just split seconds, when he did regain vitality. Just blips on the data.”

“But Paul’s still dead?”

She nodded. “We’ve got a new machine monitoring him; it’s adapted to monitor post-mortem changes. Doctor Fawn believes that whatever retrometabolism is, there must be something that happens right at the start of the process – a trigger, if you like – and he’s convinced that will give him a clue to what the whole process is.”

From the pleading tone in her voice as she explained this, it was obvious that she was seeking reassurance.

Blue frowned. “So, you’re saying that Paul’s biological systems are beginning to restart and then stopping, for no apparent reason?”

She demurred. “More like ‘stuttering’ than restarting.”

“And this is new?” Blue asked, risking another mouthful of rice while he waited for her to respond.

“We don’t know, but we’ve never seen it before. The new monitor – the one Doctor Fawn calls ‘Robbo’-”

“Paul’s ‘Doctor Death’? Yes, I know about that one. He went on about it at great length before I went to Istanbul.”

“Yes, well, Robbo is recording these… hiccoughs. That’s why we found out about it.”

Blue chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and drank some of his iced water before replying. “Paul’s told me that the new machine gives him the creeps.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” Ingram said quietly.

“Something’s worrying you about it too?”

She nodded. “It’s hard to explain, though, Captain.”

“Try me. I’ve heard some pretty mind-blowing explanations in my time.”

She smiled ruefully. “This delay in recovering from what are – by his standards – fairly minor gunshot wounds; by which I mean he’s recovered from many similar fatal wounds in a few hours, several times before…”

“Don’t sweat it, Bill: the parameters of normal conversation go right out of the window when you’re discussing Captain Scarlet.”

“Don’t they just? Well, because you’ve spent so much time sitting with him while he’s recovering, I thought you might know if these hiccoughs are normal? Given that the usual med-bed we use doesn’t record anything before he’s actually alive again, we can’t be sure if this is what happens every time.”

Blue looked stunned. “How can I answer that? I do stay with him when I can, but I don’t sit there taking his pulse every few seconds or watching him like a hawk. I generally only start taking notice when the med-bed starts beeping. Other than that, I read to him, mostly things that interest me far more than I expect they’d interest him, if I’m honest. He’s never said anything that’d suggest he’s been aware of what I’ve been reading – or saying to him, for that matter – so, honestly, I can’t give you an answer, Bill.”

She sighed and looked disappointed. “I understand, Adam; it was just a wild hope that you might’ve seen something that’d explain what we’re seeing this time. You see, I think he ought to be awake by now. Previously, he’d’ve been demanding steak and chips and belly-aching to be let out, hours ago. Now we have this new machine attached to him and …hiccoughs.”

“Are you telling me that ‘Robbo’ is preventing Paul from reviving?”

“I don’t know. It might be unconnected, but…”

“If you have doubts, you need to get the machine turned off to find out if you’re right. You’ve discussed this with Doctor Fawn, I presume?”

She heaved another sigh, shrugged and shook her head. “I’ve tried to, but Fawn says it might simply be that we never realised Paul has to revive from each potential fatality separately, and in this case, that’s several fatal gunshot wounds. And because he has several wounds, that’s delayed his revival – but … well, it doesn’t usually seem to happen like that, does it?”

“No. He just wakes up from whatever he was suffering from, usually in a matter of hours.”

“Fawn says that Robbo is giving us new and valuable data and I’m over-reacting. I might be… I know – I’m certain – that Fawn wouldn’t do anything to prevent Paul’s revival. He wouldn’t ever!”

“Then what’s wrong, Belinda? I can’t go in there demanding machines are unplugged for no good reason. I’d spend my foreseeable future in the brig if I did.”

“I’m sorry, Captain; I shouldn’t have bothered you with it. I can see that there’s nothing to be done. Maybe I am just being over-anxious?”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Paul doesn’t like Robbo either; he took a really instinctive dislike to it.”

“Maybe he sensed something ominous about it?” Ingram said, her dark eyes wide with anxiety.

Blue gave a snort. “I rather think he was just fed up with spending so much time in Sick Bay, actually.”

She flushed slightly, annoyed that she was unable to share her vague concerns in a way that sounded plausible, even to someone as empathic as Captain Blue. “I just didn’t know what to do. The only person who could over-rule Doctor Fawn is the colonel – and I’m not sure that’s the way to go. What should I do, Adam?”

Blue shook his head. “It’s too soon to be doing something drastic about it, Bill, especially if Fawn doesn’t share your concerns. Give it a bit longer; it may be that the Doc is right and Paul’s having to get over every fatal wound. It never occurred to me as a possibility before, but I’m no medic. Look, I’ll come along this afternoon and visit… maybe I can talk to the Doc, or maybe by then Paul will have woken up? He was a bit depressed last time I spoke to him, and who knows, maybe his mood affects the speed of his recovery?”

“That’s the trouble: nobody knows,” she agreed. She reached across the table and placed her hand on his. “Thanks, Adam; even just talking about it has helped me put things in perspective.”

He smiled. “I know what you mean. Things around Captain Scarlet can get quite unnerving, can’t they? But somehow, Paul always manages to come back to us – I’m glad to say.”

“So am I.”

There was a blush on her cheeks as she smiled at him and Blue returned the smile, more convinced than ever that her feelings for Paul went beyond those of even the most dedicated nurse for her patient.

She stood to leave and, as he picked up his fork to finish his meal, the epaulettes on his uniform flashed green and Lieutenant Green’s voice requested his presence in the Control Room immediately.

As the connection closed, Blue shovelled a huge forkful of chicken and rice into his mouth and resigned himself to yet another bout of indigestion…

Forty minutes later an SPJ left Cloudbase with Captains Blue and Magenta on board.

Rhapsody Angel pushed open the Sick Bay door carrying a basket of fruit and a glossy magazine. She greeted the on-duty nurses with a cheerful ‘Hello!’ and continued walking towards Captain Scarlet’s Recovery Room.

“Rhapsody!”

She turned at the sound of her name and saw Nurse Ingram hurrying towards her.

“Hello, Bill. I was just going to see Paul and bring him the mandatory basket of fruit. I promise there’re no illicit treats hidden underneath the bananas…”

“I’m afraid you can’t go in at the moment,” Ingram said. “Doctor Fawn’s with him at the moment, so… well, if you’d like to leave the basket here and the magazine, I’ll make sure he gets them when he is… awake.”

“Not awake? I came yesterday and they told me he was not yet awake, but everything was okay. I don’t understand why he’s still… comatose.”

“It’s just taking a while. Captain Blue thought it might be because Scarlet was a little fed up, and his mood might be affecting the speed of his recovery.” Ingram tried to keep her tone light and unconcerned.

“Blue’s been here?”

“No; I bumped into him in the canteen, but I understand he’s no longer on the base.”

“No, he isn’t. He and Captain Magenta were sent on a new mission by the colonel.” Rhapsody handed over the basket of fruit but kept the magazine clutched to her chest. “He hasn’t been here since Paul was injured, has he?” Ingram shook her head. “That’s what I thought, and as he usually spends time with Paul, I thought I’d step into the breach, so to speak.”

“No visitors allowed as yet, I’m afraid.”

“Blue’s usually here and I wonder if the fact that he hasn’t been here might’ve slowed things up….” Rhapsody speculated.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Ingram replied.

“Well, given that we don’t know what retrometabolism is or why it works, I don’t think we should dismiss anything,” Rhapsody retorted. “I’m going to wait here until Fawn comes out and then I am going to sit and chat to Paul. I know he doesn’t like me to see him… in that state, but if having some company makes the difference, I’m sure he’ll understand, especially as Adam can’t be here.”

“Well, if Doctor Fawn doesn’t mind, I don’t suppose that’ll be a problem,” Ingram said in the exact tone of voice that implied it was a problem.

“No,” Rhapsody said firmly, “ I’m quite sure it won’t be.”

Blue and Magenta were driving through the streets of Futura City on their way to an important meeting with the Supreme Commander Earth Forces, when a diversion sign informed them that the road ahead was closed due to a burst water main and directed them down a side street. This street was much narrower and there were cars parked in all of the designated bays on either side of the street, leaving just room for a single lane of moving traffic. The only problem was: the traffic was barely moving.

They followed the diversion signs, crawling along in the heavy flow of traffic, and at yet another congested junction, Blue pushed his cap back on his head, exhaled in exasperation and looked out of the window.

“We’re gonna be late,” Magenta remarked casually, as he activated his radio cap to ask Cloudbase to inform the Supreme Commander.

“I doubt it’ll make any difference,” Blue replied. “I don’t see what a meeting about the refitting of WASP and World Navy submarines has to do with Spectrum, or why it takes two of us to attend it.”

“There might be something to be gained from sharing information and technology,” Magenta reasoned, once Cloudbase had closed the radio connection. “Face it: we all use craft with limited storage capacity for equipment, and economies of scale are not to be sneezed at. Besides, you heard the colonel say that he didn’t want Spectrum outnumbered or out-manoeuvred by the military dinosaurs who think we’re an irrelevance and a costly irrelevance at that.”

“But neither of us knows the first thing about naval vessels,” Blue protested.

“True, but you do go sailing on your Daddy’s yacht, so I reckon the colonel thinks that gives you ‘an insight’, if nothing else.”

Blue gave him a sceptical glance.

“Okay, well, try looking at it this way: Grey can’t go, because the chances are he’d be recognised, Ochre and Scarlet are still in Sick Bay and… well, at least you could say that I’ve had experience of living in some pretty enclosed spaces in my time.”

“I still think our time could be better employed elsewhere. A couple of lieutenants could’ve done this.”

Magenta edged the SSC forward another foot or two, cursed as the traffic lights ahead of them changed to red again, and then replied:

“Speaking personally, I’m glad we’re doing it, Blue. You may get to jet around the globe all the time, but I’ve been cooped up on Cloudbase for what seems an age. So, whatever the reason we got this gig, I’m going to look on the bright side: we get to go on a jolly!”

“No Spectrum mission should ever be considered ‘a jolly’, Captain!”

Magenta sighed. He liked Blue well enough, but sometimes wished the younger man would lighten up a bit and not take everything so damn seriously. “I know, but all I mean is ‘it makes a nice change’.”

Blue wasn’t really listening, he was studying the office blocks and shop fronts that lined their route. “That reminds me,” he said, at the sight of the branch of a high-class jewellery chain, “I have imminent birthdays…”

“You make it sound like a disease,” Magenta sniggered.

“They are. You’ve met my sister, haven’t you? Take it from me that if anything you give her hasn’t got a designer label on it, she regards it as a personal insult. I’ve tried to explain that I don’t have the option of shopping for top-class gear, but she refuses to be placated. My mother’s not so bad, but if this meeting finishes early – which isn’t likely at this rate – can we stop long enough for me to bludgeon my credit card into submission and get them both a birthday present?”

“You mean Karen hasn’t already done serious damage to your credit rating?”

Blue grinned. “Not quite yet, but she’s-” He broke off and stared out of the window. “Captain – look! That’s Captain Black!”

Blue pointed across a shady courtyard that opened onto the street.

“Where?”

“Going into that office block. Look!”

“I couldn’t see properly, but what from what I did see it certainly looked like him.”

“I’m sure it was. We’d better check it out.”

Magenta was already informing Cloudbase that they had a possible sighting of Captain Black and were on their way to investigate, so Blue opened the door and stepped out. As the two officers hurried away from their car, a cacophony of car horns broke out behind the stationary SSC as the other drivers realised they were hemmed in…

“Good afternoon, gentlemen; how may I help you?” the receptionist at Nguyen Robotics asked calmly enough, although the sight of two armed Spectrum officers running in from the noisy street was alarming.

“There was a guy came in here just now – tall, black-haired, deep voice, English accent – where is he?” Blue demanded, while he scanned the foyer and the staircase for any sign of Black.

The receptionist shook her head, frowning. “No one came in, sir, until you two.”

“Is there another entrance or another company in this building?” Magenta asked.

She shook her head again.

“Who arrived just before we did?” Blue asked, deducing that she might not consider mentioning someone she was familiar with.

“Professor Herdesher,” she replied.

“And you know him?” Magenta remarked, with a friendly glance. “So he doesn’t count?”

She nodded again. “He’s been working here for the past few months, with Mr Nguyen and Doctor Thompson.”

“We need to see him – and them – immediately,” Blue said.

“I’m afraid you can’t do that without an appointment,” she said. “They’re busy people and I can’t interrupt them on your say-so.”

“Look, Miss; I was only being polite. Spectrum doesn’t have to make appointments,” Blue snapped. “We have the authority to insist on access to the building and the staff, and we will use it if you don’t co-operate with us.” He turned to Magenta. “We’ll need a Mysteron detector, there’s one in the SSC.”

Magenta nodded and headed towards the door.

Outside the office block he saw two burly men, dressed in the uniforms of Futura Traffic Police, fixing chains to the bumper of the SSC, with a view to winching it onto the back of a tow truck that had somehow materialised at the edge of the paved square. Dozens of angry motorists yelled advice and abuse to the men, encouraging them to hurry up and remove the obstruction.

“Hey!” Magenta roared, advancing at a run. “That’s a Spectrum vehicle. Leave it alone!”

“Sorry, you’re too late. It’s been impounded. You shouldn’t’ve left it here. You can collect it from the police pound – tomorrow!”

Magenta drew his pistol. “Move away from the car,” he ordered.

“You don’t want to do this,” the officer growled.

Out of the corner of his eye, Magenta saw the other man move behind him and as he swivelled to cover him as well, the first man jabbed a Taser into his arm.

With a cry of surprised pain, Magenta went down and the man jabbed the Taser in again. Convulsing in agony, his fingers squeezed the trigger and the pistol fired, the bullet ricocheting off the concrete bench of a raised flower bed that decorated the forecourt of the office block and shattering an ornamental planter.

Captain Blue heard the shot and rushed out of the building. He saw Magenta on the ground and advanced towards his colleague, glaring at the two men who stood over him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“He a friend of yours?” one officer replied. “I’d guess he is, given you’re both wearing fancy dress.”

“You have assaulted a Spectrum officer,” Blue snapped. “You are in deep trouble, friend. I’m going to report you to your commander for this. Now, get out of the way!”

At that moment, an irate motorist, who had finally snapped and lost all patience at this further delay, ran towards Blue, threatening him with flailing fists and a torrent of angry abuse. Blue turned to deflect this unexpected attack and as he did so, the traffic officer jabbed the Taser between his shoulders.

Blue collapsed onto the pavement as the motorist jeered: “Serves you right!”

“Spectrum officers; my arse,” the officer remarked to the motorist, as he casually prodded Blue’s inert body with his foot. “These conmen will try anything these days. You can’t be too careful either; they turn violent if you don’t give them what they want. You saw that man draw a gun on us, didn’t you? I’d say our reaction was more than appropriate, wouldn’t you?”

The motorist nodded, and feeling buoyed with courage he did not normally possess, he aimed a kick at Blue. “Good work, Officer,” he said. “Now do your duty and get this trash out of the way as quick as you can.”

The two officers watched him stroll back to his car, and shared a wry glance before they heaved Magenta and Blue into the SSC and then dragged it up onto the tow truck. To resounding cheers, they drove away from Nguyen Robotics, while the frightened receptionist watched from the door of the building.

CHAPTER FIVE

THIS IS THE VOICE OF THE MYSTERONS. WE KNOW THAT YOU CAN HEAR US, EARTHMEN. WE WILL SHOW YOU HOW WEAK YOU REALLY ARE. YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR ACT OF AGGRESSION WHEN A LETHAL ASKLEPIAN IS UNLEASHED, ENSURING THE EVENTUAL DESTRUCTION OF MANKIND.

Colonel White listened to the recording but it made no more sense than the original announcement had. Captain Grey came into the Conference Room with Symphony Angel at his side and saluted.

“As we’re so very short-staffed,” White said, “I have instructed Lieutenant Claret to man the Communications desk and Green and Jonquil will act as back-up Field Agents.” He indicated the two young men already seated at the circular desk.

“Is Captain Scarlet still in Sick Bay?” Symphony asked, as she smiled at the lieutenants, especially Lieutenant Green who was so obviously excited at this rare chance to take an active part in a mission.

“Yes, he is and Doctor Fawn’s reported that although Captain Ochre is recovering well from his wound, he won’t be fit for full duties for at least another week. Captains Magenta and Blue are in Futura and, for some unknown reason we’ve just lost contact with them, so I can’t recall them. Claret is doing what he can to re-establish contact.”

The communication buzzer on the colonel’s control panel sounded and he opened the channel.

“Colonel White, sir: it’s Lieutenant Flaxen, from Research? I’ve found some information on the Asklepian, but it doesn’t make much sense, I’m afraid.”

“Let us hear it, Lieutenant; Mysteron threats don’t always make sense until you unravel what they’re talking about.”

“Yes, sir. Well, Asclepius was a sort of semi-mythical healer in ancient Greece. He carried a rod with a snake wrapped round it, so people would recognise him, I think, and that rod was called the Asklepian. It is sometimes confused with a caduceus, sir, which has two snakes wrapped around it, but that was the staff carried by Hermes or Mercury, the messenger of the ancient Gods. Sometimes the caduceus is used as a medical symbol when it really ought to be the Asklepian. Sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Flaxen; that is very… thorough. Keep searching for anything that might connect these symbols to a potential danger.”

“S.I.G., sir.”

There was a thoughtful silence in the Conference Room.

“A mythical healer is going to unleash a killer snake on a pole against mankind,” Symphony said, with genuine bewilderment in her voice. “Sounds kinda like those crossword clues Captain Blue unravels.”

“Very likely; but as we can’t communicate with Captain Blue at the moment,” the colonel reminded her, “ we need to come up with some ideas of our own.”

“Are we safe in assuming it is going to be something medical, Colonel?” Green asked. “After all, they’ve tried something similar before. There was the Mysteron threat against General Tiempo, and that was also couched in abstract terms, if you recall.”

“And the ‘wings of the world’ threat against the International Air Conference at Glen Garry Castle was a cryptic clue as well,” Symphony interjected helpfully, “although, we got that one pretty quickly.”

“They’ve also tampered with substances to produce adverse reactions in Spectrum staff, and only recently, there was the drugs their dealers were distributing, the ones Ochre and Scarlet dealt with,” Green reminded everyone. “What if they plan to corrupt all our medicines?” he concluded anxiously.

“Or launch some kind of deadly virus against us all?” Symphony exclaimed.

“Get Doctor Fawn up here; I think we need some expert input, before we all get too carried away,” Colonel White said grimly.

Lieutenant Claret had all but given up on finding out what had happened to cause the breakdown in communication with Captains Blue and Magenta. There was nothing showing as faulty in any of Spectrum’s systems, so as a final resort, he was contacting the offices along the street where the global positioning system showed the SSC had been stationary, although it was now not registering at all. He was giving up hope of any success when he punched in the penultimate number on his list.

“Nguyen Robotics, how may I direct your call?”

“This is Spectrum Headquarters on Cloudbase calling. Please connect me to Captain Blue or Captain Magenta who are registered as being in your building,” Claret said with a confidence he did not feel.

“Spectrum? Really? Oh my goodness – you mean those two men were for real?”

“Two men? In colour-coded Spectrum uniforms?” The response was a muttered affirmative. “Yes; Captain Blue and Captain Magenta are Spectrum agents. Has something happened to them?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure they were for real and they were demanding to speak to Professor Herdesher and one of the senior directors, so I pressed the security alert. There were two traffic cops outside, because it seems there was another gridlock on the streets and it was down to the car these two guys had arrived here in. One of your men went outside, the one in pink, and there was a shot fired. Before our security team arrived, the other man, the one in blue, rushed outside too. I’m afraid the traffic police tasered both of them; well, one of them had fired a weapon and the other was shouting fit to deafen you, and then they took them and the red car away. I’m so sorry!”

“The Futura traffic police tasered two Spectrum officers while arresting them?” Claret asked in disbelief.

“Yes. It wasn’t my fault though. I only wanted backup to get them to leave. Professor Herdesher doesn’t meet anyone, you see? He’s working with the advanced technology team and their work is top secret.”

“Do you happen to know which precinct the police officers were from?”

“I didn’t recognise them, I’m afraid. This is sector 25, if that helps?”

“Thank you, Miss; you’ve been most helpful. I may call again if we need further information. Cloudbase out.”

A few minutes later, Claret opened the internal communication line to the Conference Room and made his report:

“Colonel White, I have a positive sighting of Captains Blue and Magenta. The receptionist at Nguyen Robotics says they were both tasered and arrested by two unknown police traffic officers. I have checked with the Sector 25 Precinct, sir, and they have no records of any Spectrum officers on their books and vehemently deny that they ever taser anybody. They have not removed an SSC from the roadside outside the Nguyen Robotics offices, although they received reports that a red car was causing gridlock, sir. However, when they went to investigate it had gone.”

Claret’s report was heard by everyone in the Conference Room, including the recently-arrived Doctor Fawn.

“Nguyen Robotics?” he remarked in surprise.

“You know them, Doctor?” Grey asked.

“Yes, I do. They worked for us on the new robotic doctor I’ve installed to monitor Captain Scarlet.”

“I thought the name was familiar,” White remarked.

“What were Blue and Magenta doing at NR?” Fawn asked Claret.

“The comms record shows that the last report from Captain Magenta was of a possible sighting of Captain Black, which they went to investigate. I presume they went in there as part of their search.”

“You had better get on to the company and see if anyone answering Black’s description has been there,” the colonel ordered.

“The receptionist said that the captains were asking for a Professor Herdesher, sir.”

“Never heard of him,” Fawn muttered, shaking his head.

“Find out what you can about the professor,” White instructed Claret, and closed the link. “I think it is wise to send a team to Futura to trace Blue and Magenta and another to investigate Nguyen Robotics,” the colonel continued. “If the report that Captain Black was there is accurate, it may well be linked to the latest Mysteron threat and the men that took Blue and Magenta may well be Mysterons.”

“You think NR might be a Mysteron target?” Fawn was alarmed at the thought of his friends being in such danger. “I heard that threat about a lethal Asklepian.”

“What do they do exactly, Doc?” Symphony asked. “The company, I mean, not the snake-on-a-stick thing.”

Fawn explained. “I met Nic Nguyen when I first started work for the WMO in Sydney. We developed the original med-beds and the firm still makes them and robot medics for the World Medical Organisation. They don’t actually make them in Futura, of course, the production plant is in Sweden, but research and development and the company HQ are in Futura. From Sweden the equipment is shipped around the world to improve medical services in remote or deprived areas. It was what I worked on before I joined Spectrum,” he added, with a hint of pride.

“”Maybe we should also check out the Swedish plant?” Grey said to the colonel. “Could be that the threat means the production will be affected.”

“Very true; the Mysterons have the power to affect machinery as much as living things – remember that hovercraft incident at Koala Base,” Symphony said.

White came to a decision. “Captain Grey, I want you and Lieutenant Jonquil to visit the NR Plant in Sweden. Review their procedures and the security there. I don’t want there to be any chance of the medical equipment being sabotaged by the Mysterons. The WMO’s programme of improvements is too important to risk disruption.”

“S.I.G., Colonel.” Grey beckoned to Jonquil, who saluted the colonel and followed the captain out of the Conference Room.

“So who’s going to Futura?” said Symphony; she was already starting to collect her gear, ready to leave on the mission.

“Doctor Fawn and Lieutenant Green,” the colonel said, his eyebrows rising in surprise at the Angel pilot’s exclaimed objection. “Angels One and Three will fly escort for the away teams to Futura and Two and Four to the Swedish peninsula. Get back to the Amber Room, Symphony, and prepare for immediate launch.”

Fawn rushed down to Sick Bay and started issuing orders to all the nurses and his young assistant, Doctor Tan, while he changed into his field uniform and tried to gather his thoughts.

“I want the monitoring of Captain Scarlet to continue and I want to be told the moment he wakes. Download all the patients’ data to my medical console every four hours. Just because I’m not here it doesn’t mean everything has to stop. Make sure Captain Ochre stays in Sick Bay until he’s completely recovered and that Technician Cox, in bed 5, comes out of the anaesthetic okay. Keep her dosed on antibiotics, I don’t want any infection setting in.”

Nurse Ingram thrust Fawn’s medical equipment kit into his outstretched hand as he came out of his office. He barely nodded his thanks.

“S.I.G., Doctor Fawn,” Tan said, glancing at the nurses who were becoming progressively more offended by their commanding officer’s over-simplistic instructions. “We’re all capable of covering for you, sir; please don’t worry.”

Fawn paused for a moment and flashed his staff an apologetic smile. “I know, it’s just that… well, you know. Good luck!”

“Good luck to you too, sir. I hope you find Captain Blue and Captain Magenta safe and sound,” Tan called out, as Fawn hurried towards the elevators that connected Sick Bay to the Hangar Decks.

From the windows of the Amber Room, Rhapsody Angel watched her four friends take off and move into formation around the departing SPJs. As the only Angel pilot left on Cloudbase, she was condemned to be on permanent stand-by until the back-up squadron arrived from Koala Base, in Australia. As she watched, the fifth Angel Jet appeared on the runway in the Angel One slot. Before she grabbed her helmet, she contacted Captain Ochre in Sick Bay and asked him to keep an eye on Captain Scarlet:

“Everyone else is off base, Rick, and I’m on standby until the B Flight arrives,” she explained. “Despite what Belinda told me, I think Adam’s right and Paul recovers better when he has company…”

“Don’t fret about it, honey. I’ll hobble over there and torment ol’ sleepy-head into consciousness.”

“Well, Paul does like to have the last word, so you just might be the impetus he needs…”

He laughed and she thanked him before moving to the elevator seat that would take her to the cockpit.

“Hiya, Paul,” Ochre said, as he kept his promise and sat himself down beside the med-bed in Scarlet’s Recovery Room. “I’m your designated cabaret while Rhapsody ‘n’ Blue are too busy to devote themselves to your unusually slothful self. I’m not sure I know what to talk about, but if you have any suggestions, I’ll do my best. Nothing to say? Makes a change. Okay, I’ll have to improvise, then.”

Ochre thought for a moment and then launched into a smooth patter: “Have you heard about the Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman who became Patrol Officers in the World Police and were always sent out on patrol together? You might ask why it took three of them to do one patrol, so I’m going to tell you. It was because the Englishman could read and the Scotsman could write. Now you’re wondering about the Irishman, aren’t you?” Ochre paused and studied Scarlet’s impassive face for a long moment. “Okay, we’ll do this your way, and I’ll pretend I heard you ask me why the Irishman always went along. Well, he was from Special Branch and his job was to keep an eye on dangerous intellectuals.”

Ochre chuckled, and once again studied Scarlet’s face for any sign of animation. He sighed. “This could be a tough gig…”

As Lieutenant Green drove the SPV towards Futura’s modern, high-tech business district, Doctor Fawn briefed him on the history of NR and his relationship to the company and its directors.

“Let me do the talking, Lieutenant,” Fawn concluded. “Nic Nguyen is more likely to be co-operative if he’s dealing with me.”

“S.I.G., Doctor; but what if there’s Mysteron involvement? It’s unlikely anyone will co-operate then.”

“I’m sure this is just a mistake. Nic and all the people at NR are trustworthy and honest men.”

“I’m sure they are under normal circumstances, Doctor, but the Mysterons are no respecters of good character. They’ll eliminate anyone they need to accomplish their threat, regardless of their reputation.”

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant; I was trying not to think of that fact,” Fawn admitted. “Did Cloudbase come up with anything on that professor?”

Green shook his head. “Lieutenant Flaxen couldn’t find anything about him in any academic organisation or specialist professional society. All she found was the fact that the ancient Egyptians called the planet Mars ‘Her Desher’ – two words - in fact, there’s a valley on the planet called that. Well, it’s called that by us, but not by the Mysterons, I expect.”

“Hmm, that is worrying, but it doesn’t mean that the professor’s a Mysteron,” Fawn replied. “He might be Egyptian for all we know, and some people are called Mars; think of the chocolate bar makers.”

Green’s expression showed his scepticism, but he nodded and remarked, “We need to bear the serious possibility in mind, Doc; and from what I hear, something’s affecting Scarlet’s rate of recovery which would suit the Mysterons.”

“Have you been listening to gossip, Lieutenant? You shouldn’t believe everything you hear; I have no concerns over Scarlet’s recovery. And I hope you aren’t suggesting that Nguyen Robotics is hand-in-glove with the Mysterons.”

“I’m suggesting they might not know they are, sir.”

“It’s very unlikely; after all, the security at NR is top-notch, it has to be. Industrial espionage is a constant threat.” Fawn shook his head. “I’m certain nothing could have infiltrated the work they’re doing, and I can assure you, that whatever the reason for Scarlet’s slow recovery, it is not my robot-doctor.”

“Yes, sir,” Green said, with a slight sigh.

He wasn’t a very experienced field officer, but he had been on more missions than the doctor, and he could see potential snags in having to advise a superior officer who was not personally inclined to suspect his friends of being part of the Mysterons’ plans. He tried another, more oblique way of indicating there might well be a problem.

“Just what changes did Doctor Giardello and Mr Nguyen make to Scarlet’s new robot-doctor, sir?”

Fawn glanced at him but saw nothing except curiosity on the young man’s honest face; after all, Green and Magenta had been involved in his first attempts at enhancing the equipment.

“I think I explained to you and Magenta that what I want to know is what happens to Scarlet’s body when retrometabolism kicks in? The original robot-nurses were not designed for post-mortem monitoring, so Giardello and Nic expanded the programming and added some sub-routines, to monitor any changes at a molecular level. There’s nothing there that could possibly delay Scarlet’s recovery.”

“It doesn’t sound as if it could,” Green agreed. “Let’s hope that whatever it is that’s holding up his recovery, doesn’t last much longer.”

“I don’t think the Mysteron threat has anything to do with Scarlet; not this time,” Fawn said, as he directed Green towards the official car park for the NR offices, which was on the other side of the building from the narrow street where Blue and Magenta had unintentionally caused gridlock. “We don’t know what triggers retrometabolism, but it certainly has nothing to do with any machine.”

“No, sir; but whatever the trigger is, it hasn’t fired this time and, as I understand it, the only variable is the new robot.”

“That robot was hand-built by Nic Nguyen, Doctor Giardello and me, under the strictest security possible. Are you suggesting we’re Mysterons?”

“No, sir; you know the hangar-decks now have active Mysteron detectors operating at all times. If you were a Mysteron – or if I were,” he added hastily, as Fawn’s expression grew thunderous, “an alarm would have sounded in the Control Room and we’d have been apprehended.”

“Just let me do the talking, all right, Lieutenant?” Fawn muttered, as he unfastened the seat belt and opened the SSC door. “With tact and diplomacy like yours, we’ll never get any information from anybody!”

Green acknowledged what was effectively an order, and hurried after Fawn as he marched towards the entrance of the NR offices.

The receptionist must have been getting used to the sight of Spectrum officers, as she showed no surprise when the two men marched in. Fawn recognised her from his earlier visits and was glad that he had kept his cap on and pulled forward, to hide a clear view of his face. He took a step back and waved Lieutenant Green forward to announce the purpose of their visit.

“Good morning,” Green said, “I am Lieutenant Green of Spectrum and this is Doctor Fawn. We’re here to see Mr Nguyen.”

“Is he expecting you?” she asked, smiling in a friendly manner at the young man.

“I believe our commanding officer may have alerted him to our impending visit,” Green improvised, in the hope that someone on Cloudbase had contacted Nguyen with a warning.

The receptionist remembered her conversation with Lieutenant Claret and much to Green’s relief accepted his word. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she said, indicating that they should take a seat and wait.

Fawn knew that Nic was bound to be busy; he had devoted a great deal of his time to working on the new robot and there would be a lot in his in-tray awaiting his attention; for that reason he was prepared to cut his friend some slack and wait patiently.

Beside him, Lieutenant Green was fidgeting and looking at his watch every few minutes. Finally, Fawn lost patience with his colleague and suggested that Green go to the police precinct and see what, if anything, could be learned about the whereabouts of Blue and Magenta.

“My orders are to accompany you,” Green protested.

“And I’m the senior officer here and I am telling you to go and look for Blue and Magenta. The receptionist will be able to direct you to the local precinct.” He paused, seeing the rebellion in the younger man’s eyes. “Look, Griff, it’s gonna be tough enough explaining who I am and why I’m here, without having you glaring at me. I just feel I could handle it better alone.”

“If that’s an order, I’ll go,” Green said with obvious reluctance.

“It is,” Fawn replied.

The lieutenant saluted, turned on his heel and went to speak to the receptionist.

Minutes later, Fawn watched as Green left the building. He sighed and then, somewhat perversely, regretted sending his colleague away as he noticed the indicator, showing the directors’ elevator, was now coming down.

He moved towards the door and waited until it started to open; then, before the occupant could step out, he walked in and pressed the ‘close door’ button.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nic Nguyen demanded angrily.

“Nic – it’s me,” Fawn said, removing his radio cap and showing his face to his friend. “We need to talk.”

Lieutenant Green’s appearance at Precinct 25 caused only minor interest amongst the officers on duty. Although polite enough, they appeared unwilling to help, vociferously stating that they knew very little about the incident with the SSC and nothing at all about missing Spectrum agents.

Realising this was getting him nowhere, Green asked to see the station commander and was, eventually, shown into a small, well-ventilated office, where a large, middle-aged man sat at an insubstantial desk. He introduced himself as Inspector Rahmings, ordered the desk sergeant to bring in some cool drinks, and invited Green to sit on the only other chair. They waited in silence until the desk sergeant had brought the drinks but, before Green could start questioning the Inspector, the older man said stiffly:

“We were not informed that Spectrum officers were on an unscheduled exercise here, so we were not keeping a watch on the streets – well, no more than usual – so I really can’t help you, Lieutenant Green.”

“I - and my field commander - are here on an emergency mission to investigate a potential security threat, Inspector, but the other officers came from Cloudbase for a meeting with the Supreme Commander Earth Forces. I would have expected the local base to have alerted other security forces that our two captains were in Futura, as a matter of protocol.”

“We get a weekly sheet with the predicted comings and goings on it,” Rahmings said. “Everything else is – we’re told – on a need-to-know basis only, and, as far as that goes, it seems we never need to know.”

Green frowned and reasoned aloud, “There must’ve been a slip-up at our Futura base; I apologise on their behalf, Inspector. It is standard protocol for our terrestrial bases to inform local security forces when Spectrum is operating in the area, to avoid unnecessary disruption.”

“ Is it? You could’ve fooled me. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I meant what I said: no one knew your officers were here, and no one knows who the two traffic officers that tasered your colleagues were. Or even if they were police officers…” Rahmings explained stiffly. “As I have explained to your colleague on Cloudbase, traffic officers are not issued with Tasers, why would they be? Even the most anti-social of parking offences – such as that it seems your missing colleagues perpetrated - attracts no more than a fine. When this was raised with me, I sent someone to speak to the Receptionist at the NR offices, but from her descriptions of the traffic officers, it could have been anybody. It all happened too quickly, she said. I repeat: I want to make it quite clear that my officers are not in the habit of tasering people for motoring offences.”

“I do understand that it’s quite possible the men who assaulted my colleagues were not your officers, Inspector,” Green said.

“Do you? Good. Look, Lieutenant, I know Spectrum can do as they like and accept that’s how it has to be, but I won’t accept the blame when something goes wrong and Spectrum wants a scapegoat. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, Inspector, and I assure you, I’m not looking for a scapegoat. I just want to find the missing officers before… before it is too late. If I make myself clear?”

Rahmings gave the young man a wry smile of approval and a brief nod.

“I don’t want to fight you, or Spectrum, Lieutenant, and my men will help if we can. I’ve checked with other local Precincts and no one has seen the two captains. After all, Spectrum uniforms aren’t unknown in Futura, of course, but these would’ve have stood out like beacons: one of sky blue and one of pink-”

“Magenta,” Green corrected automatically.

“Well, they’d have been noticed, is what I’m saying.”

Green nodded. “Have you spoken to Major Pine about the captains?”

“I thought Spectrum would have done that,” Rahmings said, his eyebrows rising in surprise, and his voice becoming defensive again. “Spectrum keeps itself to itself, after all.”

“We have alerted Futura Base to the incident,” Green said, making a mental note to check that Claret actually had spoken to the local base. “I wondered if the major got back to you, for more information, or with questions.”

“No, but then I’d never expect him to. The Spectrum officers here don’t deal much with the local force. They’re mostly involved with the World Senators and all the VIPs. We’re always happy to lend a hand, of course… when – and if -asked.”

“Of course. You have circulated the descriptions of the missing men to all other Precincts?”

“Well, as much of a description as I have, Lieutenant: two Spectrum officers, both Americans, from their accents, a blond one dressed in a bright blue and a dark one in a pi – magenta - uniform. Yes, I have told every precinct to keep an eye out for them and to let me know if they turn up. Likewise, if your missing vehicle is spotted, I want to know. Only I have to warn you, I’m none too hopeful that you’ll see it again. There is a thriving car theft culture in Futura, because too many of the people living here have expensive cars, for which there is a flourishing black market, and far too many of the people who also live here have next to nothing. The temptation to redistribute the vehicles from the haves to the have-nots becomes too great for some to bear.”

“Understood, Inspector; but, believe me, the return of the SSC is of much less concern than the safety of our two officers. I can give you a detailed physical description of our two men before I go, in case they’re no longer in uniform, but I can’t provide photographs. I’m sure you understand?”

Rahmings nodded. “I know how keen Spectrum is to keep itself under wraps, Lieutenant.”

Green, who saw the regular reports from all local bases, had already concluded that Major Pine was much too keen on working in splendid isolation, especially if it had resulted in the local police force becoming so disillusioned about Spectrum as a whole. He could see the urgent need to improve Spectrum’s standing with the Futura police and, although he couldn’t do much about it right now, that was no reason not to make a start.

He said, “Our security has to be tight, Inspector, as I’m sure you understand, but Spectrum values good working relationships with all terrestrial security and law enforcement organisations, and it is in our interests to promote joint working; we couldn’t hope to cover the globe without it.”

Rahmings’ sceptical expression spoke volumes and Green continued earnestly:

“Futura must be considered a prime target for any terrorist threats and I consider that we need to improve our working practices, especially around sharing information with you and your colleagues. Please believe me when I say that my report to Colonel White will make that clear. Right now, what I can do is get Major Pine to assist in the search for Captains Blue and Magenta and the SSC, and you can send him the bill for any additional costs you or your colleagues incur.”

After a moment of indecision Rahmings obviously decided the young man was serious and he grinned. “It’ll be my pleasure, Lieutenant.”

“Let Futura Base know if you hear anything, Inspector. They’ll keep me and Cloudbase informed.”

“Sure will.” The older man relaxed slightly, and it was obvious that the formal part of the meeting was over. “You from these islands?” he asked.

“Trinidad; not so far away,” Green replied, aware that he was rapidly reverting to the lilting local accent.

“Working for Spectrum must seem a long way from there.”

“It does, but I wouldn’t have it any other way now.”

“You know these missing men personally?”

Green’s expression grew apprehensive. “Very well; and it isn’t like either of them to disappear without good reason. That’s why I’m anxious to find them as soon as I can, Inspector. We’re all members of the elite colour-coded squad and, as such, even I outrank Major Pine when we’re on a mission. That is why I am so sure he’ll be only too willing to lend you a hand during the search. I’m also confident that you’ll find our base much more co-operative in future.”

Especially, he added to himself, after I’ve told Colonel White about the poor working relationships here. The Old Man will go postal…

“I can hardly believe it, Ed,” Nic Nguyen said for the nth time. “You, in Spectrum? No wonder it was all cloak and dagger about the PMRD. You should’ve told me what you were planning to do. I might’ve been able to talk you out of it.”

“You’re right, it might’ve been a rebound reaction to get me out of Futura at the time I was recruited, but I don’t regret it, Nic. Spectrum’s doing important and valuable work. You’ll have to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone – anyone at all – that you know I’m part of the organisation.”

“My lips are sealed, mate.”

Fawn nodded; he knew his friend would be as good as his word.

“Now,” Nic continued, with the air of a man getting down to something really important, rather than discussing polite trivialities, “what exactly is the matter with the PMRD?”

“There’s nothing wrong with our robo-doc,” Fawn insisted. “Spectrum’s concerned that there might be an attempt to disrupt production of new machines in Sweden, or possibly to introduce something like a sub-routine that might make them dangerous.”

“Not a chance! You know that factory’s security is tighter than a drum.”

“Yeah, but we had a report that… there’s been an unknown professor working here, and we need to make sure he’s sound.”

“Oh, you must mean Herdesher? Unknown? To you, maybe, but he’s got good references and he certainly knows his stuff. Tommo introduced him some months ago… Let me get the latest techno report up…”

“Since when was Tommo involved in research and development?”

“You tell me. He was always the one to say he was simply there for the medical stuff and he rarely showed an interest in the development side of things. Maybe Tillie got him going?”

There was a deep silence as Nic busied himself searching for the document he wanted. He was all too aware of the hurt clearly showing on Ed’s face at the sound of her name.

“How is she?” Ed asked quietly.

“Bonzer,” Nic replied crisply.

“Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“She’s here today if you-?”

“No; that wouldn’t be a good idea. And you’ve promised not to say anything.”

“Not a word. Here, come and look at this report into Herdesher’s project. Sounds perfectly harmless to me.”

Fawn read the specifications: A mobile Fresnel wave device designed to monitor and provide ambulatory care and treatment without the need for physical networking. “Sounds innocuous, but it’s hardly new.”

“It’s the distances,” Nic said. “You know we’ve always wrestled with the problem of signal degradation, especially in remote areas. Our only sure way was to restrict remote operations to physically networked systems to prevent errors. This Fresnel wave device means that the signal can come from almost anywhere… at least, according to the specs it does. Something to do with low frequency radio waves and the distances they can travel. Seems this device means that even mountain ranges won’t prevent a decent signal reaching the robot medic and it removes the need for physical networking or satellite connections. I’ve become deeply disappointed with satellites after a couple of failed operations where people died due to the time delays and signal degradation. If this works, we won’t need to construct booster stations everywhere. As far as I know, the results from the testing programs are very promising.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

Nic shrugged. “I imagine, if the receptor is close enough to the patient, there won’t be any undue time lag between the medical operator and the remote robo-doc. Imagine that!”

Fawn sucked in his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Now there is something to conjure with. I can see why you’d want to develop it; conquer signal degradation and the medical world will beat a path to your cash register. What can you tell me about Professor Herdesher, Nic?”

Nguyen changed the screen and consulted another file. “It says here that Tommo met him when he was attending a sales convention in Alexandria. Seems he’s worked for several reputable electronics firms, before joining the professorial staff at the university in Emesa. Want to see?” As he swivelled the screen around towards Fawn, it gave off the faintest of green glows, which had vanished before the doctor peered down at the screen.

Fawn frowned in concentration as he studied the face of the man in the photograph. The ID photo was small and indistinct, but the dark hair, deep-set eyes and thin face of Professor Herdesher were just about discernible. His height was given as 1.82 metres and his year of birth as 2025. Although he looked vaguely familiar, Fawn didn’t recognise him.

“Looks to be okay,” he muttered. “I guess this gives the project a clean bill of health.”

“Good; I don’t mind telling you we’ve put a lot of our resources into it, Ed. We need to ensure a good outcome.”

“Then I hope you find a ready market for it.” He stretched out his hand and shook his friend’s warmly. “I’d better go. Thanks for your time, Nic.”

“Any time, mate. Watch how you go.”

“You know, Paul, one of the greatest mysteries of life on Earth is why God created blondes? Philosophers and theologians have spent countless ages mulling it over, but they never found the answer. It took a scientist to work it out, and you’ll see how stunningly obvious it is. After years of dedicated research, this scientist deduced that God created blondes because sheep can't bring you a beer from the fridge. Simple, right? Ah, I hear you asking, Paul, because you’re a born sceptic: then why did God create brunettes? You’re gonna love this: he did it because neither could the blondes!”

Ochre chuckled, but there was still no reaction from the man on the bed. He sighed.

“I gotta admit, Paul, you’re one tough cookie. I’ve just about exhausted my entire repertoire on you.” He racked his brains for a moment and continued, “There’s just one last chance, and then, I think you’ll’ve heard them all… Okay, here we go: A blonde was flying in a two-seater plane with a pilot. The pilot had a heart attack and died. Frantic, she called out a Mayday and, over the radio, the Air Traffic Controller asked her what was wrong. "My pilot’s had a heart attack, he’s dead and I don't know how to fly a plane. Please help me!" she said. The ATC had been trained for situations like this and he reassured her: “I’ll talk you through this and get you back on the ground. Now, just take a deep breath and everything will be fine!” He gave her a moment to compose herself and then said, “I need you to give me your height and position." She was confident she could answer that one: "I'm 5'4 and I’m in the front seat." There was a pause and then ATC said: "You’re a blonde, aren’t you?” “Why, yes,” she said, “how clever of you to guess!” “I thought so. Oh, well… just repeat after me: Our Father who art in Heaven..."

Captain Ochre turned round as he heard a stifled giggle from the doorway. He gave a friendly grimace at Nurse Ingram.

“At least someone appreciates my jokes,” he said.

“I take it Captain Scarlet doesn’t?” she said, moving towards the bed to consult the data record.

“I’d probably get more response from the poor fellows in the morgue,” Ochre replied gloomily. “That damn machine hasn’t even bleeped once.”

She didn’t reply, but frowned anxiously at the flat-lined data report.

Seeing her expression, Ochre asked, “Should he still be out for the count, Bill? It’s been a while now.”

“Well, it’s not normal,” she said, “Although, as Doctor Fawn says, we don’t really know what is ‘normal’ for retrometabolism, so we can’t say for sure.”

“Fawn will never commit himself to anything. He drives Paul crazy with his conjectures.”

Nurse Ingram looked reproachfully at him. “Scarlet is a unique case, Captain. Doctor Fawn’s trying to work with nothing to guide him. Have you ever seen Paul… come back from the dead?”

Ochre shook his head. “It’s usually Blue who sits it out with him. Or Rhapsody, and neither of them are very keen to talk about it afterwards. I can only imagine that it must seem like a miracle.”

Nurse Ingram shook her head, explaining softly: “You hardly notice; one moment he’s dead and the next he isn’t. It isn’t even like someone coming round after being unconscious or waking up. He just opens his eyes and the heart monitor starts recording a strong beat, as if it had never been flat-lined for hours. He’s thirsty and hungry and rather tetchy, as a rule. He always complains a lot and is rude to Doctor Fawn - and to me and Captain Blue, when he’s here – then, generally after he’s eaten and had something to drink, he’s all smiles and laughs and jokes with us as if there was nothing unusual about what had just happened.”

“I guess he has a damn good excuse to be tetchy.” Ochre looked across at Scarlet’s body towards her and gave a rueful smile. “But I wish he’d get on with it.”

“So do I,” the nurse muttered.

Captain Magenta’s head was aching. It was aching with a regular thud that echoed the pounding of his heartbeat. He tried to sit up and then retched, groaning at the way the ground swayed up and down, making it impossible to focus. He leant over and vomited.

He spat and wiped his hand across his mouth.

Slowly his vision cleared and he could focus again. It was dark and cold enough to make him shiver. Slowly, he sat up and peered into the gloom; he seemed to be in a long alleyway between two anonymous brick-built buildings. In the distance he could see the glow of street lights – so there were bound to be people there who would help him. He had to get help…

He tried to move and gave another groan at the pain that shot through him. He realised his uniform was missing: no colour-coded tunic, no radio cap, no boots. He glanced around him and groaned again, but this time at the sight of the body nearby. A man’s body: a tall man with fair hair.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly hauled himself over and laid a hand on the broad shoulders.

“Adam,” he croaked. There was no response. “For God’s sake, Adam, wake up!”

Clumsily, he felt for a pulse under the jaw, but couldn’t be sure he felt one. If Blue was still alive, he was in a bad way and it was down to him to save him. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes against the pain as he staggered to his feet. He managed a few unsteady steps before sinking to his knees again. Fighting to retain his consciousness and failing, he toppled forward onto the hard ground.

It was some hours later when a young courting couple out on a date ran away from the light into the alleyway. Laughing and kissing as they haphazardly made their way, seeking the privacy of the gloom, they got the shock of their lives when the girl tripped over the body of a dark-haired man.

She screamed and her boyfriend stooped to see if the man was dead.

“Call the emergency services,” he ordered her. “He needs help. I wonder who the hell he is.”

As the paramedics were lifting Magenta onto a gurney, he opened his eyes. Squinting against the flash of the emergency beacon, he gasped, “My friend, further down the alley… he’s hurt real bad.”

“Okay, buddy – relax. We’ll get him too. You’re both going to be okay.”

Lieutenant Green was closeted with Major Pine when Pine’s personal assistant, a young brunette with a mid-Atlantic accent, advised him that Inspector Rahmings was on the video-link and was asking to speak to him, urgently.

“Take a message, Sergeant McNulty,” Pine ordered before explaining to Green, with a long-suffering glance, “These local guys will take up far too much of your time if you let them.”

“Put him through, Sergeant,” Green said. “He may have news about Captain Blue or Captain Magenta.” He saw McNulty glance at Major Pine for confirmation and before he could be over-ruled, he continued, “I’m sorry, sir, but we have two field officers missing, and I asked Rahmings to let the base know if any of his men heard anything that might give us a lead to their whereabouts. I’m willing to risk a nuisance call under the circumstances. Sir.”

“Put him through then, Sergeant,” Pine said sourly, glaring at the younger man.

Rahmings’ face came on the video-screen and his dour expression was quickly confirmed by the concern in his voice.

“Major, I have some information for Lieutenant Green; he said you’d pass it on?”

“I’m here, Inspector,” Green replied. “What can you tell me?”

“ Hi there, Lieutenant. I just received a report from a couple of my officers, who were at Community General Hospital when two men were brought in by the paramedics. They’d been found unconscious in a downtown alley. One’s still unconscious: a big blond man. The other’s a dark-haired American. He came to for a while and he told the medics they were Spectrum officers. The doctors are with them both now…”

“Fantastic! Spectrum’s very grateful to you and your men, Inspector Rahmings – and I personally owe you one!”

“I hope it is your friends, Lieutenant, and that they’ll be okay. Let me know if you need any more help.”

“S.I.G., Green out.” He turned to Major Pine. “I’ll contact Doctor Fawn. I want you to send a car to the World Government offices and take him directly to the hospital. I’ll meet him there.”

“Lieutenant?”

Major Pine was obviously offended at being ordered about by a mere lieutenant, but Green had lost patience with him and was in no mood to pander to his affronted ego. His response was barely civil:

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Major Pine, that as a member of the Elite corps on a field mission I outrank you?”

“ Lieutenant! Colonel White will hear about this.”

“Too right he will – just as soon as I write my report. Sir.”

Green stood to leave. “Please – just do as I say and send the car. Oh, and if I were you, I’d make sure I was the one who informed Cloudbase that the missing officers have been found, rather than leave it to a subordinate; then they might even be prepared to listen to your complaint about me afterwards…”

Colonel White arrived in Sick Bay shortly after the medics wheeled Blue and Magenta into the Officers’ Ward.

Doctor Fawn had disappeared into his office to change out of his field uniform, so White nodded briefly at the nurses on duty and went to the waiting room, where Lieutenant Green, positively bubbling with excitement, was talking to Nurse Ingram.

“Doctor Fawn insisted that the captains be moved straight back to Cloudbase; he wasn’t prepared to take any chances by letting the WMO doctors examine them,” the lieutenant was explaining.

“What does he think has happened to them?” Belinda Ingram asked, fingers poised over the medical data recorder to type in the answer.

“That’s just it – he’s not sure! But given that there’d been a Mysteron threat, he wasn’t going to take any risks.”

Nurse Ingram pursed her lips and drew a deep breath. “Lieutenant Green, I have to record something as a reason for admittance.”

“Suspected Mysteron involvement; isn’t that enough?” said Green.

“Suppose you tell me exactly what happened?” Colonel White interrupted smoothly, before the nurse lost her temper.

“Colonel White! I was about to come to the Control Room to report, sir,” Green exclaimed, “Doctor Fawn’s preparing to examine the two captains, sir.”

“How are they?” White said, steadily. He was fond of his senior lieutenant and knew that, despite the young man’s tendency to get worked up when on away missions he would always be able to provide a perceptive insight into the situation.

“Magenta’s sleeping, but Blue is still unconscious,” Green replied, as, with an expression of relief on her face, Nurse Ingram keyed in the information.

“Do we know why Blue is unconscious?” the colonel said.

Green shook his head. “He was unconscious when Magenta came to, in an alleyway and when the paramedics found him. He hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”

“Have they been checked with a Mysteron detector?”

“Yes, sir; I did it on board the SPJ before we took off.”

“Excellent.”

“ Ingram, where are you? I need you now!” Fawn’s peremptory demand reverberated around the waiting room.

“Off you go, Nurse – duty calls,” the colonel said, smiling at the senior nurse’s exasperated expression.

She nodded and hurried away.

“Now, Lieutenant, suppose you give me the rest of your report while we wait for the medical examination to be completed?”

“Well, sir, Doctor Fawn interviewed Nic Nguyen and Doctor Giardello and he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong at Nguyen Robotics. He instructed me to investigate the disappearance of Blue and Magenta and so I went to see the police in Precinct 25…”

White listened intently and, as he calmed down, Green’s report became clear and concise.

He concluded: “I feel I should alert you to the fact that Major Pine may well put in an official complaint about me, sir, and it may be justified – in part. I’m afraid I did get annoyed at his arrogance and I am concerned about the lack of co-operation between Spectrum Futura and the local World Police. I will detail my concerns in my written report, Colonel.”

“Major Pine has already given me chapter and verse of his side of the meeting, Lieutenant, so I will be requiring your version, when you have the time.” White glanced towards the Officers’ Ward and shook his head. “We don’t seem much further forward after all this. Captain Scarlet is still… dead… and two more officers are out of service. Did you track down Professor Herdesher?”

“Not as such, sir. Doctor Fawn said Nic Nguyen provided a photograph of him and Fawn didn’t recognise him, so it can’t have been Captain Black, can it? I mean, we all know what he looks like. But we never met Herdesher in person, so he hasn’t been tested with a Mysteron detector.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. The three-fold mission objective was to identify Herdesher, ensure that Nguyen Robotics had not been targeted by the Mysterons and to find Captain Blue and Captain Magenta – I suppose two out of three isn’t bad – under the circumstances.”

“I’m sorry, sir; we did our best,” Green mumbled, chastened by his commanding officer’s all too obvious disappointment.

“I know, Lieutenant, and I appreciate what you have achieved. However, the Mysteron threat remains obscure and we’re no closer to preventing whatever devilry they have in mind.”

“Has Captain Grey reported back?” Green asked. The colonel nodded but did not reply, so Green prompted, “Did he have any luck?”

“He has completed one full security sweep of the NR plant - and found nothing.” White sighed. “However, that can’t be considered as that much of a success as we don’t know what we’re looking for. He and Jonquil are remaining in Sweden to review and improve NR’s security and do a bit of digging around to see if anything points to Mysteron interest in the plant. The Angels are back, at least, but I have kept the B Squadron on base; those girls may soon be our only experienced field officers, the way things are going.”

Green felt despondent and it showed. Although Fawn was technically the superior officer, he was the one with the most field experience, albeit minimal experience when compared to that of the ‘Colour-Captains’.

“I’m sorry we let you down, sir,” he stammered.

“Goodness me; I never meant you to think that, Lieutenant. You found our missing officers and you’ve uncovered a serious need for improvement in the joint-working protocols at what is one of the most important Spectrum bases.” White stood and laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Good work, Lieutenant. Moreover, I am pleased to have you back on Cloudbase; for, although Claret’s good… you are better.”

Captain Magenta’s head was still aching but now it was a dull ache and not the needle-sharp pain it had been. He opened one eye to see if he could stand the light and found the warm, low-level glow acceptable. He sighed.

Nurse Ingram’s smiling face appeared overhead.

“Hello, Captain; glad you’re back with us again.”

“Hello, Bill. I’m on Cloudbase?” She nodded. “And Blue?”

“He’s here too, in the next bed. He’s going to be okay and so are you.”

Magenta struggled to sit up. She activated the automatic bed and he felt the base rising up until it supported him at an angle where he could see what was going on. The next bed was occupied by Captain Blue, although he was not awake, and Magenta could see several sensor pads on his temples and chest, used by the robot-nurses to monitor his vital signs.

“What did they do to him?” he asked Nurse Ingram.

“What did who do to him?”

Magenta frowned in concentration. “Someone was doing something – I can’t remember where or who. I saw them standing around him.”

“Probably the paramedics at Futura,” she reassured him. “You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness yourself.”

“Is he…?”

“Doctor Fawn’s got it all fixed up. There’s nothing wrong with him; you have both been x-rayed. You’re both fine.”

Magenta relaxed a little; an x-ray would have shown if either of them had been Mysteronised and it seemed as if they had escaped that, at least.

“What can he remember?” he said.

“He hasn’t regained consciousness yet. Fawn thinks it best to wait and see if he comes out of it on his own, before he tries to revive him. It shouldn’t be long.”

“And Scarlet?”

Ingram shook her head. “No change, I’m afraid.” She gave a reassuring smile. “When you’re feeling a little brighter, you have a visitor waiting to see you. Captain Ochre’s here.”

Magenta was delighted to hear that his field partner and close friend was waiting, but he had no intention of showing it. “Richard Fraser, hospital visitor,” he muttered. “No, that does not compute; I must still be delirious, Bill.”

She chuckled. “He’s turned over a new leaf. He’s been sitting keeping Captain Scarlet company for hours, telling him jokes and amusing anecdotes.”

Magenta rolled his dark eyes. “Poor guy; hasn’t Scarlet got enough to contend with?”

She laughed. “I thought it was rather sweet of him.”

“That’s probably why he did it… Take my advice, Bill, and don’t agree to a date. ‘Sweet’ Ochre may be, but he’s got more arms than an octopus – or so I’ve been reliably informed by a number of young ladies on the base.”

“Oh, you… captains!” Despite her rebuke, her expression showed a certain pleasure at the idea. “As if I don’t see enough of you all when I have to patch you up…”

“Yeah, I guess none of us have anything you haven’t already seen?”

“Pretty much…now, get some rest and I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. Maybe – if you behave – he’ll allow Ochre to visit.”

“Now you’ve done it, I can definitely feel a relapse coming on…” Magenta teased, happily.

Rhapsody and Symphony Angels made their way down to Sick Bay as soon as they came off duty. Despite the base being on amber alert, they had some precious free time because the Angel ‘B’ Squadron were doing all of the routine patrols and duties. Colonel White had made it clear that while his senior pilots were to hold themselves ready to undertake any missions that might arise, they did not have to technically be ‘on standby’.

“The ‘Bees’ are nice girls, when you get to know them,” Rhapsody remarked, as the elevator door opened onto deck C. “It’s a shame they can’t spend more time on Cloudbase; think of the free time that’d give us!”

Symphony sniffed. “Yes, they’re okay.”

Rhapsody gave her a pitying glance. “Karen, come on - be fair. Just because you see them as competition it doesn’t mean they’re out to get our jobs – or our menfolk.”

“Just let one of them try…” Symphony gave her friend a grin. “Oh, I know I’m a jealous bitch, I admit it, but I can’t help it. I guess we all have our weaknesses and mine is that I happen to be in love with the guy.”

“You should be all smiles,” her friend remarked. “After all, Adam’s back on board and awake. Which is more than Paul is.”

Symphony placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “I know and I am all bubbly inside – for Adam – but I’m also worried for Paul and for you, Di.”

Rhapsody gave her a grateful glance.

“But you know what?” Symphony continued, “I betcha Paul will wake up now Adam’s back.”

“I hope so,” Rhapsody admitted.

“Makes you wonder if there isn’t something going on between those two – oh, I don’t mean anything sexual,” she exclaimed, as Rhapsody grinned at her. They were both aware of the rumours that periodically percolated through the chattering classes on Cloudbase – as were the captains. “But …oh, I don’t know; something… mystical.”

Rhapsody’s grin turned into a chuckle. “Daft as it sounds, I do know what you mean and I wouldn’t bet against it either. After all, they were both at the London Car-Vu and, whatever happened there, happened when they were both there…and we know that-”

“-The Mysterons have powers we can’t hope to understand!” Symphony joined in the end of the sentence and they both laughed.

They were still smiling as they entered Sick Bay and saw Ochre and Magenta sitting together in the waiting area. Ochre was obviously off-duty and was dressed in a faded colour-coded track-suit, while Magenta was looking decidedly self-conscious at being wrapped in one of Sick Bay’s lurid orange and brown dressing gowns. It was a common belief that Doctor Fawn had bought them on purpose, to make damn sure that no one would ever want to pinch any of the medical services’ nightwear…

“Hi, guys,” Symphony called as they approached. “Glad to see you both up and about. How are you, Pat?”

Alarmed at his bruised face and black eye, she leant over and kissed his cheek.

“I’m fine; thanks, Karen.” He took her hand and pressed it to his cut lips.

“That is good news,” Rhapsody said. “Thanks for keeping Paul company in my absence, Rick.”

“You’re welcome, Angel. You know, I used all my best jokes on him without as much as a snigger. I’ve always said he takes life way too seriously. So, I think I deserve something, in recognition of my selfless effort, not to mention the emotional trauma of wasting my comedic gifts on a man with no sense of humour. Do I get a kiss too?”

Rhapsody glanced at her friend and said sweetly, “Of course you can have a kiss if you want one, Rick.” She placed her hands on either side of his head and bent down to kiss his forehead.

“Call that a kiss?”

“I call it the only kiss you’re getting,” she said, removing his hands from around her waist. “Now behave!”

“I must be losing my touch,” he complained meekly. “Captain Scarlet doesn’t laugh at my jokes and Rhapsody Angel gives me the sort of kiss I’d get from a maiden aunt.”

Rhapsody patted his shoulder, laughing.

“We’re here to see Paul and Adam,” Symphony explained, rather unnecessarily.

“Fawn moved them both into the same room, earlier,” Magenta explained. “I think you’ll be allowed in, though.”

“Is Paul awake?” Rhapsody said hopefully.

“Not sure,” Rick admitted. “I do know that Blue’s still under observation, because Fawn had to bring him out of his coma – or whatever it was.”

“A coma?” Symphony exclaimed. “Why wasn’t I told he was in a coma? It sounds serious.”

“You were on duty and couldn’t have come to see him anyway,” Magenta assured her, preferring to skate over Fawn’s remark that she’d only get in the way.

“Is he awake now?” she asked, glancing eagerly towards the Recovery Room.

“I don’t know for sure -” Pat replied.

“- But I know a lady who will,” Rick interjected, as he saw Nurse Ingram walking by. “Bill, is Old Blue-Eyes awake?”

“ Captain Blue was asleep, last time I looked,” Nurse Ingram replied. “But I daresay you could go in, Symphony and you, Rhapsody, of course.”

“No group canoodling…” Ochre called after them, as they crossed to the room. “Well, not unless we get to join in, of course…”

“Only in your most torrid dreams, Captain!” Symphony called back, chuckling.

“ Huh,” Magenta muttered, mostly to himself, “Don’t let’s go there.”

“That’s the trouble with spending off-duty on Cloudbase,” Ochre complained ironically, “There’s just not enough orgies.”

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes in despair at Ochre ever taking anything seriously, Nurse Ingram went to inform Doctor Fawn that his patients had visitors.

Captain Blue woke at the sound of the door closing and gave a very lop-sided smile at the two young women.

“Look at you,” Symphony said, the affection in her voice outweighing the concern and gentle mockery of her words. “You’re perfectly fit and well and just skiving off work, as usual. You’ve had us all worried for nothing.”

She sat on the edge of Blue’s bed, brushed the long fringe back from his forehead and then leant forward to kiss his pallid cheek. He had a nasty cut under one eye and was sporting a collection of bruises that echoed Magenta’s appearance.

“Hello, Angels, good to see you both; you’re just what the doctor ordered.” His voice was muffled by the puffiness of his cut lips and he sounded tired. Gingerly, he pulled himself up into a sitting position without too much effort and took the hand Rhapsody held out to him, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“It does a body good to see such beautiful visitors – especially when the last ones I had were Pat and Rick. Sympathy from them is like being on the receiving end in another punch-up.”

“Rick wants to join in if we’re going to have any - what he called – ‘group canoodling’,” Symphony informed him, blinking back the tears that had filled her eyes.

“Don’t look at me for anything like that,” Blue replied indistinctly. “The doc says I got pretty badly beaten up in Futura and a couple of broken ribs, a fractured arm and a murderous headache say he’s probably right.”

“What do you remember about it?” Rhapsody asked. She had gone to sit on Scarlet’s bed and was holding his hand.

“Not much,” Blue admitted. “We saw Captain Black – well, I did, I don’t really know if Pat saw him well enough to be as sure as I was. While we were trying to identify the suspect, two guys – apparently traffic cops, but it now seems they weren’t – tried to tow away the SSC. Next thing I know, they’d tasered Pat and then they set on me.”

Symphony exclaimed: “Two against one – the cowards!”

“That’s as maybe; but I should’ve been able to look after myself,” said Blue, shaking his head and grimacing. “I don’t remember anything else until I woke up back on Cloudbase.”

“They worked you over thoroughly,” Fawn said, coming into the room at the end of this speech. “You were lucky that you got off so lightly.”

“I don’t feel lucky,” Blue complained.

“Oh, my poor baby,” Symphony cooed, gently laying the back of her fingers against Blue’s bruised cheek.

“You can leave him in my tender care,” Fawn remarked, his eyebrows raised at this display of affection. She turned and smiled at him, but Fawn continued: “I meant it: you can leave… now you’ve woken him up, I need to do some tests.”

He gestured towards the door where Nurse Ingram was manoeuvring a robot nurse into the room.

“I just got here!” Symphony protested.

Fawn was unmoved. “And now you can just go. Do I have to make it an order, Symphony?”

Clearly annoyed, she flounced out of the room. Rhapsody, who followed her out with much less ill-grace, waved goodbye as she closed the door behind her.

“You sure know how to live dangerously, Doc,” Blue said, vastly amused by the whole episode.

“The base’s still on Amber Alert. I know they’re off-duty, but I’m not. I’m still looking for the reason why Captain Scarlet’s not retrometabolising as quickly we’ve come to expect.”

“So, it isn’t me you’re going to be testing?” Blue said hopefully, regarding the robot-nurse with abhorrence.

Fawn gave him a bland smile and ignored the question. “While you were away, there was a Mysteron threat that could’ve referred to Nguyen Robotics, and you and Magenta were at Nguyen Robotics. Coincidence, maybe; but I’m not missing a trick on this one.”

Blue considered this for a moment and then said, “That was Captain Black I saw, walking into that office. I’m sure of it, Doc. I’d swear it was him. Lord knows, his face has been imprinted on my memory since he did what he did to Symphony at the Culver Atomic Station. I’ve still got a bone to pick with him about that…”

Fawn smiled as he applied the sensor tabs to Blue’s arms, chest and temples; he knew that Symphony’s capture by the man they now suspected was the Mysterons’ premier agent was a lingering sore point with her devoted admirer. It was only the fact that he needed an irradiated decoy to drive away the SPV he’d escaped in that had, presumably, prevented Black from killing the Angel pilot. He had not shown similar compassion to any of his other victims.

“Well, neither you nor Magenta showed as Mysterons when you were X-rayed, so whatever those rogue cops did, it wasn’t fatal and you haven’t been retrometabolised.”

“Then I guess I was lucky,” Blue said, reflectively. He glanced at Scarlet, still motionless and cold on the adjacent bed. “Luckier than Paul.”

There was a slight pause before he demanded: “What’s wrong with him, Doc? He’s come through worse than this before now.”

“I wish I knew, Adam. I’ve got my improved robot-doc monitoring him post-mortem; I feel sure that whatever happens to trigger retrometabolism must happen at a very basic molecular level. I want to know what that is; the more I know the more I can prepare for instances like this, where things don’t go according to plan.”

Blue nodded. “I guess you’re right, but it’s worrying all the same. Now, what do you want me to do, Doc?”

“Get some sleep. I’ve done all I can to patch you up. The med-bed will monitor your readings and keep the level of painkillers at a suitable level to allow you to sleep. You’re well on the road to recovery, so now your body just needs time and plenty of rest. And, don’t worry; I’ll make sure Symphony lets you get enough of both…”

The American grinned and settled down in the bed. “Then, as the poet once said: ‘ you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din’,” he muttered.

Ninety minutes later, Nurse Ingram looked in through the observation portal and smiled to see that Blue was fast asleep. She glanced across at Scarlet’s bed and her heart leapt – there was a red, flashing light on the robot-doctor and an orange line jerked its way across the screen with a faint but regular pulse.

Delighted, she hurried to Fawn’s office, calling as she approached:

“Doctor, come quickly - Captain Scarlet’s alive!”

Fawn raced over to the room and as they entered the door, Captain Scarlet’s eyes opened.

“Take it easy, Captain,” Fawn said, as steadily as he could. “You’re on Cloudbase and you’re okay now.”

Scarlet turned a troubled face towards the doctor and frowned.

“Who the hell are you?” he croaked, adding, somewhat disconcertingly, “and if it comes to that, who the hell am I?”

“I’m not surprised you’re a little disorientated.” Fawn tried to sound reassuring. “For a while we began to think you might not make it at all.”

“Do I know you?”

“Of course you do; I’m Doctor Fawn and this is Nurse Ingram. You’re in Sick Bay on Cloudbase.”

“Cloud base? I don’t understand.”

“It’ll come back to you,” Fawn said, glancing across at the readout on the robot doctor. “You’re getting stronger now.”

“What happened to me?”

“You were shot, several times.”

“I don’t feel shot…”

“Let me examine you…”

“No offence, Doctor… Fawn, but I don’t know you and until I’ve had answers to who, what, where and why, you’re not touching me.”

“Paul! You’re alive!” Woken by the conversation, Blue was smiling at his friend.

Scarlet looked at Blue as if he thought the American was deranged. “So it seems.”

“I was worried about you – we all were,” Blue continued. “You shouldn’t do this to us, you know?”

“Look… friend, I don’t know you from Adam-”

“ Ha-ha, very funny; like I’ve never heard that one before…” Blue mumbled with heavy irony.

Fawn interrupted Scarlet’s testy response to explain to Captain Blue: “He’s disorientated; it seems he doesn’t know who we are or who he is.” He studied Scarlet for a moment and added, “I don’t think he’s kidding us either.”

“Of course I am not kidding you. What’s going on?” Scarlet demanded.

“ Amnesia? How long is that gonna last?” Blue said with concern.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Captain. I really don’t know,” Fawn repeated thoughtfully.

“ Amnesia?” Colonel White’s voice over the radio sounded as surprised as Blue’s had. “Then I suggest you bring him up to speed as soon as possible, Doctor. We are extremely short-staffed and I need Scarlet back on duty.”

“I’ve asked Captain Blue to talk to him and, if you can spare her, could you send Rhapsody Angel to Sick Bay?”

“It’s most inconvenient, but I suppose, if it helps, you can ask her to join you in Sick Bay… Let me know the moment Scarlet’s fully recovered, Doctor.”

“S.I.G., Colonel.”

Fawn contacted Rhapsody and asked her to report to Sick Bay, before walking slowly back to the Recovery Room. He stood outside for a moment, listening to the conversation going on inside. It wasn’t that he doubted Scarlet had amnesia – well, not that he really doubted him – but he genuinely hoped that by the ongoing action of retrometabolism, or some other magical process, his memory had returned.

“From your accent I’d say you’re an American,” Scarlet was saying to Blue, “but I’m sorry, I really don’t know who you are.”

“We’ve been friends and field partners since we joined Spectrum,” Blue assured him.

“Spectrum is this international, secret security organisation you told me about, right? The one with the flying base we’re on?”

“Yeah; that’s right. And you are Captain Scarlet of Spectrum.”

“ Scarlet is my name? I find that hard to accept.”

“ Codename: your codename is Captain Scarlet. Your real name is Paul Metcalfe. I’m Captain Blue – that is, my codename is Captain Blue – and my actual name’s Adam Svenson.”

“And I’m English and you’re American?”

Blue nodded. “I come from Boston, Massachusetts, and you come from Winchester...England.”

“Hampshire, I think you’ll find.” Scarlet sighed, shrugged and spread his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry - all this means nothing to me. That doctor – the Australian - Doctor Fawn, you said his name was? – he said I’d been shot, but I have no wounds. I feel fine, although I can’t remember anything.”

“You remembered Winchester is in Hampshire.”

“Well, any schoolboy knows that and I am not a schoolboy... what I can’t remember is anything about myself, or any of you.”

“I can tell you a lot about yourself, if you like?”

“You know a lot about me?”

“Pretty much all there is to know,” Blue confirmed. “You’ve told me things about yourself in the past.”

“And we’re ‘friends’?”

“Yeah, we are.”

“ Just friends?”

Blue sighed. “Yes, just friends. And field partners.”

“I’m not sure it would do any good you telling me about myself – I mean, why should I trust you to tell me the truth?”

“You’re gonna have to trust someone at some point,” Blue pointed out reasonably enough.

“Only if I can’t find it out for myself,” Scarlet replied firmly.

“Paul, you’re a member of a secret security organisation, remember? I’d be very surprised if you can find out anything without being told it by somebody or other.”

Fawn went into the room before things got heated.

“Rhapsody Angel’s on her way,” he said to Blue.

“Is that another codename?” Scarlet asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“What do you remember, Captain Scarlet?” Fawn asked.

“I remember waking up here and seeing you and…umm…him.” He pointed at Blue.

“Captain Blue,” Fawn prompted. “And before that?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing at all,” Scarlet confirmed.

“Then, how do you account for your being here?” Fawn asked.

“I don’t, yet. That’s why I’m listening to you two trying to do that.”

“Is there somewhere you think you should be?” Fawn prompted, turning to welcome Rhapsody into the room. “Thank you for coming, Rhapsody.”

“Hello, Paul,” she said, reaching out a hand towards him. “How are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you, Miss.”

The sight of the beautiful red-head was obviously something Scarlet appreciated, but there was no sign of recognition in his eyes.

She dropped her hand and glanced sadly at Fawn. “It’s true then, what Nurse Ingram told me?”

“I hoped the sight of you might trigger some memories,” Fawn explained. “See if there’s anything you can do to help, Dianne.”

She nodded and moved closer to the bed. “Do try to remember, darling,” she said.

“ Darling? You mean, you and me are…?”

“We’re engaged, Paul. Edward knows all about it, and Adam, of course.”

“Oh, of course – he would…” Scarlet gave Blue a doubtful glance.

“Would you like me to go?” Blue asked. “I could do with stretching my legs.”

He started to swing his legs out of bed and tried to pull himself upright, but he gasped and had to sit down again.

Fawn came to his side. “Stay where you are, Captain; I’ll get you a wheelchair. You’re not fit to be walking about yet.”

“No! He doesn’t have to leave,” Scarlet said hastily. “It’s okay; everyone can stay where they are.”

“You think she’s gonna jump your bones?” Blue said, grinning weakly at Rhapsody. “You should be so lucky, pal.”

Colonel White read the latest report from Doctor Fawn just before he went off duty. The sunset was spilling a golden light through the Control Room’s windows and engendering an illogical sense of well-being in the normally imperturbable commanding officer. He sighed and closed down the screen, resting his chin on his fingers for a moment as he stared out at the solar pyrotechnics on display beyond Cloudbase.

It seemed that Captain Scarlet’s loss of memory was as profound as it was genuine; not even the presence of Rhapsody Angel had stirred a flicker of remembrance, which was evidence enough – if any were needed – of that.

However, what was far more disturbing for Colonel White was the fact that Fawn considered it possible that Scarlet’s retrometabolism might have gone the way of his memory. He backed this hypothesis with the fact that his specially adapted robot-doctor was showing nothing, but – for the moment, at least – that was as far as he was prepared to go.

The colonel pursed his lips and considered the situation. Fawn was fairly confident that, given time, familiar company and locations would be all Scarlet needed to recover his memory, but White was aware that in itself wouldn’t guarantee Scarlet was still indestructible. He toyed with the idea of ordering Fawn to investigate whether the officer could recover from – say - a small scalpel cut, but aware that in medical matters Fawn could refuse to obey with impunity and that, given an order of that kind, he almost certainly would.

Getting up from his seat to make way for Captain Grey, who was scheduled for night duty, White went through the formalities of handing over command of the base, before strolling to the canteen for something to eat. He ate a leisurely meal enjoying the opportunity to talk to Lieutenant Wisteria, the base’s Welfare Officer, and the Chaplain about inconsequential matters, before he headed down to Sick Bay to have a serious discussion with Fawn.

As he entered Sick Bay he caught sight of Captain Scarlet, up and dressed, mooching about near the nurses’ station, and nodded a brief acknowledgement as he walked to Fawn’s office.

The doctor was at his desk and looked up to welcome his visitor with a smile.

“Don’t get up, Doctor,” the colonel remarked with irony, as Fawn made no effort to stand and simply indicated the spare chair across the desk. Sometimes the lack of military etiquette in his senior staff did irritate Charles Gray.

“Sit down, Colonel. How can I help?”

White sat across the desk and replied: “How are both your patients?”

“All the readings show that Blue’s fine; he’ll be ready for light duties in a day or two, but I want to make sure he’s rested before I sign him fully fit. Scarlet – physically – is disgustingly healthy and annoyingly restless. I let him get up so that Blue could get some of the rest he needs. You may have seen him on your way in?”

White nodded. “Does he remember who he is?”

Fawn looked thoughtful. “Hard to tell; he’s a professional soldier and training like that becomes second nature, so he is acting much as he always does, except that he’s alert and wary, especially of me, and – surprisingly – of Blue.”

“Could that be a residual memory of what happened at the London Car-Vu?”

Fawn shrugged and gave a thoughtful nod. “It’s possible, but I can’t say for sure. He accepts that his name is Paul Metcalfe but doesn’t appear to know who Paul Metcalfe is or was.”

“Your hypothesis concerning his retrometabolism-”

“Ah, I thought you’d come to that,” Fawn interjected. “I felt it was a possibility I should raise, because we still don’t know what’s responsible for it. I’ve been analysing the reports from my new post-mortem robot-doctor and it shows absolutely nothing. The patient was dead and then he wasn’t – just like that!” Fawn snapped his fingers.

“Is the machine working properly?” the colonel asked.

“Of course it is! Nic Nguyen and I spent ages making sure it worked properly.” There was a hint of petulance in Fawn’s voice that under different circumstances would have amused the colonel.

The doctor continued: “When Scarlet regained consciousness he had amnesia, something that’s only happened once before: after the Car-Vu incident. Then he had no recollection of the time he was Mysteronised, or what he did during those hours, but he did recall everything before that. Since then, there have been many occasions when he’s remembered everything, except being dead and the initial stages of his recovery. That suggests to me that there might be some overlap between his memory and his encounters with the Mysterons. Consequently, it is possible that this is the first sign that his retrometabolic powers are waning.”

“We must know for sure, Doctor, and as soon as possible,” the colonel said. “If Spectrum is to function effectively without Captain Scarlet’s unique ability, there will need to be changes – dramatic changes.”

He looked at his companion and saw suspicion appear in the younger man’s dark eyes, nevertheless, he continued with what he had to say.

“Surely, there is some simple test you could perform that would prove your theory either way?”

“I don’t think I like the way your thoughts are going, Colonel,” Fawn warned him.

“Surely, a small cut or wound would prove if Scarlet was still retrometabolic?”

“I can’t believe you’ve even thought of it!” Fawn exclaimed, but his continuing remarks made it obvious that the colonel was not the only person to whom the idea had occurred: “Scarlet’s recovery rates vary – as we both well know – so that a small wound would prove nothing, as even a diminished ability to retrometabolise would deal with that, eventually.”

The colonel drew a deep breath but pressed on with the point he wanted to make. “I do not make this suggestion lightly, Doctor, but I have no choice; my priority must be Spectrum and the welfare of all the officers who serve in it, so let me make myself clear. If there’s no other way to resolve the problem, Scarlet must be… killed, and I can see no other way.”

Fawn’s outraged reaction, fuelled partly by his own guilt at having thought something very similar, covered the slight noise from outside the door as Captain Scarlet recoiled from what he’d overheard.

He turned on his heel to march swiftly towards the exit.

Ignoring the initially friendly questions about his intentions and then the direct orders not to leave Sick Bay, from the startled nurses, Scarlet raced along the corridor.

Although he had no idea where to go, he was determined to put distance between himself and the two men plotting to kill him. He had never really believed the story the so-called doctor and his false friend had tried to weave: secret security organisations fighting invisible aliens, indeed! Had they really expected him to be so gullible?

He was on the look-out for any sign that might provide clues to an exit route, and he spotted a pair of lift doors, one of which was marked ‘Medical Emergency Flight Deck – Keep Clear’.

He swerved and punched the call button, keeping a look out for pursuit. The lift arrived quickly, although it did not seem like that to the adrenalin-fuelled officer. The door slid open to reveal an attractive blonde woman, dressed in the same uniform that Rhapsody Angel had worn.

“Hi, Paul, where’re you going? Dianne’s on duty at the moment,” she said, smiling and holding out her hand.

“Sorry, lady, I don’t know you. Get out of my way.”

“Paul, stop teasing. It’s me, Karen…”

“Nice to meet you. Now I’m in a hurry, so get out of the lift!”

When Symphony hesitated, he grabbed her arm and pulled her from the lift with a strength born of urgency. She stumbled, slipped and crashed down onto the floor, giving her head a resounding crack against the wall as she did so.

“Hell and damnation!” Scarlet growled.

He glared down at the unconscious woman aware that leaving her where she lay would reveal his escape route to anyone following him. There was a door to a service cupboard beside the lift shaft, so he opened it and dragged her in. Spotting some yellow and black warning tape on a shelf he used it to pinion her arms behind her back, and tied her ankles together. While propping her up against the back of the cupboard, he noticed a roll of duct tape, grabbed it and pressed some over her mouth – but not too tightly.

“Someone’s sure to find you soon, lady,” he muttered, and closing the door, he stepped into the lift and pressed ‘up’.

The ride was smooth and quick, and the door opened onto an enclosed hangar where two craft stood ready: a helijet and a sleek, blue and silver jet. Some instinct told Scarlet that his best bet was the plane: if this base, wherever it was, really was hovering at 40,000 feet, it was unlikely the helicopter would be safe in the thin atmosphere, whereas the jet should be able to cope.

Casting a wary glance behind him, he strolled over to the jet, as if he had every right to be there.

“Hi, Captain Scarlet,” a cheery technician called, as he approached. “Glad to see you up and about again.”

“Thanks. Can, eh, can you ready this plane for launch?”

“Sure. You got some last minute furlough? Some guys get all the luck!”

“Yeah, I guess so. Do you need authorisation?”

“Nah; you’re not likely to be hijacking it, are you?”

The technician laughed at his own witticism, and Scarlet joined in as convincingly as he could.

“Just make sure you file the flight plan with the Tower, won’t you? Don’t want Greenie – or the Old Man - on my case, do I?”

“Oh, I will. Thanks, friend.”

The technician strolled off towards a small booth, shielded from the hangar by toughened glass, while Scarlet, hoping no one was watching, found the way to open the door and sat himself in the cockpit, familiarising himself with the controls.

Momentarily he wondered how he knew he could fly the plane, but quickly dismissed the uncertainty: he just knew he could fly it.

The sensation of the plane rising from the hangar floor surprised him. He gazed upwards, fearing a crash into the ceiling. Then he saw a glimmer of light which grew bigger as the ceiling retracted. He gunned the engines and blinked in surprise as the plane levelled off on to a short, straight runway which was already airborne.

That much was true, at least…

He immediately started the plane moving; he didn’t want the platform to retract before he was safely away.

“Control Tower to SPJ039, report status. You have no clearance to take off.”

“Sorry, Tower, but I’m getting out of here with or without your say-so.”

The female voice at the other end of the radio link sounded young and a little hesitant. “ Captain Scarlet? Sir, you do not have clearance to take off. If you do so, you will be held in breach of safety protocols, which is a disciplinary offence, sir.”

“So sue me. ‘Scarlet’ out.”

As the plane hurtled off the end of the runway, Scarlet turned to see where he’d been and gasped at the sheer size and elegant design of Cloudbase.

Whoever these guys are, and whatever authority they represent, they’re clearly a force to be reckoned with.

This was not a comforting thought, given that they were planning to murder him, so he concentrated on pinpointing his location and setting a course for England; he knew nowhere else to go.

Glancing back for one final look, he saw a sleek white jet taking off in pursuit.

“I guess they want me pretty bad… come on, my little lady, let’s see just how fast you can go.”

He increased speed and dropped down in height hoping it would lessen the performance advantage between the fighter jet and his plane. As he watched, the jet banked round to follow him and two more planes appeared from the flight deck of the base. Scarlet let out a pent-up breath and urged his craft to yet more speed, but it was only a matter of minutes before two planes were flying alongside with the third one following behind.

“ Rhapsody Angel to Captain Scarlet, return to Cloudbase immediately.”

“I hate to refuse a lady anything, but the answer’s no,” Scarlet replied. He glanced towards the plane on his right and saw the young red-head who had claimed to be his fiancée. She saw his glance and looked pleadingly towards him, obviously upset; but he shrugged and gave a rueful gesture.

“I’m not going back there. I heard the doctor and some guy in white arranging my imminent death. I’d rather take my chances out here, against you three, and I should warn you that if you attack, I won’t be going down alone.”

“We don’t want to attack-”

“Good; I don’t want you to, either.”

“You must return to Cloudbase.”

“Look, I’ll land this baby very carefully and you can have her back, okay? I’m sure such a super-equipped organisation like yours can spare the odd tank of fuel, huh? Or send me an invoice…”

“Captain Scarlet, return to Cloudbase! Please, Paul.”

“Still ‘no’.”

Scarlet jinked the plane downwards and swerved off his course to shake off the unwanted escort. The three jets mirrored his movements immediately.

“Captain Scarlet, we have orders to fire if you refuse to co-operate,” Rhapsody warned.

“Look, Rhapsody – or whatever your goddam name is – I’ve already told you, I’m not going back. You must do your worst, ladies.”

Nothing happened. Scarlet edged the plane down again, waiting to see their reaction; the jets continued to follow him, but he guessed there was some discussion going on between them and the Control Tower.

Suddenly Rhapsody’s plane veered away and gained height. Over his radio a gentle voice said:

“The last warning, Captain. Return towards Cloudbase within thirty seconds or I will fire.”

Scarlet ignored it, racing on towards the distant coastline he could see through the clouds. One of the jets raced ahead of him, as if to force him away from the coastline and back over the sea.

“Ten seconds…”

He fired a missile at the forward jet, forcing it to take evasive action and swerve away. The missile streaked on into the empty sky.

“Five, four, three, two, one. Sayonara, Scarlet-san.”

The missile tore through the plane from the jet behind him and smoke filled the cabin.

Neat shooting, Scarlet thought, even as he considered what to do next. Anything less than precision would’ve blown me out of the sky. They must really want me back. It’s almost a shame to disappoint them.

He decided to eject, even though he had now lost a great deal of height making it almost as dangerous a manoeuvre as remaining in the burning plane. The cockpit canopy flew off and the pilot’s seat rocketed upwards. For one glorious moment he thought he had succeeded, then the parachute failed to deploy and the chair began to plummet downwards.

The restless water of the English Channel was cold and dark as the chair plunged beneath the rolling waves.

Scarlet fought to get loose of the heavy chair, as the darkness closed in and his lungs felt fit to burst. He finally managed to struggle free and kicked for the surface but the pain from some unsuspected injury made him gasp and water rushed into his lungs.

Oblivion quickly followed and he was dead before his body reached the surface.

Several hours later, it was rolled onto the beach and left above the waterline by the retreating tide.

Doctor Fawn had already switched on the PMRD and was waiting by the door of the special recovery room, when the orderlies brought Scarlet’s body into Sick Bay.

“Bring him in here,” he ordered, pulling on surgical gloves as he followed the gurney. “Ingram! I need you.”

Captain Blue, who despite Fawn’s optimism was not recovering as quickly as expected, was sitting on his bed as the emergency party arrived.

“What happened to him?” he asked.

“Shot down over water. I expect he drowned,” Fawn explained matter-of-factly. “Soon find out.”

Nurse Ingram arrived pushing a surgical trolley full of implements and gadgets. “You’d better go and get yourself a coffee,” she advised Blue. “I’ll let you know when you can come back.”

Obediently, Blue reached for his dressing gown and shoved his feet into the slippers by his bed. He stood unsteadily and shuffled towards the exit.

“Let me know what’s going on as soon as you can, Bill?” he asked.

Ingram patted his arm as he walked past her. “Of course. Now scram, there’s a good chap.”

Blue was still only halfway to the Patients’ Lounge when Rhapsody hurried in. Dressed in uniform, she was still carrying her helmet and looked upset.

“Adam, where’s Paul?” she called, veering towards him.

“In his room. Fawn’s with him now. What happened, Di?”

“He took an SPJ and fled Cloudbase. The Angels were ordered to bring him back. He wouldn’t co-operate and, if what he said is true, I can understand why. The colonel ordered us to shoot him down. He said Paul would survive, so it wouldn’t hurt to do so. I refused and was relieved of command of the Angel Flight. Harmony did it. But how could I do that to him, Adam, and ever expect him to trust me again?”

“Jeeez,” Blue exhaled. “It ain’t easy, sometimes, Di.”

She gave a short and unsteady laugh. “You’re not joking. I had to let my friend shoot my rogue fiancé down. How wimpish is that?” she confessed, with a sad smile. A tear tipped from her eye and, irritated, she brushed it away with a quick gesture.

“Not wimpish at all,” he said and instinctively put his arm around her shoulder. Momentarily she leant against him, drawing reassurance from his understanding, as she so often did in matters relating to Captain Scarlet. Blue continued, “It’s what your heart makes you do, however much your head tells you to obey orders, and, thank the Lord, none of us are inhuman enough to ignore our feelings when it comes down to it. You know, Di, I doubt I’d have been able to do it either, if it’d been me, especially after Paul refused to shoot Ochre and me down, after that debacle at Atlantica.”

She drew away, smiled her thanks and patted his hand. “What would I do without you? You’re such a good friend, Adam. I only hope the colonel understands as well as you do.”

“Ha, the Old Man’s a pussy cat with a bark worse than his bite – if you follow me. You girls are his pride and joy. But tell me, why did Paul want to escape from the base? Do you know?”

They walked to the Lounge together, Rhapsody providing him with a supportive arm.

“He said he heard Fawn talking to a man in white – the colonel, obviously – about killing him. I didn’t want to believe it, Adam, but, you know, it may be true. After all, the colonel thought nothing of ordering us to shoot Paul down, knowing full well that he wouldn’t escape injury or death.”

“ If he did it, I doubt he did it without good reason; that’s not the man we know. Besides, Paul may well have misunderstood something; his amnesia means he’s very jumpy and can’t put things into perspective, Di.”

“Well, maybe, but whatever the rationale behind it, Adam, it isn’t fair! Paul deserves better of him.”

Blue nodded. “Yeah, he does.” He looked back towards the Recovery Room, where he hoped his friend was already demonstrating his remarkable talent for life.

Fawn finished his initial examination and Nurse Ingram began dressing Scarlet in a pair of the medical service’s pyjamas. Fawn moved in and attached electrodes to his patient, adjusting the settings on ‘Robbo’ as he did so.

“Looks like the colonel’s getting what he wanted after all,” he muttered to his companion.

Because Nurse Ingram was Scarlet’s primary care-giver, as well as a trusted colleague, Fawn had discussed the colonel’s request with her, knowing she’d respect his confidences.

“Not by your doing though,” she replied, as she tidied away the equipment. “You were right to refuse, Doctor.” Belinda knew him well enough to realise that behind the apparently professional detachment, there was still a need for reassurance, if not absolution, and she was willing, in this case, to provide it.

Fawn sighed and stopped in the act of attaching the final electrode to Scarlet’s torso.

“I may not have the best bedside manner in the profession, Bill; I’ll put my hand up to that,” he said, “but I take my Hippocratic Oath seriously. Every patient I encounter has the right to expect the best treatment from me and I vowed to provide every patient with the best care I could. I admit that what happens to Scarlet fascinates and frustrates me in equal measure, but I draw the line at doing him actual harm, even in the cause of my investigations.”

“No serious medical practitioner could have done differently,” she reassured him, “and I’m sure the colonel would’ve known that, if he’d thought it through.”

Fawn nodded and placed the last electrode. “Well, we’ll see what we discover this time, shall we?”

Ingram hesitated and then decided to raise her concerns.

“I have to say, Doctor, that I don’t like the PMRD. I know you think that using it on Scarlet will enable you to see how retrometabolism starts, but what if the Mysterons don’t want you to learn about it? They have strange and remarkable powers; they may realise what you’re trying to do and prevent it happening by preventing Scarlet’s recovery.”

Fawn stopped what he was doing and turned to face his chief nurse. “Consider what you’re saying, Bill. That would suggest they still have some control over Captain Scarlet, and I think that’s a bit fanciful, to be honest. Scarlet’s proved time and again that he’s independent of them now.”

She nodded. “I’d agree; it feels like he’s a free agent, but can we be sure they don’t want to try and regain that control through any means they can? We don’t know what they’re capable of, when it comes down to it.”

“Look, Robbo’s just a machine, it can’t do any harm and, besides, I don’t believe the Mysterons pay that much attention to what we’re doing.”

“Not what we’re doing, Doctor, but to what Scarlet does, maybe they do…”

“You worry too much, Bill. By the way, I think we’d better keep Blue out of here for a while. If Scarlet’s memory hasn’t returned when he recovers he might not take too kindly to having him here. For some reason, he seems to distrust his best friend and I want him to be relaxed and feel safe. That might just encourage his memory to return.”

“S.I.G., Doctor Fawn.”

Nurse Ingram informed Blue that he was barred from the Recovery Room for the time being, and, handing over a pile of his things, she suggested he get dressed, go out onto the base and, maybe, get something to eat.

“Doctor Fawn’s preparing to sign you back to light duties tomorrow anyway, so a little early exposure to life beyond Sick Bay won’t hurt,” she said, with a smile at him.

She assured Rhapsody that Scarlet was being taken good care of, and, before returning to her duties, she promised that she’d let them both know the moment there was any news.

Rhapsody smiled up at her friend. “I’ll wait for you, Adam. We can collect Karen and go to the canteen, if you like. She’s off duty right now and so will I be, in about 20 minutes.”

“Yes, I know she is,” he replied, continuing with a faint blush: “I was half expecting her to pay me a visit, but I guess she’s got better things to do.”

“I doubt she’d consider anything ‘better’ than spending time with you,” Rhapsody reassured him. “But she was muttering about needing to do her hair and, as you know, next to nothing comes between Karen and her shampoo. So you’d better be ready to admire whatever she’s done with it this time…”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” he agreed. “And thanks for the warning. I admit to you, in strictest confidence, Dianne: I can rarely ever tell that she’s changed it. I mean, it always looks wonderful, of course!”

“Of course!” she agreed, laughing.

Grinning, he went off to get dressed in one of the out-patient cubicles.

CHAPTER SIX

After an hour spent searching for Symphony, Blue was becoming worried. Destiny Angel confirmed that when they came off duty, Karen had told her she was going to see him before washing her hair, and yet no-one had seen her arrive in Sick Bay.

She seemed to have vanished.

From his quarters, he contacted Lieutenant Green in the Control Tower and asked him to page her, but she didn’t respond to that either. Increasingly convinced something terrible had happened to her, Blue went to see the colonel, who listened to what his officer had to say and then set a detail of three security officers to scour the base for her. He ordered Captain Blue to go to the Officers’ Lounge and wait for the results of the search.

Ochre and Magenta were there and kept him company, trying to stop him from brooding as best they could, until Lieutenant Green contacted him some time later to report that the search had been unsuccessful.

“We can only conclude that she’s no longer on Cloudbase,” the young man said, anxiety obvious in his voice.

“But you’d know if she’d left,” Blue reasoned.

“ True,” Green agreed reluctantly.

“What’s left the base since Symphony went off duty?” asked Ochre.

“ The Angels… and Captain Scarlet’s plane.”

Blue was both shocked and distraught by the information. “She was in that SPJ with him?”

Green tried desperately to reassure him. “We have no evidence that she was. None of the Angels reported seeing her and… we haven’t found a body.”

“The Angels can’t see into all of the passenger cabin – you know that,” Magenta retorted.

“Have they recovered the fuselage?” Ochre asked.

“ No; but a salvage crew will get on it as soon as they can.”

“I suggest you make it a priority, Lieutenant,” Blue snapped. “We have an officer missing in action…”

“ S.I.G., Captain.”

The communication link went quiet. Blue stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of the portholes, as if he longed to leave the base and dive down to the wreck himself, in search of his beloved Angel.

“Look, guys,” Ochre said, “Green’s right, there’s no proof she went with Scarlet. Why would she?”

“Maybe she had no choice?” Blue spat. “Scarlet was desperate to get away from the base, what’s to say he wouldn’t have taken her as a hostage?

”Okay, say he did,” Ochre reasoned, casting a glance at Magenta in a silent plea for help with this. “Then why didn’t he use her when the Angels threatened to shoot him down? I would’ve mentioned it: ‘hey, shoot away, oh, and by the way, I happen to have one of your best buddies on board with me’…”

“I don’t know!” Blue raged. “But if he has harmed one hair of her head, I will dismember him myself, until there isn’t enough left of him for even retrometabolism to work on!”

He turned and stormed out of the Lounge.

Ochre glanced at Magenta with some concern. “Phew, when he loses it, he really loses it. You could’ve been more helpful, Pat. He’d have listened to you more than to me.”

“Yeah, but you know, Rick, I happen to agree with him. If it turns out Scarlet’s had anything to do with Karen’s disappearance, I’ll be standing right beside Blue egging him on.”

“I kinda guessed that, Pat… and I don’t think you’d be alone.”

Nurse Ingram completed the scheduled check on Captain Scarlet and, shaking her head at the lack of improvement, updated the medical record and then, via the nurses’ station, made her way to Fawn’s office.

The doctor looked up expectantly as she entered, but, even before she spoke, he could see from her expression that he was going to be disappointed.

“Sorry, Doctor; there’s nothing to report,” Ingram said.

Fawn sighed. “Nothing?” He glanced at the clock. “I don’t like this, Bill. There should be some sign by now.”

“I know you always say there’s no hard and fast timetable for his recoveries, but there’s usually been some indication that he will fully recover by now. Only, this time, I’m sorry to report that there haven’t even been the ‘hiccoughs’ we saw before,” she admitted sadly. “It’s not looking good, beyond the fact that his body’s showing none of the normal post mortem decay you’d expect.”

Fawn shook his head. “Even what will or won’t happen to him if he isn’t able to retrometabolise is a mystery, Bill; he’s never been dead long enough for us to witness the process. Whatever happened to Paul Metcalfe’s body at the hands of the Mysterons may even have affected the decay of his cadaver.” He groaned in exasperation and continued, “We just can’t be sure – we should never have presumed - that he will always recover. Retrometabolism may be a finite process, we just don’t know. His abilities could be waning; the ‘energy’ – for want of a better word - that fuels retrometabolism may be exhausted.”

“You’ve always had your doubts,” she reminded him.

“The additional problem is that we could still be facing a terrible dilemma if he does recover,” he replied.

“Doctor?”

“Consider this: if he recovers, that’s all well and good, but if he still has amnesia, he may well refuse to engage with Spectrum, especially after this latest incident; I mean, he could even seek to withdraw from the service completely. What would be worse? Captain Scarlet unable to regenerate or Paul Metcalfe fighting against us, rather than with us?”

Ingram frowned. “Why would he fight against us, even if he wasn’t fighting with us? Paul was a rational man before his Mysteronisation, so why would that change?”

Anxious to get some input and feedback on his interpretation of the potential problem they faced, Fawn decided to disclose his theories to the one colleague with as much experience of retrometabolism as he himself had.

“Losing your memory can affect people in all sorts of ways, and from my observations, I think it left Paul adrift from the realities of this world. We don’t tell the general public the truth about the Mysterons and the threat they pose, partly because of the chaos it’d cause and partly because we don’t expect them to believe that a race of invisible, incredibly advanced and vengeful aliens are out to get us. So why would the rational, amnesiac Paul Metcalfe believe us?”

“That’s right. He didn’t, did he?” Bill remarked sadly.

“No, he didn’t. Look, I’ve been giving this possibility some thought for a while now. Even accepting that Scarlet’s conscious mind didn’t remember who or what he was, his body remembered… there was nothing wrong with his last physical regeneration, when it finally happened, apart from his amnesia: agreed?”

She nodded.

“Well, I think I may have a solution to that; a way to obviate the antagonism Scarlet exhibited, and retain his value to Spectrum, at least.”

“Marvellous! What is it?” The suspicion in her voice went completely unnoticed by her colleague.

“This amnesia suggests to me that retrometabolism is independent of Scarlet’s personal will or mental processes. So, it should be possible to adapt the robot-doctor technology to suppress his personality. That’d ensure he stayed focused on our missions and continued to perform his duties. I’m sure that Magenta or Green would be more than capable of devising a program that’d control his actions.”

Nurse Ingram recoiled slightly and exclaimed: “But that’d make him some sort of cyborg – a slave with no free will – less than human.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Fawn said sharply, and tried to justify his statement: “The colonel’s made it clear to me that due to Scarlet’s retrometabolism, his participation is essential for Spectrum’s continuing success in the War of Nerves. Scarlet’s service saves dozens of lives, in Spectrum and outside of it. We both know the consequences of failure: the Mysterons have threatened to destroy all life on Earth. Therefore, under the circumstances, surely Scarlet’s personal quality of life is expendable? The rest of us don’t have the choice, after all. Death will only come for us once. Paul Metcalfe wouldn’t hesitate to agree with that.”

“What’s happened to your much-vaunted adherence to the Hippocratic Oath?” she asked indignantly.

Fawn threw down his pen and stood up to pace the room.

“I wouldn’t be doing him any harm! Whilst his retrometabolism lasts, he’s virtually indestructible.”

“Indestructible but not insensible! He feels every wound, you know that.”

Shaking her head, Ingram drew a deep breath and when she turned her stern gaze back on Doctor Fawn, she said, “You disappoint me, Edward; you can’t see the difference between a man who repeatedly chooses to lay down his life and suffer the consequences of horrific trauma and pain, in order to protect his friends and his planet, and a man without the free will to make that choice.”

“I don’t know what else to do. The stakes are so high and I’m out of ideas, Bill. Don’t misunderstand me, I appreciate your repugnance for the proposal and I can understand it. I wouldn’t do it to any human being, much less a man I count as my friend, if I thought there was any choice!”

“There is a choice.”

“What? Tell me then!”

“Take Scarlet off the robot-doctor and give his body the chance to do whatever it is he does.”

“How would that help?” Fawn said irritably.

“How could it hinder? Right now, nothing is happening, Scarlet is not recovering. If you examine the situation dispassionately, you realise that the only change to his circumstances is Robbo. I would not dismiss the power of retrometabolism until I had given it every possible chance to operate. The simple fact that we don’t understand it should mean that we never withdraw any option, even if it means we can’t advance that understanding. I don’t know what you and Nguyen Robotics expected it to do, but it isn’t doing it, Edward.”

“It’s barely had a chance to,” Fawn snapped.

Ingram shook her head. “When new technology doesn’t bring the desired effects the answer is to remove it, and go back to the tried and trusted ways while you work on improving the new.”

She could see he was fighting the idea. He had devoted so much of his time and emotional capital on building a new and better way of investigating retrometabolism, that it was bound to be hard for him to give up on his brainchild. She sighed.

“Look, Doctor Fawn, I think you should get some rest. Sleep on it, and maybe you’ll come up with a better idea when you’re more relaxed.”

Fawn’s response was lost in a noisy confrontation out in the ward. They both hurried out of the office to find out what the problem was and quickly saw that it was Captain Blue, arguing vociferously with the nurses and demanding to see Captain Scarlet.

“Captain Blue,” Fawn roared over the noise, as he approached. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“I want to see Scarlet. Symphony is missing and she must’ve been on the SPJ he took from Cloudbase – the one that crashed!”

“I don’t know where Symphony is, but she is not in my Sick Bay, so stop making all that noise immediately! Anyway, you can’t see Scarlet; he is still unconscious.”

“Bullshit! He’ll be awake by now – he always is. You’re protecting him and he’s a murderer!”

“Nonsense – that’s pure speculation. When Scarlet is awake, and if you can behave rationally, we will speak to him, together, and ask him if he knows anything about Symphony’s whereabouts. Until then, you can either go back to your own quarters, or stay here under sedation. I won’t have this disruptive behaviour in my medical department!”

Blue launched himself at Fawn and pushed the shorter man to the ground. “I will see Scarlet!”

He started moving towards the Recovery Room in an ungainly run, while one of the duty nurses helped the doctor to his feet and a second phoned Security.

Nurse Ingram threw herself in front of the door, barring the way.

“Get out of my way, Bill,” Blue ordered, breathing heavily with pent-up fury.

“Get a grip on yourself, Adam,” she replied. “This isn’t like you.”

“He murdered the woman I love – should I just stand by and do nothing?” Blue said through gritted teeth.

“You don’t know that. You’re all wound up about nothing. Stop it at once! You’ll regret it later if you don’t.”

He lunged towards her and although she flinched and closed her eyes, she didn’t move.

“Get out of my way!” Blue raged, although he made no further move towards her. “I’m warning you, Bill.”

Ingram opened her eyes and saw Captain Ochre and Doctor Fawn moving towards Blue, the latter had an epipen in his hand, which he jabbed into Blue’s arm. The captain spun round roaring in anger, but the sedative was quick-acting and his legs buckled beneath him.

“Ups-a-daisy, Blue-Boy…” Captain Ochre caught him as he slid, helpless, to the floor.

“Get him into the Quarantine Room for now,” Fawn ordered. He turned to Ingram who was breathing heavily and shaking slightly. “You okay, Bill?”

She nodded. “Although, for a moment, I really thought he’d hit me,” she admitted.

Looking up from dragging Blue away from the door, Ochre remarked, “You were never in any danger, Bill. Whatever mood he’s in, Blue lives by his own outmoded rules of chivalry – and that means you never strike a woman…”

“Well, thank God for chivalry, then; however outmoded it may be,” she retorted with feeling.

Colonel White listened to Ochre’s report with growing concern. “You say that Blue is convinced Scarlet’s responsible for Symphony’s disappearance?”

Ochre nodded. “He lost it completely, Colonel; I’ve never seen him in such a rage.” He paused. “I know I told Nurse Ingram that he’d never hit a woman, but, if I’m honest, I thought he was going to hit her as well.”

“Well, we know he’s been under considerable stress lately: that beating in Futura and the uncertainty about Captain Scarlet’s condition.”

“Yeah, and then Symphony goes AWOL,” Ochre added. “It must’ve been his concept of a perfect storm.”

“Captain Blue has always been over-protective about all of the Angels. He refuses to accept that they are all perfectly capable of looking after themselves,” White remarked, glancing at Ochre who was grinning broadly.

Catching the look, Ochre sobered up and replied innocently, “Absolutely, sir – all of the Angels.”

“I think, unless Doctor Fawn or Nurse Ingram wish to press charges, I will not formally reprimand him. When he’s back on duty, I’ll have a quiet word with him, and leave it at that.”

Ochre didn’t envy Blue that ‘quiet word’, but he nodded his head. “I think Bill and the Doc would consider that a reasonable response, sir. They both know Blue well, and they could see he wasn’t himself.”

“I’ll speak to them later,” White continued. “For the moment I want you and Captain Grey to draw up duty rotas using the Field Lieutenants to cover our missing personnel. I’ve seconded Lieutenant Green to the Field Officers’ company; Captain Magenta can manage the Communication Centre until he’s ready to resume full duties.”

Ochre nodded: they were even more short-staffed than usual and Green was the lieutenant with the most field experience, so it made perfect sense to him to swap his duties with Captain Magenta’s.

“I’ll get right on to it, Colonel.”

White watched his captain leaving the Control Room with his usual jaunty stride, and ruefully considered the situation.

Whenever any of his most experienced officers were out of commission it presented him with operational difficulties, but with three of them incapacitated, and the Angel Squadron one member short, it was indeed, as Ochre had remarked, ‘a perfect storm’. He added a record of his decisions to the Spectrum Database, and made a mental note to use this example in his next report to the World President, in support of his regular request for his complement of officers to be restored to the originally agreed, operational standard. He had not yet given up hope that the three officers he had already lost to the Mysterons would eventually be replaced.

While additional officers would ease the immediate problems, the issue of Captain Scarlet’s present incapacity remained an immense hurdle, unless Fawn was able to restore the status quo. The colonel had never underestimated the sacrifice Scarlet made whenever he went on a mission, and he appreciated only too well that every one of his officers owed their lives to the fact that Scarlet took the inevitable risks, and suffered the often fatal consequences. That was part of the problem: Scarlet was in danger of becoming a one-man army.

Informing Lieutenant Claret that he was going to Sick Bay, the colonel made his way through Cloudbase, acknowledging the salutes of his crewmen as he went. A firm believer in the commander being both seen and approachable, his progress was slow, as he stopped to deal with several issues and requests raised by the team leaders or technicians he encountered.

Nurse Ingram was sitting at the Admissions Desk when he walked into the Sick Bay. She stood and saluted.

“At ease, Nurse,” White said, smiling at her. “I hope you have recovered from the earlier incident?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Colonel. Captain Blue was a little uptight, that’s all. He’s worried about his friends and he’s not been well, but he wouldn’t have hurt me, if it had come to it.”

“Nevertheless, I will be having a word with him, once he’s fully recovered,” he assured her. “I’m not inclined to deal with this through a formal disciplinary procedure as I’m aware that Captain Blue feels the injuries and dangers his friends are exposed to most keenly. Moreover, he is one of my most experienced officers and it would be difficult for Spectrum to function effectively without him and Captain Scarlet.”

Ingram nodded. “I know, sir, and I certainly don’t want to make a big issue of it. After all, it was Doctor Fawn he pushed over, not me.”

The colonel nodded and then asked, “Is there any news about Captain Scarlet?”

A frown appeared between Ingram’s dark brows.

“No, sir. Still nothing.” She glanced towards Fawn’s office and seeing no-one about, took her opportunity. “Colonel, I’d like to make you aware of my concerns regarding the new Robot-Doctor we’re using. It is the only thing that’s different from the numerous situations when Captain Scarlet has recovered from his injuries, and from far worse. I have suggested to Doctor Fawn that we remove Scarlet from the machine and see if that improves the speed and completeness of his recovery, but… the doctor is reluctant to do so.”

“I see. Are you asking me to order him to do it?”

“No, sir, and he wouldn’t be obliged to obey you anyway over a medical matter. But I do wish he was… more open to suggestions and, at least, prepared to …give it a try? After all, it can’t do any harm.”

She was so obviously unhappy at revealing even this oblique criticism of her manager, that White easily appreciated the depth of her concerns and that the issue was really causing her anxiety.

“Hmm,” he agreed. “Is that all that’s worrying you, Nurse?”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m concerned that the doctor is becoming too reliant on the computers, sir. He is even looking for ways to ... utilise them when Scarlet isn’t injured. I found that idea disturbing, Colonel, and I have made my feelings known to Doctor Fawn.”

White raised an eyebrow. He knew Edward Wilkie to be a compassionate man, a fine doctor and a dedicated scientist, but perhaps it was possible for those excellent qualities to become part of a problem, in exceptional circumstances: and these were certainly exceptional circumstances.

He replied, “I will discuss the issues you’ve raised with Doctor Fawn, Belinda; and thank you for bringing them to my attention. I won’t mention this conversation to the doctor.”

Ingram was so relieved that the colonel understood the somewhat delicate nature of her situation that her murmured “Thank you, Colonel” spoke volumes.

With a slight incline of his head and a gentle smile for her thanks, White strolled towards Fawn’s office. He found the doctor sheepishly rubbing his shoulder and reflected that, physically at least, he was no match for any of the elite field officers. Captain Blue, at six-foot-three and around 200lbs, was easily the largest of the elite officers; and for such a mild-mannered man, he had a punch like a sledgehammer.

Fawn got to his feet as the colonel appeared in the doorway and grimaced as he saluted.

“I hear you’ve been in the wars, Doctor,” White remarked by way of a greeting.

“Yep, you could say that, Colonel. I was just thinking how easy it is to forget that our officers, fine fellows to a man, pack quite a punch.”

White smiled. “I will be speaking to Blue about that, but, unless you want to press charges, I don’t intend to make it formal.”

“Good Lord, no. I don’t want to press charges. We’ve all been on edge and he just got a little over-wrought about… well, about Symphony’s disappearance. When he wakes up, I’m sure he’ll be apologetic enough without anybody prosecuting him.”

The colonel, reassured that his Chief Medical Officer’s pride had been hurt more than his body, nodded his agreement and sat down.

“I understand that he blames Scarlet for her disappearance?”

“It’s the explanation he currently thinks most likely. He wanted to talk to Scarlet and make him say if he’d seen Symphony. He’s afraid she might’ve been on the SPJ – the one that crashed.”

The colonel nodded. “The thought had crossed my mind too. I take it Scarlet’s not awake yet?”

“No; he’s dead, Colonel.” Fawn hesitated and then added, “So, in a way, you got your wish, Charles. We’re all waiting to see if his retrometabolism is going to bring him back from the dead yet again.”

“This was not what I wanted, Edward; please understand that. Like you, I am hoping Paul Metcalfe makes it and not because Captain Scarlet is such a valuable officer, but because Paul Metcalfe is a man I like and respect very much.”

Fawn nodded. “So do we all, Colonel. So do we all.”

“However, I must admit that what concerns me most at the moment is Captain Scarlet. I want a detailed report on what has been done to assist his recovery and what further intervention you intend.”

Fawn rattled off the information and then, seizing his opportunity, went on to sketch out his thoughts about the possible ways to control an unwilling Captain Scarlet, through the use of a bio-cybernetic computer program.

Despite the imprecise warning from Nurse Ingram, Colonel White’s surprise at this information was considerable, yet it was astonishing how neutral his expression remained. Furthermore, he began to understand the validity of Ingram’s concerns and recognised that his medical officer was becoming obsessive about unlocking the secrets of retrometabolism.

When Fawn finished speaking he responded, blandly enough.

“Excellent, Doctor; I see you have given the matter considerable thought. However, before you take this option any further, may I – a mere layman – make a suggestion?”

Fawn nodded. “Of course, Colonel.”

“As, so far, none of your new arrangements have worked-” He held up a hand to silence Fawn’s exclamation of protest. “Would it not be sensible to leave Scarlet alone?”

“I don’t understand, sir?”

“Before now, Captain Scarlet’s body has been remarkably capable of restoring itself unaided. I suggest you give Scarlet time unattached to any machine or device, and see if that makes any difference.”

“You’re telling me you want him back on duty as soon as possible, yet you don’t want me to try and support his regeneration?”

White shrugged and got to his feet.

“I want Scarlet back on duty and I want him fully functional, and, quite honestly, I would have liked that to have happened yesterday, if not before. What I don’t want, Doctor, is time wasted on experiments, however plausible and well-intentioned, that do not achieve that aim.”

“I’m doing the best I can!” Fawn protested.

“I realise that.” The colonel’s tone brooked no argument. “However, if he is not awake and on the road to recovery in… four hours, shall we say? - you will unplug the device and see what Nature - even Mysteronised Nature - can achieve unaided, for at least the following 24 hours.”

“We might lose him altogether,” Fawn warned.

“And we might not,” the colonel replied. “Furthermore, I want to make it quite clear that I consider Captain Scarlet to be as human as the rest of us, unique though he most certainly is, and for that reason, I will not sanction any experiments designed to curtail his humanity and his free will. If Scarlet is not willing to fight alongside us, that is his decision and it must be honoured. Should it come to that, I will regret it for as long as I live-”

“Perhaps you’ll even have the chance to regret it for as long as life on Earth lives, Colonel?” Fawn interjected. He was shocked and upset by the colonel’s words and beyond caring about any consequences arising from his argument with his commanding officer.

“I pray to God that that will not be the case, but slavery – even cyber slavery – makes us no better than the aliens we’re fighting and I cannot condone it. I trust I make myself clear, Doctor?”

“You do, Colonel.”

White relaxed slightly. “I am glad we’ve cleared the air and laid clear and unequivocal guidelines regarding the future treatment of Paul Metcalfe. Captain Scarlet is to be left alone, and must remain free to implement whatever decisions he reaches. To do less would be to invalidate the great sacrifices he makes for us every time he faces the Mysterons.”

“This from the man who urged me to kill Scarlet to test his ability to retrometabolise,” Fawn snapped.

White drew in a deep breath. “I am ashamed that the thought ever crossed my mind, Edward. The fact that it did makes me more determined than ever to protect Captain Scarlet’s human rights. I believe my officers will support me in this, for they’re the men who owe Scarlet their lives. Scarlet is not to be subjected in any way to experimentation, however ‘noble’ the intentions. And that, Doctor Fawn, is a direct executive order.”

Fawn watched his commanding officer leave and then threw the pen he’d been twiddling in his fingers, across the desk in frustration.

“S.I –ruddy-G., sir,” he growled.

Acutely aware of the seconds ticking down towards the colonel’s arbitrary deadline for removing the PMRD’s connections to Captain Scarlet, Fawn was hovering around the Recovery Room, almost praying the machine would register the beginning of a retrometabolic recovery. But the monitor remained stubbornly flat-lined. This anxious, continual observation was the reason that he initially missed the commotion that broke out near the Nurses’ Station, close to the entrance.

One of the junior nurses came running up to him, her uniform cap askew, calling: “Doctor Fawn! They’ve found Symphony Angel!”

“Is she alive?”

“Yes,” the nurse replied. “But she’s as mad as a cat in Hell. Nurse Ingram’s asking for you to check her out, sir.”

Fawn suppressed the curious urge to ask why a feline would be angrier than any other animal at finding itself in Hell, and followed the nurse back to the Nurses’ Station at a run.

He heard Symphony before he saw her, and had to agree that she certainly sounded angrier than he’d ever known her before.

“When I get my hands on him I’ll split him from neck to navel! He’s going to wish his retrometabolism was a thing of the past when I’ve done with him, believe me!”

“Oh, I do,” Belinda Ingram replied. “Now, please be quiet and put this thermometer under your tongue. I need to take your temperature.”

“I’m boiling mad!” Symphony exclaimed.

“Yes, but that won’t fit on the medical form,” Ingram said with heavy irony. “Now, unless you want to be sedated, Symphony Angel, you will shut up and put this thermometer under your tongue, while I take your blood pressure.”

“Don’t bother; it’d probably blow the machine up!”

Fawn appeared in the doorway and when she saw him, Symphony tried to get up from the gurney she was sitting on.

“Sit down, shut up and do as you’re told,” Fawn snapped. He found Symphony irritating at the best of times, and was in no mood to indulge her histrionics now.

“I want to see Scarlet!”

“You can’t; he’s dead,” Fawn replied, marching into the room and pushing her back onto the gurney, none too gently.

“Not nearly dead enough, I bet!”

As Symphony continued to rage, Fawn prepared a hypodermic and she barely seemed to notice when the needle pierced her arm.

“What’s that?” she demanded suddenly.

“A sedative. You were warned. Now, lie back and think of… Boston.”

“I don’t like Boston,” she muttered, sleepily.

“Then think of something you do like…”

A slow smile spread over her lips as her eyelids closed.

Ingram chuckled. “I bet I can guess what – or who – that is,” she remarked, as she fastened a blood-pressure armband around Symphony’s right arm and began to inflate it.

“Where was she?” Fawn asked, as he examined her limbs, checking for breaks.

“In a cleaning cupboard by the lifts.”

He was surprised. “What was she doing in there?”

“From what I gleaned, in between her tantrums, it would appear that Captain Scarlet knocked her down and tied her up, hiding her there when he was ‘escaping’ from Sick Bay. She’s been there ever since. It isn’t one of the cupboards in constant use and it was only because one of the support staff was looking for some more needle bins that he went in.”

Fawn glanced at Symphony while Ingram began to connect her to the med-bed monitors.

“Dehydrated, probably hungry, stiff and bruised… not least in her pride,” he remarked. He gently examined the reddening skin around Symphony’s mouth where the duct tape had been ripped off. “But she’ll live.”

“I’m not sure Scarlet will when she and/or Blue gets to him,” Ingram remarked dryly.

“Does Blue know she’s been found?”

Ingram shook her head. “He’s still sedated.”

“ Aah,” Fawn said, with what sounded suspiciously like mockery, “Now that’s what I call Love’s Young Dream indeed: they’re even sedated at the same time… Well, let’s leave it that way for now. Sleep will do neither of them any harm and give us all some peace.”

As they walked back to the ward, Ingram asked, “Did the colonel have anything to say about Captain Scarlet – or, at least, his failure to revive?”

Fawn glanced at her with a vague suspicion, but decided that she was merely showing a professional interest in one of her patients.

“He has merely stated that, if Scarlet does not show signs of recovery in the next-” he glanced at his watch – “90 minutes, the PMRD must be switched off.”

“Does he assume Scarlet will not recover then?” Her surprise sounded – and was – genuine.

“No; that is, he believes we should give him time without medical intervention before assuming that his retrometabolism has ceased to function.”

Fawn stopped walking and turned to her. “Basically, he wants to see if Scarlet can recover without our assistance. Given that we have done all we can, I can’t see any medical reason to deny the colonel his wishes. If Scarlet is really dead, then the presence of the PMRD won’t make any difference. If he’s not really dead, then all we can give him is time.”

Ingram nodded. “And our prayers, Edward.”

“He’s always had those, Bill. The best doctor in the world would never deny a patient the efficacy of whatever assistance the ‘Above and Beyond’ may be able to afford him. And I am far from being the best in the world…”

“Perhaps,” she agreed gently, “but, in my professional opinion, you’d run whoever it might be a close second.”

To take his mind off Captain Scarlet, Fawn wandered over to check up on Captain Blue. The sedative ought to be wearing off and he wanted to be sure that he spoke to Blue, reassuring him that Symphony had been found alive and well, before he could get worked up and violent again.

Given that the officer was merely sleeping off a sedative, there was no member of the medical staff present, only a bored security guard standing outside the door. Fawn nodded acknowledgement and let himself in.

Blue was lying motionless, and made no sign that he was conscious of the sound of the door closing. A little concerned, Fawn went and studied the monitor of the robot nurse beside the bed. The vital signs were all normal, but after one glance at his patient, Fawn’s instinct told him this wasn’t quite right: Blue’s skin had an unhealthy pallor and there was a glistening film of sweat on his face.

He placed a hand on his patient’s forehead.

“He’s definitely got a temperature,” he muttered, pressing the bell to summon a nurse.

“Captain Blue has a fever,” he explained. “He should be on a drip to prevent dehydration, if nothing else. Who’s keeping an eye him?”

“Sorry, Doctor, but I don’t think anyone’s been in to see him since Nurse Stanek went off duty at lunchtime. He was being monitored by the med-bed, so we’d only go in if he called or if an alarm sounded.”

“Well, get it sorted out now! Do I have to do everything myself?”

“Yes, Doctor, I mean, no, Doctor.”

She hurried out to get the equipment and Fawn studied the medical records until she came back, steering a drip-stand towards the bed.

“I want a blood test. There’s no reason for him to be in a fever, according to this; so I want to check for infection. It’s just possible that we missed something after his beating in Futura, but let’s rule out the easy options first. Let me have the blood analysis just as soon as you’ve run it through the auto-analyser, Nurse Mendoza.”

“S.I.G., Doctor.”

“In the meantime I’m going to check on Captain Magenta. I’m taking nothing for granted while we seem to be in the grip of several inexplicable medical situations.”

Captain Magenta was alone in the Officers’ Lounge, reading through the numerous magazines people left there once they’d finished with them. For somewhere that played such a major part in the lives of the colour-captains, the place felt strangely impersonal and always reminded Fawn of nothing so much as the proverbial doctor’s or dentist’s waiting room, but then, he rationalised, that was what in effect the Lounge was: the officers were ‘waiting’ there to be called to action.

Magenta looked up with a welcoming smile. “Hi, Doc; we don’t see you here that often. I hope nothing’s wrong?”

“I’m just making a house call to check that you’re still on the road to recovery, Pat.”

“I’m fine.”

Magenta obligingly held out his hand and Fawn took his pulse.

“Hmm, that seems okay. No unexplained aches or pains?”

“No, I feel fit as a fiddle. A bit stiff still, but other than that you wouldn’t know I got beaten up a few days ago. I guess I was lucky; they seem to have done a tougher job on Adam.”

“Yes, he was in a worse state than you. Can you remember what happened exactly?”

“Not really; well, nothing more than I’ve already told you. These ‘traffic cops’ appeared, started throwing their weight around and tasered me. After that everything’s a bit blurred. Next thing I remember clearly is coming to in the alleyway. I saw Adam was out cold – honestly, Doc, I thought he was dead – and finally, after I think I’d passed out again, these kids found us and called for help.”

“Why did they attack you, Pat? Any ideas?”

“Well, I’ve done a little snooping online – nothing illegal! Well, not completely illegal. It looks as if there’s been a series of incidents in Futura recently, with fake cops or paramedics accosting citizens and robbing them. They take the usual portable cash and disposable items, but they then use the ID to empty bank accounts and sell assets – cars, mostly – in online auctions. The powers that be have been doing all they can to keep it quiet; they don’t want the Great and the Good to get fearful and refuse to attend the World Senate and all that jazz. My guess is a couple of these punks got over-ambitious but when they realised they’d really got two Spectrum officers, they did us over, took what they could: uniforms, weapons, communicators and ID, although much good it’ll do them as they’re all biometric and only function for the specific officer, as you know. They dumped us and left us for dead.”

“Why would they want the Spectrum gear?”

Magenta shrugged, but he had an extensive working knowledge of the criminal underworld and knew that it would turn its hand to anything in order to make money.

“There’s a street value for everything, Doc,” he explained. “Uniforms can be copied, the technology in a dismantled communicator might turn a profit from a company that wasn’t too picky where it got its ideas from, and you can always sell a gun – even one that won’t work! There are avid collectors who’d piss themselves with excitement at the thought of having a real Spectrum sidearm in their collection.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Fawn remarked ruefully.

Magenta gave a snort of dry amusement. “It wouldn’t surprise me if there’s some dumbass somewhere who thinks they’ve bought an SSC off an online auction site. Believe me, those jerks turned a profit on their labours.”

“You don’t think it was Mysteron-inspired then?”

“I don’t know. Blue was positive he saw Captain Black and he doesn’t tend to make that kind of mistake. Who’s to say those goons weren’t Mysteron agents there to prevent any possibility of Spectrum tracking him down? That makes sense to me too. What makes no sense is why, if they were Mysterons, they didn’t kill us both outright and Mysteronise us, then and there.”

“Who knows what passes through the Mysterons’ warped minds?”

“True, and unless we find those fake cops, we’ll never know for sure.”

Leaving Magenta to his leisurely reading, and in compliance with the colonel’s orders, Fawn headed back to Scarlet’s recovery room. Even though he had left strict instructions to be alerted if Scarlet showed signs of recovery, he couldn’t quite suppress the hope that his patient would be awake and that his machine would’ve captured that vital information that laid bare the secret of retrometabolism. Conscious that he was deliberately postponing the moment when he had to switch the PMRD off, he stopped again to check on Captain Blue. The nurse had set up a drip to prevent dehydration, the bedside monitor showed the officer’s vital signs were normal and Blue did not look to be in any discomfort.

“Sleep on, Adam,” Fawn said conversationally, “you obviously need the rest. I’m off to check on Paul, but I’ll drop by again later.”

Ingram met him at the door to Scarlet’s room, and beside her was a crash cart.

“Optimistic of you, Bill,” Fawn remarked, glancing at the trolley.

“Belt and braces preparation never hurt, Ed, and neither of us knows quite what to expect when the PMRD is switched off.”

“Any vital signs?”

She shook her head and together they went into the room, pulling the equipment behind them.

Ingram began to remove the sensor pads from Scarlet’s inert body, while Fawn began to power down the machine. There was an air of expectation in the room and she was alert to any sign that Scarlet was on the road to recovery, but he remained still, silent and cold.

The job completed, they stood side by side at the end of the bed and studied their patient.

“Come on then, Scarlet. Let’s see you do your stuff, if you can.” Fawn sighed. “You’d better get someone to special him until – if – he wakes up. Without the engagement of the med-bed there won’t be the usual alert when he comes to.”

“We could leave the med-bed on, surely? The colonel didn’t say we had to leave that off, just the PMRD,” Ingram said.

“The colonel said ‘let nature take its course’, so I’m taking him at his word, Bill. Get one of the junior nurses to sit with the… with Scarlet, please.”

“S.I.G., Doctor Fawn.”

She watched him leave the room, feeling like a real traitor for having raised her concerns with the colonel; but glancing at Scarlet she knew that she’d had to do it in the best interests of her patient. One day, when all of this was over, she hoped Fawn would forgive her.

Fawn went back to his office with a heavy heart. He could not rid himself of the belief that Scarlet had exhausted his retrometabolic abilities, for he couldn’t imagine what difference the PMRD would have made to his recovery. Nevertheless, he sat down and wrote up the handwritten file he kept in a secure drawer that recorded every step of Scarlet’s remarkable medical history.

He had almost finished when his intercom beeped.

“Doctor Fawn, please come to Captain Blue’s room. I am concerned that he’s getting worse, sir!”

Fawn hurried across the men’s ward to Blue’s side room. Inside, Nurse Mendoza was standing beside the bed, mopping sweat from Blue’s forehead. Fawn glanced at the robot-nurse, but it remained unconcerned by the state of the patient.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, for it was obvious that something was.

“I came in to check and the med-bed showed no change, but he was feverish and so I took his vital signs manually and he’s burning up, Doctor.”

“Blood pressure?”

“90-over-60.”

“That’s too low for him! Get him to the scanner, Nurse. There must be an internal injury we’ve missed….”

As the orderlies helped Mendoza rush Blue towards the body scanner, Fawn called Ingram and ordered her to get an operating theatre and emergency team ready. As he passed the Nurses’ station, Fawn ordered them to alert the colonel to the nature of the latest medical emergency…

Symphony yawned and stretched and wondered why she wasn’t in her own bed. Then the memory of Captain Scarlet’s attack and the indignity of being bundled into a broom cupboard, silenced by duct tape and immobilised with hazard tape, roused her fierce temper. She sat up, wincing at the stiffness of her shoulders and arms.

Apart from someone asleep in the bed at the far end, the Sick Bay ward was empty and there were no nurses to be seen. She stood up; feeling surprisingly woozy, she had to sit back on the bed for a moment or two before she tried again. Holding on to the frames of the beds, she walked to the door and out into the general entrance where the Nurses’ Station was between her and the exit to the rest of the base.

“Symphony Angel! You shouldn’t be walking about unaided yet. The sedative will take a while to wear off.” Nurse Carrick, the duty nurse, sounded surprised to see her and glanced down at the bank of monitors on the desk with a frown on her face.

“I’m fine,” Symphony lied, determined not to be diverted from her purpose.

She let go of the door frame and stepped out into the corridor, stumbling forward into the arms of the nurse who had rushed to her side.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Carrick asked quietly, as she guided Symphony towards a chair.

“I want to talk to Captain Scarlet. I want an explanation and an apology for what he did to me.”

“You can’t talk to Captain Scarlet. He’s still… unconscious.”

Symphony put her hand to her eyes and tried to stop her head from pounding. “What time is it? What’s happened to Scarlet?”

Carrick quickly brought her up to date, and Symphony listened with increasing concern.

“Scarlet died in a plane crash and he’s not awake yet? Where’s Adam – where’s Captain Blue? I need to speak to him.”

Carrick knew enough about the relationship between the captain and the Angel pilot to break the news gently. She laid a hand on her shoulder when she replied:

“Blue’s in surgery. It seems that the beating he took in Futura… there was an internal injury that… got missed.”

“What? How was it ‘missed’? Who missed it?”

“I don’t know exactly, but Doctor Fawn is dealing with it, so it’ll be all right.”

“All right? All right? It should never have not been all right!” Symphony stormed, tears spilling unheeded from her large hazel-green eyes. “All you people care about is Captain Scarlet! He gets every attention: people dance attendance on him 24-hours a day when we all know he’ll be okay!”

“Now, you know that isn’t true. We look after everyone in Sick Bay with the same diligence.”

But Symphony was beyond reason and she covered her mouth with her hand to smother a sob. “Oh, Adam…”

“Symphony, calm down, you’re getting hysterical,” Carrick said, firmly, yet kindly enough.

“I am not hysterical! I am furious!” Symphony raged, her voice rising to a crescendo as she struggled back to her feet. “This medical service is a disgrace! You should all be court-martialled for dereliction of duty!”

The door to Scarlet’s room opened and the youngest of the nurses peered out to see what the noise was about. She hurried across to help Nurse Carrick take Symphony back into the ward, as it was obvious that the young American certainly did not want to go.

Captain Scarlet opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

Welcome back, Paul

That missing full stop always irritated him. He turned his head looking for one of the usual suspects who sat out his recoveries, but there was no one there.

Grimacing, he sat up and reached out a shaky hand for the water jug. He spilt more than he drank, soaking the bed covers and his pyjamas, but he drank the jug dry.

There was still no sign of anyone, which was a little unsettling; he was used to having his every move watched while he was in Sick Bay, but, on the other hand, it gave him a sense of freedom. Fawn always insisted that he remain in bed after a recovery while he underwent a barrage of tests, whereas he maintained he was perfectly fit and able to go straight back on duty.

Time to put that to the test…

He swung his legs out of bed and feeling the cold flooring beneath his bare feet, looked around for his clothes – or any clothes… the damp pyjamas were becoming uncomfortable. Much to his disgust he had to settle for a dry pair of the much hated Sick Bay pyjamas and pair of disposable shower slippers.

There was no one immediately outside his room, so he ambled towards the Nurses’ Station, hoping there’d be someone there who would, if they did nothing else, order him something to eat. The silence was becoming unnerving and he wondered where everyone was…

Suddenly he heard the distant sound of a very disgruntled female patient, imperiously laying down the law to at least two nurses. Scarlet grinned as he recognised the voices.

Symphony… Crikey, I hope she’s not been hurt… I wonder what I’ve missed…

He went to a wall communication unit and keyed in the code for Captain Blue’s private line. No reply.

Something’s going on…

He walked with an urgent purpose to the reception and saw that the only nurse there was a new recruit to Cloudbase.

“Captain Scarlet,” she cried, as he approached. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Looking for my uniform. Where is everyone? Where’s Captain Blue and what’s wrong with Symphony Angel?”

She stared at him in confusion.

“Well?” Scarlet demanded.

“There’s nothing wrong with Symphony now. She’s recovered apart from a few bruises.”

“Recovered from what?”

“Well, from what you did to her, sir.”

“What I did to her?”

The young woman nodded.

“What did I do to her?” he asked, hardly daring to imagine.

“You knocked her out and tied her up and left her in a broom cupboard when you were trying to escape from Cloudbase,” she gabbled.

“I understood every word you said and yet none of it makes the slightest sense,” Scarlet said, running his hands through his dark hair in bewilderment. “Where’s Captain Blue?”

Surely Blue would be able to explain what the hell this woman was on about.

“Still in surgery.”

Scarlet was horrified. “Surgery? Don’t tell me that’s my fault as well?”

“No, sir; not as far as I know. He had a fever, an unexplained fever after he was beaten up in Futura. Doctor Fawn thought we’d missed something, so he did a body scan and then they took him into surgery.” She glanced down at the medical screen. “And I don’t think I should be telling you any of this…”

“Never mind that. Get me some clothes; I can’t do anything dressed like this. Oh, and while you’re at it, order me a double decker BLT on wholemeal bread and a large soft drink. With a side order of chips… French fries to you…”

“Captain?”

“That was an order, Nurse. I’ll wait in my room. You have ten minutes max to carry out my orders… so get a move on!”

“S.I.G., Captain Scarlet.”

Colonel White was startled from his contemplation of the situation reports from his global network of agents, when the door of the Control Room slid open unexpectedly. He was surprised to see his premier agent, albeit dressed in casual jeans and a sweatshirt, marching towards him with a determined expression on his face.

“Captain Scarlet?”

“Colonel.” Scarlet drew himself to attention and saluted.

“Why was I not informed that you were fully recovered?”

Scarlet shrugged. “It seems Doctor Fawn’s busy in the operating theatre with Captain Blue, and the nurses seem to be trying to prevent Symphony Angel from imploding with emotion. Apparently, that might be my fault, sir.”

White’s dark eyebrows rose. “So I understand, at least, as far as the situation with Captain Blue is concerned. I was not aware that Symphony also required medical intervention.”

Scarlet stood at ease; his military training was second nature to him and he never slouched, even when he was not on duty.

“It seems that quite a lot has been happening since I went into Sick Bay, sir. The duty nurse wasn’t able to bring me up to date, so I thought it best to report to you, even without Doctor Fawn’s permission.”

“Your memory is obviously back again,” White remarked.

“Memory? I lost my memory?” Scarlet frowned, unease obvious on his face. “I don’t remember anything after the gun fight with the drug cartel; I’m guessing I died?”

White nodded.

“Sir,” Scarlet continued anxiously, “the time the Mysterons took control of me, I couldn’t remember anything about it afterwards. I can’t remember anything now. Are you sure it hasn’t happened again?”

“No,” White replied, inclining his head towards the security detail that had stealthily materialised around the Control Room equipped with Mysteron rifles, in response to the colonel’s emergency summons. “I am not sure, Captain.”

Ruefully, Scarlet stared at them; despite understanding the rationale behind the colonel’s precautions, it was depressing to think that even after all he had done for Spectrum, he could not be given the benefit of the doubt.

“As far as I can tell, sir, I am a free agent,” Scarlet assured him. “I would appreciate hearing what happened though.”

White obliged with a comprehensive report on recent events. Scarlet immediately latched on to the reported sighting of Captain Black in Futura.

“Was it confirmed?”

White shook his head. “Ambiguous, at best. Doctor Fawn saw an ID shot of Dr Herdesher but he did not recognise it as Black. Yet, Lieutenant Green and his team haven’t been able to trace further references to Herdesher from any source other than Nguyen Robotics’ records.”

“I should go and follow up on that,” Scarlet announced, not anticipating any argument. “After all, even if Black has the best disguise imaginable, I’ll be able to sense his presence.”

White nodded; Scarlet’s ‘sixth sense’ had alerted him to unsuspected Mysteronised agents before now. “Captain Grey will accompany you,” he said. “Meet him at the launch bay in 20 minutes.”

“S.I.G., Colonel.”

Doctor Fawn came out of the operating theatre in the wake of Captain Blue’s gurney, as it was transferred to a recovery room. He stood and watched it disappear into one of the side wards and then went into his office. He was alarmed that Blue’s internal injury had been missed, and for long enough to make it serious, and was determined to discover why the usually reliable medical systems had failed so totally to diagnose the problem.

He sat down, opened his electronic staff file and called up Blue’s confidential record.

“Report on today’s date,” he began, as the voice recording facility opened. “Successful appendectomy due to ruptured appendix, probably resulting from the beating the officer took in Futura, on previous record date.” He downloaded the technical stats from the hand-held computer that had been linked to the med-bed during the operation.

As he watched the data populate the report form, Fawn frowned. “Wait a minute; those readings are incorrect.”

He disconnected the spectra-tab and, in common with all bemused users of technology everywhere in the multiverse, he shook the machine and banged it gently on the top of his desk a few times, in the hope it would reset and miraculously correct itself.

It did not.

Fawn opened his link to the Sick Bay Nurses’ Station.

“Nurse Ingram; I need to see you. Please bring your surgery records to my office.”

Belinda Ingram came into the room looking stubborn and defensive.

“Bill, what readings did you record during Blue’s op?”

He held out his hand and reluctantly she handed over a sheet of paper.

“I know you think it is a waste of time,” she began, “but I prefer it that way. Writing it down means I take more notice of it than numbers flashing on a screen and it doesn’t waste any time worth noting.”

Fawn said nothing as he glanced down the list and compared it to his spectra-tab. He waved the paper report. “These are the readings I remember.”

“Of course they are! I took them myself and wrote them down immediately. I take it seriously, Doctor, even if you think I’m wasting my time.”

He looked up at her with a smile. “If ever I tell you that again, Bill, remind me of today. The med-bed-tab has recorded readings that show Blue is fighting fit and suffering from nothing whatsoever.”

“Was the connection faulty?” In fairness, she sounded as bewildered by the incident as Fawn.

“I don’t think so, but I’m going to ask Lieutenant Green to run a thorough diagnostic of every medical system we have, as soon as possible. Maybe Captain Magenta will be able to assist him; I don’t want to think any of our patients are at risk from faulty IT. In the meantime, please instruct the nursing staff to immediately take manual readings of all patients and record them on one of your excellent forms.”

“S.I.G., Doctor.”

Surprised she hadn’t started to leave; Fawn raised a questioning eyebrow and asked:

“Well?”

“Just wondering if that explains why we saw nothing on the PMRD while Scarlet was recovering.”

“Possibly. Hopefully, Green and Magenta will be able to identify any issues quickly and advise us how we can correct them.”

“Well, if anybody can, they can.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Captain Grey alerted Spectrum Futura to their presence in the city, collected an SSC and drove Captain Scarlet straight to NR’s office car park. They marched into Reception and up to the desk.

“Captain Scarlet, Spectrum.” Scarlet briskly showed the receptionist his ID. “My colleague and I are here to investigate the attack on our officers which took place on your premises.”

“We had nothing to do with it!” the receptionist cried in alarm. “It was the police!”

“That is what we are investigating, Miss. For the moment, Nguyen Robotics is under suspicion of terrorist activity, or at least, harbouring suspected terrorists. Through the powers invested in me, as a certified officer of Spectrum, through the authority of the World President, I am going to sequester all personnel records, with immediate effect.”

“You can’t do that!” she squeaked.

“ You can’t stop me,” Scarlet said, with an irritatingly superior smile.

Captain Grey leant forward slightly and said in a reassuring tone: “Don’t worry, Miss; nobody will hold you responsible, this is way over your pay grade. I suggest you contact your head of HR, or whatever they call the staff office these days. Then I suggest you make entry-all-areas security passes for Captain Scarlet and myself – Captain Grey – and sit back with the sense of a job well done.”

“And quickly,” Scarlet added sharply.

The flustered Head of HR, Logan J Kirkham, arrived in Reception before the receptionist had even had the time to create the security passes. He was obviously itching for a fight and demanded:

“What’s the meaning of this? This is the second time Spectrum has intruded into our building making preposterous demands. I shall make sure your superiors are aware that this harassment is not acceptable.”

Captain Scarlet drew himself up to his full height and stared haughtily at the older man. “You do that. In the meantime, this is an anti-terrorism investigation under Section 319 subsection 8 of World Government Statute 2063/18542. Spectrum is sequestering your personnel records – all of them, with immediate effect.”

“You can’t; those records are confidential.”

“We can. Go and look it up,” Scarlet snapped.

“I’m going to call our legal department.”

“Call the World President if it makes you happy; but while they’re both telling you that you don’t have a leg to stand on, we’ll be downloading your electronic data and collecting your paper files, for good measure.”

“You will not!”

Captain Grey stepped in again, an understanding smile on his face. “Are you sure you want to have this conversation in public, sir? Perhaps we could move to your office?”

The Head of HR suddenly noticed there were several interested bystanders unashamedly watching the confrontation.

“Yes, yes, of course. You can wait there until I get confirmation that you have no right to order us to release confidential documents.”

He turned and led them towards the lift.

Grey took the security passes from the receptionist and handed one to Scarlet. As they followed Kirkham, Grey asked in a confidential whisper, “Section 319 subsection 8 of World Government Statute 2063/18542? What’s that?”

“Haven’t a clue, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?”

They exchanged smiles and moved to either side of the Head of HR as they marched him into the lift.

While Scarlet kept Kirkham busy, Grey slipped over to a desk and inserted a transmitter into a handy data-point. He whispered into his cap-mic: “Grey to Cloudbase: commence upload.”

“S.I.G., Captain.”

“We want to see the ID photographs used for access across the organisation,” Scarlet was saying. “We will run those through our database to see if any of them are known to be activists of proscribed organisations.”

“All personnel are processed through our own security checks, which have been cleared by Spectrum’s own Futura office,” Kirkham replied stiffly. “There’s no need for you to see any of them.”

Scarlet shook his head dismissively. “Spectrum Futura is also under statutory internal investigation in relation to the attack on Spectrum personnel that occurred in their jurisdiction. Spectrum takes its responsibility for the security of its field officers seriously. When something like this happens, nobody is exempt from investigation, not even an internal department or an individual officer. Under these circumstances, nobody in NR who was cleared by Futura is above suspicion – at least, not for the moment.”

Kirkham hesitated; then asked with genuine concern: “Your men, were they badly hurt?”

Scarlet maintained his icy demeanour. “They were attacked while in pursuit of a suspect in your office building. You’d better hope they recover.”

“ Cloudbase to Captain Grey: upload completed.”

“S.I.G., Cloudbase. Grey out.” He turned his gaze on Scarlet and gave the merest upward twitch of his eyebrows.

Scarlet went onto the attack. “Right, Mr Kirkham, please provide us with your hard copy security files; including the photo-IDs of every employee, permanent and temporary, and all visitor passes for the past year.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Some of the files – of the longest-serving employees - are in the basement.”

Grey smiled. “Then why don’t we start with the guest and temporary IDs? Surely, that can’t hurt? You could organise a band of willing helpers to get those ready for us, while the case for total disclosure is being argued out between your lawyers and Spectrum’s.”

Kirkham made one last effort to stand his ground. “I still haven’t had confirmation that you have the right to do any of this.”

“Look,” Scarlet said with an exasperated sigh, “We don’t have all day. While we wait here, you go and make a start and if they come back with a negative – which they won’t – nothing will have been wasted.”

Harassed from both sides, Kirkham, now thoroughly confused, nodded and went out, leaving the officers with the records.

“Open the cabinet,” Scarlet said urgently, as Grey produced a set of skeleton keys. The locks were child’s play and they began to rifle through the records. “Find Herdesher’s file.”

Grey pulled out a slim file and opened the cover. The photograph was small and the quality no better than that of any ID picture.

Grey squinted at it before handing it to Scarlet. ”I can see why Fawn couldn’t recognise it; his own mother wouldn’t have recognised Black from that photo,” he said. “It looks like nothing so much as a Munchkin from the ‘Wizard of Oz’.”

“It’s Captain Black all right,” Scarlet said.

“How can you tell?” Grey asked, impressed.

Scarlet put the photograph down and gestured towards the internal glass wall that divided the office from the main concourse.

Grey turned his head and saw Captain Black staring through the glass at them. “ Oh, shit,” he said under his breath.

Scarlet drew his gun and fired. The glass wall splintered and immediately alarm bells sounded throughout the building, but Black had vanished.

“Now we have to find out exactly what Herdesher-Black was doing here,” Scarlet said grimly.

Grey was already on his cap mic: “Cloudbase, please send a full security team to Nguyen Robotics’ offices. We have a positive sighting of Captain Black here; but we’ve lost him, Colonel. Now everyone needs to be tested with a Mysteron detector before we can let them leave.”

“S.I.G., Captain Grey. Lieutenants Jonquil and Umber will be with you as soon as possible and, in the meantime, Futura Base will lock the building down and put out an all areas alert for Captain Black. Futura will be closed down so tightly, nothing and nobody will escape. White out.”

“Why do I get the feeling we’ve been here before?” Scarlet remarked, as three security guards, red-faced and breathless, arrived at the scene and started ineptly ordering people about. “Only last time, it was New York nothing would ever get out of...”

“Leave it to me,” Grey said, and he walked over to the guards, taking control of the situation with the undeniable authority that came with years of military command.

Someone tapped Scarlet on the shoulder and he turned and found himself face to face with a man he quickly recognised as Nic Nguyen.

“Please, Captain,” Nic said politely, although it was easy to see that he was seething with justifiable rage, “what the Hell is going on? I agree to do some work for Spectrum and you invade my offices, shooting the place up like a couple of hoodlum punks.”

“You were working for Spectrum? Doing what exactly?”

“Ask Doctor Fawn. In fact, I want to talk to him myself, right now!”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, Mr Nguyen. Can we go to your office?”

“Do I have a choice, Captain? You’re the man with the gun.”

Scarlet realised he was still holding his pistol and with a wry grimace, slipped it back into his holster. “I’m sorry, sir. Now, your office, if you please.”

“Mr Nguyen, what can you tell me about Doctor Herdesher?” Scarlet asked, almost as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Herdesher again? Ed – uh - your Doctor Fawn asked me about him. I can tell you what I told him, and that is, as far as I know, he is a bona fide IT scientist. We’ve been in discussions with him for some months with a view to developing new non-medical technologies. Some of his ideas have been revolutionary, but on investigation they’ve been found to be highly practical and commercially viable.”

“I thought Nguyen Robotics was solely involved with medical IT systems?” Scarlet said.

“We have been and it will remain the core of our business, but we’re about to branch out – and that is highly confidential business information, Captain Scarlet, I’m trusting you with far more information than I ought to.”

Scarlet gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and thanks. “This branching out: is it using Herdesher’s ideas?”

Nguyen nodded. “Some of it is, yes. You have to understand that medical technological research is an expensive business, with a sophisticated, captive, but nonetheless limited, market. The limited market is the problem, of course, and so we at NR feel it is acceptable to partially fund our research from the profits of… less esoteric technologies, where possible. The company has been working on various non-medical schemes for some years, but the board decided we should drop our aversion to buying in new ideas for exploitation, because in this day and age no company can thrive without expanding its product base and the services it can offer to the public.”

“I am sure that is a sound economic argument, Mr Nguyen, but I’m afraid I have to tell you that Herdesher is none other than the renegade Spectrum officer, Captain Black. I’m sure you’ve heard of the World Government’s desire to apprehend him for crimes against humanity?”

“Captain Black? I don’t believe you! Why, Herdesher was given security clearance by Spectrum Futura themselves: an A-double-plus rating. You can’t expect me to believe he is a wanted criminal.”

“That I didn’t know. Spectrum Futura will have to be questioned about that,” Scarlet said. It wasn’t unknown for the Mysterons to bamboozle a perfectly innocent person in order to get what they wanted, but nothing this serious could be ignored. He opened a communication link to Cloudbase and relayed the information to Colonel White, concluding: “It suggests that we may have an infiltrator in Futura Base, Colonel.”

“A very credible concern, Captain. I will issue a return to base command for all Futura officers, and contact the World Police with a request for them to man the road blocks and lock-down our base, at least while Jonquil and Umber continue their investigations. They have taken Mysteron detectors from Cloudbase, so even if those in Futura have been sabotaged, we will be able to re-test everyone with certified machines. What news on the sighting of Captain Black?”

“There’s nothing further to report, sir. We saw him through a glass partition and when I fired, he vanished. Given the capability of the Mysterons to transport him from the scene of danger, he could be anywhere on the globe by now.”

“Understood, Captain; but if the Mysterons are still trying to carry out their threat and it does involve Nguyen Robotics, then my feeling is Black will still be somewhere around, working to achieve their aims. I want you and Grey to carry on with your investigation.”

“S.I.G., Colonel. Mr Nguyen wishes to speak to Doctor Fawn, please would you authorise a patch through to Sick Bay?”

Colonel White did not answer immediately, but eventually he said: “Very well, Captain. I will instruct Doctor Fawn to contact Mr Nguyen direct, via his office.”

 

Nic Nguyen waited patiently for the promised call and after almost fifteen minutes the video signal sounded. He accepted the incoming call, which was voice-only, smiling when he heard the voice of his friend.

“Hiya, Nic. What’s going on down there?”

“Hiya, Ed. I could ask you the same thing; two Spectrum officers came into NR’s offices and shot the place up, scaring the shit outa my employees – and me. Then some uppity Pom tells me that my IT consultant is a Mysteron agent. Now, bear me out on this, Ed, you said you didn’t recognise Herdesher and he wasn’t on your wanted list, right?”

“I sure did; but in honesty, Nic, Black’s a crafty bugger and that photo coulda been anybody. If Captain Scarlet says Herdesher is Black, then the chances are he’s right.”

“What does that mean for my company? If they arrest Herdesher, will NR be in trouble? We submit all our senior appointments to Spectrum scrutiny through the Futura office, so it’s hardly fair to blame us.”

“ Nah, don’t sweat it, mate. Black’s got a finger in so many pies that no company, or person, who made an honest mistake in reporting that they’d seen him would be held responsible. I’m sure that even our Futura office is being investigated quite as much as NR.”

“And his technological designs? Do they remain the intellectual property of NR?”

There was a pause before Fawn answered, for although Nguyen was unaware of the fact, Fawn was with Colonel White and was consulting him for anything he was unsure about. When he did reply his tone was cautious:

“That depends. Our own Research Department – probably Bob Giardello – will need to examine what Black’s put forward, but assuming there are no security aspects to any of it, Spectrum would have no interest in the commercial exploitation of the technology. So, the opinion is that NR can keep whatever it has secured the intellectual rights to.”

“That seems fair enough, I wouldn’t object to that,” Nic replied.

“Tell me, Nic: did Herdesher work on anything except new potential projects?”

“No; at least, not that I am aware of. Oh, wait a minute: he did spend a few weeks working with different guys in the main offices here and then a week working with Tommo, but that was purely part of his getting to know our current business and products.”

“What does Tommo know about that?” Fawn snapped.

“Cool it, Ed; I know you have a legitimate beef with Tommo, but he’s part of the set-up and there’s nothing wrong with Herdesher spending some time with him.”

“We’re gonna need a list of everyone Herdesher spent time with, Nic,” Fawn said firmly. “They’ll need to be interviewed by our people. Nothing to worry about, but Spectrum’s gotta be thorough.”

Nic sighed. “Whatever you say, Ed; but it’s gonna play havoc with our project management planning.”

Spectrum personnel flooded the NR offices searching for evidence of what the so-called Dr Herdesher had been doing. Jonquil and Umber quickly organised the Mysteron detector testing of all NR staff and visitors, while on Cloudbase Lieutenant Green and his team scanned through the data uploaded by Captain Grey, looking for anything that might tie into or explain the Mysterons’ threat.

It was these parts of a field mission that always frustrated Captain Scarlet. Never the most patient of men, he quickly grew fidgety and, more often than not, got in the way. So Grey was relieved when he wandered away from the main office, looking for something productive to do.

While Grey was preoccupied with his own task, Nic Nguyen approached him to express his disapproval of this extensive take-over of his company.

“How much longer is this going to go on? My technicians have been told to leave the labs and not to touch anything. I’m paying people to work here and nobody can do any work because of Spectrum! And what happens at 5pm, can everyone go home? Do I tell them to come in as usual tomorrow? These may be unimportant questions to you, Captain, but they’re important for everyone else.”

Grey listened with exemplary patience, but then replied, “Captain Scarlet is our field commander, Mr Nguyen. He’s the only man who can answer your questions, so you really need to explain your concerns to him.”

Determined to make his complaints known, Nic went in search of Captain Scarlet and finally found him in Reception, watching the comings and goings of staff and visitors and ensuring that everyone was scanned before they were allowed in or out of the building.

“Captain Scarlet,” he called, “I really must protest at how Spectrum is monopolising my company’s time and personnel. One of your officers is proposing to examine all of our commercial information and I am not happy at that. My company’s future profitability could well be compromised.”

“I don’t think so, Mr Nguyen.”

“Doctor Fawn assured me that Spectrum would have no interest in the commercial information,” Nic protested, “but I have even seen some of your officers tinkering with our prototypes in the labs.”

“Mr Nguyen, we have to find out what Herdesher was doing; can’t you see that? If he has managed to do something that has rendered your machines a danger to the public, then we will need to identify that and disarm it.”

“A danger to the public?” Nic repeated, bemused at Scarlet’s response. “What are you talking about? Our machines are designed to provide health care and public protection; how could they be a danger?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Scarlet replied, with a slightly smug smile.

This was entirely the wrong response and Nic was infuriated. “If word gets out that Spectrum considers our machines to be a danger, then NR will go out of business. I want Doctor Fawn here to supervise that work. He knows more about our machines than any of the men you have here, proposing to dismantle my machines! I trust him to play fair and I don’t trust your officers; in fact, I’m not even sure I trust you, Captain Scarlet. I don’t know you like I know Fawn.”

“I don’t think Fawn can spare the time,” Scarlet said, “He has a medical facility to run on Cloudbase.”

“If you’re not willing to co-operate, Captain, then I’m afraid I will have to phone my World Senator and demand that he speaks to the World President or to the Chair of the Security Council, and they order Spectrum to send Doctor Fawn here or get out of NR immediately. I’m on very good terms with Senator Wade and he owes me a couple of favours. I don’t really mind which way we do this, but we are going to do it.”

“Mr Nguyen, you’re really not helping,” Scarlet said, with an exasperated sigh. “The more obstacles you put in our way, the longer all this will take.”

Angrily, Nic glanced across at the receptionist and called, “Barbie, please get me Senator Josh Wade on my private line...”

“Wade? No; no that won’t be necessary,” Scarlet interjected sharply, rolling his eyes at what he considered were unreasonable demands. He knew the colonel would not appreciate interference from any World Senator, and that this particular senator had caused no end of trouble for Spectrum in the past and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again.

His cap mic flipped down and his epaulettes flashed green. “Let me speak to Colonel White, Lieutenant...”

Fawn met Giardello at the airport and they were driven straight to NR. En-route, Fawn explained why they were there.

“It seems Nic’s concerned about our officers ‘tinkering with prototypes’ in case they either damage them or steal the technology,” Fawn remarked, “I doubt most of them are bright enough to know what they’re doing, but it is possible that they might inadvertently do damage. So, in order to keep NR on board, Colonel White’s agreed that you and I will do the really sensitive investigations, with help from Nic, who’s been thoroughly vetted and tested.”

Giardello gave a slight smile. “I’ll be interested to see what Nic considers sensitive prototypes. Some of the developments he talked about when we were working on the PMRD sounded very promising, but perhaps the fact that he spoke about them meant he didn’t consider them as sensitive?”

Fawn grinned. “Nic might regret asking for us, if he ever heard you say that, Bob. Just try and remember we’re there to prevent industrial espionage, not commit it!”

Nic met them in the foyer, as they emerged from the obligatory Mysteron detector test.

Fawn introduced Giardello and gave both men a quick résumé of the special skills of the other. He saw Nic nod approvingly as he shook hands with Giardello, realising that he would be dealing with an expert in his own field.    

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor Giardello,” Nic said. “Welcome to Nguyen Robotics.”

He escorted them through the locks and ID scanners that led to the research labs, in the most secure part of the building. Fawn remembered them from days gone by, but was fascinated to see the new equipment and ongoing projects that now lined the walls and benches.

As he watched his companions examining the equipment in the room, Nic said, “I want to stay while you examine everything. In fact, I want to be part of the work team, if you have no objections? I can help explain what’s what; but I won’t interfere, you have my word on that.”

Giardello glanced at Fawn and said, “I understand that you’ve been given a clean bill of health, Mr Nguyen, so far as the security aspect of this job is concerned, and I have no objection to accepting your help. Frankly, there’s a lot going on here.” He gestured towards the equipment.

Nic visibly relaxed. “Great; I hoped you see it that way. Please, call me Nic; everyone does.”

“Right, Nic. Let’s start with anything you know, or even think that Herdesher had a connection with,” Giardello suggested. “Once we’ve done that we only need to check the rest if we think there’s a potential risk.”

Nic nodded and went to one of the work stations where he fired up a computer and typed in his encryption code.

“I’ll print out the latest executive summary of the ongoing work and you can choose where to start.”

“Great; let’s get going!” Fawn replied.

The scientists quickly became so engrossed in their work that they hardly noticed the hours passing by as they conducted their review and examination of the cutting edge technology on show. Nic had always insisted on exhaustive record keeping and every phase of every development was clearly and precisely recorded, including the names of the personnel involved, so that it was easy to follow the progress.

Fawn and Giardello were ultra-thorough and went through the records checking every one for any indication that it might relate to Captain Black or the Mysteron threat.

Bob Giardello broke the engrossed silence with a question: “Who is Doctor Thompson?”

Fawn replied, “He’s a general medical surgeon and a friend of Nic’s from Australia. He was the third founder member of the company.”

“This says Doctor Thompson has been working on a device that can generate Fresnel Waves that was initiated by Herdesher. I think that might be worth a closer look.”

“That’s the device I mentioned to you, Ed, when you were here before, remember? It was sent to the Swedish factory for the next stage of development,” Nic explained, coming over to join Ed and Giardello at the work station. “We’ve been very pleased with the outcome of our tests and computer simulations, so the board agreed to a limited production run of stand-alone boosters that can be attached to existing medical mainframes. That was a success and a subroutine’s been devised that retunes receptors to the correct frequencies. The intention is to run a pilot scheme, probably in Somalia, to see if it really can, in practice, increase the area served by the mainframes. We’re hopeful that it will allow a wider network of med-beds and robot-docs to receive real-time instructions and motion-capture care from specialists in hub hospitals, than is currently the case with our existing networks. If that works, we plan for it to become standard and incorporate it into a new generation of NR Med-Networks.”

“I do recall you mentioning it,” Fawn said thoughtfully, wondering why it had slipped his memory before. The fact that Black had been the instigator of the project obviously made it a leading candidate for investigation. “I’d better report to Cloudbase.”

When Fawn finished, Colonel White lost no time in giving fresh orders.

“I want you, Scarlet and Grey to go to the factory immediately. You can update them on what you’ve discovered on the way there,” he said. “It is highly probable that if this is the lynchpin of the latest threat, Black is already in Sweden. Dr Giardello can continue his investigation into NR’s other projects and Jonquil and Umber are more than capable of handling security at the offices. Waste no time, Doctor; get a move on and keep me informed!”

They landed at Stockholm’s Bromma airfield from where it was a short and, for Fawn, familiar drive to the NR factory at Ulvsunda. Racing along the broad suburban clearway, under a cloudless sky of the brilliant ethereal blue Ed had only ever seen in these northern latitudes, he found it hard to bury the memories and the needle-sharp ache for Tilde and what had been. He had no difficulty accepting that the Fresnel Wave device was the key to the Mysterons’ plans, or playing his part in thwarting those schemes, but it was second nature for part of his mind to calculate the possibility of saving aspects of the project that would justify the time and resources NR had invested in it.

After all, he reasoned to himself, as Captain Scarlet swerved the SSC to overtake a lumbering truck, the technology would be a benefit to mankind, if it could be proven to be safe, and that’d be a double victory over the Mysterons.

He wished the colonel had agreed to let Nic warn the factory they were coming, but White had justifiably reasoned that if Black was in Stockholm, that would only increase the chances of his slipping through Spectrum’s grasp again. He understood the logic of that, but there was an underlying concern over how this unexpected intrusion of Spectrum - and himself - into her life, and the expected outcome, if it was proven to be a Mysteron plot, would affect Tilde.

Nic had taken him to one side before they left NR HQ and warned him that she was now spending most of her time co-ordinating testing of new technology at the factory, so the chances of meeting her there were high, and he wasn’t sure how that prospect made him feel. At least Tommo was unlikely to be at the factory. He was now responsible for networking with European medical authorities and encouraging them to implement the latest updates or improvements, so Tilde wouldn’t have to witness Spectrum’s inevitable confrontation with him.

Ed sighed and pushed away the notion that as they were not spending all of their time together, perhaps things between them were not ideal and maybe she had come to regret her insistence on a divorce.

Don’t go there, he told himself. Think of the mission. Tommo’s job is the perfect cover for a Mysteron agent. He gets others to make the machine he’s responsible for corrupting, while he has the opportunity to spread the menace as wide as possible and yet, he’s never anywhere long enough to arouse suspicion.

He was forced back into the present reality when Scarlet drove through the security barrier at the factory without stopping and, as the SSC skidded to a halt outside the main doors, the colour captains sprang from the car and raced into the building, intent on securing it before any of the personnel had chance to slip out.

Moments later, as he collected his equipment from the boot of the car, Fawn heard the whoop of approaching police cars and Spectrum reinforcements from the terrestrial base over the wailing of the building’s alarms. He waited as two SPVs and another SSC pulled into the drive, disgorging their occupants just as the police arrived.

Fawn followed them into the reception area, a heavy case in each hand. A gaggle of people were protesting vociferously to Scarlet and Grey in a mixture of Swedish and English. As the phalanx of armed men wearing Spectrum’s iconic charcoal uniforms spread out and took up defensive positions, Scarlet turned away from the raucous group and spoke to Fawn.

“It’s all yours, Doc. Where do you want to start?”

“The labs,” Fawn replied. “Don’t worry; I know the way.”

“Then I’ll follow you,” said Scarlet. Falling in beside Fawn as he walked through the throng, he reached over and took one of the heavy cases from his friend. “After all, we don’t know who we might find there, do we?” he concluded, as they reached the lift and Fawn pressed the call button.

The thought that Captain Black might be anywhere near Tilde gave Fawn a sudden shock of fear; he knew the Mysterons’ agent had no compassion for any human being who stood between him and the successful achievement of the aliens’ aims, and Tillie might well be in danger. His free hand dropped to his belt where, for once, his service pistol hung. This might be the time he discovered if, given sufficient motivation, he could kill.

Scarlet noticed the movement and smiled. “Don’t worry, Doc; I’m here and if Black’s about, you can leave him to me.”

“Be careful, Captain Scarlet; your last two retrometabolisations have been touch and go affairs.” It was the closest he could come to saying he doubted that Scarlet’s ability to recover would continue indefinitely.

Scarlet grinned. “You’re as bad as Blue; he always worries that I’ll get hurt.” His grin faded as he saw the genuine concern expressed on Fawn’s face and he continued in a quiet, almost pensive voice: “What you have to understand, Ed, is that I understand perfectly the nature of the risks I face. I might not look forward to facing them but, believe me: I’m willing to accept whatever the consequences of those risks turn out to be.”

“I do understand, Paul; but you shouldn’t take unnecessary risks.”

“I don’t. I never have done. Above all, I’m a soldier; I’ve been trained to assess, then negate or avoid unnecessary risks. It’s second nature to me now; I do it without giving it a second thought.”

The lift jerked to a halt and in the seconds before the door opened, Scarlet dropped the case he was carrying and drew his gun.

“Stand to one side, Doc. We’re going in!”

The doors opened directly into the lab, which looked to be empty. The work benches with their integral computer work stations were unmanned and there were no sounds to be heard. Nevertheless, Scarlet advanced cautiously, his gun at the ready and every sense alert for any movement or sound that suggested they were not alone.

Fawn picked up the second case and followed slowly. He knew there was an office on the left hand side of the main lab, and warned Scarlet.

“There’s an office on the left...”

Scarlet moved crabwise to his left, still glancing all around the lab as he did so. The office had a large window allowing clear sightlines into the lab, and to his surprise, Scarlet saw a woman standing behind a desk, her arms folded protectively across her breasts as she watched him advance.

“There’s someone in there, Doc; a woman,” Scarlet said, warily.

Ed’s heart gave a leap of hopeful joy. He dropped the cases and hurried to Scarlet’s side.

“Tilde!”

A frown creased the woman’s attractive face as she gasped, “ Ed?”

“You know her, Doc?”

“Yes, I do; she’s my wife – eh - ex-wife.”

Scarlet’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. “You don’t say? Well, what’d’yer’know?”

Fawn advanced slowly towards Tilde. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, but stayed where she was, her arms still defensively crossed. “I heard the alarms and then, this man appeared , with you... What is going on? And why are you dressed in that uniform?”

“I work for Spectrum, Tillie. I have done ever since I left NR. We’re following a lead that there’s been terrorist activity here.”

“Here? You mean in NR?” she said dismissively. “I think your leads are playing a trick on you. We don’t have dealings with terrorists, you know that.”

“These are very plausible and dangerous terrorists, Tillie. We know that Professor Herdesher’s connected with them and so we need to investigate the Fresnel Wave device he gave you.”

“Herdesher isn’t here. He left yesterday for Futura.”

Scarlet interrupted, shaking his head. “I’m afraid there’s no record of him leaving Stockholm. So, I’m sure you’ll understand that we need to search this building and that everyone here will need to be cleared by our security team. If you’re in charge, madam, you could help by reassuring your employees and telling them to co-operate with us.”

Tilde gave Scarlet a withering glance. “You have the necessary permission, I presume? This is private property and there is technology here that is under development and not in the public domain. I cannot give you permission – and I will not – unless I see what authority you have to act.”

“Doc, I’ll leave that to you,” Scarlet said, refusing to be side-tracked from his mission by such trivial formalities. “I’m going to start up on the roof and work my way down. That way, if... Herdesher is here, he’ll be flushed out towards Grey and the terrestrial officers.” He paused and added, “Keep a wary eye out here and radio for help if you see or hear anything suspicious...”

“S.I.G., Captain.”

When Scarlet disappeared towards the exit, Fawn turned to Tilde and approached slowly.

“It’s good to see you, Tillie. You’re looking... well.”

The sight of her was in fact a painful pleasure and studying her with loving eyes, he actually thought she was looking strained and tired, but nothing on Earth would have made him admit it to her. “How’re things?” he asked, trying to sound light-hearted.

“Fine; everyone’s fine.” She met his gaze and demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do when you left Futura and NR? I guess you told Nic, but not me? I asked him but he wouldn’t admit he knew.”

“He never did know, until very recently. Even then I asked him – made him promise – not to tell anyone else. Spectrum doesn’t like the private details of its officers to be common knowledge.”

“ I am not common knowledge.”

“In Spectrum’s eyes you are. There’re no legal ties between us any longer.”

“And does that mean you no longer consider me even as a friend?”

“Of course not; but I didn’t want to make it difficult for any of us by staying around while you and Tommo were ... starting your family life together. I thought it best to… make myself scarce for a while. Spectrum presented the perfect opportunity.”

He looked away and busied himself lifting one of the cases onto the desk. He knew only too well how easily she read him and in this situation he could not afford to give her the upper hand by letting her see how much her betrayal still hurt.

“I didn’t ever want to hurt you, Ed. You know that, don’t you?”

The gentle words cut him to the quick and he could no longer pretend. He said, “I only knew you did hurt me, Tillie, very much. The thought of you and Tommo together… and that all the time you were lying to me, cheating on me with a man I had always thought was my friend. How could it fail to hurt?”

“We are both of us still your friends. We were sad that you can’t see that. I have been worried about you; not knowing where you were or what you were doing. It was unkind to leave me in the dark.”

“Call it quits then,” Ed retorted harshly. This conversation was stripping away the layers of protective disinterest he’d so assiduously cultivated, and he wanted it to end.

Distressed, Tillie turned and walked away from the desk to lean against a cupboard door between some shelving.

“I forgive your anger, Ed, and I can even, perhaps, understand it; but I do hope that one day we may be friends again. For now, I am sure that whatever you and your new friends want to do Nic has already agreed; so go ahead. I can’t stop you anyway, so I won’t try.”

With a brusque nod, Ed sat at the desk and studied the computer screen Tillie had been working on. Nic had given him a password and he entered it on the system, relieved to see the file list appear with folders listed under project numbers. He glanced at the sheet of project summaries Nic had given him and selected the Fresnel Wave file.

He forced himself to concentrate on opening the documents, looking for the one he needed to start his research. He was so used to sensing Tillie’s presence behind him that he did not consider it a threat, and didn’t register her movements or the slight click of the cupboard door opening behind him.

Captain Black’s hand came sharply down on the nape of his neck hitting just the right spot. With a muffled groan, Ed’s head fell forward onto the keyboard as he blacked out.

Captain Scarlet completed his search of the rooftop and glanced down at the Spectrum vehicles on the forecourt. There were three Spectrum officers down by the security barrier but other than that the area was deserted. Despite that, Scarlet felt decidedly uneasy. On several occasions in the past he had felt a nauseous ‘sixth sense’ in the presence of Mysteron agents or due to the proximity of Captain Black, but it wasn’t infallible and didn’t always happen. He certainly didn’t feel like that now, but this uneasy feeling was disconcerting.

Maybe it’s due to the Mysterons’ involvement with that wave-initiating program? A sort of residual presence... but I’m going to play my hunch and say that Black’s still here.

He activated his radio cap mic and contacted Grey.

“Captain, the roof is clear, and although Fawn’s ex-wife said he’d gone back to Futura yesterday, I’m sensing that Captain Black may still be in the area.”

“Fawn’s what?”

“There’s a woman in the lab; Fawn said she was his ex-wife.”

There was a pause before Grey replied: “According to the staff members here, the woman in the lab is Doctor Thompson.”

“ Doctor Thompson? Brad, I left Ed alone with her! Get up there now! I’m on my way.”

Despite the adrenalin that flooded through him in response to Scarlet’s order, Grey was still mindful enough to order two terrestrial officers to watch the lift in case it came down, and then grab a Mysteron detector and an electron rifle from a rather surprised security officer as he raced for the stairs.

The lab was on the second floor and Grey was panting as he reached the door. At the other end of the short corridor the door was flung open and Captain Scarlet appeared. He placed a finger against his lips and joined Grey at the entrance to the lab. The door swung open at his gentle push.

Fawn was sprawled across the desktop and Tilde stood beside him.

“What’ve you done to him?” Scarlet demanded, moving quickly towards Fawn.

She shook her head. Her blue eyes were empty of expression and she remained remarkably impassive as Scarlet placed a finger against Fawn’s neck.

“He’s alive,” Scarlet gasped, thankful to feel the flutter of a pulse. “But he’s out cold. Damn it! I reckon Black was here and may even still be here.” He glanced at the partially open cupboard door. “This is my fault,” he said, shaking his head. “I should’ve checked the place thoroughly before leaving Fawn here.”

Grey replied, “Hey, we’re all only human, Paul, we all make mistakes. Besides, Fawn’s had the same training as the rest of us; he should’ve checked the place himself.”

“He was completely bedazzled by his ex-wife,” Scarlet explained, adding with a rueful grimace, “and I never thought to ask you what your current name is.”

“I am Doctor Tilde Lindström Thompson and I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” she retorted haughtily.

“We missed the trick, Scarlet. The Doctor Thompson working with Black was not Doctor Shane Thompson, but Doctor Tilde Thompson,” Grey remarked, adding with a shrug. “The Angels will slate us for months for assuming it was a man.”

“And we won’t have a leg to stand on,” Scarlet agreed, as he stooped down to see if he could resuscitate Fawn.

In doing so he presented his unprotected back to Tilde and to his astonishment, Grey saw her suddenly aim a blow at his colleague’s head, catching him on the ear, knocking his cap askew.

Scarlet staggered in surprise and slipped to his knees. Immediately, Tilde went for his throat, her small hands trying to encircle his neck. It wasn’t anything like a fair contest and Scarlet, once he’d overcome his momentary shock, struck her hands away with a contemptuous blow.

“You’ve killed him,” Tilde hissed, crouching suddenly to put her arms around Fawn and effectively using him as a barrier between Scarlet and herself.

“No, I haven’t,” Scarlet replied. “If you didn’t knock him out, I’d say it was Captain Black acting on the orders of the Mysterons.”

“What are you talking about?” said Tilde, her fingers stroking Fawn’s cheek. “Who is this Captain Black you talk about?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Scarlet replied. “Herdesher is Black and he was here. I can sense it. This has something to do with the Mysterons’ threat to use the medical machines against humanity. It must do.”

“You make no sense. Professor Herdesher left here after uploading a system-wide, all-machine update, that’s all. If you think he did something dangerous then you’re too late to stop him, Spectrum.”

Something about Tilde’s attitude and the timbre of her voice made Grey lift the Mysteron detector and take the shot that would reveal whether she had been Mysteronised.

She glared at him, hissing with anger. “What are you doing?”

“Just routine,” Grey replied calmly. Then, after a short delay, he pulled the photograph from the detector and studied the result. He stared at the result for a long moment, feeling an inexpressible sadness at the random unkindness of Fate.

“Captain?”

“She’s a Mysteron, Scarlet,” he said, in response to Scarlet’s brusque prompting, turning the photograph over to show his colleague.

They were distracted by Fawn, who was starting to regain consciousness, although whether it was in response to Tilde’s embrace, it was impossible to say.

“What happened?” he asked shakily, looking from one face to another in confusion.

“You were attacked, Doctor,” Scarlet said. “I’m afraid Captain Black was here and Doctor Thompson’s a Mysteron. Step away from her, if you can.”

“Tilde? No, that can’t be true. It’s Tommo, he’s the one who’s been working with Captain Black,” Fawn protested.

“It’s been confirmed by Cloudbase that Doctor Shane Thompson is currently in Budapest and before that he was in Lisbon and Vienna,” Grey reported. “He couldn’t have been working with Herdesher from what we know of his movements. The Doctor Thompson who has been working with the Mysterons is Tilde Thompson.” He dropped the evidence of the Mysteron detector onto the desk. “Here’s the proof.”

Ed stared at the photograph with an aching heart.

“I’m sorry, Ed,” Grey said quietly and he switched on the electron rifle to charge it up.

“He’s lying!” Tilde cried. Turning fearful eyes on Fawn, and placing a hand on his shoulder she said, “I don’t even know what he’s talking about. I have told him that Herdesher has left. I don’t know any ‘Black’. Please, Ed, make him stop this nonsense; it is frightening me.”

Fawn got to his feet and moved between Grey and Tilde. “Now wait a minute. Let’s just calm things down here,” he began.

“We’re perfectly calm,” Scarlet remarked. “And, sadly, we know what we have to do.” Reaching out to grab Fawn’s arm he pulled the shocked doctor out of the way. “Do it, Grey,” Scarlet ordered, as he struggled with the smaller man.

“No!” Fawn cried.

He was still trying to shake Scarlet off as Tilde turned towards him, her hands extended in a desperate plea for mercy.

“Ed, help me!”

As Grey pulled the trigger and the electron beams hit her body, she gave an unworldly, ear-shattering scream. Convulsing with the powerful electric charge, Tilde fell to the floor, and continued writhing for long moments until she finally lay still and her body began to smoulder.

“I’m truly sorry you had to witness that, Ed,” Grey said into the desolate silence, “but there was no doubt she was a Mysteron and if we’d let her live, who knows what trouble she’d have been responsible for in the future. The electron rifle isn’t pretty, but we know to our cost that the Mysterons are capable of reanimating any dead body, unless and until we’ve used it on their agent. You know that.”

“She asked for mercy,” Fawn said, helplessly. “And you had no proof that she’d done anything wrong.”

“She’s been working with Captain Black, and nobody with good intentions does that unless they’ve been Mysteronised,” Scarlet said over his shoulder, as he examined the cupboard for indications that Black had been there.

“She said she didn’t know anything about it! Black probably didn’t stop to explain what he had in mind.”

Scarlet gave a rueful smile. “The Mysterons don’t stop to explain, Doc. Their agents do whatever they’ve been order to do. Once they’re in a fight, their only aim is to kill, unless their masters have other plans. Doctor Thompson attacked me and quite probably attacked you because she’d been ordered to.”

“You’d frightened her,” Fawn retorted, “Anyone could see that.”

“You know,” Scarlet said, intentionally ignoring the remark, “I reckon Black was in this cupboard and when I left you, he – or Doctor Thompson – attacked you.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Fawn insisted, ignoring the throbbing ache of his left shoulder that was more than enough to prove Scarlet right. “You’ve simply leapt to conclusions.”

“Yes,” Scarlet agreed slowly and after a moment’s pause he added, “and sometimes that leap is all that stands between mankind and our annihilation by the Mysterons. Look, Doc; war isn’t fair, it isn’t just and it doesn’t ever play by the rules. I’m afraid we just have to accept that. Just as we also have to accept that, in every war, in any place or any era, there have always been innocent victims. The one thing we can be sure of in this war, is that it will happen again. Maybe, even more often in this war than in any other in the whole bloody history of mankind. But I don’t think that’s the case here, Ed. I really don’t.”

Fawn shook his head, but did not respond. His mind was in a turmoil of emotion and indecision.

Scarlet glanced at Grey, who shrugged, and then continued: “Look, it’s possible that, given time, we’d be able to find her human body and that way we’d confirm just how and when Doctor Thompson was Mysteronised. But I’m not sure we have enough reason to do that. We all know the Mysteron detector doesn’t make mistakes and so that’s what we have to pin our faith on. Anything less than total confidence in our own technology would put us at an even greater disadvantage against the Mysterons.”

Fawn recognised that every word Scarlet had said was true. The Mysterons invariably destroyed any machine or person they intended to use to achieve their threats and the replicas Spectrum encountered were nothing but slaves to the Mysterons’ indomitable will, however familiar they might seem. It was what made Captain Scarlet unique amongst the Mysterons’ victims: he had survived the fall from the London Car-Vu due to the ability to retrometabolise but he had, by some miracle, also broken free of Mysteron control. The real Paul Metcalfe lived on in a Mysteronised body that was now virtually indestructible, but that was more than any other victim could hope for.

When Ed had joined Spectrum, it had felt like his life was in ruins and that the future could hold nothing to compare with the past. The glib promise he’d made to cut himself off from that past had seemed like no big deal then. The intellectual challenge of setting up Spectrum’s medical services, starting out on Cloudbase and getting to know his new colleagues, had swept him along on a tide of enthusiasm. Then the fascinating conundrum of retrometabolism had come to dominate his mind and stopped him from brooding on what had been or might have been.

It was ironic, he realised, that his determination to develop a technological resource that would help him rationalise what happened to Scarlet had led him to return to familiar haunts and revitalised his friendship with Nic. A friendship he valued and, if he was honest, one he had missed. This mission had brought home to him just how difficult it was going to be to forgo that companionship a second time.

Time was a great healer and he knew that, in time, he would have been able to see Tillie and Tommo without feeling the pain he’d experienced during the divorce, for when it came to the crunch, he loved her too much to ever wish her unhappiness.

And now this…

Yet even with Tilde gone, the lure of returning to his family, of once again enjoying the company of Nic and Lynnea, of his young god-daughter and of Tommo and the child who was now all that remained of Tillie, was still strong. If he truly believed that he couldn’t keep the promise to cut himself off from the people he loved, he would, in all honesty, have to resign his commission.

So now, he realised, the time had come for him to make that final and irrevocable decision.

He forced himself to look down at the charred remains of the woman who had never really been Tilde Lindström, and to say a final goodbye to the real woman, wherever she lay buried.

Captain Scarlet looked anxiously at Captain Grey. The doctor was so inexperienced in field missions, and, moreover, held to a totally different set of moral guidelines from the rest of the elite squadron, that he was unsure what more he could do or say to bring this episode to a successful close without upsetting Ed even more.

Grey sighed; he understood the problem even better than Scarlet because he was probably the closest to a friend the doctor had on Cloudbase, but even so, he was not sure how best to deal with the situation. Finally coming to a decision, he placed a hand on Ed’s arm and said kindly, but firmly:

“Come on, Ed. We’ve still got work to do. If Scarlet thinks that Captain Black is somewhere about, he’s probably right and, either way, we still have to isolate whatever he’s been doing to the medical technology. I’ll alert Cloudbase and get them to instruct the WMO to shut down all med-beds and robot medics until we’ve found and removed whatever Black’s uploaded. I’m sure there’s another office somewhere that you can work in while I get a clear-up squad in here.”

Ed shuddered at the thought of what was to come.

With his usual compassion, Grey added, “I promise you, everything will be done with due reverence.”

Miraculously, that seemed to be the right approach and slowly Ed looked up and gave his concerned friend a brief smile.

“S.I.G., Captain Grey,” Doctor Fawn replied.

EPILOGUE

The order rang around the Sick Bay: Scarlet Protocol Alpha One, and the nurses on duty at their admin station raced into action.

Moments later the gurney carrying Captain Scarlet was wheeled in from the Hangar Bay, closely followed by Captain Ochre.

“What happened?” Doctor Fawn asked, as he stopped Ochre from entering the Recovery Room at the door.

“The threat to President Roberts turned out to refer to the launch of a new atomic liner being named after him,” Ochre explained, with an ironic roll of his eyes. “Scarlet finally got the truth out of him because the idiot wanted to go and launch the damn thing himself. Blue and I had spotted a suspicious car on the perimeter road of the residence, and when Scarlet drove to the gate on his way to the dockyard, we told him about the suspect and he went after him like a bat outta Hell. Whatever happened there, and I don’t know yet, the launch site was blown up but the liner’s safe, so it can’t have been an atomic explosion.”

“For which small mercy I am grateful,” Fawn remarked.

“We all are,” Ochre replied. “Reports of casualties apart from Scarlet suggest most people made it to safety before the bomb exploded.”

“Where’s Blue?”

“He got knocked down outside the President’s residence by the suspect’s car; we think he’s broken his arm and so he’s coming back in the SPJ with a back-up pilot.” Ochre gave a broad grin. “You’ll probably have a nervous wreck on your hands when he does get back; you know how he hates anybody else to fly the plane.”

“I’ll probably have two of them; pity the poor back-up pilot.”

Ochre chuckled. “I’m off to debrief the colonel. You’ll let him know the full medical report as soon as possible, Doc?”

“When don’t I? Oh, but remind him, there might be some delay given that we’re still working on manual.”

“S.I.G.,” Ochre said.

Fawn walked into the Recovery Room and looked down at the body of Captain Scarlet, which his nurses had stripped and washed so that the full extent of his injuries were clearly visible. The PMRD stood against the far wall, waiting for Magenta or Green to dismantle it in a search for Mysteron programming. Around the bed stood a team of two nurses, one pushing a trolley with various medical instruments on it.

“Right, Captain Scarlet, let’s see if we can get you on the road to recovery before Blue gets here.” He turned to Nurse Ingram. “Bill, set up an intravenous hydration pack and then... order him some sandwiches...”

She gave him a broad smile.

“S.I.G., Doctor.”

Author’s Notes:

This story has been a long time in the writing: five years, to be precise, so you could call it my very own ‘Challenge of Five’ story. I can only hope that you enjoyed reading it now it’s finished!

My thanks go to my long-suffering Beta-Reader, Hazel Köhler, who has hung on in there waiting for the next instalment and trying to untangle my hopelessly over-elaborate plotlines. Several of them got banished to that dank and dismal nook we call ’Development Hell’ in the hope of being resurrected for a different story. Only time will tell if that happens. Any mistakes in the text are my fault entirely.

Thanks go to Chris Bishop as well, for the best website around. Chris is a constant in CS Fandom and without her we’d all be lost. My thanks also to Caroline Smith for encouragement, advice and enthusiasm during my darkest authorial hours and for some final reassurance.

And finally, as well as my specific thanks to all three of the above, I’d like to mention my gratitude to them and the other Scarletinis, for their friendship and support. It’s so nice to know we’re all there for each other.

‘Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons’™ was created in the 1960s by Gerry and Sylvia Anderson and brought to life on the TV by a team of skilled technicians, model-makers and puppeteers. I am sure they’d be amazed at how much it still means to so many people.

Marion Woods

September 2019

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