Welcome to the Madhouse

James Peregrine Lester had once been an important man. He'd re-written Whitehall's entire disaster planning protocol, he'd rooted out and exposed corruption in Parliament, and he'd been instrumental in uncovering not one or two or even five, but seven terrorist threats against the Empire. He'd been a rising star in the Home Office, the golden boy of the intelligence community, and his name had even been bandied about when talk turned to prospective knighthoods. Everyone knew that he was destined for greatness, so when talk had turned to giving him leadership of a brand-new intelligence branch, Lester had been pleased and excited, but not surprised. He knew he was the man for the job.

Then he'd learned exactly what branch he was to be leading, and his hopes and dreams fell into ruin.

Lester sighed and closed his latest report to the Home Office. No need to rush it, it said the same as all the others had -- British deaths on British soil, public panic narrowly diverted, no progress made on discovering the origins of the anomalies. His superiors were starting to get tired of reading the same report over and over, but they couldn't possibly be as tired as Lester was of writing it. Frankly, he was considering creating a form letter, with blanks for the number of victims and the official name of the creature du jour.

The not-so-wooly mammoth began trumpeting again in its cage and Lester went over to the large window that allowed him to look down on the core of the Centre from his office. Another resonant but flat roar filled the air and only Lester's dignity prevented him from banging his head against the window. According to Abby, the mammoth was feeling some mating urges. Lester just knew that if another anomaly to the Columbian era didn't open soon, the International Smuggling team was going to have some impressive new ivory tusks to use as bait.

Between bouts of trumpeting, Lester picked up a new noise, one that seemed even more unlikely in the ARC than the sound of an overgrown elephant. He frowned and reached for his phone. "Lewis, please tell me there isn't a dog in the building."

He heard her sigh. After the whole debacle with Leek, Lester decided that prospective candidates needed considerably more vetting, especially in the psychological department. Unfortunately that meant the whole process of hiring a new assistant took considerably longer and so he'd named Jennifer Lewis as his assistant in the interim, rationalizing that while her skills in the field were marginal at best, at least she wasn't likely to try and take over the world.

Also, women didn't seem to like Helen Cutter much. Lester made a mental note to remove all male candidates from his pool of potential assistants.

Lewis interrupted his musings with, "You should probably come down here. Nick is having another one of his fits."

'Fits' was codeword for 'Cutter was having another nervous breakdown and was insisting that there had been changes in the timeline that only he knew about'. Lester had been hoping that the Claudia Brown incident would be the last of these fits.

Moving rather more quickly than normal, Lester made his way down two floors to where Lewis's office was located. (She'd refused to move into the assistant's office and Lester decided it was more efficient to leave that office open anyway. That way she wouldn't have to be moved twice.) At the very last door to her hallway, he slowed his pace to his usual brisk walk, the one that said that he was a busy, purposeful man, but that he was also too important to move at any speed but his own pace. It was a good walk; he'd spent several months developing it when he first started at the Home Office.

The walk didn't do him much good this time, however, as he was barely outside of the door before a medium-sized, shaggy dog came sprinting towards him. Lester, never particularly fond of dogs (especially when cats were available), stopped and stared at the intruder in horror.

"Stephen!" Cutter called, running down the hall and scooping up creature in one arm. "Behave yourself."

Lester took a deep, calming breath. "What. Is. That?"

Cutter grinned. "Can't you see tell? It's Stephen!"

"Stephen?"

Cutter rolled his eyes. "Stephen Hart, of course. He's come back! Not quite the way I'd expected, but beggers can't be choosers."

Lester gaped at him. It was rare, very rare, for Lester to be unable to come up with a response, but there was nothing he could possibly say to something so ridiculous.

"Here," Cutter said, setting the animal back down on the floor. "I can prove it. Stephen. Stephen, look at me."

The dog, hearing the sound of his master's voice, looked at Cutter, who beamed. "Good boy. Now, listen carefully. I want you to bark once for yes and twice for no. Got that? One yes, two no. Do you understand?"

The dog barked. Lester groaned. Cutter just looked enormously pleased with himself. "Good, that's good. Now, is your name Stephen Hart?" Another bark. "Were your parents Edna and James Hart?" Bark. "Do you enjoy long runs and watching martial arts on the telly?" Bark. "There, see?"

"Oh, I see," Lester said, glancing down the hall to make sure that Lewis was there. She was, along with Maitland and Temple, both of whom were positively glowing with happiness. Lester grimaced and lowered one hand to his waist. As soon as it was out of Cutter's line of sight, he started making the pre-arranged gesture for 'Cutter's lost it. Call 999 immediately.'

Lewis just crossed her arms and looked stubborn.

"Oh for-- Cutter, what if this dog is Stephen Hart? What do you plan on doing with it?"

"Take him home of course," Cutter said. "And when we go out on calls, bring him along to help us track any creatures. Stephen was always the best tracker on the team; imagine what he could do with a canine sense of smell."

Lester considered that idea. It was mad, of course, but it seemed harmless and if it got Cutter and his team to stop moping over Hart's death, then it would be worth a minor inconvenience. "Fine. But you are responsible for cleaning up after it. If I see so much as a dog hair on my desk, the animal goes to the pet food factory. Is that clear?"

"Very," Cutter said, already heading back to his team. A second later a cheer broke out.

Lester shook his head and stalked back to his office and to his non-progress report. Christ, but he hated this place. Though, if Cutter and his gang of misfits were allowed a dog, perhaps it was time that the ARC got cat. A large, angry cat with a history of violence against canines.

With that thought in mind, Lester returned to his report with a smile.

END