Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, it is always appreciated. Here is the next installment.
Within the Porta-Cabin Douglas and Deborah were met with the sight of both Martins seated exactly where they had been when the two of them had left. Douglas rolled his eyes when Martin's head tilted upwards to peer up at him from the sofa; he didn't know why he had been expecting Martin to warm to his doppelganger, but he had almost dared to hope that the freckled Captain would have allowed himself to relax when it had only been himself to embarrass.
Martin however was still hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands clenched under his chin. The faint trace of a smile that formed when his eyes fell upon Douglas was enough to reassure him that Martin was no longer near to panic, but the First Officer couldn't help the pang of fond despair at his ingrained ineptitude.
As Douglas lowered himself into the sofa beside Martin, just close enough that their legs brushed through the polyester of their trousers, he watched with a tempered bemusement as Deborah passed behind Other-Martin on the way to her own desk, a playful glint in her eyes.
Other-Martin looked more relaxed at first glance than Martin, though Douglas couldn't be sure, as there was only so much that he could read from a few extra inches of slouch, and a discarded pilot's jacket, which was now folded and resting on the edge of his desk.
One of Deborah's hands swept across Other-Martin's shoulders as she paused behind him, leaning down to mutter something that Douglas couldn't decipher into his ear, and the man's only response was for his cheeks to flush scarlet, a conflicted grin adorning his cheeks as he shook his head and ran a hand through his slightly too mussed hair.
"Are you alright?" Douglas turned his head slightly as Martin whispered into his ear; the Captain had shifted closer so that they could talk with a semblance of privacy. Across the room Deborah and Other-Martin were communicating almost wordlessly and as quietly as possible, leaning in together over their desks.
"Of course Captain, why wouldn't I be?" Douglas muttered in response, dismissing Martin's concern as best he could; it wouldn't do to allow him to see how his talk with Deborah had rattled him. So nothing was better, and he wasn't missing out, but there was something about hearing his life twisted and altered that unsettled Douglas' tentative ego.
Martin swallowed cautiously, but did not hold back from meeting Douglas' defensive glare watt for watt.
"No reason, you just look a bit spooked." He replied, pacing his words but not wavering; Douglas was only partially able to hold back the huff that tried to escape, but Martin merely nodded in recognition and ploughed on, "What did she say to you?"
"Nothing." Douglas answered hastily, ignoring the pointed look that Martin gave him as he shifted back to his original position; it wasn't that he didn't trust Martin, or even that he didn't feel that sometimes the Captain was the best (and only) person to share with, but today…today there were just certain things that he didn't want to mar the steady air between them.
He wasn't even sure what it was about his conversation with Deborah, but for some reason Douglas just didn't want Martin to even have to contemplate whatever it was. The uncertainty only trebled at the realisation that across the room, Other-Martin was quite probably receiving a full narrative of events, if the solemn expression on Deborah's face as she talked with her eyes tracing everything from the desktop to Other-Martin's tie, her hands making minimal motions.
"I can assure you Martin, I am absolutely fine." Douglas leant back into Martin's space to make clear in a low tone; Martin's lips pursed into a thin line, and his eyebrows pinched, but he didn't argue, which Douglas was thankful for, as it allowed him to announce in a louder cadence, "So what have the two of you been up to in our absence? A bit of compare and contrast?"
Deborah quirked an eyebrow, nonplussed, but ceased her narrative to slip back into her chair, slouching until her heels could have rested atop the desk. Other-Martin's expression was equally thrown, but he regained his formulated and forced façade of control swiftly.
"We've…uh, we've just been chatting really," he explained, and there was something in his tone that made Douglas feel as if something was being omitted; it can't have been important, as Martin went puce and made wild hand movements when he was lying about something big, but there was definitely some avoidance, which Douglas had to admit, he wasn't fond of, "You know…"
"Stuff that might be different, or uh…the same." Martin added unhelpfully from Douglas' side, and a cursory examination revealed that there was definitely some careful omission taking place.
"Exactly, so we - we talked about our lives, and likes and dislikes, and um…" at this Other-Martin trailed off, his gaze wandering over to Deborah and hanging there with the remnants of his sentence; she didn't seem to notice, but was making a 'carry on' gesture with her hand, her face set in a picture of practiced patience.
She didn't seem to have come to the same conclusion that Douglas had; and a strange, almost frustrating conclusion in was, the cheek of it. It was so obvious now - Martin and Other-Martin had spent the majority of their time alone discussing Deborah.
"So you both had a good old chin-wag." Douglas announced, realising only after he had said it that he had made himself sound unnecessarily bitter.
Other-Martin finally looked away from Deborah, only to peer concernedly at Douglas, visibly rethinking his entire approach to the conversation as a whole.
"Well, yes…I'd say that sums it up." He remarked slowly, glancing almost unthinkingly to Deborah for confirmation.
Douglas too turned his head to watch Deborah, whose eyes hopped from her colleague to the two strangers on the sofa, the only animation on her otherwise carefully schooled and unsure face. Her right hand moved to her desk seemingly on its own, and retrieved a pen, which was twiddled between her fingers. She inhaled steadily before remarking that,
"Isn't it nice that everyone's getting along?"
Martin scoffed under his breath, dropping his head momentarily to scratch at his brow, an action that Douglas watched purely so that he wouldn't have to endure the awkward tension that had re-emerged like a particularly bad itch.
Thankfully, the sound of two overly cheerful murmurs filtered through the thin walls, and with a thud and a creak that echoed an ice-pick being hacked through a small tree, the door to the Porta-Cabin swung open, allowing the two Arthurs to pour in, still chattering away.
All four heads turned in tandem to observe the influx of cheer, and Douglas had to battle down the fleeting headache that took hold as he found that he was unable to see which Arthur was his own, only receding when Other-Arthur stepped away from his double and swaggered over to flop into his wheelie chair opposite Deborah.
"Hey chaps, Other-Me showed me every bit of the air-field, even the bits that we never go to, and it's all almost exactly the same!" Arthur announced, flinging out his arms as he spoke, and dropping down onto the arm of the sofa, jostling Douglas as he did so. His smile was as wide as ever, fuelled by excitement at the menial wonders of the new world, and Douglas thought that the lad hadn't even picked up on the metaphorical gulf that waxed and waned between the others.
While Arthur had been speaking however, Other-Arthur had exchanged a brief, surreptitious glance with Deborah, who had nodded imperceptibly and adorned a reassuring smile. That had apparently been enough to dispel the fleeting moment of perception, as Other-Arthur's face regained its pleasant glow and he span his chair fluidly around so that he could properly address all four pilots at once.
"Well, almost the same." Other-Arthur corrected, receiving an understanding nod of agreement from Arthur, and a continued silence from the pilots, who Douglas assumed were all waiting as he was, "There's those old hangars at the back that me and Deborah-"
"That's enough Arthur." Deborah interjected, making a cutting motion with her hand, her eyes widened pointedly at the steward, whose eyebrows raised in collusion, his mouth snapping shut as he nodded and attempted unsuccessfully to wink.
Douglas' curiosity was piqued against his will, and even Martin stiffened and leaned forward, looking questioningly at Arthur, who looked down at his hands in the way that he did when he was failing to hide something. Other-Martin snapped up in his seat, straightening out indignantly, focusing in on Deborah while addressing Other-Arthur.
"Arthur, what has Deborah done in the hangars at the back of the airfield?" he demanded, the accusation tinged with a hint of exasperation, as if he had expected nothing else.
Deborah didn't waver in meeting his glare, but like her colleague, address Other-Arthur with a sideways nod, as if to tell him to go ahead.
Other-Arthur immediately looked guiltily away from the two, turning his eyes towards the floor when he met Douglas and Martin's inquisitive stares. Douglas actually felt some pity for him; true, he didn't use their own Arthur much in his own schemes, but when the man became accidently entangled he could either be a useful if not entertaining ally, or a massive liability. Neither lent itself to a clear Arthurian conscience.
Slowly but surely, Other-Arthur appeared to formulate an answer.
"Deborah told me that instead of trying to lie, because I'm bad at it, I should just say that I don't want to answer." He said, measuring his tone, and then adopting a small proud little small, "So, I don't want answer that Skip."
Other-Martin let out a sigh that edged part-way into an exasperated growl, and tipped his head back as he broke the staring contest that he had been holding with his First Officer, who for her part turned in her chair to smile indulgently at Other-Arthur.
"Hmm…our Skip wouldn't be too pleased if Douglas had done it." Arthur added helpfully, or so Douglas assumed he thought so.
"What? Did what?" Martin inquired; Douglas had an inkling that Martin would have been at least ten times more furious if it had been his own universe, even if neither knew what had actually been done. That was probably for the best given the faux sheepish pout of Deborah's face as she inspected her nails.
It didn't really matter, not when compared to the thoughts that had crept into Douglas' mind during the exchange. He wasn't sure what had triggered them, but they were serious enough that he felt that he had to put them into words.
"Is there anywhere that the three of us can stay incognito for the remainder of the day?" he asked; Martin's eyebrows nearly met his hairline, and Other-Martin just looked confused, but Deborah rolled her shoulders back and nodded seriously, allowing Douglas to elaborate, "It's just I can't see the day going by without someone walking in, and if our ground crew are anything to go by, finding two crews might cause a bit of an event."
"You can stay in the old fuselage round the back," Deborah offered immediately, as Martin spluttered some kind of argument, and Other-Martin started up a litany of 'Hold on', "It's still got some soft chairs and alcohol in there from when we had to move the bar."
"Wait one moment!" Martin insisted, raising his hands in a mockery of surrender and a call for attention, "What about working out how to send us home?"
"Exactly! They can't stay here." Other-Martin corroborated; Douglas huffed at the tempered irritation that the two Captains sent in each other's directions.
"True, we can't stay here, but we also can't start looking at the machine on GERTI until we've got clear heads and some sleep in us." Douglas said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
Martin exhaled loudly and slumped back into the sofa, wrapping his arms violently around his chest as he did.
"I don't mind staying." Arthur offered tentatively, "Just for a while – I mean, it's quite interesting really."
"But say that we do let you stay in this universe overnight, how would that even work?" Other-Martin asked wearily; he ran a thin, worn hand over his face, hiding the freckled cheeks for a few seconds before turning almost instinctively to Deborah.
Douglas would have offered a solution, if he had had one, but he was intrigued to see how the woman would handle the situation. To his pleasure, she did not disappoint, squaring her shoulders and extending her hands in a steadying motion, looking for all the world as if she had everything figured out.
"It's simple," she started, her smirk was gone, but it had been replaced by a self-confident assuredness, "The three of you stay out of sight until after dark, and Martin and I remain here and go about our jobs as if it were a normal day," she paused to lean under her desk, and reappeared with a set of keys, taking a moment to sweep her dark hair over her shoulder from where it had flopped out of place, "After dark you can go to my flat – Douglas said it was the same as his, so you won't have a problem – you can use my car, but you'll have to execute this without us, as it might look suspicious if we get caught all together," Other-Martin still looked unconvinced, but Douglas nodded and had to jolt forward on the sofa to catch the set of keys that were thrown at him from across the room, "I can get a taxi back, but I'll make sure it's after you've left."
"That all seems fine." Douglas replied appraisingly, smiling in return for the pleased grin that swept onto Deborah's cheeks.
"But what if it goes wrong?" Martin groaned; Douglas took a moment to observe his Captain, and wasn't sure whether to be bored or fond of the fact that Martin had apparently decided that the best course of action was in fact to press the heels of his hands into his own eyes and block out the world, "Our plane's just lying on the grass for Christ's sake!"
"No one's called about that yet." Other-Martin interjected as Deborah began to reply; his face scrunched in confusion and he darted closer to his desk to check the phone as if the lack of ringing might have been a lie, "That's a bit weird…why has no one noticed it."
"Let's just be glad that they haven't." Douglas drawled, rolling his shoulders back and readying himself to rise to his feet. He was certain that regardless of either Martin's protests, they would be carrying out Deborah's master plan soon.
"Well, now that we've sorted that out, the three of you better be on your way." Deborah announced, rising to her feet and extending an arm towards the door, "and I will see at my flat this evening."
Martin groaned once more, but it lacked any vigour; he practically launched lethargically to his feet, turning to offer Douglas a hand up, which was promptly rejected in favour of Douglas hoisting himself up, ignoring the way that his knees clicked with the effort.
"I look forward to it." Douglas replied as charmingly as he could; Deborah mirrored his smile, but Other-Martin didn't respond, even as Other-Arthur gave a little wave and wished them a good day, "Come on Arthur, Martin."
Douglas hurried the two of them through the door, Arthur bounding along eagerly in the lead, taking the midday breeze in his stride as Martin muttered 'fine, fine, I'm going'.
Despite the slightly easier flow of events, Douglas couldn't help but feel that as the door to the Porta-Cabin clicked shut behind them, and they hastened as quickly as they could across the air-field, that it became a fraction easier to breathe.
The oath of silence that Martin had apparently taken didn't last long once they had entered the abandoned fuselage. He immediately launched into a half-muttered tirade (which made it easier for Douglas to ignore) about everything from the minute aesthetic alterations to this universe, to the fact that he had a van job back home, and how their plan to camp at Deborah's flat was reckless.
True to Deborah's word, there were still a few cushioned seats scattered about the interior of the fuselage, and the lights worked, and there was a musty odour hanging in the air, lingering around the bottles of unopened alcohol that had been left in the empty bar space.
Martin continued to rant after he dropped onto a seat and slung one leg over the other, and Douglas didn't have the heart to tell him to stop after the day that they had had, so merely nodded and hummed at the correct cues and rooted through the bar space, Arthur at his heels.
"Are you alright Douglas?" Arthur asked quietly, careful not to interrupt Martin's litany; Arthur may have been a clot, but he seemed able to understand that the Captain needed his outlet.
Douglas glanced over his shoulder as he crouched down to search through the lower cubbies; he took in Arthur's concerned demeanour, and had to force himself not to be too unsettled by the fact that Arthur was picking up on whatever foreign emotion that Douglas himself couldn't decipher.
"Of course I am Arthur," Douglas reassured him, shrugging off the unwelcome feelings, "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh, no reason." Arthur shrugged his shoulders and knelt down beside Douglas, more, he suspected, because he wanted to be level than because he wanted to help, "It's just…you don't look alright…but I suppose you don't want to talk about it."
Douglas wasn't sure how to respond, but pulled out of the cubby nonetheless, meeting Arthur's gaze and nearly choking out his yet unidentified worries at the open honesty on his face. It was at times like this that Douglas remembered why he hadn't dismissed Arthur within the first week of their acquaintance.
So he settled for a smile, and slid upright once more. Arthur rose with him, but for once didn't speak, for which Douglas was grateful. It was only then that Douglas realised that Martin had fallen silent.
He looked over at the Captain, and found himself momentarily overwhelmed with the sadness and sympathy that the image brought forth in him. Martin was still sitting where they had left him, but his head was hung low so that only half of his dreary expression was visible under the freckles and red hair as he picked at the skin at the edge of one thumb. In that moment, Douglas would have given anything to be back in his own Porta-Cabin, with a strained but cheerful Martin.
"Do you think Mum's worried about us?" Arthur's cautious question jolted Douglas from his dark musings; he turned his head, and the sadness on Arthur's face made him wish that he hadn't.
"I'm sure she's missing you very much Arthur." Douglas said the only words of comfort that he could think of, "And when we get home she'll be thrilled to see you."
"Yeah…" Arthur agreed, sighing in such an un-Arthurish way that Douglas decided that he couldn't stand it, and instead strode across the fuselage to sit down beside Martin. Martin jumped, startled, but he attempted a struggling smile that faded quickly.
There was something about Martin, when he pouted a certain way, looking drained and genuinely miserable, that Douglas had never been able to face without giving in and comforting him; even when it was Douglas himself causing that face he found that he had to try and turn it around. He could honestly say that he had no idea how to fix Martin this time, other than taking them home, and that was far outside of his skill set.
So instead he shifted closer to his Captain, and felt a surge of victory as Martin leaned into him ever so slightly, so that their arms were pressed together and the warmth between them became an anchor to reality. Arthur lowered himself to the floor opposite them, as Martin leant forward into his defensive pose, elbows on knees and hands under chin.
"So Martin…what did you learn from your charming doppelganger?" Douglas inquired after the otherwise comfortable quiet had stretched on for too long.
Beside him, he could feel Martin shudder in brief laughter, and if he peered down over his chin, Douglas could watch Martin's face as he tilted his head up to engage on polite conversation.
"He's uh…he's mostly the same as me, almost exactly actually." Martin explained, a tentative smirk lifting the corner of his mouth as he quirked an eyebrow and took on as sardonic an air as he could, "Our lives are exactly the same right up until we join MJN – and even after that, the clients have all been pretty much the same…it's just little things that have changed. You know, the trouble at St Petersburg was only a month and a half ago for them?"
"Really?" Arthur remarked brightly, his eyes widening the only sign that he had done some quick thinking, "So they're back in time as well?"
"Maybe Arthur, but that's the least of our worries." Douglas answered, raising a hand to make a shushing motion; he was intrigued despite his own trepidation, "What kind of things went differently?"
"It seems to just be stuff that Deborah was involved directly in." Martin informed them; Douglas immediately regretted his own curiosity, this was exactly the kind of thing that had been making him uncomfortable, "You were there when they mentioned the blazing row after Qikiqtarjuaq, but I asked again and whereas you just brushed it off and left, Deborah apparently got really defensive about being told off, and something about abusing her friendship with the American woman," Martin let out a truncated laugh, and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, "he…um…he mentioned the SEP course at Ipswich, and that was the almost the same, except there seemed to be bickering than I remember, and he said that Deborah was really worried when he passed out, that she kept fussing over him, trying to get him to drink water in case he collapsed again."
"Aw…that's sweet of her." Arthur noted, and Martin shrugged, brushing it off. Douglas could only hum under his breath, nudging Martin to encourage him to continue.
"Um…he said that she bought him a new pair of aviators when he broke his at that Spanish airport – I still haven't replaced mine." Martin recalled, shifting so that he was sat back again, one hand still under his chin as the other wrapped around his own waist; the churning feeling in Douglas' gut didn't recede, "Oh, there was the time that she was running the illegal bars, like you were, but she apparently felt bad for leaving him on his own for the ground crews, so instead of starting a pilot's lounge, she convinced him that they could sit and have coffee in the Porta-Cabin, and that they could talk about things other than planes, like normal friends do."
"That's an awfully lovely thing for someone with my personality to do; anyone would think that she was overly fond of Other-Martin." Douglas drawled, instantly regretting it when he saw the momentary flicker of upset cross Martin's face, "Then again, women do tend to be more sympathetic to that kind of thing, you know, overly caring."
"Yeah…I suppose." Martin conceded, frowning before rearranging his features, "Then there was the ruckus over the bears, but it sounds like they made up again after that. He mentioned that she was a bit quiet when Herc and his First Officer were around that first time, and she only really asked about whether he was going to ask her out – he reckons it was having Herc around." Martin paused for breath, and Douglas wished that he hadn't, as it provided the perfect opportunity for his traitorous mind to suggest that it wasn't Herc that his double had had a problem with: Martin continued, "They did the Ottery St Mary trip – she messed up just like you did, but took it far more graciously, granted with more swearing, but still, he said that she helped him back to his attic and even cooked dinner to apologise."
"I hope you're not suggesting that I owe you a home cooked dinner." Douglas warned with a smirk, feeling proud of himself when Martin let out a genuine, if not stilted, chuckle.
"No, no I'm not." Martin laughed, smiling warmly across at his colleague.
"But it was all your fault that we stole GERTI." Arthur interjected, smiling cheekily, "So surely you owe us for sharing the blame."
"Believe me Arthur, I have repaid that debt a thousand times over just by keeping MJN from failing at every mistake we make." Douglas retorted; he relaxed as well as he could on the dusty chairs, and rubbed his hands over his knees just for something to do.
Martin's hand slipped across the gap between them to nudge Douglas's with the back of his knuckles before he retracted it, and took this as his cue to continue describing his findings.
"The Other-Me took great pains describing how when she was forced to do the video for Mr Alyakin, Deborah went bright red when watching it and tried to hide her face in his arm…that sort of thing." Martin trailed off, and then seemed to shake himself, "He talked about her a lot actually – even when describing St Petersburg, I gathered that they didn't really separate until late at night, and that's only because Deborah didn't want to be in a restaurant on her own at two in the morning."
"Well, we all stayed together until we got back – it was a troublesome day." Douglas drawled, almost to himself; he didn't want to acknowledge whatever it was that was pressing at the back of his mind, "That doesn't say much."
"Say much about what?" Martin replied quickly, and Douglas inhaled sharply, only then realising what he had been saying. Luckily, the crinkled expression of bewilderment on Martin's face was reassuring, and Douglas shrugged off his question.
"Never mind Captain."
They had passed the day with mindless chatter and supposition. Well, Martin and Arthur had; Douglas had allowed himself to drift in and out of the conversation as it became dull or mundane. He wanted to think, but when he did, he wanted nothing more than for the inane babble to wash over him once more. He needed to learn more, or do something…he had an idea, and it wouldn't be difficult to pull off. He probably wouldn't even need to lie about it.
Eventually, the sky outside grew dark, and Martin pushed up his sleeve to check his watch, announcing that the ground crews would have left, so it was safe to take Deborah's car and head to the sanctity of her flat.
As they filtered out of the fuselage, Martin behaving as if he were in some tacky spy film, Douglas wrapped a hand around his arm, pulling him to the side, and nodding for Arthur to go on ahead.
"Douglas? What are you doing?" Martin asked in the clipped, curious-accusatory tone that he seemed unable to shake no matter how long they had known each other.
When Douglas met his blue eyes, filled with the same concern as before, but no real accusation or suspicion, he decided that honesty was the best policy.
"I want you and Arthur to go on ahead – I'll get a taxi back to the flat." Douglas explained briefly, sighing at the frown that he had known would appear on the freckled cheeks.
"Why?" Martin's voice only now took on the suspicious, but unusually hesitant timbre; even in the dark of the unlit airfield, Douglas could read the pinched expression on his face, and didn't remove his hand from around his colleague's arm.
"Because the Porta-Cabin will be empty at this time of night, and I want to search through their client lists." Douglas answered, and before Martin could get out more than a groan, he jumped straight back in, "For my own peace of mind Martin, that's all."
Martin held his gaze, the calculation actually visible in his eyes. After an incalculable amount of time, his features softened and he sighed, raising his free hand to run raggedly through his hair.
"Fine … okay, just…be back soon." Martin looked as if he wanted to say more, but shook his head, and pulling his arm from Douglas' grasp, turned almost unwillingly and strode away in Arthur's wake.
Douglas watched his figure disappear into the darkness, and then headed in the opposite direction, towards the Porta-Cabin. As he had expected, the lights were off, and he relocked the door using his own set of keys, which as expected, fit the lock.
Ignoring the conjoined desks completely, Douglas strode through the dark room and into the office at the back that belonged to Other-Carolyn. The door had been left partially open, and Douglas felt a surge of affection for Carolyn for being so predictable regardless of which universe she belonged to.
The first thing he did was pull out the files that he knew would contain the details of all of this MJN's clients, and all of their flights. Douglas retrieved his phone from his pocket, and used the light from its screen to illuminate the pages that he laid out on the desk.
As he ran his eyes over the dates and bookings, running his fingers over the printed words, the sinking sensation returned. Of course they were the same, right down to Mr Birling's regular bookings.
Now that he was alone, it was as if the elusive doubts felt that they could wander freely. Some part of him, deep down, had hoped that it wasn't just the lack of him that had changed the universe in which he now stood. If he was honest with himself, Douglas had hoped that there were extraneous variables, like alternative clients, that had changed things.
But the clients were the same, and the only difference was the woman that was probably on her way home right then.
He didn't know why it bothered him so much – at first he had felt sick at the thought that the world could pootle on without a Douglas Richardson…and then he had hoped that it hadn't changed a thing, and that this Deborah hadn't achieved a better standard of living than he had. He didn't want this universe to be different, but it was, it was subtly different.
He wanted it to be the same, but he wanted to have made an impact. He wanted it to be different, but he couldn't stand the idea that it was.
In a rush of activity, Douglas piled the files back as they should have been, pushing away the data. He dropped into Other-Carolyn's seat and placed his head in his hands against the desk, breathing in deeply, relishing the muting of his senses.
Douglas wasn't sure how long he sat there, but when he lifted his head again he decided firmly that he had to leave then, or risk worrying Martin, and having the man return to the air-field.
He forced himself to his feet, and was just crossing the office, ready to leave and pretend that his moment of emotional breakdown had never happened, when the door to the Porta-Cabin creaked and clicked open, making him freeze.
So this was an exciting chapter, full of insights into the characters. And a sort of cliff-hanger -
But never fear, the next chapter just needs proofreading, and will be up any time now
