December 31st 2011
The second Christmas underground passed without much comment. Paul had spent several weeks rewiring the computer system from the UFO and ensuring that it was compatible with their output. Easier said than done, but he had grown in confidence over the last eighteen months and knew what he was doing.
Paul thought back over the last few years. God, he'd been such an arrogant fool. He blushed when he remembered his carefree attitude, his overwhelming misplaced confidence. How he had imagined and dreamed of one day being the Commander. As if. As if he could ever have done it in reality. He simply didn't know enough.
Oh not just about the technical side of things, that wasn't so important. It was the ability to outthink the aliens, to anticipate their moves to outwit them, that he couldn't do.
But, as he worked there, lying on the filthy floor, surrounded by wires and cables and random pieces of machinery that spilled out across the floor like entrails from an alien's victim, Paul Foster finally realised that he had changed.
Ho no longer wanted to command. To lead. To be responsible for what would happen. He had done that, and this was where it had ended up. A ruined world. Commander Straker would not have let it happen, but 'Commander' Paul Foster had. And he would never forgive himself. Still, it looked like the old man was on to a winner. Janus … for all its ugliness, its cobbled together appearance, its mish-mash of assorted alien and human technology, was beginning to come together.
And it would work. Ed was convinced.
Paul wondered what would happen once they'd got it running. Would they be able to alter the past? And how much would anyone remember. Probably nothing. He sighed, regretting that he would be condemned to repeat his mistakes and carry on like the arrogant smug git he had been before. But if, if by any miracle, he remembered, then he was determined to change, to reassess his performance and, if necessary, sidestep out of command into another area of SHADO, where his skills might be better used.
Perhaps Ed would let him develop the much-discussed fleet of fighter planes that the IAC had approved. Paul smiled to himself. Yes, he'd be good at that. And he'd remember to ask for help when he needed it.
But, Janus was the priority now. He sat up and calculated the power output. Not enough. He'd better check with Ed first though. Before he did anything. And there were still the cables to connect to the Utronic transponder that they had cannibalised. And the boards to re-stabilise, and the timers to calibrate. He set to work.
And it was New Year's Eve. A new year tomorrow. January. Janus. He was lying on the floor, head and shoulders under the disassembled carcass of one of the old SHADO computers, trying to extricate a delicate piece of electronic hardware, when he heard Simon, shouting desperately.
January 1st 2012
Personal Journal; Simon
Shit. Why the hell did he have to do that? What was the bloody point? Such a fucking waste. If only I'd got there sooner we might have saved him. Shit. I thought at one stage we had managed to bring him round, but it was wishful thinking really. He wanted to die. I'd suspected that for a long while. He would lie in his bed, in the dark and talk about death, about how Ed, being Ed, would have a plan for when Janus didn't work. He even talked about the different ways he could kill himself. But I never truly, really, believed that he would. And he fooled us all.
You bastard, James. How dare you be so arrogant, how dare you decide that you have the right to abandon us. That you can simply walk away and leave us. Well, I'll tell you now, you self-centred, self-righteous fucking bastard, we won't miss you, we'll manage without you, we'll get Janus to work and when it does, you selfish sod, I'll spit on your -grave.
Dear god, I thought Ed was going to die himself, when he helped cut you down. I've never seen him look so haunted, so desperate, so deathly. To have one of his family, because that's what we are, his family, to have one of them decide that suicide was the only option… you might as well have asked him to put the rope around your fucking useless scrawny neck and kick the chair away from under your feet. You coward. You utter fucking coward.
If only for what you did to that man I'll make you pay James. When we get back, you conniving, worthless piece of scum, I'll make you pay. Somehow.
You bastard.