July 10, 1911

Keeping Alan in bed for that first week home had been worrying. It had been far too easy. He seemed content to think and make notes; most unlike him. Eric was relieved when he finally began to fret and complain. Collins approved him to teach his classes on Monday—if he felt up to it; lectures only, sitting position, then directly home for lunch.

On Monday morning, Alan dressed himself in the best uniform he had left. It was hard work. He had to stop and rest before tying his shoes. That done, he remained sitting on the bed. He and the suit looked equally worn and scuffed. It was not the image that the Academy preferred their instructors to present, nor was it up to Will's standard of acceptable business wear.

"Yer frayed and stained, me Light. Isn't that the jacket that got splattered in the mine disaster? Shall we ask a tailor to turn you out in style?" The pull on the bond hummed in Eric's bones.

"You're right, the clothes I lost were the last good set I had. I'll ask Supplies for a standard kit."

"Let's get you a better suit, something appropriate to yer rank."

"Not necessary for me. You should invest in a really good tailored suit, though. You represent the Department to the Realm, while I work in the background. I need to talk to Smithfield on Thursday. If a Supplies grasscutter can port heavy loads over a given distance, can it port light loads over a greater distance?"

"Is this a ploy to go to the Scythe and Skull on Thursday night, when the doctor says you should be home with your feet up?"

"Yes?"

"No."

"Fine. Be that way. You go and talk to Smitty. Also talk to our Cafeteria Senior about setting up the beginnings of a catering service that will eventually lead to food supply near or on battlefields. Rope in anybody who's joined Supplies just to drive automobiles and trucks. Get them talking, then leave them to it and go find Maintenance Senior Richards. Ask her if Gather Marquees could serve as field hospitals and cafeterias, or if they have something better. Suggest she chat with Collins. Then add both of them to the Automotive Appreciation conversation. Brandon will probably be part of that. Make sure he knows we don't blame him for his ex-partner's madness."

"Me Light..."

Alan groped for his notes on the bedside table. "Find Cole or one of his colleagues and get them thinking about a personal portal which can be worn as an accessory, to get a Reaper or two home from places beyond scythe porting range. Or maybe something that can emit an emergency signal that a full-size Monitor portal could lock on to. Maybe related to the tracking of our glasses. If Engineer Crawford's there, ask how the scythe metal for those bullets left Scythe's inventory and if any more is missing and what procedures they have to track and control further borrowing." Alan's voice was rising.

"...you are not going to the bar on Thursday..."

"And Maritime. I have to talk to Maritime. We'll be starting Maritime War Rooms next month. Wait, you should know all about this. Shipwrecks. Battlefield orders. What do you do on a ship or a battlefield, when there are too many deaths at once to review the cinematic records? Do you just scythe and hope? Let Heaven gather them up and sort them out? No chance to spare the exceptional soul? Should everyone drop their single-death tools and go back to full-length basket scythes? We should provide practice time for that, good for mass reaping but awkward for defense. Groups of Reapers, protected by Reapers armed for offense. And I need to add that to my lectures. Oh, God, Franklin said something about the Americans having developed a self-propelled combine harvester..." He stood, and staggered.

"Alan! You are turning blue! Deep breath. You are going back to bed right now or I'll call Collins. If you don't want a shot of tranquilizers, you had better pretend to behave."

Wheeze. "Eric..."

"Nope. Call D'Acres. He's your backup. You need to start delegating so your underlings can learn. Just standing there you've gone blue. I have orders too, you know. If you pull on the bond any harder, I will port you to the Infirmary. The Elder Doctor could force Spears to put you on medical leave."

"There's no time, Eric!"

Eric pulled Alan into his arms. Alan spluttered against his chest. "Mmmrph!"

"Stroppy, you are, but still blue. Delegate. Will learned how to do it. So can you. You've a whole team you are overlooking."

"Mmmrph!" Alan surrendered to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Eric's torso. "Unfair...you have to stay home too."

"No argument there. You're wearing me out. Give me your jacket. Lie down. I'll call and have breakfast delivered. You rest till it arrives, you eat, and if you pink up I'll let you lie on the couch and use the telephone. After I've notified everyone that we're unavailable, you can call Roland. I'll warn him you're in rant mode. Slowly, me Light, slowly. This is not a two-day injury."


Nevertheless, on Thursday evening Alan and Eric went to the Scythe and Skull. This was the result of intense negotiation. Alan had stayed home all week, using the telephone when anyone had questions. Eric had spent limited time in the office, reassuring everyone that all would be well and ensuring the continuation of the smooth routine. Visits from Brock and Solway kept Alan current and prevented boredom. Birch dropped by to deliver a new suit from Supplies. Rosine visited to discuss Academy affairs. Collins arrived daily to continue Alan's therapy. He approved of Alan's progress, and on Thursday morning decreed that two hours of socializing after dinner would be permissible, if Alan sat down and let his friends come to him. To Eric he added, "I'll be there myself. I'll signal you if he starts looking ragged. But I truly think he needs this. Tired contentment is better than frustration and worry. Go early while the bar is still quiet. I'll talk to the owner."

The S&S was expanding again, adding a new extension. The clean smell of sawed lumber was pleasant. As Alan walked through the door, a cheer went up; it looked like all of Operations was waiting for him. The host bustled up to greet Alan with every possible courtesy. With a grand flourish, he summoned two waiters carrying an overstuffed wingback chair. A barmaid produced an ottoman. A small table was drawn up beside the chair. Once he was ceremoniously lowered into the armchair's cozy embrace, feet up, a small pillow behind his head, his favorite ale and a bowl of nuts on the table, Alan realized that he was trapped. Getting up out of these quicksand cushions unaided was going to be difficult. He glared at Eric. "You and Collins arranged this, didn't you?"

Eric grinned in triumph and backed away to allow the crowd to greet Alan properly.

The party gathered. Chairs and stools were placed around Alan's throne, tables were carried over and loaded with appetizers, and the crowd grew steadily larger. Individuals moved in and out as shifts changed and Reaping schedules permitted. Knox chatted with Alan for a few minutes, left and returned with a pretty woman in a naval uniform. She in turn left and brought back a nautical gentleman. Alan asked to visit the Maritime Branch in Southampton when he was allowed such exertions. An appointment was made for the beginning of September. Of course his escorts—the nautical gentleman shot a quick look behind the wingback chair; Alan deduced the presence of somebody standing guard—would be welcome as well.

Franklin and Cole arrived with a couple of colleagues and their trainee. Introductions were made. Maritime and Research settled in for a discussion of long-distance transport and communications portals. Alan rested while they talked. It was fascinating. He learned that Maritime used ships of their own, reclaimed sunken hulks which they called Flying Dutchmen. They carried Reapers to shipwrecks involving too many casualties for a single team of Reapers to handle, and brought the Reapers away when the gathering was done. "The sea is full of battleships and dreadnoughts now, as well as the huge passenger liners. Also there are these little submersibles being built specifically to prey on them. Not a good combination. Our greatest problems are depth and distance. We need a way to get our Reapers back from a sunken ship without them having to make twenty or thirty blind ports to get home." The group excused themselves, rose, and relocated to a table in a corner where notes and diagrams could be scribbled.

Their chairs were immediately filled with Reapers and Operations Admins eager to reassure themselves that their Mr. Humphries was recovering. Alan smiled, thought a bit about Eric's words, and asked a few favors here and there. Delegate. They could get back to him when he returned to the office on Monday. He looked about. Section Manager Solway had pinned Eric in a corner. They were talking business, probably Alan's business judging by their serious expressions.

A whirl of red; Grell had arrived, with Will in tow. Will looked strained. The lines around his eyes indicated a headache. Was it time to drag him back to Spectacles? No, it wasn't, and obviously all was going well enough with the Branch. Alan waited for them to visit the bar. Will was drinking tea. Both of them came over to Alan's chair. Will remained standing until Grell pulled him down. "When will you return to your desk, Humphries? Your absence is most inconvenient."

"I have been cleared to teach on Monday morning. I hope to be in the office by 1300. I think, Will, that it is time you chose an aide. If my absence is a problem, and if my absence is going to increase while I inspect War Rooms, then you need full-time help."

"You also should choose one or two to train as your successors. Perhaps three, given your travel. Slingby as well, as he will travel with you and we could lose you both. Anders is gone, but Hell endures."

"Indeed it does. At least it's predictable. Poor Anders. A good man, once, until we required more than he had to give. And we couldn't have saved him, Will. If we'd let him Reap again, he wouldn't have lasted a week."

"Do not mourn him, Humphries. He made his choices, as do we all."

"Yes, sir." Alan was suddenly very tired. Obviously it showed. Grell deftly distracted her lover and eased him away. Their chairs were quickly filled with happier visitors. Alan rallied as cheerful chatter rolled over him. Smithfield appeared, slightly damp, and Alan recognized the scent of decontamination.

"Smitty, good to see you. How are your new classes? I see you're wearing your rank pin. Is that a rule, that you have to wear it constantly?"

"Yes, sir, the pin must always be on display. Even on pajamas. There's probably a story behind that, which I may research someday. Accidents can be very sudden and violent in Scythes, and there are strict rules about who may assume control in which situations. We can be called in at any time. Also the pin's harder to steal if it's always on your person. Classes are great, sir, absolutely fascinating. I thought they'd be harder. Probably they are easing us into the tough stuff. Dutch! Sam! Look who's here!"

"Welcome back, Mister Humphries. You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."

"Mr. Humphries, I'm sorry about Anders, I should have known..."

"We all should have known, and it probably would have made no difference. Please forget it. How are you two doing in your first year of independent Reaping?"

"We're doing fine, sir, and we're trying to avoid the traditional overconfidence. Smitty corrects us if we get too cocky. We're waiting to see when he starts glowing in the dark."

Smitty snorted. "That's next semester. This semester is just contact poisons. Nothing you aren't used to already. More likely you'll catch a bad case of advanced calculus."

Terry laughed. "Ah, the subtle incense of decontamination showers and scythe metal. Iris! How are you doing?"

"Hi, everyone! Mr. Humphries, so good to see you! Adam, Mr. Humphries is here..."


With many things set in motion, Alan was very grateful to go home and lie down.

"That chair was very comfortable. Thanks, Eric. What did you have to promise for it?"

"Och, nothing. Yer little weekly gathering is half the place's profit margin. It was a rathole dive ten years ago, remember? Now they're so respectable they snub their own reflections. They're adding a new lounge to give Spears and the Angels a meeting room outside the human realm. They're upgrading the kitchen to Cafeteria standards so a team of cooks can come in and cater to Angelic preferences. I've already mentioned it to Fanshawe as a natural step up from providing your breakfasts and lunches. Put a gleam in his eye, it did. He'll follow the thought naturally to wartime use all by himself. All the remedial classroom lectures are given here now, too. They sell the students coffee and breakfast snacks before and after."

"Oh, right, there are too many trainees for a meeting room now. How many Reapers in the Branch now, Mister Personnel?"

"Thirty-nine Trainees, all of whom I expect to see registered as Juniors by the end of August. No washouts this year, I'm pretty sure. Eighty-four Juniors, second year and above. Two hundred forty-six training Seniors. Eighteen more pairs who don't yet have the five years of senior experience required to train. Four hundred and five, spread over three shifts, two swing shifts, and bodyguard duty.

"This week we will add four more teams from the transfer list, plus your first set of bodyguards are returning as a team to lead Operations Security and help with War Room inspections. Four hundred fifteen, with three hundred seventy-six effectives - we can't count the new trainees as anything but a liability the first year. Next June, ffoulkes—remember him? He's done very well—he returns to Operations as a Senior Reaper to work Security under Duncan and Mallory. His Seniors are Mountjoy and Kendall, both excellent fighters, they're working Sweeps and giving him extra defensive drill to help prepare him for the job."

"That's good. Brock and I are already considering how to phrase a budget increase to compensate for field Reapers moving into management. Scheduling needs to be its own Section, with another team working there part-time. That position shouldn't be hard to fill, given the Admin support that picks up all the Reaping paperwork. Can we draw upon our newly promoted Seniors to serve as aides to Spears, Jacobs, D'Acres and yourself? Perhaps in fairness we should also request applications from older Seniors, though I doubt there'd be many takers. Has the London Branch ever been so large before?"

"No. But neither has London, ye ken. Other branches have increased even more than we have, and with less of a human population to manage. We'll be called to other countries as needed."

"How does that work? How can we keep up with a Death List updating so fast? What if the deaths outstrip our ability to register and respond?"

"The Death List comes from the Highest, Alan, and is not our problem. Reapers don't even have to see it. It's nice to have warning of unusual occurrences, but our Books and lists update regardless. We Reap accordingly. If we die, the assignments transfer to someone else. Even if the whole system implodes, we have no say in how it works. If the rules change, we'll receive orders from an Angel."

"But..."

"Alan. Stop. These are questions we may not ask. Nobody knows. And do not go asking an Angel. Somebody tried that in 1664 and we never heard from him again."


On Monday, Alan resumed his office and teaching responsibilities. He opened a transport portal in London's first-aid room to Collins' office at the Academy. Not that he thought that he might need it, but because it was time to get people in the habit of thinking of it as an emergency medical facility as well as a place to lie down when exhausted.

Collins looked over the room full of cots, checked out the supplies closet, and said, "Not just a place to catch a quick nap between split shifts. I see what you're doing here. Good. Very good. Issue me a grant. Maybe one hundred pounds. I'll stock this setup as an emergency-treatment trauma center and return what I don't use. I'll talk to my superiors about rotating wound-care and primary-care nurses through here. Starting next year, or the year after? It will take a while for us to settle into a routine. If things go as pear-shaped as Eric thinks, may the Infirmary use this as an overflow ward?"

"Yes, of course, that was my intention."

"Right. I'll also talk to the Infirmary managers. They'll draw up a contract. That'll allow them to budget some funds toward replacing any stock they use. Maybe some extra equipment. A locked cabinet for medicines and drugs. Thank you for this. We should probably set up more of them in other Branches. I'll mention that to a few people."

"Supplies and Automotive are thinking about ambulance services to field hospitals in war time. I would like to see them using Gather tents on the Academy site."

"Why the Academy? It's a good place for patients who have received emergency care and are recovering, of course, if the Infirmaries and Branch overflows are full. But why not a more central location?"

"The Gather's location is general knowledge. Maintenance constructed a tent city there once before and maintained it while the new dorms were built. They ran plumbing and power from the fieldhouse, which can be reconnected easily. Weather is constantly pleasant. Portals for the ambulances are no problem. The students will provide a labor force in emergencies. Class sizes are shrinking, leaving space in the dormitories where Medical might set up surgical suites and intensive care wards. Food service is already in place, ready to feed large numbers. The campus provides easy walks for those who are recovered enough for exercise, and you can watch for upperclassmen who show interest in medical careers."

Collins grinned. "All quite true. What's your real reason?"

"Defense for both hospital and Academy. If there are Angelic patients, there will be fierce Angelic guards. It adds protection to the whole school, you see, because the current sentries are not particularly willing or alert. It's considered a disciplinary assignment."

"Makes sense. Do you really think there will be such a large number of casualties?"

"Yes. It's too dangerous to assume there won't be."