A/N:

BMJ – British Medical Journal, but you've got to call it the BMJ.

MOD – Ministry of Defence

Chapter 10

"Carson, just leave it alone. I'll do it!" Mary Beckett snapped at her son.

Carson's face fell. "I'm only trying to help, Mum."

She grabbed the mangled lump of pastry from his hand. "Light hands, son. Heaven knows how you ever made a surgeon! Just, away and find something else to do! Get a job!" Mary clapped her hand over her mouth as she realised what she had said. She watched her son flinch, and blink hard. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I didnae mean it like that. I'm glad you're here, I…"

"Naw, you're right, Mum. I'm not exactly needed here now. I'm just getting in your road." He sighed. "Maybe I'll make a cup of tea for us both, eh?"

Carson had been at home for nine months, and hadn't thought much about what he would do with his future. He'd just wanted to be with his mum. Without Magnus, Mary had been lost at first, but in recent days, Carson found her more able to talk, to laugh, and the tears came less often. His feelings were still a little raw, the guilt of being away, the loss of the father who meant more than he could express. But the time had come, and he needed to get his life back on track.

0o0o0

Carson flicked through the back of the BMJ listlessly.

"Nothing exciting, sweetheart?" asked his mum, glancing up from her knitting.

Carson sighed. "How can anything be remotely as exciting as the Navy?" he asked. "I might as well just stick a pin in the paper."

The telephone rang insistently. "Who can that be?" Mary asked, and got up to go into the hall.

Her head popped round the doorframe. "It's for you, Carson. A Commander Davis?"

Puzzled, Carson stood and made to talk the handset. "Hello?"

"Carson. How are you? How's Civvie Street?"

"Fine, sir. I…It's great to hear your voice, sir."

"Yes, well, I'm calling because I wondered if you might be looking for an interesting change of career. I know you left at the beginning of the year. You might be ready for a job I just heard about."

"Oh. Well…I…What's the job?" Carson was extremely puzzled now.

"I've got this friend, see. He runs a lab that does a good deal of work for the MOD. Radiation, chemical warfare, genetics, right up your street, Carson. He needs an extra pair of hands, and he's in your neck of the woods. Would you be interested?"

"Sounds good. Where is it? Aberdeen?" Carson ruffled his hand through his hair. He could hear Davis chuckling.

"Thing is, it's a bit out of the way…you won't believe, Carson. It's actually in the middle of nowhere, out on Ardnamurchan. Not exactly advertised."

Carson was now intrigued and eager to learn more. "Go on."

"Like I say, MOD research, but privately run. You may have heard of the guy – Professor Charles Aston. Good man."

"Aston? Pioneer work with DNA probes? I thought he was in the Wellcome team in Cambridge?

"Yes, well, most of them thought so too, but he's actually up there. It's an interesting location. Only thing is, you have to cover weekend shifts and holidays for the surgeon at the Belford."

"Fort William? The General Hospital in Fort William?" Carson was incredulous. He knew of it from his walking trips to Ben Nevis and Glencoe.

"Yes, boyo. The poor Consultants there have no one else to call on. I know there are only two wards. But they get a lot of climbing casualties. It won't all be chest infections." Davis chuckled again. "They get holiday cover, and ask no questions. My friend likes to use ex-military. The right experience, no loose tongues."

Carson realised why people mulled over conspiracy theories. With telephone calls like this, you didn't have to invent them. "Well, it sounds fascinating, right enough."

"Right, I'll take that as interested then. Details are coming by courier. You can take a look round the facility next week."

0o0o0

Carson couldn't think of a worse time of year to visit Ardnamurchan, a wild and desolate peninsula on the west coast of Scotland. There was a howling gale, and the sleet was challenging his windscreen wipers determinedly. Carson had left Fort William two hours ago; he'd only passed three other cars, and had still not reached his destination. He couldn't believe a state-of-the-art research facility was along this single-track road. As the road came over a rise, he could see down to the sea, but no farther, as the mist shrouded the coast. He checked his instructions, knowing he was close. There it was, a track, leading over the hills on his left, unmarked, but with a red post-box standing sentry on the corner. With relief, he turned down the track, and drove slowly up the hill.

Barely two hundred yards farther on, the track came down into a deep valley, and Carson could see structures ahead, mostly green and grey. As the car bumped down towards the complex, he peered around him through the rain. There was a large, long, low building, with a few separate huts nearby. Several communication aerials and satellite dishes adorned one small hut. A large flat, clear area over to the right had a huge 'H' marked on the ground. Hard standing near the largest building had a few cars parked on it. He pulled up alongside.

Taking a deep breath, he zipped up his coat and pulled his hood over his head. He pushed the car door open and held on to it to prevent it being torn off by the wind. He leapt out, locked up quick, and jogged over to what appeared to be the main entrance. It was open, and he slipped in as quickly as possible to keep the gale outside.

The tall, bearded man, greying a little at the temples, watched as Carson removed his jacket and wiped the rain from his face. He wore a green woollen sweater and mustard-coloured cord trousers. His hand stretched out to welcome the newcomer.

"Carson Beckett? I'm Charles Aston." There seemed no discernible accent to his voice, other than the fact it was English.

Carson looked into the friendly, smiling face, and offered his own, damp hand. "Pleased to be here, sir."

0o0o0

Carson had taken to wearing the warm clothing in natural colours favoured by the other scientists at the facility. His own beard was taking shape nicely, he thought. Life here on the peninsula was a bizarre mix. The local people treated the secret facility with amused indifference. All the supplies were officially addressed to the Marine Laboratory on the coast, but Andy the Postman seemed to know instinctively what was for Aston's lab, and dropped it off anyway. Strangely though, nobody east of Acharacle seemed to be aware of the facility's existence.

Carson relished his shifts in Fort William. Everyone at Belford Hospital genuinely believed Beckett worked at the Marine lab. The hospital itself was a pretty ugly building, but everyone inside was wonderful. He'd met the Medical and Surgical Consultants. The two men were big-hearted and eager to point out to Carson the family ethos of the place. Carson got used to the big yellow helicopter bringing the casualties off the hills, patching them up, and sending them back to wherever they came from. He enjoyed the unexpected childbirths, and did his best for the regulars. The average age of the nurses must have been fifty, but Carson thought he might pluck up courage to ask out that young physiotherapist one day.

Back in the lab, Carson played his part in Aston's projects for the MOD. He was assigned to genetic defence research, aiming to render the enemy's chemical and biological warfare useless through genetic manipulation of your own population. It was a laid-back, no-deadline life, interspersed with walks on the white sands or the purple heather-covered hills. He even canoed around the coast on occasion. It was a wild and beautiful area, and Carson saw himself there for the rest of his life.

A/N: I loved the Belford. I'll never complain there's nothing on Ardnamurchan again, there really was a Marine lab there.

Quick, someone, rescue him before he becomes a teuchter (stereotype Scot muttering Burns and playing bagpipes, etc.)

I want to get to Atlantis too, coming very soon…