PART TWO

Expedition

Chapter Ten

Into the Desert

Elisabeth looks over the results again, "It's unmistakeable, Jim." Her voice is low, "Whatever the cause, the Commander's behaviour is being caused by a degenerative brain disorder. Curing it is going to be next to impossible - unless it's something that I have the wherewithal to combat. If it's Alzheimer's, though - there's nothing I can do."

Jim is pacing back and forth, "I couldn't get hold of him at the Outpost. If he's having one of those episodes, then that explains why he didn't respond; I'll keep trying - until I can get someone else."

"At this time of night?"

He stops pacing, "I know…I know. Perhaps they'll assemble somewhere and he can't ignore it if they're all hearing it. Maybe tomorrow morning."

"I need time, Jim. There's every chance that this is down to a pathogen of some sort - but without knowing it, I can't give you any advice on what we can expect in terms of a potential recovery. Besides, my concern is that Malcolm doesn't know - and he's got to deal with an expedition leader who has a degenerative neurological disorder. One who's taking them out into a deadly environment."

"He's got Mira to turn to. She can keep them alive even if the Commander's not thinking straight. My worry right now is what we do here. We can't let this get out - it has to stay quiet. We tell Max, but no one else. If our Jack Cade guy knows that Taylor's losing it, then we're screwed."

"Not necessarily," Elisabeth looks up at him again, "You're fully respected as the Commander's deputy."

"Maybe so, but I don't have Taylor's mystique, do I? Whatever life throws at us, Taylor leads us against it. I don't have even half of his knowledge - and people know it. We need to keep people thinking that he'll be coming back at the end of this and he'll kick the ass of anyone who tries to take over."

"And we're convinced that someone will?"

"If the letters aren't screwing us around, then yes."

She sighs, and returns to her plex again, "Hang on…"

"What?" Jim hurries round to stand behind her, though he can't work out the meaning of the words on the screen.

"It's a pathogen, Jim." Elisabeth squints at the notes, "I don't believe it - I can't believe I missed it."

"What?" he tries again.

"When I carried out the medical on the Commander a few months ago, I noticed he had a lump on his leg - an insect bite. But I don't think it was - I think it must've been a tick bite. I was dealing with a few of those at the time and I treated them as such. But not that one - he assumed it was just another insect, and I didn't think to investigate it."

"Still not getting it."

Elisabeth looks up at him, "One of the reasons why I treated the tick bites was because ticks can carry Lyme's disease. Even though we're so far back in the past, it doesn't mean that they don't do the same thing here, so I still treat for it. The species in the future transmit a version of the disease that causes a huge range of symptoms that often get missed because they resemble something else - but what if this version goes straight to the degenerative impact?"

"Yeah that's great news - but it doesn't answer the big question. Can you cure this?"

"I can stop the infection, yes - and the brain's capacity to re-route itself around damage is well known. If we can get the Commander back here, and I can eradicate the pathogen, then he'll largely recover himself. But only if we get him back before the damage goes too far."

"And how long will it take to get 'too far', Elisabeth?"

"I can't begin to guess, Jim - but given how long he's already been symptomatic, if we don't get him back within the next few weeks, we could well be too late. He has to postpone the expedition and come back to the Colony."

"Except we can't get in touch with him to get him back - and if he's still having an episode, what're the chances of him coming anyway?"

She sighs, "I have no idea."

Despite his misgivings about her, Taylor has no choice but to put Mira in charge of navigation, as she's the only one with the wherewithal to do it now that they're beyond the last of the beacons. She did it the last time using carefully planted desert shrubs - but they're not going to the encampment this time, so it's up to her to show them the way.

"What I wouldn't give for a working GPS." He grouches.

Beside him, in the passenger seat, Washington laughs, "She's got no reason to betray us, Commander. If she takes us off course, then she dies with us. That's never been her motive - she wants to keep the colony intact."

"If you say so."

Ahead of them is Malcolm's perennially overloaded rover, as he is driving while Mira guides the party through territory that only she has previously traversed. Never having seen the shrub road, he is unaware of it, and instead listens to her as she gives him advice on which line to take across the terrain, "Be careful; there are soft patches that can catch a wheel and rip out your axles. As long as you take it slowly, I'll have time to spot them."

"The Commander'll hate that."

"Not half as much as he'll hate a load of disabled vehicles."

Despite his nerves, and the attention he is obliged to keep on the route ahead of them, Malcolm is still able to look out of the windscreen of the rover and take in their surroundings. The last time, he was stuck in a rhino, and asleep from sheer exhaustion, so he missed it.

The semi-arid land stretches before them in a wide vista of reds, oranges and glistening whites that contrast magnificently with the crystal blue of the sky. The extremities of weather in the region is vividly evidenced in the deep gouges in the ground, created by rushing waters in the midst of flash flooding, the strata of the rock through which the water has carved on open display. Off in the distance he can see monstrous protrusions of rock, rising from the flat ground like lonely towers. Bulbous castles of solitude that rise from the emptiness below, to the emptiness above. In the midst of his torment in the encampment, he had never noticed that the land is - in fact - quite beautiful.

The sound of a horn hooting behind them prompts him to pull up, though he is bemused at the call for a halt and frowns, noting as he does so that Mira seems as surprised as he is. They've only been going for two hours.

"Is there a problem, Commander?" Malcolm asks as he emerges from his rover to see Taylor doing the same.

"Where are you taking us, Mira?" He asks, almost hostile in his tone. More members of the expedition are emerging from their vehicles now, too; surprised not only at the halt, but also the sense of confrontation in the atmosphere.

"We're going heading to the coordinates where the figurehead was found, Commander," Malcolm reminds him, surprised at the question - they'd agreed this before they left the outpost, "It's not in the same direction as the road to the encampment."

For a moment, he thinks Taylor's going to argue, but instead he frowns briefly, "So we did. Break out some water, people; we take a break. Twenty minutes."

Malcolm shrugs and reaches into one of the panniers for a bottle of water, but Mira continues to watch the Commander as he fetches out a bottle of his own. There's something going on that no one's told her about - something that is making her wary. Very wary.

He's compromised. How, she can't be sure - but he is. And he's leading them into a desert.

Jim checks his agenda, a little nervously. It's not the first time he's had to do this, admittedly, but it is the first time he's had to do it for longer than a day or so. The fact that there are only three people at the table instead of the usual five doesn't help; a nerve-wracking demonstration of how on his own he really is.

Yseult looks across at the Shannons; her eyes a little puffy. It couldn't be clearer that she's had a bit of a cry because she misses Malcolm so much - but it's equally clear that she's allowed herself a bit of a flake-out, and has now set it aside and got herself back to business again. What Jim has to tell her, however, is likely to freak her all over again, and he feels rather uncomfortable as he prepares himself to ask Elisabeth to explain the situation.

"We've found out what's happening to the Commander, Max." He says, a little tiredly, "But I couldn't get in touch with him to call him back to the Colony. It looks like he's getting worse, and he's ignoring my calls."

"What's wrong with him?" Yseult demands at once, immediately worried for Malcolm - something that's a bit inevitable given what happened to him the last time he was in the Badlands.

Elisabeth steps in, "It's looking likely to be something akin to Lyme's disease, Max - albeit a Cretaceous version of it. The likely culprit was a bite he had on his leg when I was examining him in his last routine medical. He dismissed it as a general insect bite - and I'm afraid I did, too. It was only a few days afterwards that people started reporting tick bites, and I didn't make the connection."

Yseult looks a little blank, clearly not understanding the implications.

"The thing is, Max," Elisabeth continues, "One of the later symptoms of Holocene Lyme's disease includes neuropsychological deterioration, akin to forms of dementia - but there are lots of other ones, too that the Commander wasn't displaying, so it may be that the Cretaceous species of pathogen merely goes straight for the degenerative disease, and doesn't pass go or collect £200. He's experienced a die-back of the neurons in his cerebral cortex, which is almost certainly the cause of his conversations with the empty air. It's likely that he's seeing someone - and I think it's quite likely that it's someone he remembers very well, but can't remember isn't here anymore."

"Ayani?" Jim suggests.

"I wish it was, Jim." Elisabeth sighs, "But from the nature of the conversations, I'd put even money on it being Alicia Washington. That would explain why he was so intent that he had someone looking into the problem, but never had any reports back as to what they were discovering."

"And why he's been looking at us as though we weren't his proper senior staff." Jim finishes, "Well, you and me."

"And me," Yseult agrees, "Until after the occupation, we had no real relevance to the Colony, so he didn't really think about us until the point where we suddenly did become relevant. The only person who would have been on his senior staff before you came here would've been Malcolm."

"Which means that, if he's like this out in the badlands, there's every chance that he'll continue to trust Malcolm even if he loses any trust for Mira." Elisabeth suggests, "Which means that he's safe for the time being."

"But is he?" Yseult asks, looking worried now, "Given that the Commander's regaining his hostility to Mira, what if he starts to think that Malcolm's collaborating with her? Malcolm has no idea just how badly the Commander's compromised - and he's hardly an expert on the nuances of human behaviour. He knows what we knew yesterday, and we've got no way to tell him that he needs to watch what he says and how he behaves around the Commander."

"And he's more than capable of talking himself into a tight spot?" Jim finishes.

"I've said before that I'm not blind to his faults." She sighs, "Yes, I'm worried he could do exactly that."

"Aren't we being a bit ahead of ourselves here?" Elisabeth asks, "It's not like it's just Malcolm, Mira and the Commander; Paula's looking after them, Dunham's got a good head on his shoulders, and Mark's out there as well. Bram's incredibly perceptive, far more than Malcolm could ever be, and even if Malcolm misses it, he's hardly hostile to Mira anymore. I think we should put a bit of trust in them all to catch on to what's happening, and put some processes in place here while they're gone."

"Processes?" Yseult asks.

Jim nods, reaching for his plex, "I'm going to get Chris in here, as we don't have Malcolm for him to report to. As Raj reports to you, Max, that can continue, and I'll have Guzman in here as well, as he's looking after my patrolling while I'm in here."

"That sounds wise." She agrees. They need to have people in to replace the missing faces - if nothing else it calms the rumours of ivory towers and elites if they have people from lower down the chain of command stepping into the senior staff meetings. It's not as good as instituting an elected council, of course - but it's at least a gesture in the right direction.

"I'll send formal requests out and organise a proper meeting for the next few days," Jim advises, "Until we do that, there's not a lot more we can do, so I think it's best if I get out there and have a word with Chris and Guzman."

"Do you mind if I approach Raj?" Yseult asks, "I'd prefer it if he could join us here as well, as there's a lot of things going on in his department that I don't really understand. Besides, it looks good if the next step down from both departments get called in." She pauses, "I wouldn't suggest telling either of them about the Commander, though. As far as they're concerned, we're looking to them to help shoulder the burden of running the colony while the Commander's OTG."

Jim and Elisabeth exchange a glance, "That's alright with me." She confirms.

"Sounds good to me, too." Jim agrees, "It might get our political people thinking that perhaps it might not be so bad after all."

He doesn't sound like he's convinced - but then, none of them are. Not really. Of all the times for this to happen - even if Taylor wasn't compromised, he's not present, and that presence is almost a charmed existence in its own right.

"Can we do this?" Yseult asks, worriedly, "Seriously? Stave off a revolt while we're missing the most useful element to prevent one?"

"It may not come to that." Elisabeth says, "As long as we can get them back in time for me to assess the Commander properly, no one needs to know that he's compromised, or that there's something that might take him away from us. If I can clear up the problem, then it's a moot point anyway. The priority has to be making sure that rumours about the Commander's condition don't get out."

"As long as we're the only ones who've noticed, Elisabeth." Jim reminds her, "If anyone else heard him talking to himself, then there's no way we can keep a lid on it."

"I'll ask Pete to put Louis on the case. He's still tapped into the Terra Nova Grapevine - so if there are rumours doing the rounds, then he'll pick up on it."

They exchange more glances - but there isn't much else that they can say.

"I don't like not being in front." Taylor growls, as he guides his rover along in Malcolm's wake, "I prefer it if I know where we're going."

The sun is coming in through the windscreen with increasing strength as the day warms ever more, capturing the interior in reflections that mildly obscure his view. But not to the extent that he notices that the seat next to him is empty.

"It's not like we have a choice, Commander." Washington says, "I can't navigate as well as Mira can, and she's got the knowledge. We haven't got a choice; we have to follow her. Don't worry - if there's a problem, Malcolm will let us know."

"Assuming he spots it." The Commander says, and smiles as she snorts with laughter: Malcolm is, after all, hardly known for his perceptiveness of human behaviour.

"He's better than he used to be," she concedes, "but I don't know how he feels about her these days; not after what her men did to him."

He nods, oblivious to the fact that she can't possibly know what Mira's men did to Malcolm, "Tell me about it."

Further ahead, Mira looks out at the increasingly arid landscape with a rather sour expression. She hasn't got to where she has by being credulous and trusting, and she knows that something's wrong with Taylor. His behaviour, stopping them without good reason and covering it by ordering a water break, reeks of a distrust that she thought he'd abandoned. God knows she's had to fight to earn what little trust he's granted her since she was obliged to return to the colony; but it seems to her that it's disappeared - and done so all-but overnight.

"What's wrong with Taylor, Malcolm?" she asks, suddenly.

Startled by her question, he fails to notice a small outcrop of rock and nearly loses control of the rover. Fighting to get it back on course again, he stutters briefly, "There's something wrong?"

"Well that confirms it." She says, in a matter-of-fact tone, "There's definitely something wrong with Taylor."

"In what way?" His tone of voice does not suggest ignorance, more a wish to find out what she's noticed.

"I believe the colloquial term is 'when in hole, stop digging', Malcolm. The more you try to pretend he's fine, the more convinced I am that he isn't."

He sighs, "I don't know."

"Seriously?" her tone is immediately sceptical.

"By that, I mean that I haven't got an answer for you on it. I know that something's up - but what it is, God knows. Elisabeth hadn't found anything in his medicals."

"He's stopped trusting me." She says, then, "It couldn't have been more obvious when he started questioning my judgement on our route."

"Not necessarily," Malcolm replies, "It could be that he's being overprotective. You know as well as I do how important this place is to him - not to mention keeping us all safe and alive."

"And I've got form." Mira adds, darkly.

Malcolm looks a little uncomfortable, but does not answer. What, after all, can he say? It's a statement of fact.

Rather than take issue with his silence, instead she checks her chronometer, "We need to stop. Time for more water - and I need to take some readings."

"I won't argue with the suggestion of more water." Malcolm agrees. Given the appalling thirst he endured in the encampment, she is not remotely surprised at his agreement.

Their speed is not great, so the halt does not cause difficulties in the convoy. Rather than irk Taylor by clearly showing that Mira has made the decision to stop, Malcolm emerges from the rover first and makes something of a show of breaking out a bottle of water. If nothing else, the Commander will assume that he's done so out of mild fear of thirst, and view it tolerantly. To a fair degree, he is right.

"Great…stopping again." Taylor mutters, as though he was not the one who called the first halt.

"Give him a chance, Commander," Washington says, "We're going right out into the desert aren't we? Given that he nearly died the last time he came out here, it's inevitable."

"Fair enough." He growls, good naturedly as he steps out of the rover, "Can I get you some water?"

"Got some." She smiles, lifting a bottle and shaking it.

Everyone seems happy to take a break, sharing out water bottles and a few snacks as Mira stands apart from the gathering of vehicles and assembles her miniature sextant to take some readings. By the time she accepts the bottle that Malcolm has brought for her, she has the readings she requires, and returns to the rover to continue her calculations.

"Are we where we should be?"

She nods, "We should get to the spot where we found the figurehead tomorrow - I've got a spot in mind for us to camp tonight - it's reasonably defensible, so Dunham shouldn't have any trouble setting up a perimeter."

"Defensible?" Malcolm asks, a little nervously.

"Bambiraptors." She answers, "If we can't get underground - which we can't - it's the best place I can think of. High up, surrounded by walls on three sides. The most we need to do is block the entrance with the vehicles and some fencing."

"Is there anything bigger we need to worry about?"

Mira shakes her head, "Not out here. There's not enough water to support larger carnivores. The bambis can get by on a combination of waterholes and buitreraptor blood." She looks up at him, "They're worth bearing in mind for us, too. I've never tried a bambi - they're the size of a small car, so they're best driven off - but buitreraptors make quite good eating."

Malcolm looks distinctly nervous now, "Do you think we'll need to hunt them?"

"Only if you get seriously fed up with rations. They take a bit of skill to bring down: they're damned fast. But it's worth bearing it in mind."

They turn as Taylor crosses to join them, Dunham in tow, "Where are we stopping tonight?" This time, even Malcolm is unable to miss the obvious fact that he's addressing the Chief Science Officer, and not their essential guide.

He swallows, rather flustered, "Er…Mira suggests…"

"Mira." Taylor grunts. Beside him, Dunham looks rather surprised: she's standing right next to Malcolm.

He tries again, "Mira suggests a wide gully about ten miles on from here. It's got elevated platforms to keep us safe from predators - and we can block the entrance with only a small amount of fencing."

Taylor nods, but doesn't comment on that. Instead he turns, "Lets get going. Time's rolling on."

Frowning, Dunham follows in his wake, while Mira looks at Malcolm with a raised eyebrow, "This is going to be such fun."

He sighs. Suddenly, he is much, much more nervous.

Chris looks worried, "I know that you're up to date on this - as much as I am; but there's definitely something going on in the Agricultural teams. No one's talking of course - but they're not doing half as good a job as they think they are. It's almost ridiculous - like they think that they'll be incarcerated in the Ministry of Love or something."

"Pardon?" Jim has no idea what he's talking about.

"Orwell - Nineteen Eighty Four?"

"Nope. Still not getting it."

"It's one of the three ministries - it's the one where people are interrogated and tortured by the state."

"Oh, come on." Jim looks cross, "Can they get any more stupid?"

Elisabeth sighs, "It is a touch melodramatic, Chris. Are they really convinced that we're that bad?"

"Okay, so I'm pushing it a bit - but it certainly feels like it."

Sitting alongside Chris, Raj looks quite bemused, "Is it because there are so many of them?" he asks, "I haven't noticed anything like that in my teams - but it may be that they're hiding it too, and I haven't noticed."

"If they have - then they're doing a hell of a good job of it. Far better than my lot." Chris sighs, "It's weird - your teams are paid the same as mine, aren't they?"

"Of course they are - everyone's got their own expertise, and that gets recognised; but I don't know if my foundry-men realise that picking fruit is a hell of a lot more of a skill than people acknowledge. Even I know that you need to know what to look for, when to pick and when not to."

"Maybe that's part of the problem." Elisabeth muses, "People in the agri-teams think that people don't take their work seriously."

"How do we convince them otherwise?" Yseult asks, worriedly, "But then, what if they're right? Do we?"

Everyone looks at each other. It's certainly never a thought that has occurred to anyone.

"What about the Harvest Festival?" Jim asks, "Don't we give them all the convincing they need with that?"

"I never said that any of this was rational." Elisabeth sighs, "This could all be down to something as small as you passing Bob Parker over for promotion to Orchard Manager."

"He's certainly petty enough to take that far harder than he needed to." Chris admits, "The only time I ever put him in charge of something, he had the team working on the project while he sat back and directed. Apparently his job was to 'supervise', and that was it. That wasn't what I had in mind. It wasn't just because Pat had experience as an orchard manager in Ireland before he came here."

"This just gets better and better." Jim grouches.

"All we can do is keep going as we are, I think." Elisabeth says, "If you can get through to anyone in that central group, then perhaps we can talk to them and persuade them that we're all working towards the same goal; the safety of the colony."

"I can try." He says, doubtfully, "But I don't hold out a lot of hope. Bob's pretty strong willed, and he's very good at leading people on - he might not be able to walk the walk, but he's damn good at talking the talk."

"What was that you said about better and better, Jim?" Yseult sighs.

"Look - aren't we all overthinking this?" Raj asks, "We don't know what their agenda is, so the best we can do is just keep things going until the Commander gets back. Once that happens, this ought to settle back down again. He's always been the best stabilising influence on the colony. I know there's been graffiti and leafleting while he's been here - but the more they show themselves - the more likely they are to do something that'll show how stupid they're being. It's very hard to incite contented people to revolt, after all. I'll make sure people are reminded that I'm available to my teams so that they can come to me if there are any problems."

"I'll do the same." Chris agrees, "I imagine you don't need to, Max." He smiles at her.

"I'll do it anyway." She laughs, "If it's Colony-wide, your lot hopefully won't see it as something Orwellian."

"So - are we okay with it all, then?" Jim asks, hopefully, "If that's the case, perhaps we can get on with the rest of the meeting."

Zoe is busy with another story as Elisabeth makes dinner. She isn't sharing it yet - but from what Jim can establish, it's based on an historical event, and from the point of view of an unusual protagonist. That's the only guidance the class have been given - though her teacher is looking forward to what she produces far more than any other members of the class, as most of the time the stories that result tend to consist either of a rendition of whatever they're studying in history, told by the most famous person present, or of Taylor's arrival in Terra Nova - told by a dinosaur.

As the class are studying the Romans, so it's anticipated that Julius Caesar shall be stabbed to death in at least half the stories, witnessed by a random soldier, for choice. Zoe is herself aware of this, so her intention is to look for something entirely different.

"Dinner's nearly ready Zoe." Elisabeth calls across to her, "Could you wash your hands, please?"

"Yes Mom." She abandons the plex and disappears into the bathroom.

Intrigued, Jim sneaks a look at her work.

"Who's Wat Tyler?" he asks.

"Pardon?" Elisabeth looks up from the pan on the hob.

"Just the story that Zoe's writing - someone's talking about a guy called Wat Tyler."

"Really?" Her expression is surprised, "Why would her story be about that?"

"About what?" Jim asks again, a little frustrated at his lack of understanding.

"Are you reading my story, Dad?" Zoe is back, and looks a little embarrassed. So does Jim.

"Well, not exactly." He fumbles, "Just… Well - yes." Then he frowns, "What's it about?"

To his relief, she laughs, "It's not finished yet, Dad. But it's about the Peasants' Revolt. I'm telling it from the point of view of William Walworth, because he helped to save the King - and he's famous because he killed Wat Tyler."

"Isn't that a bit bloodthirsty?" Elisabeth asks in 'nervous mother' tones.

"Not really," Zoe says, blithely, as she seats herself at the dinner table, "Everyone else is doing Romans or Commander Taylor, and I thought it would be fun to try something different."

"Why the Peasants' Revolt, Zoe?" Jim asks. Surely it's a coincidence.

"Oh, it just seemed like a good idea." She answers, digging her fork into a portion of pie, "Lee Drummond says that his dad is going to kick out Commander Taylor, but he's always saying stuff like that, and it never happens. So I thought I'd write about something that did."

Fortunately, she doesn't notice the worried glances her parents share. To their daughter, it's just something to inspire a story. But, if even the kids are talking about it, then it seems that the danger is all too real.

And it's up to them to stop it.