Peter Hammond rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and cursed under his breath
as his word processor crashed yet again; the fourth time in as many hours -
at this rate, it would take him the rest of the evening just to get the
scene finished.
Exasperated, he dumped his keyboard onto the desk, stood up and headed towards the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Hammond shivered as he entered the small room at the back of the house. One glance was all it took to discover that hed again forgotten to lock the back door, which had come ajar, and was swinging slowly to and fro in the evening breeze.
Securing the door, the slight writer poured himself a coffee from the perculator, and turned back towards his den. He paused, his impish features creased in a slight frown, as he caught sight of the kitchen clock.
"What...?", Hammond stared, uncomprehending for a moment. The clock, nothing fancy or expensive, was going backwards, its second hand still marking time at what appeared to be the correct rate, just in the wrong direction.
Shaking his head, the diminutive writer decided that he would definitely not be buying British when he got around to replacing the faulty time-piece - another job which would need adding to his growing list.
A sudden noise from the direction of his den jolted Hammond from all thoughts of the odd behaviour of the clock.
Burglars. The thought entered his head unbidden, along with a sickening image of his back door swinging open and closed. He slowly placed his coffee on the pine kitchen table and edged out of the kitchen, his breathing suddenly quick and shallow.
Voices. He could quite distinctly hear sounds of talking coming from his den. Swathed in the murky shadows of the hallway, Hammond strained to hear what was being said.
"...so where is this writer person then?" The voice was male, its inflection clipped and precise.
A quieter voice, unmistakably female answered, "He's here somewhere Steel...but I'm not at all sure that it's really him that we need to be concerned with."
"What about the machine?" The man who had been called Steel spoke again.
"That's a part of the break, but I'm still not sure how," answered the woman, "I think that its just a rudimentary recording device which he uses to store his work in."
Hammond's frown deepened. These two certainly didnt sound like burglars, and from the noises he could hear coming from his den, it didnt even sound as though they were attempting to steal anything.
Fighting against his fear, Hammond edged up to the open door of his writing den and peered around.
"Ah," the man, who Hammond now saw looked as cold and hard as he sounded, spotted him immediately. "Peter John Hammond?"
Hammond nodded, searching for words, "I...look - just who the hell are you. You've no right-"
The grey-suited man strode deftly over to him, reached out and grabbed Hammonds face in a vice-like grip, "We do not need a lecture on your rights, Mr. Hammond. All you need to know is that we are here to resolve a dangerous situation."
He released the writer, who sagged back against the wall, hands massaging his bruised cheeks.
The mans companion, a very beautiful, blonde woman, attired in a stunning blue dress, crouched beside Hammond, and took his hands in hers.
Well? Steels thought slipped easily into her mind, and Sapphire glanced briefly up at him, before returning her gaze to the evidently terrified man in front of her.
He's human Steel, she sent back, quite intelligent...and totally ignorant of what is happening here.
He knows nothing? It hasn't had to take him into its confidence at all?
Sapphire smiled slightly at her partner's exasperated tone. No. And neither has it had to control him - well, not in any explicit sense.
Meaning what?
"Meaning", said Sapphire, now speaking out loud as she stood back up, "That this is simply an accident which is about to be taken advantage of".
Hammond unsteadily regained his feet as well, looking from one to the other. "Would you-" he winced, rubbing his jaw tenderly, "Would you please mind telling me what is going on here - you force your way into my home, assault me...."
Mr. Hammond, Sapphire smiled at him, Were here to help you. She held up a hand as Hammond opened his mouth to speak again. "Please believe me when I say that what we accomplish here tonight could decide the fate of a great many of your kind."
"My kind?", Hammond spluttered, "You're trying to tell me that you're - what? - that you're aliens of some kind?" A wry smile was now beginning to cross the small mans face.
Sapphire, Steel, who had moved across to the writing desk, turned Hammonds word processor to face them.
Hammonds mouth dropped open, as he saw writing flowing across the screen, green figures steadily filling the monitor, even though no-one was typing. He shook his head slowly, "I don't...I don't understand. What's happening?"
Sapphire turned back to face him. "We're here, Mr. Hammond, because a part of what you are currently doing is about to provide access to a force more destructive than anything you can imagine. A force from outside of time."
"Outside of time?" Hammond was totally lost now.
Sapphire nodded, "It is our job to safeguard the fabric of time - to prevent external forces breaking through into the present, and to repair areas of degradation in the corridor down which time flows."
"Enough of the stories, Sapphire," interjected Steel tersely, tell me about this machine.
Sapphire walked over beside him, and held her hands above the battered monitor. As Hammond gazed on incredulously, her already brilliant blue eyes took on an intensity which he found difficult to watch, and the air in the room seemed to pulsate thickly in his ears.
"It's...it's not happened yet, Steel," said Sapphire, her voice oddly indistinct and distant.
"We've arrived before the break?" The surprise in his tone was evident.
Sapphire nodded, "Yes...its almost as though," she shook her head, frowning, "Almost as though its teasing us."
Now it was Steels turn to frown. "Teasing us? But why? What would be the point behind that?" He drew his eyes from the screen, staring at Sapphire. "So whats the trigger?"
"Trigger?" Hammond walked across to the pair.
Sapphire turned and regarded him coolly. "What are you working on Mr. Hammond?"
"Working on? Well, I'm a writer-"
"We know you're a writer," Steel interrupted impatiently, "we need to know what you're writing at the moment."
"Oh, I see. Well, it's a medieval detective series - totally original idea, you see..."
Sapphire drew breath sharply, and clutched at Steels arm. "Thats it, Steel - the trigger's not complete, and that's why it's searching his work."
Steel reached onto the desk, and sifted through the printed manuscript. "It's in here? Just something that he's written?"
"No, Steel - that's simply the first part of the trigger; the remainder is a part of something that hasn't been put onto paper yet... but will be."
Tell me. Sapphire winced at the harshness of the communication.
Its... Steel, I think it's a part of the script that calls for a... for a prop of some kind. Yes, that's it! A prop will be created by the production company - created from an amalgamation of new parts and old....
Created in the here and now for a story set in the middle ages, concluded Steel grimly.
Yes. Time has taken advantage of Hammonds setting, but its moved him onto a parallel course where he will be compelled to put down notes regarding required props.
So destroying the machine - the current notes wont be enough?
No, Sapphire responded softly, No, the idea is a part of Hammond.... She trailed off as the meaning of her words sank in.
"No, Steel," she whispered, "You don't know - you can't-"
"I do know," Steel snapped back, "and he might jump tracks, back onto his original course... or not; either way, the break never occurs.
Hammond was looking back and forth between them now, uncomprehending.
When Steels fist smashed into the small mans nose, driving multiple shards of bone into his brain, it came as a complete shock.
Sapphire turned her back on the pair, but not before catching sight of the poor writers crumpled body falling grotesquely over his writing desk.
"Well?" Steel asked, wiping the crimson gore which had exploded from Hammonds face on a handkerchief.
Sapphire turned, reaching out with her mind. Nothing... the show, without its main creative input is cancelled... nothing remains.
"And those?" Steel indicated the blood-spattered word-processor, manuscript and note-pad.
Sapphire moved over to the desk, carefully avoiding the growing pool of blood on the carpet. She held her hand over the desktop momentarily, and then turned away. "Nothing of any significance remains there - no echoes which could be used in the future, no harmful vibrations - like I said.... nothing."
"Good," said Steel smiling, "Then our job here is complete - if only they were all so simple."
"Not so simple for him though, was it?" Sapphire commented quietly.
"You never know," Steel said casually, "He might cross back onto the correct track - if he's lucky."
"Yes," Sapphire agreed, if he's lucky....
The pair stood quietly for a moment, and then the word-processor clicked off and they were gone.
**********************
Peter Hammond rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and cursed under his breath as his word processor crashed yet again; the fourth time in as many hours - at this rate, it would take him the rest of the evening just to get the scene finished.
He shook his head to clear it; he often got deja vu - one of the downsides of having to continually re-write scripts, he supposed, but it was worse than ever tonight. He stared down at his note-pad, and frowned hard.
This whole medieval detective thing was suddenly beginning to seem like a really bad idea. And then it struck him; time detectives! Why not write about time detectives? Already, in his minds eye, he could see a pair of agents, perhaps with some very special powers....
He tossed his notebook into the rubbish bin at the foot of his desk, his other hand already at the keyboard, typing... All irregularities will be handled by the forces controlling each dimension....
He nodded, typing faster, "Sapphire and Steel," he muttered - yes, that had a good ring to it - he was sure thered be a winner in here somewhere....