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was from, or even what country she was from. And Captain Cutler was keeping them busy with a tough exercise regime, information briefings, and training missions. Simon had been unable to get away from Danice for even a minute. He was starting to feel claustrophobic.
    ‘I can’t tell you what era I’m from, you know that,’ Danice said, checking her wrist pilot. ‘Come on, time’s up.’
    Simon headed for the alley where the timeline was waiting for them. ‘It’s not me who’s been holding us up!’ he muttered.

9

    S imon stepped through the airtight lock.
    ‘Stop there!’ snapped the Security Officer. ‘Stop at the yellow line and remain stationary!’
    Simon looked down at his bare feet and halted by the line on the floor. A series of rapidly moving red and violet beams scanned his body from head to toe.
    The last couple of hours had been both weird and gross, as his time-travel suit was dissolved and peeled off his body. Now all he wanted to do was go to his room to chill out, watch TV, have a bite to eat and sleep.
    ‘So, find any bugs?’ Simon asked.
    ‘Just checking you don’t bring back any microorganisms, bacteria, viruses or insects from the timezone you visited,’ the officer drawled.
    ‘Yeah! I read the manual. Sir.’
    ‘Now for your identity check.’
    ‘I am me,’ Simon murmured. He was starting to get irritated. His first trip had been more exhausting than he could have imagined.
    ‘Haven’t heard that one before,’ the officer said. ‘Just place yourself at the recognition scanner.’
    Simon positioned his head in front of an oval screen. There was a quick click and a flash of green light.
    ‘And you’d better get used to this. This procedure happens every time you come back.’
    Simon yawned and nodded.
    The officer glared. ‘And how about handing in the magazine you purchased.’
    ‘Sure.’ Simon took The New Yorker from the pocket of his tracksuit pants and dropped it on the counter. ‘Delivered, as ordered. Sir.’
    ‘Anything else to declare?’
    Simon shook his head.
    ‘The coins ,’ the man said, nodding towards Simon’s left hand. ‘I picked them up on the scanner.’
    ‘Oh, those.’ Simon plonked the coins next to the magazine.
    ‘And your other equipment?’
    ‘All left in the safety locker outside the Spin Box,’ he replied.
    ‘Right you are, Savage, carry on.’
    ‘Sir!’ Simon said, and strolled through the next door and into the change room.
    ‘ Whew! ’ he sighed, letting down his guard for the first time in twelve hours. Now was his official Down Time, a rest period of seventy-two hours that would allow his body to recover its normal molecular structure after the stresses of time travel.
    Simon stopped in front of the mirror. He knew there might be some bodily changes as a result of the journey, and he quickly glanced into the glass.
    His hair was now a brown tangle instead of straight, his eyes seemed brighter blue, his skin a shade paler. There were blotches of red on his face and neck.
    ‘You look a real mess,’ he mumbled.
    A shiny steel drink robot came gliding noiselessly alongside. It fixed its digital eye squarely on Simon’s face. ‘Hi, Si, care for a drink?’
    ‘Thanks, Servo,’ Simon replied, grabbing a fresh towel from the bench. A hot shower and a few laps of the pool and his body might start to get back on track.
    ‘I’ve got orange and lemon, cranberry, yodelberry and tropical mix,’ Servo rattled off. ‘Or try our new vitamin-enriched, creamy yoghurt cola!’
    ‘ Urgh! No thanks! The orange and lemon’ll be fine.’
    There was a whirring inside the drinkbot and a small door slid open. A stainless-steel arm extended and held out a glass of frothy, freshly squeezed juice.
    ‘Thanks,’ Simon said. He was already used to speaking to robots. They carried out many basic duties in the Bureau, and were so interactive that it was easy to forget they were machines.
    ‘A pleasure,’ Servo replied. ‘I hope you had a fruitful