To The Stars

Nothing appeared to have changed. There were still pools of liquid underfoot despite the lethargic actions of a man with a mop. Jan started to snap about this — actually opened his mouth — then closed it again. Radcliffe seemed to be expecting it too because he glanced quickly over his shoulder. Jan smiled back. One for the home team. Perhaps he had been quick to find fault in the past — but he wasn’t going to do that now. You do more catching with honey. A few pleasant words and then a conversation. It was working well.

It still took an effort to control his temper when he went through the printouts. He had to say something.

“Really, Radcliffe, I don’t mean to be repetitive — but this won’t do at all. You’ve had over two weeks and the list is as long as ever.

“We’ve had men out sick, sir, a hard winter. And you’ll see, this work has been done…”

“But you’ve had breakdowns that more than make up for it…”

Jan heard the angry tone in his voice and snapped his mouth shut. He was not going to lose his temper this time. Trying not to stamp he went to the office door and looked out at the main floor of the plant. A movement caught his eye and he saw the tea trolley being pushed down a corridor. Yes, a cup of tea, that was more like it. He went to his case and opened it.

“Blast!”

“Anything wrong, sir?”

“Nothing important. Just that when I left my bag at hotel this morning I forgot to pick up my thermos of the tea.”

“I can send a man on a bike, sir. Won’t he but a few minutes.”

“No, not worth the effort.” Then Jan had the tremendous, almost daring idea. “Get the trolley in here. We’ll both have a cup of tea.”

Radcliffe’s eyes opened wide and he was silent for a moment with shock. “Oh, no, your honor. You wouldn’t like the stuff we serve here. Right muck. I’ll send…”

“Nonsense. Get it in here.”

It was a trial by embarrassment that Jan never noticed as he went through the printouts again, checking off priorities. The bent tea woman kept rubbing her hands on her skirt and bowing slightly in his direction. Radcliffe slipped out and returned quickly with a clean towel with which she wiped and wiped one of the mugs. When it was finally served it rested alone on the battered tray.

“You, too, Radcliffe, that’s an order.”

The tea was hot and that was about all that could be said for it, the mug thick and chipped where he put it to his lips. “Very good,” Jan said.

“Yes, your honor, it is.” Agonized eyes fixed his own cup.

“We’ll have to do this again.”

The answer was silence and Jan had no idea where to take the conversation from there. The silence lengthened until he had finished his own tea and there was nothing to do except go back to work.

There was more than enough calibration to do, as well as some pressing repairs that had been ignored during his absence. Jan became involved in his labors and it was well after six before he yawned and stretched and realized that the day shift had all gone home. He remembered Radcliffe looking in and saying something, but that was all. That was enough for one day. He packed his papers, slipped into the fleece-lined coat, and let himself out. The night was cold and dry, the stars flickering icily above. A long way from the Red Sea. It was a relief to get into the car and turn on the heater.

A good day’s work. The control setup was working fine and if he applied pressure the repairs and maintenance might be improved. Had to be improved. He pulled hard on the wheel to avoid a bicyclist who suddenly appeared in the beam of his headlights. Dark clothes and a black bike with no reflectors. Wouldn’t they ever learn? Empty fields on all sides and not a house in sight. What on earth was the man doing out here in the darkness?

The next turn brought the answer. Glowing windows and a lighted sign beside the road ahead. A public house, of course, he had passed it countless times without even noticing it. No reason to. Jan slowed the car. “The Iron Duke,” the board read, with a portrait of the Duke himself, aristocratic nose held high. But not so aristocratic, the clientele; not a car about and bicycles racked along the front wall. No wonder he had never noticed it before.

He hit the brakes. Of course! He would stop here for a drink, talk to people. There could be nothing wrong in this. The customers would surely be pleased to have him. Bring a touch of interest to a cold evening. What a very good idea.

Jan closed and locked the car and stamped across the hard ground to the front door. It swung wide at his touch and he entered a large brightly lit room, the air thick with the clouds of cheap tobacco and marijuana smoke. A loud, very boring piece of music was pouring from wall speakers and drowned out any sound of conversation from the crowd of men at the bar, seated at the small tables. No women, he noticed with interest. In a proper pub at least half — or more — of the customers would be women. He found an opening at the bar and rapped for attention when the barman did not notice him.