Traveller Manifesto

Istanbul – Today.

“So, what do you suggest?” asked Poxon as he stretched and yawned. In the two days since they had returned from 11th Century Constantinople, each had been overcome with exhaustion. Even with all that had happened, their main focus was on some badly needed R&R. As they sat in discussion, partners and wives were winging their way via first class tickets compliments of the Turkish Government.

“Professor Taylor and McFee can’t really just walk out. Surely? Not as guests of old Emperor Basil?” replied Chuck. As chief trainer for the team, he had been concerned at how they could have possibly foreseen the eventuality that two of their team would be kept as royal guests. Which essentially made them hostages.

“No,” agreed Osborne. “According to McFee, they’ve been allocated a set of guards whose duty is to protect them.”

“Varangian guard?” asked McAlister quietly as he glanced at Erol. Osborne noticed the glance and how both men immediately tensed. The Byzantium Traveller CO wondered how the Turkish public would react when the facts regarding the deaths of two of their brave Travellers were eventually made public. Not only that, there would undoubtedly be quite a reaction to the bloody retribution enacted by McAlister and Erol. Osborne mentally cringed. Would he have reacted any differently given similar circumstances? Would he have even been trapped into accompanying the Varangian Guard on a patrol? McAlister had the presence of mind to take his pistol and a couple of spare clips. The man was a machine, gunning down the murderous bastards like he had. And Erol? Who could have imagined such icy brutality behind his amicable exterior? The heads on spears was a touch he would never have concocted. The lads had been angry all right! Ahmet and Hazan murdered! The Turkish Government were sure to make McAlister and Erol into national heroes.

It was out of his hands. Ultimately, any information would be released to the public on the approval of the Turkish Government and the academics who were studying every image and scrap of footage captured by the miniature cameras each of the Travellers wore. But the events had been bloody. So much of that footage could never be made public.

The Travellers were booked for psych assessment. Each of them were, even the command team. McAlister and Erol could be excused if they had some residual fury. They had proved themselves to be hard, ruthless men and professionals of the highest calibre, but they were still human.

In reply to McAlister’s question, Osborne simply nodded. “Yeah, Varangian guard of course. As far as we know, nothing has been said of the missing patrol. There’s no way that Professor Taylor and McFee can be implicated anyway. Besides, being under the hospitality of the Emperor will make sure they’re safe.”

McAlister only gave a non-committal grunt, while Erol frowned.

Traveller Missions were complicated enough, but now they had to contend with Professor Taylor and McFee being held in Constantinople by the Emperor, Basil II, on the condition that the Travellers return with a shipment of ribbon, of all things. Perfect as a gift, the Travellers hadn’t realised the impact of the 21st Century ribbon on a people obsessed with colour and fabrics. Textiles were a sign of wealth and were one of the most significant trade items for the Byzantine Empire, so a bright piece of ribbon had attracted more attention that they could have ever imagined.

“Okay,” Osborne asked, “how do we break them out? I want your thoughts on the how and when.”

Parker spoke up, “First option, we take a load of ribbon. I suggest a cotton material that will decompose so it won’t remain in the timeline.”

“Good suggestion,” nodded Osborne. “However, Historical Research International wants nothing left that can influence the time period. Even decomposable cotton or light wool. The downed UAV was enough of a SNAFU to have them shitting their pants.”

“But a shipment of ribbon might be the easy, peaceful way out of this shit,” suggested Poxon.

Osborne tilted his head in disagreement. “It’s an option, sure, but it might not work. Look at how the Empire has a Varangian enclave. Maybe they’ll make it beneficial for some of our people to be kept permanently as a kind of guarantee that the shipments will keep on coming.”

“You mean, like hostages?” suggested Talon. With Erol, he had been furious at the deaths of his countrymen. When he had seen what Erol had done, he made it clear he would have helped if given the chance.

Osborne thought a moment before he responded. “Professor Askar believes there might be pressure to maintain the ‘Honoured Guest’ status for some of our team, especially for Professor Taylor. While that means we’ll have at least one of our team there continually, it also means we’ll have to cough up loads of ribbon. That may not be an issue for us, but it is an issue for having our team members stuck there and, of course, the use of the Transporter. Professor Askar also suggested that someone from the Constantinople Guilds will start to pressure our guys to let them travel to Aengland to observe our manufacturing process.”

“They did that with Chinese silk, if I recall,” mused Parker. “Once someone smuggled out a few silkworm pupae, a Byzantine silk industry soon followed. They’ll certainly try that on.”

“Okay,” agreed Poxon. “So the trade option’s out. Choice number two: we rescue them.”

Osborne simply grunted and nodded in agreement.

“When?” asked McAlister.

“As soon as we can, I suppose,” conceded Osborne. “We need to map it out and plan the extraction. I’ve also got to run the options past Colonel Babacan. He’ll take it all to the Turkish government for their approval. Also we have to let Transporter Corp know of course. After all, it is their Transporter that we’ll have to use.”

McAlister looked across at his fellow Travellers and sighed, placed his hands behind his head and tilted his chair backwards. “Lovely. Bloody lovely,” he exclaimed happily, the change from his former moodiness evident. “Finally! Some real work at last.”