Doctor Who_ Atom Bomb Blues - Andrew Cartmel [19]
She could smell his breath afterwards for hours.
Still, she would rather be with Henbest now than with this scrawny young man, here in this classroom with the gleaming chalk dust floating around them. Apple was staring at her, waiting impatiently for an answer she couldn’t give. Ace looked at the smeared, crowded figures on the chalkboard, hoping that the numbers would fall into some strange, numinous pattern rich with meaning.
It wasn’t an entirely idle hope. It had happened before. But it wasn’t going to happen now. ‘Well?’ repeated Apple. ‘I thought you were supposed to be some kind of calculating prodigy. I’m not asking you to do any of the real labour, none of the actual physics. I just want your assistance with the donkey work, the raw calculation. The arithmetic.’ He pronounced the last word with outraged, venomous contempt. ‘It’s the sort of work anybody can do.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, but –’
He drew a circle around one group of numbers. ‘It’s the sort of work I could do myself if I had the time. If I didn’t have more important matters to devote my attention to. That’s the whole point. You are supposed to be the calculating prodigy. You are supposed to do this for me, to take the load off my back. That’s the whole point of you. You’re supposed to be here to help me.’
‘I’m supposed to be here to help the Doctor.’
A tight, maniacal grin appeared on Apple’s face. He was like the triumphant, voracious bird finally pouncing on the worm. ‘But the Doctor isn’t working here today, is he? He’s seeing General Groves. For his security interview. So you’re supposed to be assigned to me. You’re supposed to help me. But you can’t, can you?’
Apple suddenly turned away from her and threw his piece of chalk across the room. It shattered in the corner with a vicious whip-crack sound. He turned back to her, wiping the chalk dust off his hands. ‘You can’t,’ he said.
‘Of course I can,’ said Ace. ‘But. . . ’
‘But?’
Ace silently cursed herself again. Why had she ignored the Doctor’s warn-ings? She had meant to take it. She had fully intended to take it, immediately 34
after breakfast. The problem was, Professor Apple had intercepted her the moment she left the table at Fuller Lodge. Breakfast had been pretty good, waffles and sausages and honey and white country butter. Ace had enjoyed it, with no premonition that doom was about to pounce. But doom had pounced, in the shape of Professor Apple. He hadn’t given her a chance to go back to her quarters. He had marched her directly over here to the old ranch school and stood her in front of the blackboard.
‘There’s something I have to do,’ said Ace. ‘Back at my quarters.’ It had turned out that the women’s dormitory was full, so Ace had ended up moving into the WAC barracks, a very similar-looking soulless, long, low box of a building.
‘What sort of thing?’
Ace had a sudden inspiration. ‘Women’s business.’
‘What?’ said Professor Apple. Then he fell silent as realisation dawned. His face darkened with embarrassment. ‘All right. But make it quick.’ He didn’t have to tell her twice. Ace was straight out of the classroom, the door slamming behind her, her heels clicking and echoing in the hallway that smelled of lemon floor polish, walking past the other classrooms containing the busy, serious figures labouring over their own blackboards. She walked straight out of the schoolhouse and into the bright open air of the day and felt a tremendous thrill of relief.
Until she realised Professor Apple was following her. The relief melted away under a hot wave of shame. Ace knew she was a fraud and she knew she was about to be found out. Apple followed her down the curving road, making no attempt to conceal his presence. Ace began to feel irritated by his gooney pursuit and with the first stirrings of anger came a small return of confidence.
What could