On the ground it was another bright and sunny morning in Nevada.
Evelyn Boatman had fully resumed his role as the Mission Commander at
the ground base and it was now time for breakfast. The young woman
acting as an assistant was reading the schedule for the day as he dug
into a sausage and cheese omelet with hash browns, coffee and toast.
“Sir, the first item for this morning is a visit by a junior member of the British House of Commons for the Conservative Party,”
“Who is it?” He asked.
“Francis Urquhart from Southampton , sir.”
Boatman was sipping coffee when he heard the name. He suddenly spit out the coffee.
The assistant was visibly shocked.
“Sir, is there a problem?” She said.
“No.” Boatman replied.
It’s only a visit by a man who could give Big Bubba some serious lessons on how to permanently dispose of walking problems. He thought.
“Not a problem at all.” He said.
I’m over two centuries old with serious political experience and I should be able to handle a young Francis Urquhart.
British agent John Cross watched from his position of concealment as Evelyn Boatman greeted Francis Urquhart at the front gate.
Who the Hell is that bugger and how did he get in? He thought.
Boatman spoke first.
“Mister Urquhart, it is good for you to visit us.”
Let’s just keep this short and pleasant.
“Thank you, Mister Boatman.”
Urquhart was given the grand tour of the surface facility but it was
very obvious to him that he was the actual center of everyone’s
attention on the dirtside base.
“I didn’t expect this level of attention during the visit.” He said.
“Francis,” Boatman replied, “your counterpart on the original timeline
was the longest serving Prime Minister of the United Kingdom before the
Final War and Planetary Unification.”
Urquhart was very shocked to hear this.
And there is the body count too, but we should not mention that.
“I wasn’t expecting to become the Prime Minister.” Said Urquhart.
“Unfortunately the immediate predecessor simply wasn’t up to the job and someone had to step in to clean up the mess.”
And over some cold dead bodies as well. He thought. And tossing poor Mattie Storin off the roof of the House of Commons was clearly an appalling move.
“Oh.” Urquhart replied.
“Francis,” said Boatman, “we’ve taken the liberty of putting together an
information package for the Conservative Party, it’s a basic history of
the original timeline plus some suggestions for things the party should
do and to avoid.”
“And when you do return to London please say hello to Maggie for me.”
“Mrs. Thatcher?” Said Urquhart. “Why?”
“Her counterpart was second longest serving Prime Minister.” Boatman relied.
“Of course.” Said Urquhart.
Boatman thought as his British guest departed.
Well, that wasn’t too unpleasant.
Later in his official residence on Downing Street the current Prime Minister Harold Wilson was throwing a major fit.
“Who visited the base in Nevada?” He shouted.
“Francis Urquhart a Tory member of the Commons from Southampton, sir.”
“But they still won’t speak to the actual government?” Said Wilson.
Fuck me. Thought Wilson.