by Shay Roberts
There’s something weird about the new pouch. It’s very deep. Deeper than it ought to be. I soon realize that I can shove my whole arm inside.
Zulien looks amused by my confusion.
“About eighty years in your past, people from the distant future made a visit. We call them the Magi. They left many gifts behind. Folded space was one of them. This unit has been disguised as a pouch, though we can also make it look like a pocket, or a box. It will hold the contents of an entire closet.”
I whistle. “That’s bitchin.”
Zulien frowns. “Indeed. We’ve never assigned one to a green student. It’s a pity we’ve started now. Put this in the pouch.”
He takes a shiny metal cube from the supply box and slaps it in my hand.
“What is it?”
“A crash cube. It allows us to help you if you’re injured in a jump. You’ll have a class on how to use it in your second year, when the devices are normally assigned. But of course, you’re special enough to get yours now. Just put it in your pouch and shut up about it. Keep the pouch with you at all times.”
I nod, excited to be getting all this cool stuff. It feels like Christmas, but with the Anti-Santa giving out gifts.
Zulien hands me a small case.
“These are your contact lenses. They’ll give you brown irises, and block harmful rays from the sun. Put them in now. I don’t want you scaring the other students with your hideous lava eyes.”
“I’ve never worn contacts. I’m not sure how.”
Zulien waves the Quartermaster over. His thick hands are surprisingly delicate as he shows me how to insert the contacts. They sting at first, but after a few blinks, I can’t even tell they’re there.
Zulien nods to the Quartermaster. “Now install his language bug.”
The Quartermaster opens a ring box and uses tweezers to remove a gold flea crawling on the black velvet.
The big guy looks a little apologetic. “It goes in your ear. Hold still.”
I raise my hand. “Hold on, what the hell is that thing?”
Zulien sighs. “Another gift of the Magi. It’s a universal translation device. With it, you will be able to communicate in any written or verbal language.”
“Hell yeah, bring it on!”
The Quartermaster carefully drops the device in my ear. It tickles as it crawls down my ear canal.
“It feels like it’s burrowing into my brain.”
Zulien nods. “That’s exactly what it’s doing.”
He shoves a small glass object into my hand.
“This last item is your glasspad. I can’t be bothered teaching you how to use it. Figure it out on your own, or ask another student.”
“What’s a glasspad?”
“A school computer. Students use it for communication, recording lectures, that sort of thing. The entire curriculum is on there: class outlines, lesson plans, required reading, exercises, et cetera. Green students have only the first year unlocked, but for some reason, you’ve got all three years available. Oh, and I understand we’ve relocated your mother to protect her from some mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Her new location is in the pad. If you ask me, she’d be safer if you stayed out of her life.”
I respond flatly. “I didn’t ask you.”
Oops, that just slipped out. I can only take so much of his crabby grandpa act.
Zulien’s mouth snaps open and shut, like a robot stuck in a loop.
Something bad is about to happen.
The Quartermaster smiles apologetically to Zulien.
“Sir, he’s fully kitted now. I’ll get him off to the Academy.”
The big man quickly guides me out the door.
As we walk down the hall, his fingers dig into my arm.
He whispers into my ear, “Do not anger Zulien. He can, and will, destroy your career here. I will tell him you sent your apologies.”
“What exactly does he do here, besides complain about stuff?”
“He’s the liaison between SA and the Academy. He is our ambassador to the school, and he decides which finalists are accepted into SA.”
“Maybe he’ll learn to respect people with a little backbone.”
“No. He breaks backbones. He only respects obedience.”
“Gotta admit, I’m having second thoughts about working here.”
The Quartermaster releases my arm. “He’s only a problem while you’re a student. Once you’re accepted, you’re done with him.”
I shiver as the language bug works its way deep into my head. Then suddenly, I can’t feel it anymore. It must have reached my brain. I heard there’s no nerves there.
We stop at an open door and the Quartermaster calls inside. “One to transport to the Academy.”
A uniformed woman with short gray hair emerges. She looks me over, then turns to the Quartermaster.
“This is him?”
The big man nods.
My frustration explodes. “Why is everyone treating me like this?”
The Quartermaster smiles bitterly. “Rumor has it you’re the chosen one.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs and walks away, leaving me with the woman.
A man emerges from the room, his face weathered and tired. He joins hands with the woman, and she takes my hand in turn.
I understand why they need two people. That way they can jump to the Academy, and return immediately without a rest in between jumps.
Suddenly, we’re in transit. It’s a long jump, and I know I’ll be damn sore at the end of it.
We finally emerge from the jump into a clearing at the edge of a grove of trees. The air is thick here, and it’s hard to breathe.
The woman smiles at me sadly. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Then she and her companion are gone. I’m left standing alone.
What year is this? Where exactly is the Academy located?
There’s no welcoming committee. I don’t have a map, or any instructions about where to go or who to see. I guess the chosen one is supposed to know what to do. But I don’t feel special. I’m getting flashbacks to the time my mother dropped me off on the first day of school.
This feels like one of those bad dreams where you forget your locker combination, or you show up in class and there’s a test you haven’t studied for.
Leaving the temple doesn’t seem like such a great idea now. If I was back there, I could be having sex with Ayana. I was happy to go, but I kinda miss her now.
I pull down my hood and can’t help noticing again how comfortable my clothes are. They feel cool and soft against my hot dracoform skin.
It could be my imagination, but it seems to be getting easier to breathe. Could it be the clothes doing that?
I turn my sore body to survey the nighttime surroundings.
I stand between a grove of fruit trees and a thick plexiglass wall that rises a good forty feet.
On the other side of the wall is a lush jungle crowded with giant ferns. A huge creature lies sleeping in the brush. I see the spines on its back rise and fall as it breathes. Is that a dinosaur? If so, I’m not sure this glass is thick enough.
I hear movement in the grove and turn to face it. Something emerges from behind a fruit tree. Two somethings, too small to be people. Are they animals?
The dark shapes move toward me.
I have a powerful urge to break out my crystal claws.
Professor Southam
TYLER BUCK
Some instinct tells me not to react to the pair of animals approaching.
As they get close, a shaft of moonlight reveals more detail. They’re not animals. They’re child-sized humanoid creatures wearing nothing but loincloths. They have crazy hair, broad noses, and glowing green eyes. They look exactly the same, like they’re identical twin brothers.
They stop nearby, peering at me with big eyes and giggling like laughing squirrels. Something about them makes me smile.
The one on the right cocks his head and speaks.
“Too small. Too ugly. Not the one. Not not.”
The one on the left gives his brother the side-eye.
“Southam know. Tell Southam. Tell tell.”
I know that name. Ms. Luvalle said Southam was her mentor at the Academy.
“My name is Tyler Buck. I’m a new student.”
As I speak, they take a cautious step back, as if I might attack at any moment.
The one on the left points to himself. “’Tis.”
The one on the right points to himself. “’Tisn’t.”
Then they stand silently.
“Those are your names?”
Their heads bob in unison.
I think I get it now. ’Tis is the positive one, and ’Tisn’t is negative. They balance each other out.
“Nice to meet you, ’Tis and ’Tisn’t. Can you take me to Professor Southam? I need to see him.”
’Tisn’t shakes his head. “No. Southam sleeps. Sleep sleep.”
’Tis shoves his brother. “Yes. Wake Southam. Wake wake.”
They growl at each other and get into what can only be described as a slap fight.
I think about wading in and separating them, but they’re skittish, and touching them is probably not a good idea.
As they tumble around, I lose track of who is who. After half a minute, one of them retreats sullenly into the shrubbery, while the other gestures to me.
“Come come.”
Looks like ’Tis won the battle. I follow him as he hurries through the dark grove. In the occasional shafts of moonlight, I get a closer look at the fruit. They look like mangos.
After passing through the trees, we follow a gravel trail hugging a small lake. We pass a dock surrounded by small pedal-powered boats, like the kind they have at resorts.
Halfway around the lake, the trail branches off and I see brick buildings ahead. The structures have old-fashioned touches, like spires and arched windows.
We pass a few of the buildings and enter a wide expanse of manicured lawn. I’m guessing this must be the campus quad.
’Tis spots something in the grass and races over to snatch it up.
He holds it up to the moonlight. It appears to be a buckle.
“Mine mine.”
He licks the buckle, then runs his finger over every contour.
After nearly a minute, he looks up at me, startled, as if he’s forgotten his original task. He waves me forward.
“Come come.”
We cross the quad and enter an area with a lot of smaller one-story buildings. These are houses; I’m guessing staff residences.
’Tis circles behind one of the brick homes. I see a stone gnome standing in a flower garden.
’Tis finds a pebble and throws it against a window. He waits a moment. When there’s no response, he tosses another. Finally, a light comes on inside.
’Tis hurries away but gestures for me to stay.
“Wait much time. Wait wait.”
I watch him retreat into the distance, and wonder what kind of reception I’ll get from Professor Southam.
As I wait, I admire a trellis supporting vines with blossoming flowers. It’s hard to tell colors in the moonlight, but I’m guessing they’re pink and red.
In the adjacent yard, I see a similar garden. As a kid, I used to mow lawns to make money, and I know professional work when I see it. These homes may be modest in size, but the landscaping is top-notch.
Time passes. The light remains on inside, but no one comes to the window. ’Tis told me I’d have to wait “much time.” He wasn’t kidding.
I take a seat in a wooden garden chair with roses carved on the armrests.
The air smells sweet here, and I find myself getting sleepy.
I jerk awake at the sound of a door opening. How long was I napping? Not long, I’d guess.
A figure emerges from the back door of the house. It’s a man dressed in a Victorian-style vest and trousers. His hair is dark with a touch of gray. I’d guess he’s in his midforties. He’s wearing leg braces and walks haltingly with a pair of canes.
He looks pleased to see me. “Hello, Tyler. We’ve been expecting you.”
“Professor Southam?”
He nods with a smile.
I stand and extend my hand. “Ms. Luvalle told me about you. Sorry to crash your place in the middle of the night. SA just dumped me off.”
His hand feels smooth and fragile as we shake.
I wonder what happened to him? He’s too young to be a polio victim. Was he in an accident?
“Come inside, Tyler. Any friend of Lillian Luvalle is a friend of mine.”
As we enter the house, I hurry ahead and hold the door open for him. Then I wonder if that’s a mistake.
“Sorry, is this not cool?”
“It’s perfectly fine, Tyler. Common courtesy, without pity or condescension. I could use more of that.”
As he struggles over the threshold, I realize I’m standing in a modest library stuffed with old books. I smell the parchment and leather. The room is lit by a pair of lamps with stained glass shades the color of peacocks.
Southam directs me into a stuffed chair and settles into another one across from me. His chair sits much higher from the floor.
I glance at the books on the shelf beside me. Some of them are not actually books, but handwritten codices that must be centuries old. My treasure-hunting instincts kick in, and I find myself appraising their value.
Southam appears pleased by my interest.
“I collect English histories from dozens of alternate timelines. Though I was born in ancient Rome, I’ve become a hopeless Anglophile. Convenient, of course, as English is the universal language of time travel. At least for now. I expect an eventual move to Standard Chinese. But I digress. First things first. I take it the twins brought you here?”
“’Tis did. If you don’t mind me asking, what are they?”
“’Tis and ’Tisn’t are a species of lower Fae. We call them Brownies, or Hobs. They live in the crooks and crannies of the campus. They’re mostly active at night. It’s just the pair of them. They’re mascots of a sort.”
Southam reaches down and opens a mini-fridge beside his chair.
“Can I get you something?”
“Water is fine.”
“I’ve got soda water.”
“Sold.”
He rolls a small bottle across the floor to me, and opens one for himself.
I open the bottle and take a chug. The cold bubbles are refreshing.
Southam seems like a good guy, especially after meeting that Zulien dude. I find myself relaxing in the professor’s presence.
Southam puts his drink down on a marble-topped end table.
“I imagine you have a lot of questions. I’m happy to answer them before we get to work.”
“Work?”
“Yes, you’ll complete your entrance exam tonight. In the morning you’ll tour the campus. I hope to have you in class by the afternoon. There’s no time to waste.”
“Yeah, I noticed things were kind of tense at SA headquarters. What’s going on?”
Southam sighs, slumping a little in his chair.
“Our mission is to preserve the timeline. Our primary adversaries are septics and anachronists. Septics are temporadus, or time travelers, who travel back with the best intentions, but inadvertently infect the timeline with their ideas or technology. Anachronists intentionally foul the timeline, usually to exploit it for their gain. There is an organized group of anachronists, known as The Unbound. That is our name for them, actually. They refer to themselves as The Conservators. They’ve been active lately, so SA has its hands full.”
“What do they hope to gain?”
He shakes his head. “It’s unclear. They may think they’re making the world a better place. But they’re playing God, and most consider them time terrorists.”
“So, this Zulien is just pissed off at The Unbound, not at me in particular?”
Southam laughs
. “I’m afraid it is you in particular. Some rules are being, shall we say, restructured, due to your arrival.”
“I don’t need any special treatment. I’ll do the same work as every other student.”
“Of course, but I’m afraid this isn’t about your needs; it’s about ours. SA is overwhelmed right now and they’re eager to recruit our royals, our third-year students, for the scut work. You’re being fast-tracked through the Academy. The entrance examination will help us determine which classes we can dispense with. I know you’ve already had some training. Did your teachers discuss the danger of self-intervention—specifically, what some call doubling?”
“Yeah, it’s when you make physical contact with a version of your past self and create a temporal rupture. Been there, done that. It’s kind of how I ended up in all this. Ms. Luvalle busted me.”
“Doubling is our primary concern with new students. We do have some protections in place, but they’re not foolproof.”
“Protections?”
He takes a sip of his soda water, considering his words.
“I can’t discuss them in detail. But I can say that we have only one construct here, and it’s locked for official use only.”
“Construct? I remember Ms. Luvalle using that word.”
“You’ll have a class on that. Some people call them anchors. They’re basically homing beacons for time travelers. They allow us to travel across space as well as time. The Academy is shielded, so students can’t create their own anchors. The only way in is through the official construct. But understand, you’re not a prisoner here. You can leave at any time.”
“Where exactly is this place? I saw something that looked like a dinosaur.”
“Ah, the stegosaurus. For some reason it stays near the glass. But to answer your question, we’re on a super-continent called Gondwana, in the late Jurassic era. It’s the perfect environment for our students. They can do little to foul the timeline because the local life forms will all be decimated in about a hundred million years.”
“Decimated? Why?”
“Your schools didn’t teach you about the K-Pg extinction event?”
I shake my head, feeling a little embarrassed.
“No worries. We’ll fill you in on what you don’t know.” He leans forward with an open hand. “May I see your glasspad?”
