The Time Travel Directorate

by Kim, Penny

  Vin trailed behind, wondering at his sudden change in fortune. To be sent out as an inspector, just like that!

  Entering Chief Smiley’s office, Vin sat down—looking expectedly at his supervisor. Chief Smiley pulled out another reading pane from his desk and began tapping it animatedly before holding out his palm.

  “Badge.”

  Vin handed over his security credential. Chief Smiley scanned it with his reading pane before tossing it back.

  “I’m upgrading your access.”

  Vin’s stomach gave a lurch.

  “Do I leave right now?” he asked, wringing his hands.

  Chief Smiley looked up from the reading pane with a grimace.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you have to go through inspector training. Time travel is the most heavily regulated industry, even the bankers feel sorry for us. We have internal controls that must be followed, even in an emergency. Absent all that, you are hardly in the best physical shape.”

  Vin looked down at his thin frame. He hadn’t considered himself athletic since he was cut from the varsity basketball squad years ago. He had been looking for a reason to get back into shape. This must be it.

  “Do we have time for that though?” Vin asked suddenly, wondering at the urgency of the situation.

  Chief Smiley adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, an amused expression on his face.

  “Time is never something we worry about here,” he said. “Your training will occur centuries in the past. Due to time dilation, we can get you up to speed before Kanon Hay is even born.”

  Smirking, he rose, motioning for Vin to follow.

  They walked past Director Hay’s office to the Directorate’s restricted corridor. As they approached the empty guard station, Vin felt his pulse quicken. Analysts weren’t allowed anywhere near this area. If they wandered too close, their badges would send out a silent alarm to Central Computer.

  Vin had found this out the hard way his first week on the job. Ever since then, he had not allowed himself so much as a glance down that hallway. But here he was, staring at the access keypad. It seemed indecent almost, the emptiness of the place. But with everyone sent home and only himself, Chief Smiley and Director Hay in the building, it was strangely exciting.

  “Scan your badge,” Chief Smiley ordered, swiping his card before moving past the gate.

  Vin followed suit, watching carefully as the keypad flashed green.

  He followed Chief Smiley down a narrow hallway lined with photos of legendary inspectors. Vin paused near one of Director Hay. He wore the robes of a New England magistrate, having enforced the Colonial area of responsibility in the early years of the Directorate.

  Chief Smiley proceeded to lecture as Vin lingered over the photographs.

  “Inspector training occurs in a safe zone in time. Meaning a location where there is little to no habitation. This minimizes any impact on Standard D.”

  “What if you just went back in time and took Inspector Hay off the case?” Vin asked nonchalantly.

  Instead of answering, Chief Smiley walked right up to Vin, stopping so close that their noses nearly touched. His beady eyes flashed.

  “Let’s get something straight. You are an anomaly, a loophole. The only reason you got this opportunity is because you took an extra day of vacation when we issued the furlough letters. You don’t think I’ve reviewed this upside down and sideways?”

  He smiled as Vin shifted backward.

  “I assume you have an analyst-grade knowledge of time travel, which I define as elementary.” Smiley paused, studying Vin with a blank look. “The first available travel opportunity must be at least 100 years before the present—even Julius Arnold isn’t stupid enough to violate that order. This obviously prohibits you from running into your present self. If you did, it would certainly impact Standard D. We’d have to kill you both, in fact,” Chief Smiley finished, smiling broadly.

  Vin could feel his dislike. Gulping, he nodded, looking down at his shoes. He felt Chief Smiley’s eyes on him, wondering what a pathetic figure he cut in comparison to Smiley’s well-cut suit and designer frames.

  Feeling Chief Smiley relax a bit, Vin ventured a response.

  “Understood, sir.”

  This act of submissiveness seemed to placate him.

  “If I didn’t find a way home for Kanon Hay, what would happen to me? To this place?”

  Pausing for effect, Chief Smiley continued towards a large metal door at the end of the corridor.

  “As I told you before, time travel is one of the most regulated industries in our nation’s history. It’s our duty to preserve it. We’ll see ourselves through this crisis, as we have through others.”

  With a swipe of his card, the door flew open. Vin followed anxiously, his enthusiasm waning when he entered the room.

  Rows of industrial lockers looked similar to the ones Vin used in high school. The room was painted an industrial grey, and a leaking overhead panel was growing a brownish mold.

  “This is the deployment room. Pick a combination code, something you won’t forget,” Chief Smiley said, pointing to a locker. “Leave your things here, you won’t be able to take anything back into the past.”

  “What about my clothes?” Vin asked, hoping he would not have to divest himself of his garments.

  “Anything attached to your body will transmit with you—think of it like static electricity. The web manipulates your particles via cosmic strings, transporting your body to a location in the past.”

  “Should I wear a disguise then?” Vin asked.

  “Not for training. When we put you in France, yes, I’ll show you the wardrobe room later.”

  Vin placed his wallet and spare change inside the locker, feeling around for any other items in his pockets.

  “To answer your previous question more thoroughly,” Chief Smiley began, reaching into the locker and pulling out a gel-like net, “Time travel to fix errors in the present is prohibited for the reason I just articulated. As you should know, all time travel to change the past is not only illegal, but it’s basically impossible.”

  As he spoke, Vin realized the item in Chief Smiley’s hand was, in fact, the web. It looked like a children’s toy, reflecting the drab color of their surroundings with an outdated feel. Looking closer, Vin realized it wasn’t rubber at all, but a delicate interlocking weave of fiber-optics.

  Vin blinked, unimpressed by the age of the technology. He knew that the private time travel industry used portals. The web essentially amounted to dial up internet. Unaware of his disappointment, Chief Smiley continued to drone on.

  “Anomalies tend to be absorbed and averaged out. So we could go back and take her out of France, but some way or another, she would find herself there. We can’t fully prove why, but somehow things end up happening as they should.”

  Chief Smiley gave him a broad grin, looking like a contented tabby cat.

  “All this is classified information, so keep it to yourself. My analysts are still running the numbers, but it’s pretty clear what Julius Arnold is doing—while illegal—won’t touch Standard D. The numbers will prove it, you’ll see.”

  “I understand sir,” Vin said, unsure what he was getting at.

  This was his mother’s viewpoint, that all attempts to travel into the past end up being meaningless. If Chief Smiley didn’t think time travel to restricted areas was harmful, what were they doing? Vin must have misunderstood—it was all so new.

  “Here,” Chief Smiley said, abruptly passing the web to Vin.

  Vin squeezed the jelly-like folds of the device as Chief Smiley continued.

  “The web is outdated technology, but we find it actually is more consistent than some newer models that utilize particle . . . ” Realizing that Vin wasn’t listening, Chief Smiley sighed. “Never mind, see this pad?”

  He advanced on Vin, righting the web to reveal a small reading pane.

  “Your code goes here, enter it now,” he directed.

  Vin complied, e
ntering his passcode. The screen illuminated with a blinking 12:00 symbol. When Chief Smiley saw it, he gave another aggrieved sigh, pulling out his reading pane.

  “I always have to fix these things—Janice never resets them properly,” he groused, tapping furiously.

  Vin watched the clock reset to the current time.

  “You set everything though Central Computer?” he asked.

  “I just inserted an end point into your web,” Chief Smiley continued, adjusting his glasses. “And since you asked, for all intents and purposes, I am Central Computer.”

  “Ah,” Vin responded, wondering why Director Hay would give so much power to one individual.

  He must trust him to grant so much access.

  “I heard about how the inspectors were using old technology but never realized just how old,” Vin said. “I know the travel industry uses portals, though more expensive, they reduce exposure to free radicals. Or so the advertisements say.”

  “If you need to send a message, type it in here,” Chief Smiley said, ignoring Vin’s little speech and gesturing to the reading pane. “It gets forwarded to mission support. In this case, since no one else is here, it will go to me.”

  “Are you in charge of all mission support as well?” Vin asked.

  Chief Smiley looked at him queerly before Vin wondered if he had inadvertently offended him. After several charged seconds, Chief Smiley gave himself a shake.

  “I’m taking on the lowest of responsibilities in seeing to your deployment, but the budget deadlock can’t last forever, can it?”

  “No,” Vin responded succinctly, wondering why he had seemed so momentarily flustered.

  “Ok, ready?”

  “Where am I . . . ” in the course of asking the question, Chief Smiley threw the web around Vin—which whipped into place, covering him from head to toe.

  “Less than five percent have an allergic reaction to time travel, resulting in cardiac arrest and death, let us hope you are not in that percentile.”

  Leaning forward, Chief Smiley hit the red button on the web’s reading pane. Vin gasped, his muscles beginning to cramp as the blue rivulets of the web glowed with energy around his feet. He watched in horror as the current traveled up his body. Vin wanted to scream, but his entire body seemed paralyzed. Fear engulfing him, he looked over to Chief Smiley, who was now standing next to the wall with his hand on a lever.

  Looking down in horror, Vin identified the outlines of what appeared to be a trap door. He could hear the voice of Chief Smiley echo in the room as the energy swallowed his neck and head.

  “In order for the web to work, the user must have the sensation of falling. Something to do with the brain’s electrical . . . ”

  Chief Smiley pulled the lever, and Vin Damato dropped through the floor.

  Vin drew a full breath, his head no longer spinning. Feeling the texture of grass below him, he opened his eyes, slowly regaining his composure.

  Pulling the web from him, he studied his surroundings.

  The mountainous landscape could belong to any number of locations—from Colorado to Switzerland. The wind whipped around Vin’s confused form as he identified a wooden shack several yards away. Tucking the web into the back of his pants, Vin started towards it, before hearing the sound of movement directly behind him.

  Whirling around, Vin watched as a robed figure walked towards him. His shiny bald head and prayer necklace implied his vocation. It was a monk.

  Vin blinked, wondering if he was dreaming. The monk stopped before him, studying Vin intently.

  Vin pondered the obscurity of the scene before him, belatedly realizing he must be in ancient China—the man before him a Shaolin monk.

  “I’m here for training,” Vin said, feeling a mixture of altitude and anxiety suppress his breathing.

  He could feel the blood rushing through his ears—so loud he assumed the monk could hear as well.

  Without answering, the monk gestured past him towards the shack. Vin followed, wondering if Chief Smiley made a mistake. He expected a military training center, replete with weapons, obstacle courses, rock walls—that sort of thing. There was nothing here save this pathetic shack and the relentless mountain wind.

  As Vin followed the monk, they cleared a sloping incline, entering a courtyard strewn with odd-looking implements. The monk stopped before one of these.

  The large wooden cross stood about eye level. Two large jugs were placed on either side—each brimming with water. Hanging on the arms of the cross were two jugs. The monk gestured towards the apparatus, speaking in broken English.

  “Hang from your knees. Move water from the bottom to the top.”

  Vin stared at him incredulously, visualizing in his mind what the monk was asking him to do.

  “There must be some mistake,” he said, wondering why Chief Smiley would send him thousands of years back in time to do inverted sit-ups.

  He pulled the web from his back pocket, tapping on the reading pane frantically.

  Vin sent a message requesting help—feeling a wave of embarrassment as the monk calmly watched his movements. Vin nervously refreshed the screen, growing more anxious as no response arrived. Chief Smiley’s words came back to haunt him. No one could travel without an endpoint. Vin was stuck there, until Chief Smiley decided to bring him back.

  Swearing under his breath, Vin tossed the web down. Not knowing how to start, he studied the water jugs with a bemused expression.

  The monk pointed to the cross.

  “Begin.”

  “What am I supposed to move the water with?” Vin asked, as the monk removed two small tea cups from his robe.

  Vin moved forward to get a better look at the two large jars of water on the ground. Move all that water? While hanging upside down? This was right out of a bad kung fu movie.

  He lifted his legs over the arms of the cross, releasing his torso towards the ground—head inches from the grass. Wincing at the pain in his limbs, he tried to relax. From his upside-down vantage point, the monk handed him the teacups.

  “Take these,” he directed, lifting Vin halfway up and dipping the teacups into the jugs of water.

  “Draw water,” the monk said, “sit up,” he continued, pulling Vin to where his knees were shaking uncontrollably. “Throw out,” he finished—pouring the water into the hanging basins.

  As the monk stepped back, Vin let his head fall back to the ground. Grunting with effort, he sat up, filling the cups before sitting up further and dumping them into the hanging basins. After several minutes, his torso was on fire.

  “This is going to take forever,” Vin intoned, feeling the blood rush to his head as he hung limply.

  “Time is not important,” the monk responded, “now continue.”

  4

  Kanon’s last meal consisted of stale bread, tasting more of stones than flour. After picking out the edible bits, she heard sounds coming from the other end of the cell door. As it eased open, one of the guards entered, roughly lifting her up and out.

  Blinking at the torch light after being enshrouded in darkness for what seemed like days, Kanon saw the Duchess outside her cell. Looking dirty and scared, Kanon whispered reassurances as they were led out of the dungeons and into the gated courtyard from the previous day.

  Blinking in the daylight, Kanon identified several guards from their abduction. They stood huddled together at one end of the courtyard, swearing and telling jokes. Kanon studied their red caps and loose-fitting breeches—all items associated with revolutionaries. However, there was one man she did not recognize. He stood apart from the others, and while he was similarly dressed, he was significantly taller—nearly six feet at least.

  He must be in charge, Kanon thought, studying his cool, detached demeanor.

  Once he saw them, he gestured to the other guards. They seized the Duchess first, pulling her towards a lone wooden bench. Kanon watched in horror as they slashed her hair—the plumes soundlessly drifting to the ground.

  W
hen the Duchess realized what was happening, she began squirming.

  “Stop! Don’t you know me?” she cried, fighting against them.

  The guards held her steady, cutting the back of her gown to expose her snow-white neck.

  Stunned, she sat silently. One burly guard removed her shackles. Throwing them aside, he tied her hands with a bit of cording. He then brought her roughly to her feet, moving with intention towards Kanon. Before he reached her, the tall guard straightened.

  “As you were,” he commanded.

  The man stopped, looking at Kanon queerly as the guard who was surely their leader walked towards her.

  “Time for la toilette, Countess,” he said, removing her shackles and replacing them with a thin cord.

  He didn’t tie it very well, and Kanon realized he had given her a few inches of space in-between her hands. He had only uttered a few words, but did she detect a foreign accent? Perhaps Julius had these men brought in from overlying areas. Why else would they act against two women of preeminent social status?

  With a gentle hand, he guided her to the wooden bench the Duchess had vacated. Kanon sat down heavily, hearing the sound of the shears as her hair floated to the ground. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as the guard dutifully snipped her gown down the back.

  What happened next took her by surprise, as he put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them as he drew her up from the bench.

  Turning to face him, Kanon looked into his velvety brown eyes—why had he appealed to her in this way. Could this be a sign?

  “Merci,” she said, her voice wavering.

  The tall guard made no answer, as he turned and barked out an order. With the Duchess in tow, he walked her through the iron gates of the courtyard, greeted by a gendarmerie—a heavy wooden tumbrel.

  Kanon knew this would transport them to the guillotine, and seemingly so did the Duchess. She began fighting with the guards—making it as difficult as possible to get her inside.

  The large, burly guard swiftly lost patience, moving to strike her.

  Kanon lurched forward to assist, feeling a hand grip her tightly.