Time Agency

by Aaron Frale

  He reached out and attempted to open the briefcase. It was locked. A locked case meant the data was never transferred. It had a quantum lock that was tied to the quantum pattern of 07760, who could be the only person to open and close it. The quantum lock would dissipate after a data transfer. The well-dressed man didn’t believe 07760 would just abandon the case. The briefcase was the only clue the man had for his memories.

  “Are you going to save us the time and tell us what’s in it?” she asked.

  “Sorry, I forgot,” he said.

  If she proceeded with the standard punishment, she would never get the information inside the briefcase. At least Jerry had some time. He waited for her to talk. He knew there was something more he could learn from her, but he couldn’t quite understand exactly what. The key involved understanding the emotion on her face. Without context, a furrowed brow could be love, hate, frustration, or any number of the myriad of human emotions. Because she was trained to bury her emotions, Jerry had to work extra hard to figure out what she was feeling. Her emotional state was critical to understanding how much information Jerry could glean from her.

  He shared more than a professional relationship with her once. Not only was it an indiscretion, but an insult to the agency. He didn’t care as much about his job but didn’t pursue the relationship because he knew the job was important to her. She was skilled at distancing herself through professionalism, so she only validated his existence via achievement and study. He worked hard and sometimes wondered how much of his hard work was for her. But as the years passed, he thought she didn’t care. The indiscretion was just a temporary lapse in hormonal control for her and unlocked a world for him.

  So why did she care now? There was emotion on her face, in her body, and a part of her very being. But he could not place it. Maybe she was attempting to communicate non-verbally. Jerry also had a habit of wishful thinking. The problem with non-verbal communication was that it was perception based. Jerry’s “old man” movies taught him that the perception of emotion could change with a shift in music. He saw a movie about a shark, and the main character was terrified of the shark. Another filmmaker re-cut a preview of the movie to look like a buddy shark flick. The climax of the original film ended with the main character screaming in horror. The re-cut film turned the main character’s horror to love and admiration with a change in music. Nanette’s emotion could be taken in many ways. He decided to let it pass. She could be using their emotional history against him.

  “Here is the footage from the security camera in the bookstore,” she said. The wall lit up, and it showed footage of 07760 attacking the clerk. There was something deadpan about 07760’s eyes. It was like he was on autopilot.

  Jerry was surprised. He was certain he wiped 07760 of any programming.

  His mentor indicated the case. “Tell us why he attacked that man,” she offered. “They will consider your cooperation and maybe even offer probation.”

  Jerry’s control of the situation slipped away. 07760 attacking the clerk meant that the programming was more thorough than Jerry thought, or that Jerry had misplaced his trust. Either prospect was troubling. Jerry needed to get out. His escape options were very limited. Luckily enough, Jerry had been part of the design team for the new interrogation rooms. His mentor eliminated any backdoor exits or entrances to the interrogation room security Jerry left behind before locking him in. That didn’t stop Jerry from taking advantage of another co-worker’s design flaw. Jerry sent a command through a network hole he dug during their conversation. A backdoor into the security system opened an escape route.

  Nanette blinked, and Jerry was no longer in the room. He appeared in front of a fruit stand at a grocery store. A fruit stand wasn't Jerry's first choice, but it was the best window available. Time travel was different than everybody thought. Science fiction writers from the past depicted time travel as this ability to appear anywhere in the world at any time. The reality was that time, like any other medium, was rock hard in places and almost liquid in others. The only way to travel back was to step through when the time barrier was liquid. The most liquid moment left Jerry at a fruit stand, and on cue, 07760 entered and spotted him. Jerry knew it was only a matter of minutes before Nanette tracked him down again. If she caught him, the agency would be more careful with his network access. Jerry needed a plan. He began to pick fruit.

  Event 2 – R

  I needed to find some answers, so I looked for a library or a school. A professor would know what to do. They always knew what to do. Why did I know that? Did I ever go to college? I thought I did, but it felt like another life. I felt as if I had intuition, but my memories were locked away. They were vague shapes and hazy images.

  The city was surprisingly empty at night for being a major metropolis. If I were to guess, I’d probably be in New York or Chicago, but I really couldn’t tell. None of the streets looked familiar, and they seemed off from the normal sense of what a street should look like. Avenues and streets stretched out in front of me. I didn’t know what the local university would look like or where it would even be. So I may have been walking in circles, or maybe it was a straight line, and the streets were designed to keep a person going in circles.

  The strange part about walking most of the night was that I did not feel tired or hungry. I ate most of the fruit that I had shoplifted from the store, not because I was hungry, but more because I was bored. By not having any money, I was forced to walk to every destination. I couldn’t take the subway. My body didn’t seem to mind. It felt great despite the lack of sleep or food. My awareness was much better than before. I didn’t feel drugged anymore. My brain perceived every sight, sound, and smell.

  The city was really quiet at night. I occasionally heard the clank of high heels and dress shoes, none of which belonged to the well-dressed man. Sometimes I’d hear the crackle of neon lighting from a storefront or club. And very occasionally, a car would drive by. For a massive city, I would expect more noise. In fact, I haven't heard a siren since the bookstore. I would expect more police activity at night rather than a complete lack of it. I should be thankful that I was in a well-kept city, but the lack of filth and crime made me uncomfortable. It was like I was expecting a savage post-apocalyptic wasteland, but instead, I got block after gentrified block.

  I imagined the professor I would meet at the college. He would invite me into his office, offer me a drink, and explain everything to me. After a while of chatting about life, philosophy, and art, he would tell me about a procedure for getting my memories back. I’d stick my head into some electrodes, and he would tell me it would hurt. The shock would burn, but I’d feel a rush of energy as all the memories would come flooding back to me. I’d find out that I was a secret agent, captured by the enemy, and had to take a memory-wiping pill. I barely escaped with my life. The well-dressed man was my contact in some shadowy organization.

  None of my fantasy explained why the file in the briefcase had a picture of me in it, but I figured once my secret agent memory returned, I'd know how to contact the well-dressed man. Either way, I’d discover why I was here, where here was, and what I should be doing. I guess I could have asked another person about the location, but I didn’t want to know yet. I’d rather find out myself. Were secret agents stubborn? I guess they had to be.

  I saw a sign that pointed toward a university. It wasn’t much help as far as figuring out what university because it simply said university with an arrow pointing to the right. Finally, I would have everything answered. I walked a couple of blocks and came to a big gate. I peered through the ornate iron gate to what looked like an old campus with a large square, and buildings that were constructed before my grandfather’s conception. The professor I sought surely must have a lab in the basement of this place. If only the campus were open, I could find the basement lab. It must have been later than I thought but still I wasn’t tired.

  I sat down in front of the gate mulling over my next step. If I was a secret agent, then I coul
d assume there was a reason why I was here, lacking memory. The sluggish haze I first felt yesterday was probably drugs wearing off in my system. A hospital would be open this late. I could have them test for drugs. That would at least let me know something, but a hospital seemed risky. I felt like I didn’t want to contact anyone official until I knew more about myself. There were other ways I could find out more information about my condition. If the memory loss were from a major surgery, then I would be heavily drugged. Surgery would mean a bandage.

  I checked myself for bandages. I dug my fingers into my hair that was still well groomed, rubbed my chest and back, felt down my legs, and even checked my genitals. If a campus security guard arrested me for indecent exposure, maybe I would get inside the campus. Then I would use my secret agent skills to break myself out of campus security. Although, avoiding police or any security was probably in my best interest. I should have smelled from the lack of shower, but I couldn’t tell. The anxious sweat soaked into my clothes but didn’t leave an odor. I sniffed my armpits very deeply. There was no smell. I checked for stubble on my face. There was none. I should be way shabbier.

  I was clean like the city. Why was I expecting filth? The city smelled fine. The air was crisp like when a breeze rolled in from the ocean. But it wasn’t natural. I was in a major city. There should have been a myriad of bad smells, but all I sensed were good ones: the fresh fruit of a grocer, baked bread of the café, and the sea breeze scent of the city. I didn’t smell car exhaust, oil, sewage, mold, rot, or filth. During my entire walk, I didn’t see a single piece of trash. There were dumpsters with waste, but even they were very tidy. They didn’t have a single speck on them. There should be a stain on the side of every dumpster: a rotting milk container spilled by a careless employee, a shattered booze bottle tossed at the dumpster carelessly, or urine from a man who couldn’t hold it. But there was nothing. The sidewalks were also perfect. There should be at least one piece of gum squished into a round black bump on the sidewalk.

  That’s when I realized that I didn’t even see a single homeless person during the walk. Homeless people always lived in the cities. They survived on the refuse and charity of others. People in this city obviously lived a cushioned life. It was as if the grit of the city was stripped away, or perhaps it was like the homeless people of the city were stripped away.

  I figured out one aspect about myself. I was a pessimist rather than an optimist. If I had been an optimist, the lack of homeless people and cleanliness of the city would make me think the city was a great place because they must take care of their citizens. But I was a pessimist because homeless people didn’t just stop existing. They had to go somewhere, and I imagined that wherever it was, I shouldn’t find out or at least not be discovered as a homeless person.

  Maybe I wasn’t a secret agent, but a banker who angered the wrong people. The file in the briefcase could be my portfolio. They would leave me on the street with no money and a wiped memory. What choices would I have than to become homeless? And everyone knows what happens to homeless people. No, I needed to get some clothes before I began to look homeless. I may look fine now, but it would be only a matter of time before I started looking homeless. Maybe I was paranoid, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong with this city.

  Event 4 - N

  Nanette appeared into an empty gray space with no discernible walls, ceiling, or floors. The substance that permeated the room with millions of machines was gray. Her business suit and shoes were black in stark contrast to the background. She had ruby red lipstick and earrings for a flash of color. The room began to shift and swirl with various gray shaded wisps as if she willed it to do so. The particles of gray began to colorize and formed a sidewalk, rectangular shapes materialized into a grocery store, clothing store, bookstore, and café.

  People materialized into the space frozen in time. Jerry and 07760 appeared last. Jerry held the briefcase. She paused and soaked in the information. The motivation was the most important piece. If she understood his motivation, she could piece everything together. She paced around the frozen scene and stared directly into 07760’s eyes. He looked a little too alert. His eyes began to shift to look a little hazy. Pleased with her modification, she turned to her errant protégé. Jerry looked determined, like a character in one of his spy novels. His features began to shift until he became neutral. Then they shifted again to confidence. There had to be confidence in his eyes. Normally, such outrageous displays of emotion were not befitting an agent, but he knew no one was around to watch. She knew him well enough to know he valued emotion.

  She often mused about what people were like when they weren’t being watched. The problem with her musings was that no one would ever know as soon as someone was watching. She could set up hidden recording equipment, but the equipment would change the situation. The person would be observed, and things changed by being observed at the quantum level. For all she knew, human decision making was a complex quantum level event deep inside the molecules of the brain. The person may not know about the recording equipment, but their atoms would. The electrons in a person's atoms would be somewhere as opposed to many places. Could behavior be linked to a quantum level event? Could the random firing of a neuron in the brain be linked to a precise arrangement of electrons?

  She wondered if people could sense when their electrons were in a probability state as opposed to a specific location. When there was nothing to observe a person, did their personality take an amorphous state? Then once they were being observed, did they conform to the behavior of the particular configuration of electrons? She believed that an unobserved person could live in many possible universes at the same time. Their personality was in an amorphous state making choices, and others observed the choices. So once observed, their choice has permanency on their personal timeline. Jerry chose treason. She had observed that decision thus putting her into this universe. But is there another universe out there where they were working on their next case because she observed a different choice?

  Her belief allowed her to choose a state of being somewhere in between free will and fate. While she couldn’t control the universes that came to seek her out, she could decide the path in the given set of circumstances. For example, she might not have chosen her career path if the circumstances in life had been different. People liked to believe she became an agent because she had a tough childhood. Her childhood was typical and average. Her decision to join the agency was because of her interest in history. Humans had a propensity for atrocity, and she could do her part to prevent any more violence from entering the history books. Maybe there was another universe with a person with her same genetic makeup who couldn’t care less about history. Quantum physics said electrons existed in a probability cloud, so why couldn’t universes? She could also be mixing religion into her physics, which would cause some physicists to roll their eyes and tell her not to over think it.

  She was about to make another decision that could alter her entire universe. She needed to make a decision about Jerry. He went rogue, but it wasn’t clear as to why. Because of their history, she knew her supervisors were watching her. Despite their history, she was determined to find the reasons for his actions. She was too experienced to act with anything but impartiality.

  The grayspace finished tweaks to the scenario. The scenario began while she watched. The people started to move. The street became alive. 07760 waivered and woozed. Jerry walked up to 07760 with purpose and a plan. He set the briefcase down in front of 07760 and said, “This is a very important file. Find a safe location and open it. The information contained in the case will transfer to your brain as soon as you hold onto the file.” Jerry walked away, and 07760 grabbed the case.

  The scenario was too clandestine. The transaction couldn’t have happened the way the grayspace displayed. 07760 was way too woozy for all the information Jerry attempted to communicate. Besides, she knew Jerry well. He was much more subtle.

  The system reset a
nd the world shifted back to the starting position. The shift took a couple of seconds to process but loading time felt long to her. Technology always seemed to make humans wait. It seemed that when the tech could process more information, humans had to wait for it. Once computers could render a 2-D map with ease, 3-D maps came out and would load slowly. Once 3-D maps loaded with ease, location data was added forcing humans to wait. Now she could recreate entire worlds, but the more elaborate, the longer the load time. She felt that she was always waiting for technology.

  Today was no different. She would find the motivation of Jerry, and the first step was figuring out exactly how the scenario happened. Once she unlocked the scenario, she would have clues to 07760’s whereabouts. As she modified the parameters of the program, she saw a young woman with a short skirt, scarf, and glasses holding an old handheld thumbtouch device called a cell phone. Before wireless thought transmission controlled computers, people had to input their commands with clunky thumbtouch devices. The sheer amount of commands her brain was sending the computer every second would take days on a thumb driven database. But the old thumbtouches still had a use. They had an outdated piece of tech called a photograph.

  The photograph was her solution. The program began to shift again as parameters were modified. She accounted for photographs in her scenarios and entered them into the program. Photographs were a non-interactive technology that captured a moment in time and space. People used to use them to trade vague sensory impressions of experiences before people could share experiences through direct neural connection. Data keeping was vague back then, and her reconstructions were based on written documents, moving images, and photographs. It was like having an incomplete and limited understanding of the world. Movies only showed what was in the frame. Photographs lacked interaction. Writing about a street corner lacked all the detail of standing on that street corner. With neural transfers, a person could see what was beyond the edges of a photograph or outside the frame of a movie. A neural transfer could upload the feeling that was merely an impression in a photograph.