by E W Barnes
“We’ll focus on the 22nd century,” Caelen said over his shoulder.
“This is 2204, so the 22nd century was only a few years ago for you, wasn’t it?” Sharon asked.
“Five years ago, actually. The TPC counts the start of a century with year one. 2200 was the last year of the 22nd century and this year is the third of the 23rd,” Jonas said.
“Details, details,” Sharon muttered. Jonas opened his mouth to argue that details were important in time travel but stopped when Caelen moved away from the temporal amplifier behind her. Taking a deep breath, Sharon held out her hand for the touch screen.
Caelen handed Sharon the remote control.
“We’re traveling in time for the training?” she asked, raising her eyebrows as she stood up.
“In a manner of speaking,” he said, with the shadow of a smile.
“All of us?” Sharon asked as Miranda and Jonas stood next to her.
“This is an important training shift, and we thought we’d come along to support you,” Jonas said.
“Unless you don’t want us to accompany you,” Miranda added tactfully.
Sharon’s eyes shone. These agents were more than her trainers and guides: they had become her friends. She could think of nothing she would enjoy more than sharing this training with them.
“I would love for you to accompany me. All of you. Thank you.”
Caelen gestured with his chin that she should activate the remote control. The room rippled away, but they did not fully emerge somewhere else. She could only dimly see their surroundings and sounds were muted. It was as if the four of them were in a bubble and no sense of their location came through clearly.
“Did something go wrong?” Sharon asked.
“Not at all,” Caelen answered. “This is 2167 and we’re in ‘observation mode’.”
“I remember that,” Sharon said. “Something about using the temporal penumbra to bring us part of the way through time so we can watch but can’t be seen.”
Miranda smiled. “Dr. Ayaan will be pleased you remembered. As you’ve learned, the difference between a chrono-historian and an agent is that agents are permitted to directly interact with the time frame they’re visiting. Chrono-historians use observation mode only to learn about the times they visit.”
“Why didn’t we use observation mode when we were trying to stop the Chestnut Covin together in the 20th century?” Sharon asked Caelen.
“Without being able to remember that timeline, my guess is that to complete the mission, we needed to interact with the time frame. It’s impossible to integrate into a time frame while in observation mode.”
“So, we’re here, but not really here,” Sharon nodded.
“Using the temporal penumbra this way requires the temporal amplifier to draw energy directly from the temporal nexus,” he added. “We use this mode sparingly.”
Sharon shook her head. “There’s so much you didn’t tell me in that timeline,” she said in mock disgust. Jonas snorted. Caelen scoffed and shook his head as she turned to watch outside the bubble.
“What’s happening here?” she asked.
“You tell me.”
They were on a flat plain, a broad expanse of bright snow. A wind picked up a few snowflakes and ice crystals. They glittered blue and white around the temporal penumbra and appeared to even dance through it. Sharon held out her hand to catch them, but her hand remained dry and warm. Observation mode insulated them from the cold and brightness of the sun on the snow. As far as she could see they were alone. She didn’t know how she would learn about the 22nd century or temporal infiltration and assimilation on an empty snow field.
She opened her mouth to say that as Miranda said: “Patience, Sharon.”
“There,” Caelen said.
Sharon saw a group of people approaching. While there were several adults, the group was mostly children around 10 years of age, all in snowshoes following each other in a line.
“Who are they?”
“Who do you think they are?”
Sharon looked again, this time registering details. The party was dressed in heavy coats, hats, snow goggles, gloves — the works. Each was carrying a backpack, and each had ski poles to assist them as they walked. They looked healthy and the children were smiling and laughing.
“They don’t look like they’re in danger, like they’re escaping something, or in distress like refugees,” she said mostly to herself. “The adults are not calling out instructions, so it doesn’t appear to be a snow-shoeing class. It almost looks like a school field trip.”
Caelen chuckled. “Well done. You’re correct, it’s a school field trip. Let’s join them.”
The temporal penumbra moved easily across the flat as they walked and there was no sensation of sinking into the snow or cold seeping into their shoes. She felt queasy, however: The bubble distorted her vision of the outside world which made her motion sick. She soon learned to look at the horizon and not at the line of children as they drew closer. The distance made the distortion of the observation mode bubble less noticeable.
Within a few moments of joining the school group, their leader stopped and gave instructions for them to spread out. The reason soon became obvious. They had come to the edge of a great cliff which sloped down and away to a blunt point of snow and ice below them.
The point of snow was dirty and from under it flowed water fast and cold. They were standing on a glacier, reaching around a valley like a giant horseshoe.
The leader asked the students questions about the formation of glaciers and their role in earth's history and its geology. Sharon moved closer. Her education on glaciers and geology, as well as every other subject, had taken place in a classroom with books. Sometimes there were videos or internet research, and the rare field trip to museums. Seeing the glacier and its effects in person was a much better way to learn, she thought.
“What would you need to do to blend into this time frame?” Caelen asked Sharon.
“I would need to understand the purpose of this outing, in this case a field trip to study glaciers and geology,” she answered.
“Yes. And?” Caelen prompted.
“I would research the participants: find out who each is and their role. Then learn exactly from where the field trip started, the location of this glacier, and where the field trip ended, including the precise beginning and ending times. I would research how they physically got out here and how they returned. Finally, I would analyze how I could include myself into the event without drawing attention to my presence and request the appropriate accouterments to complete the mission.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jonas said.
“Let’s keep observing,” Caelen said.
There was a lively discussion despite the cold. The children were engaged, well-informed, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. One boy was talking about the different terrain left by glaciers when there was a low rumble. A huge sheet of ice and snow was falling from the other side of the glacier. Giant boulders of snow and rock followed it. They could feel the concussion in their feet as the avalanche hit the valley floor. A few of the children cried out.
“What’s happening?” Sharon asked Caelen in a whisper.
“Just watch,” Caelen said, not taking his eyes off the scene.
The thunder grew louder, and the teachers ordered the group away from the edge. The children were frightened and a few of the adults were now holding their hands to comfort them and to help them keep moving. Another adult was speaking into what looked like a radio or phone.
The rumbling followed them as the group moved away from the edge as fast as the snowshoes and the shortened strides of the children allowed. They were 50 feet away when the edge they had been standing on fell, slowly at first, then gathering speed as it rolled down the slope. It ate away a new edge and shortened the distance between the brink and the group, as if the cliff were chasing after them. Sharon’s heart was pounding as their bubble trail
ed alongside the fleeing group.
There was another noise, a new rumble as if more ice was falling, but higher in pitch and from above. Sharon looked up and saw small aircraft swooping in. Each landed with precision in a row close to the running group, side doors opening even before they had come to a stop. People jumped out and guided the children and their adult guardians into the four aircraft until all were safely on board.
“Do we go with them?”
“No, we’ll stay here and watch them leave,” Caelen answered.
One by one the aircraft left the surface as neatly as it had landed. The last one still had its door open and Sharon saw a rescuer hand a small brown box to a child when no one else was looking. As the rescuer stood to close the door, she looked straight at the four time-travelers as if she could see them.
It was Ferhana Veta, Director of the TPC.
Sharon’s mouth dropped, and she heard Jonas and Miranda gasp. The door slid shut and the aircraft climbed into the sky.
The rumbling stopped. The edge of the cliff no longer leapt toward them.
They were alone in their bubble on the silent ice.
“Now we go back,” Caelen said.
CHAPTER THREE
“Was Director Veta supposed to be in 2167?” Sharon asked as soon as they shifted back into the training room.
Miranda and Caelen exchanged looks.
“No,” Caelen said. “There is no record of the director participating in that event.”
“Maybe she was there to observe?” Sharon’s heart sank at the thought she might need director oversight for her training.
“I don’t think so,” Miranda said. “It’s not the director’s habit to observe agent training.”
“Maybe it was someone who looked like her,” Jonas said.
“Yes, that could be,” Miranda nodded. “I will ask when I meet with the director this afternoon.”
Sharon’s eyebrows drew together. It had been Director Veta in the helicopter, she was certain of it.
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked how you did on your training,” Caelen said. Sharon looked at him from under her brows. He had the air of a man trying to change the subject.
“How did I do?”
Caelen waited as long as he thought Sharon would stand it and then smiled.
“You passed, with flying colors as the old saying goes.”
“Congratulations,” they all said as Sharon stiffly hugged each one of them. What should have felt like a triumph was overshadowed by the mystery of seeing the director in 2167 and the worry about what it meant. Sharon cleared her throat.
“When do I get to be a full agent?” she asked.
“We need to complete your 22nd century history training. Then we’ll each submit our reports to Director Veta, and she will affirm the completion of your training,” Miranda said.
“Then you have your swearing-in ceremony,” Jonas added. “That’s the best part, when we all celebrate with you.”
“And then what? When do I get an assignment?”
“That will be up to the Director,” Caelen answered.
Miranda was scanning her computer again.
“I’m sorry to leave, but I must attend the meeting with Director Veta,” she said, her eyes glowing a deep green. Sharon took Miranda’s hands into her own.
“Thank you for everything.”
The green deepened into a blue as Miranda smiled and then flashed green again as she left the room.
“What’s next?” Sharon asked Caelen.
“Next you record your observations… but for now leave out thinking that we saw Director Veta since we’re not sure it was actually her.”
The door to the training room opened. It was Miranda. Her eyes were no longer green, but a dark orange Sharon had never seen before.
“Have any of you left this room since we returned from 2167?” she asked after firmly closing the door.
“No, why do you ask?” Caelen said.
“Something has changed… things are not as they are supposed to be. Could we have made an error in programming our last shift?”
Caelen went to the temporal amplifier control panel in the workstation.
“What’s changed? What’s not as it’s supposed to be?” Jonas asked in a strained voice.
“I don’t see anything amiss from our last shift,” Caelen said, scanning the records. He tapped the keyboard.
“There were no errors.” He looked up. “Whatever the problem is, it doesn’t stem from anything we’ve done today.”
“What’s going on?” Sharon asked.
“The TPC has initiated some kind of defense protocol,” Miranda answered. “Security officers are everywhere. It appears the building has been placed in minimal power mode and …” she paused, uncharacteristically struggling for the right words. “Everything feels wrong.”
Caelen was typing on the keypad again.
“I’m accessing the temporal mainframe,” he said. There was a long silence while they held their breaths.
“It appears the TPC is in Critical Operations Mode... This can’t be right.”
“What is it?” asked Sharon.
“The record says the TPC has been in Critical Operations Mode since 2127.”
“What?” The orange in Miranda’s eyes deepened.
“But… 2127 was 77 years ago,” Jonas said.
“There’s more,” Caelen’s tone suggested they would not like what was coming next. “The entire planet is under martial law.”
“What does that mean?” Sharon asked.
“When did that happen?” Miranda asked.
Caelen answered Miranda’s question first.
“2127.”
They gaped at each other.
“I don’t understand this,” Caelen said. “It says the TPC was placed in Critical Operations Mode by the World Government to prevent an Alexander Event.”
Jonas’ eyes widened as Miranda said: “That can’t be!”
“Would someone please explain what’s going on?” Sharon asked in a loud voice.
“Something has changed the timeline, a change that took place 77 years ago. And it must have happened while we were in 2167 or we would've been change along with it,” Miranda explained.
“If the timeline changed in 2127, why didn’t we see evidence of the change when we visited 2167? Why are we only seeing it now?” Sharon asked.
“Perhaps because we were in 2167 when the change occurred – our presence made a kind of loop in the timeline. The loop would have disappeared when we returned to 2204,” Caelen answered.
“Could it have something to do with Director Veta being in 2167?” Sharon asked.
“We don’t know if it was actually her, remember,” Jonas said.
“Yes, we do,” Sharon said firmly. “At least, I know it was her.”
“Yes, I agree it was her, though I don’t think Director Veta’s presence in 2167 caused this. I do think her being there is connected to what's going on,” Caelen answered thoughtfully.
“How do you know?” Jonas asked.
“No,” Miranda said sharply. “Not here.” She stood in front of the training room door and waved her hand in front of the light switch, plunging them into darkness.
“Follow me,” she said, opening the door.
◆◆◆
The hall was only marginally brighter than the black of the room. The echoing silence and unnatural gloom were disconcerting, and Sharon resisted the urge to tiptoe. They skirted along the wall, following Miranda down the wide hall and out into the atrium which was slightly brighter with late afternoon sun reflecting off the windows.
The coffee shop was gone and in its place was a security station. The potted plants and fountain had disappeared, too. A few TPC staff looking hunched and nervous were checking in with a security officer behind the desk. Next to the officer sat an alert guard dog watching all movement. Several more guards stood against the walls. Hairs stood up on the back of Sharon’s neck as she followed
Miranda to the main doors leading out into the grounds, Jonas and Caelen close behind.
“Hey, you! Stop where you are!”
They froze, inches from the doors leading outside. Turning slowly, they saw three security officers surrounding a small woman who looked terrified. The dog was standing now. Staff in the atrium hurriedly disappeared down the dark halls radiating like spokes out of the atrium. Others shrank further against the walls.
“Your work order required that you be off the premises five minutes ago,” one of the security officers barked.
“I needed to finish writing a report,” the woman squeaked. “My superior was waiting for it and it took longer than I expected. Please. It… it won’t happen again.”
“You should learn to plan your time better,” the security guard said. “You know the rules.” The officer looked up at the other two guards. “To the holding room until we can confirm her story.”
“Please,” the woman moaned as the two guards escorted her to a room behind the desk. “Please…”
“Come on,” Miranda breathed.
Shaken, they hurried through the door.
This was Sharon’s first time outside the building. When arriving at the TPC from her home in 2023, Sharon always either shifted into the atrium, or directly into a training room. She took a deep inhale of humid air, smelling of loam and the faint perfume of blooming flowers.
There were curving concrete paths that led through fern forests, rhododendron thickets, and bamboo groves. A stream interwove with the paths, sometimes crossing under them, sometimes trickling alongside them. Sharon relaxed a little in the beauty.
Miranda kept walking until she reached a ring of benches a distance away from the building. They could see the white walls and glass through breaks in the greenery but were far enough away that if you didn’t look at the building, you might believe yourself lost in a park.
Miranda bent to inhale the scent of a gardenia and then sat, her eyes reflecting the surrounding green. The others sat on benches across from her.
“I’m sorry for the long walk. I don’t want us overheard. And even out here we risk detection.”
