Hiatus

Due to a surprising workload this semester, along with some other things happening that are all taking up parts of my attention, I will have to be putting Juncture on hold for about 2-3 months.

I know that some of the more recent chapters haven't been up to snuff, and I hope to fix that, as well as work up a fairly sizeable backlog so I can be more timely.

See you guys in a while!

Juncture 5.8

On the walk back, I kept trying to think of people I had met recently. The same odd sensation, the weird feeling of memories getting written as I thought them persisted. When I made it back to my loft, I made sure to avoid the kitchen and make a beeline to my office. Although I was hungry since having puked up the food I had eaten earlier, I had to attend to more important business.

I flicked on the lights and closed the door behind me. The room was as boring as I had been able to make it. There was a chestnut desk covered with brown accordion folders. Most of them were filled with generic paperwork that could be applicable for any number of different careers. In front of the desk was a large leather office chair, which was the most comfortable thing I’d ever sat in.

I sat down and pulled open one of the desk drawers. Inside was another nondescript brown folder. I pulled it out of the drawer and slipped my hand inside. There was a sheet of paper, slightly thicker than a normal one. In reality, it was one of the coolest pieces of technology that the OST had available.

The sheet looked like a conversation from a screenplay. Lines began with a name, followed by a bunch of text. I read through the last couple of lines.

“Marc: Still no results. She won’t talk.

Seph: Well you have nothing but time, don’t worry about it. If you need anything else, I’ll be on call.”

I put the paper down on the middle of the desk, and unfolded the bottom half. It was what looked like a printed image of a computer keyboard.

Yeah, laptops had gotten a lot more portable.

I began typing. The words showed up on the top ‘screen’ as I typed them.

“Marc: It’s been a week for me. I think I found an anomaly.

Seph: What is it?

Marc: Try and remember something about someone you met recently. Think about the small details.

Seph: …Huh. That’s weird. And you’ve been experiencing this?

Marc: Yeah. Do you know if there are any previously recorded anomalies like this? I have a hunch that it may be caused with intent, but I have no idea who would do something like this.

Seph: Well we don’t even know if this is a natural occurrence yet. I’ll get the research department to look into it, but meanwhile, you need to get this info on King. We’re going to have to keep that as our biggest priority.

Marc: Okay. Any tips? I don’t want to have to torture her.

Seph: Sorry, Marc. That’s not really my area of expertise, you know that.

Marc: Right, right. I guess I’ll have to get back to you when I get some information.

Seph: Yup. I’ll still be here.

I folded the piece of paper back up, slid it into the folder, and put the folder back into the drawer. I had gotten used to the weird mode of communication. I had been here for over two years, and yet it was still the same day that I had left for Seph.

See, travel and information interaction to and from the OST headquarters had some weird, apparently arbitrary, probably necessary rules. For one, you could never come back to the base before you had left. You also couldn’t send information back to before you had left.

This kept the information flow to and from the OST strictly linear. There were disadvantages, but I was told that it made the paperwork a hell of a lot easier.

I left the office and went to the kitchen. There was a large analog clock just above the gas oven range, and I noticed that it was late. A quick glance out the window corroborated this evidence. The light was fading quickly, and the sky was a deep pink, with scattered clouds blocking out much of the light which remained.

I decided that I would start cooking dinner, since the workday was almost over. I pulled out a pot, cutting board, and a sharp knife. Then I grabbed a bunch of aromatic vegetables; carrots, celery, and onions.

I began chopping. Two years was a whole lot of time to practice new skills, especially since I didn’t have a traditional job taking up eight hours of each day. Because of that, I had gotten pretty good at cooking. I had to eat every day, so it had made sense to learn.

Within minutes, the vegetables were chopped into tiny wedges. I tossed them into the heating pan, followed by a spray of vegetable oil. The contents began to hiss as soon as they hit the bottom of the pan, and fairly soon the delicious smell of cooking vegetables filled the apartment.

I pulled a small package that was wrapped in oiled paper out of the fridge. Inside was some deboned chicken breast that I had gotten prepared at a nearby butcher’s shop. I quickly cut it into small strips, and prepared to throw them into the pot once the vegetables had finished.

I began to hum – it was just a habit that I had picked up whenever I was doing work with my hands. There was no tune really; I had never quite gotten the hang of it. I couldn’t really sing, either. It was just an odd drone, long held notes. It was calming.

The humming was probably why I didn’t notice that the door opened until several minutes later. I was stirring the pot, to which I had added a large quantity of water, a packet of bones, and a bunch of spices.

I covered the pot and was about to turn around when a pair of arms gripped me around my stomach. My back straightened instinctively and I turned, trying to pry the hands off. When I saw who it was, I managed to relax myself before I could hurt them.

It was Derry.

Juncture 5.7

Three weeks had passed. Three weeks, and I was no closer to finding out anything about King and his crew than I was before I had captured his agent. Although I wasn’t torturing her in any real way, I was strictly limiting her food and liquid intake. My hope was that at a certain threshold, she would become delirious and details would pour out like water.

If that didn’t end up happening? I could resort to other, more extreme forms of questioning. During the years that I had been working for the OST I had been in a large number of sticky situations, in which I would have to simply endure whatever was being dealt to me in order to escape.

Unconsciously, I straightened and bent my arm, the joint clicking as I did. It was still difficult to think about many of the things that I had gone through. They all felt fresh, as if the memories had been imprinted yesterday. But that tends to happen with physical trauma; the memories don’t lessen over time.

I unlocked the door to the warehouse. She was sitting in the chair, her head leaning forward; her hair greasy and matted. I walked over to her, and picked up the plastic bucket that was next to the chair – I had to be careful to breathe through my mouth. It was disgusting. I carried it over to a plumbing unit on the far side of the building and slopped it into the open, waiting pipe.

“So, have anything to tell me?” I asked as I walked back over to my prisoner. “If you do, I might even be persuaded to give you a little extra water this week.” I kneeled in front of her, putting my hand on her chin and pulling her face up so she was looking at me.

Her eyes were dull – as they had been after the first two weeks. She smelled terrible; almost as bad as the bucket.

She refused to meet my gaze. I gripper the lower half of her face, pinching her cheeks in, dragging her eyes to mine. She finally acceded, and a layer of steel that hadn’t been there enveloped her. Her eyebrows knit together in a look of defiance.

“Fuck… you,” I heard in an undertone. Her voice was dry and scratchy. Anger bubbled up, and I gripped her jaw harder. When I released her, she grunted and her head fell – she didn’t have the energy to hold it up. There were small marks where my fingernails had dug into her skin.

All of a sudden bile bubbled up in my throat.

This is wrong.

I felt it almost too late. Revulsion for what I was doing washed over me, and I ran outside, trying to look casual. As soon as I had closed the door to the warehouse all of the food that I had eaten in the past day escaped through my mouth.

I stayed there for the better part of ten minutes; kneeling on the floor waiting for the next round of bitter nausea to gut-punch me. I couldn’t explain just what had overcame me, but the entire situation felt immensely, abstractly wrong.

It was as if I was still that dumb, impressionable teenager. As if I hadn’t gone through all hell since I joined the OST. All at once I was certain that something weird had happened.

My immediate thought was that some wonky stuff was happening with time travel. I’d experienced time travel though, it was nothing like this. There was no sudden realization, it was just – travel, only you ended up in a different when instead of a different where.

No, this was something entirely different. I would have to contact someone at OST to ask them if they had any information on this type of thing.

Maybe Seph, she was – there was a momentary hitch in my thoughts. For a second, all I had was a name. Then, information and memories flooded in, and I remembered who she was.

That clinched it – something was up. It was like my current existence was a bad computer simulation, and it was taking some time to retrieve the information.

In the meantime, I had to finish. I still needed the information from this woman; she was a danger to her current society. I steeled myself and re-entered the dark room.

Her head twitched a little as the door squealed shut. I didn’t exchange any words with her, just walked over to the side of the room where the storage was. I grabbed a bottle of water and turned to walk back over to the prisoner. I had another thought, and turned back around, grabbing a second bottle and a can of beans.

I put the water bottles down in front of her, then opened the can and poured it into a clean, curved, plastic bowl. I didn’t want her to be able to slice my face open with the metal can.

I gently placed the bowl down in front of her. She managed to lift her head up to lock eyes with me.

I saw hatred – but deep in the back, in the darkest recesses of her pupils, I could see that she was just as scared as I was. I felt her see the same fear in my eyes. I broke off the contact.

As I began walking out, I heard a noise behind me. I turned. She had said something, but I hadn’t heard it. She was looking down again.

I walked out of the building, breathing in deep gulps of the fresh air. I would come back tomorrow, instead of waiting multiple days. As much as it pained me to do this, I would go back. I would get the information that we needed.

In the meantime, I had a lot to discuss with Seph, and quite possibly a whole host of other people at the OST. This sudden phenomena needed to be explained, and it needed to be explained fast.

Juncture 5.6

Frederick leaned forward, cupping his mug of coffee tightly in both hands. Steam rolled up from the coffee inside, twirling and spiraling up until it slowly dissipated.

“So before we get any further, you understand that everything I’m saying is true, right?” He asked. Apparently the police hadn’t believed him when he told them about futuristic weapons. That made sense.

“Absolutely, I will,” I answered. It was the go to response; interested, but not too eager. “I understand if it’s something weird. I’ve seen a lot of strange things during my life - I’ll understand.”

He nodded, sending wisps of steam curling around his face. “It was last week, Thursday night. I had finished – it was a good day. I had managed to sell this one naggling bracelet that had been taking up inventory space. It was a beautiful piece, though; just a bit too expensive.”

“So, I had sold the bracelet, and the shop was empty. I was locking up the display shelves, and as I finished the last one the bell above the door chimed. It was right about closing, so I was going to tell them that. But when I looked up I saw the barrel of something like a gun aimed at me.”

“I dropped, thanks to my military training. There was an explosion above me and all of the glass in the building shattered. A chunk of something caught me in the back of the head, I’m still not sure what it was. I was awake, but everything was a blur. The people were talking, one guy and one girl. They took everything that was in the display cases.”

“They said something. Most of the words were gibberish, of course, but I could make out some things.”

He paused to take a sip, and I interjected with, “Such as what?”

“I heard what I think were names, or monikers. One of them called the other “Jack”. The other said something about a “King”. They left soon after.”

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through that,” I said. While he had been talking, I had been scanning the area around us. I had brought us to a public area on purpose. If the thieves had thought that Frederick had been dead when they left, they could have begun searching for him after newspapers started interviewing him.

It was cruel, I know, but using him as bait was the easiest way for me to draw them out of hiding. So far nobody had done anything to garner my suspicions, but at the mention of King I saw a woman wearing sunglasses sitting at a nearby table suddenly sit still.

It was something that happened to people inexperienced at hiding secrets. They tried so hard to mask any surprise that they swung all the way over to the other side, stopping all movement.

I took a sip casually and stood up. “Excuse me for a second, Frederick. Something’s come up. I’ll be right back.”

I walked in the opposite direction of the woman, and when she went out of view behind the café, I ran around the back of the building. I came back around, and she hadn’t moved. Perfect. I stalked up behind her. When I got close enough I pulled out the pen I carried with me. Slowly, I leaned down and pressed it into her spine.

“Don’t move,” I whispered as menacingly as I could. Her spine straightened and I dug in with the pen. “I said don’t move!”

I sat down next to her, keeping my hand firmly behind her back. She didn’t turn to face me. It seemed like she was holding her breath.

“Now you’re gonna tell me what I want to know, okay?” I said, “Nod if you understand.” She nodded.

“Good. Who are you?”

She didn’t answer.

“I said, who are you?” I gritted my teeth and spat the words. She whispered something, and I leaned in to hear her better.

“-Five. Four. Three-“ I realized too late. I shot up and opened my mouth to tell Frederick to duck, to run, to do anything. He lifted his cup for a drink.

Bang.

Frederick got a surprised look on his face. He stopped mid-sip and looked down. Blood began to stain a hole in his yellow plaid shirt. He put the mug down, slowly lifted his hand up to the spot.

Then he collapsed sideways, the chair clattering next to him. Movement entered the café area and surrounding street. People began shouting and running in all different directions. The woman got up, and I grabbed the back of her jacket, digging the pen in.

“No, you’re not going anywhere. You’re coming with me.” She nodded. I began steering her away from the café as fast as I could, not wasting time to glance backward at Frederick. From what I could tell he was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die.

“You’re some sort of sick monster, do you know that?” I said. She scoffed, and answered. Her voice had a thick quality to it, like she had a throat full of molasses.

“As if you’re any better, leading a lady away at gunpoint.” I knew her for maybe thirty seconds and she was already getting on my nerves.

I led her down the streets to a nearby warehouse. The OST had rented safe spaces in almost every time period in almost every civilized area, places to go if an agent was in trouble.

I unlocked the door and flicked the lights on in the room. There were cans and cans of food, along with an odd machine that I learned could communicate with the OST headquarters.

Most importantly, there was a set of handcuffs and a chair, with the legs connected to the floor via concrete. I forcefully sat her down in it, and handcuffed her to the chair. I took a can of food and emptied it into a round bowl, then placed that on the floor in front of her.

“I’ll be back. You’re going to tell me why the hell you stole that man’s jewelry, then killed him. You’re going to tell me how you did it.”

“And you’re going to tell me who sent you.”

Juncture 5.5

There was a tinkling noise as I opened the door to the jewelry store. It was called Mason’s, and it didn’t take long to find. The name was embellished over the top of the storefront in garish, cursive letters. The exterior of the building was shockingly different than the inside, though. Here, shattered glass was the main feature, making appearances throughout the room; on the floor, on counters, and even embedded in some of the walls.

On the far side of the room, there was a dark, almost perfectly circular burn mark plastered on the wall. Whatever tool or weapon had done that wasn’t from this time, that was certain. I stepped gingerly over the floor, being careful to not puncture myself with the strewn glass.

The owner of the store was behind one of the shattered countertops, sweeping up the mess. I felt a pang of pity for him; he shouldn’t have had to deal with something like this. Hell, he probably couldn’t comprehend exactly what happened; nuclear cell batteries for weapons this powerful were eons away.

I examined him. Cold reading was a skill that I had picked up over the years, and it hadn’t stopped being useful. A quick look up and down; he wasn’t wearing any visible bandages, so he hadn’t actually been harmed during the robbery.

He wasn’t a bad-looking man necessarily. I would even say that he would have been quite attractive if he were ten or twenty years younger. His hair was just beginning to go grey, but it had already managed to recede from his forehead quite a bit. He was kind of short, and was in the beginning stages of the tragic weight-gain of middle age.

I walked over to the counter, and he held up a finger. I stopped, and he continued sweeping. It was only after several seconds that he looked up at me. His eyes flickered to my hat and his face turned to a look of distrust.

That was one of the disadvantages of the press disguise.

“I’m very sorry, but I’m not conducting interviews right now,” the man said as he dumped a full dustpan into a nearby trash can. The glass made a high-pitched clinking noise as it cascaded in.

“That’s… fine,” I answered, “I’m not here on business. I actually live right near here. In the Towers, actually.” His face softened a little bit, but he still looked suspicious. I took off the hat and held it in both hands for good measure. “I was worried when I heard about the robbery, so I came to check out what happened.”

“Oh. Engaged, citizen I see,” he said with a chuckle. “We don’t get too many of those anymore. The times sure are changing.”

“Heh, yeah it’s unfortunate.” I put my hat down on one of the least shattered surfaces and held out a hand to the man. “I’m Marc.” The man gingerly put down his broom against the scorched wall and grasped mine. His grip was surprisingly firm.

“Frederick. Frederick Mason. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” He looked me in the eyes as he said it, and managed to make me believe it. This guy was legitimate; he meant it. That was extraordinarily rare, and I was mildly taken aback.

“Here’s an idea:” I said as I pulled my hand back, “You look like you could use a break from cleaning. I could use a coffee. Why don’t I treat you to lunch?”

Frederick nodded, “Well sure. I’m always willing to eat out on another man’s treat.” He chuckled at his joke. “Just let me put this broom away and lock up.”

At that, I gave a pointed look at the windows lined next to the doors. They weren’t there enough to prevent anybody from walking in and grabbing… there was nothing to grab either. The place was cleaned out by King’s crew. Nevertheless, Frederick took his time twisting the key in the old, rusty lock, and shaking the door to ensure that it was well and truly locked.

While he was doing this, I crossed over through the shattered window back into the shop, and back out. He didn’t notice.

We walked to a nearby café, a small outdoor affair – complete with umbrellas and wicker chairs. As soon as we sat down a waitress came over and took our order. I got a coffee with sugar and cream, and a bagel, Frederick got a black coffee and an open-face egg sandwich.

We shot the shit until our food came out. I managed to finagle some information out of him that I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. Our discussion hit on a lot of topics about the area, the changing times, his shop. After a while, I finally managed to convince him to tell me about the robbery.

Juncture 5.4

I swung my legs up over the side of the bed, shaking it as little as possible. I walked out into the hall and went into the small bathroom. I grabbed my toothbrush that was sitting on the edge of the sink, squirted a little bit of toothpaste onto it, and began brushing.

I looked into the mirror. I hardly recognized myself. There was a healthy amount of scruff on my face, but not quite what would constitute a full beard. I spat, opened up the cabinet behind the mirror, and pulled out my electric trimmer.

After several minutes the growth on my face had been cut down to a manageable shadow. I turned the trimmer off and stowed it away again. I went back into the bedroom to get dressed.

I pulled open the closet in my room, and selected a pair of khakis. After that, I grabbed a dark brown oxford shirt and slid it on, buttoning it up as I went.

I grabbed a brown belt, socks, brown loafers, and a plain, light-blue tie, and assembled them in all of the proper places. Then I walked over to the small kitchen that came with the loft to prepare breakfast.

There were a couple of eggs in a cardboard carton in the fridge, and I picked up two of them to fry. I also cut two pieces of toast off of the loaf of bread on the counter, and put them on a plate.

I grabbed a pan from the cupboard over the stove and pulled out an iron pan, putting it on the stove and turning on the heat.

Shoot. I had forgotten the butter. I went back to the refrigerator and pulled out a pat, and put it down to sizzle on the hot pan. I placed the bread on it and held it down for a few seconds with my fingers, then flipped it over. As it toasted, I located a clean spatula for the eggs.

I pulled the toast out of the pan and cracked the eggs into it. After several minutes I carefully flipped them, being careful as to not crack the yolks. When they were done I laid them across the toast and pierced the yolk with one of the pointed corners of the spatula. They oozed out, thick and yellow.

I grabbed the plate and walked over to the small circular table just outside of the kitchen, where I left it out, along with a fork, knife, and fresh-brewed coffee. I had things to do.

I grabbed my hat from the rack near the door as I left. It was a light tan fedora with a newscard in the rim. It had gotten me into more places than any acting I could have done. That, along with a matching long coat finished my ensemble. I exited the apartment, locked the door behind me, and began the long walk down seven flights of stairs.

I exited into the warm air of Chicago. A sudden strong breeze almost blew the hat off of my head, but I grabbed it quickly to ensure that it stayed where it belonged. At first the wind had bothered me, but I had grown to appreciate it, as I had much of the local area.

It was funny, it didn’t really feel like that much time had passed. It almost felt as if I had just gone on my first mission yesterday again. I laughed, letting the fresh air seep into my lungs. I was such a novice back then it almost made me cringe.

I walked down the side road until I hit Main Street. Once there I stood on the corner, looking around. This had been my modus operandi for the time that I’d been here. I was a member of the press; I was on the lookout for a story. If nothing presented itself, then I wasn’t harming anybody just by standing there.

The details of this mission weren’t very specific, although I had, from the time that I’d spent here, learned what it was. Unfortunately – or fortunately, from my point of view – I had to befriend a few key people in order to accomplish my goal. This meant that I’d spent upward of two years here.

Two years pretending to be someone who I’m not was exceedingly difficult. I had gotten to keep my first name, but I had grown more used to calling myself “Richards” than “Antony”. Of course, the years of travel and missions before that had also helped prepare me for that.

Years?
I shook my head as an odd shiver ran up my spine, as if someone had stepped on my grave.

I pulled out the notebook that was in my coat pocket, shortly followed by the fancy pen I kept with me at all times. These, along with my hat, had combined to form a nearly impenetrable defense for anyone who would see me and think to question my motives.

The target I had for today was a little guy who ran a jewelry shop. He was robbed a couple of days ago, by some very heavily-armed thugs, and I had a sneaking suspicion that they could be connected to the guys I was looking for. They had weapons that were apparently like nothing that the owner had ever seen, weird guns that had glowing ends and fired beams of light.

He could have been crazy… or they could have access to technology beyond what was available here. The guy I was looking for was known to the OST as King, and he was a weapons manufacturer. He had a scary TA, one that somehow let him make weapons that hadn’t been invented yet. He could build things that he had no way of knowing how they worked.

It was worrisome, to say the least. With a sigh, I stepped off of the corner and began walking toward the jewelry store.

Juncture 5.3

To get to Dierdre’s office, I had to walk up a surprisingly large amount of stairs. This was odd because so far, everywhere I’d visited in the building had been on the same level. This was the first that had any difference in elevation.

I stopped to catch my breath at the top of the stairs. I had been walking for what felt like hours, aeons even. Objectively it was presumably around five, maybe six minutes. I reasoned that it was probably some sort of temporal anomaly around the area put there to give ample time to warm Dierdre should anyone be attempting to get at her.

Yeah. That was definitely it.

After I had taken some time to catch my breath and gather my wits around me, I continued on my way. The hall up here was much smaller than the lower ones. They were also darker. The halls below were a bullet-grey, but the section of the building that I was in had an eerie red hue on the metal.

At the end of the hall was a lone steel door with what looked like several hundred industrial bolts and locks. I walked cautiously over to it.

Nothing happened. It didn’t swing open eerily, there was no clangor as I approached. Just a quiet hall with a heavy door at the end. I was kind of let down; the ambiance had made me feel like I was in some sort of horror movie.

I lifted my fist and knocked. As my fist made impact with the metal, I felt an odd shock leap from the door to my knuckles. I rapped once and pulled back instinctively.

Several seconds passed unspectacularly. Suddenly, all of the locks pulled back and unlatched themselves simultaneously, creating a huge noise. That was shortly followed by the door itself swinging open, to reveal the room behind it.

It continued the trend of defying my expectations. The interior walls were a bright, sunny yellow, studded with impressive modernistic paintings. The entire room was carpeted in thick, orange shag carpet.

I walked in and my shoes were enveloped in the carpet. There was another door across from the small foyer, though this one was wooden and old-looking. I stepped forward, sinking into the surprisingly deep carpet, and knocked again. I was incredibly confused. It was as if the entire setup of the office was meant solely to distract people who enter.

Once again, some time passed, then the ornately carved swung open. An elderly looking lady stood behind it.

She had her silver hair up in a severe bun, and an enormous pair of thick glasses covering the majority of her face. They made her eyes look enormous, and the rest of her look tiny. She was leaning on a thin, shiny black cane.

“Hello Marc,” she began, “Sit down please.” She pointed at two stools next to an open window. It was the first window I’d seen in the entirety of the facility.

“Sorry, are you…?” I left the question hanging as I walked over to the stool.

“Dierdre? Yes, that’s me. Surprised, are you?” She asked, raising one thin eyebrow as she limped over to the other stool.

“Oh, okay. Do you want some help?” I asked as I reached out to help her steady herself. She shook her head and waved a hand.

“So you have an issue,” she said as she righted herself on the seat and laid the cane across her lap. I sat down on the other stool.

“Yeah, it’s about the mission I was given.” I answered. She didn’t say anything, didn’t argue or anything, so I continued. “I don’t think that I can do another one so soon. I just finished getting the scrolls from Pompeii yesterday, and I can’t handle another one right now. It’s like, I’m tired. I saw people who died right after I met them. I’m – I’m fatigued. I don’t have the emotional endurance to do something again without any time in between.”

The entire time I monologued, Dierdre was watching me and listening with a patient look on her face. When I had finished, she spoke up.

“Now, I understand what you’re saying; however, I think you’re mistaken or a few reasons. For one, I heard that you actually managed to ensure the safety of upwards of ten people in Pompeii. That’s an incredible achievement, and one that should absolutely not go unspoken.”

“Secondly, I don’t believe you actually read the envelope. Do you have it with you?” I nodded and pulled the slightly crumpled envelope out of my jacket pocket, straightened it out on my pant leg, and handed it to her.

As she took it I felt the urge to defend myself to her. “Well, I don’t know if you know this or not, but-“

“You have dyslexia, and have trouble reading the written word. Yes, I know. It’s on your file,” she said with a tight smile.

“Uh, yeah. So I didn’t read it. I don’t know what it says.”

“That’s fine,” Dierdre responded. She pulled the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it so it made a sharp, crisp sound. “In its essence, it is a letter of congratulation for your outstanding efforts during your mission. It also has, right here at the bottom,” she pointed to the area she was speaking about, “several suggestions for excellent holidays you can take during the next week. Oh, I went on this one several years back, the trip to the Andes before civilization took root. The view is breathtaking, let me tell you.”

She stopped, then continued, “Sorry, I’m getting off track. Anyhow, the issue you came up here for was that you couldn’t do a mission right now, yes? Problem solved. You have a week to yourself. You may go anywhere, and anywhen, at your leisure.” She got off of her stool and leaned on the cane, holding the letter out to me. “Was that all?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, I’m good. Thank you,” I said. I grabbed the letter and envelope and turned to leave, thought of something, and turned back around. “Actually, I do have a question. I can go anywhere over the next week? I just ask someone?”

“Yes. Our travel facilities are yours to use.” Dierdre said. “Though be warned, you can’t go to the same time that you’ve been before. It doesn’t work.”

“Okay. Thank you so much,” I said.

…

The next day I departed. When I arrived at my trip’s beginning, I was on a familiar hill. The once-lush grass was now yellow and grey, shorter and dying. This time I had come wearing thin cloth clothing and a sack tightly packed with several day’s essentials, held up by two rope straps around my shoulders.

I began my hike, following the crumbling aqueducts weaving their way through the hills. Here and there they would end, with hunks of marble fallen in piles and dusty water dripping off of the ends. My hike took longer than it had before. I was in no hurry.

The view was less beautiful than it had been, but it was more impressive overall. The whole area had a somewhat apocalyptic feel to it, yet the skies were blue, there were no clouds, and I could see verdant forests off in the distance.

When night fell I pulled all of the camping necessities out of my bag. A makeshift tent, fire starters, and tightly packed dehydrated food. In a matter of hours, I was comfortably seated next to a roaring fire, chewing on strips of meat and listening to music on a small earphone. That was my one concession, the only non-era-appropriate equipment I had brought along. I nodded my head to the sound of Silver Sun Pickups until sleep took me.

Late afternoon the next day, I arrived in old Pompeii. The area was already drastically different. Every inch of space was grey, coated in ash and soot. People lined the streets. Former people, statues now. It was true what I’d heard. They were frozen in place. But these people were none of my interest. I kept walking on the familiar streets until I found a building.

The inside of the inn was dark enough that I had to close my eyes to get acclimated. Once I did, I began my search. I cleaved my way through the rooms, searching for any more of the eerie statues.

When I had finished my search I still hadn’t found anybody. Julius and his family had made it out safe. The weight in my stomach dampened. I had to certify it for myself, otherwise I would never have believed that they made it out alive.

I slept in the same room as I had before, and left in the morning.

Juncture 5.2

Bullshit. There was no way I could go on another assignment so soon after this one. Whoever was giving out these missions was clearly doing something wrong. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally fatigued. I couldn’t do it.

I tore open the envelope, tearing off a piece of the paper flap that kept it closed. Inside it was a small folded sheet of lined paper. As I spread it open it became apparent that the note was hand-written, not typed. It was also noticeably old, yellow spots beginning at the corners of the paper and spreading inward in splotchy lines.

I wasn’t willing to put up with this right now. I folded the paper and shoved it back into the envelope, crushing the paper slightly. I tossed it on the floor next to my bed, and then flopped myself onto the bed.

I was asleep within minutes, and eerily vivid dreams weaved and bobbed in front of my eyes. The first one, as I recalled it, consisted of me standing in the center of an apocalypse. Blood-red stone and fire was hailing down upon my head, and everything in the distance was consumed in flames.

I was in a glowing-orange cage, and when I tried to touch it I burned my hand. Just on the outside of my enclosure were a group of devils encircling the cage. As I walked up to each one in turn, they spat angry words at me, gibberish, but invective nonetheless. Their skin was crisscrossed with lines of black, as if their skin was molten lava.

The next scene was a familiar one; I was walking in the middle of a rainstorm, the cold chilling me to my core. As I walked, I heard a noise behind me. I turned around, only to see a car rushing toward me. As it got closer, its front bumper split, revealing sharp, jagged teeth. I turned to run, but the car was too fast, and I saw the teeth close in front of me.

For what felt like a while, I was stuck in darkness, but to me it didn’t feel like normal darkness. It was almost like some sort of advanced darkness, thick and heavy, holding me in place. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I could barely think. I turned my head, only to feel part of it stay in place.

I was falling. The odd darkness passed in thick wisps and clouds, to be replaced with an expansive skyscape. I managed to flip myself toward the ground, only to see a vast ocean quickly closing in on me. As I was about to scream I landed in the water, sending bubbles careening upward behind me. I felt intense pain where I landed, spreading from my right shoulder all the way down to my hip.

It was getting darker again, and as I fell further and further, I realized that my eyes were closed. I opened them.

I was on the floor next to my bed, and the lights were off. I groggily sat up and the same pain I felt in the dream hit. I had fallen off of the bed sometime during the night, and pulled some muscle in my side.

I got back on the bed, being careful to not exert the side of me that was catching on itself, and laid down facing the ceiling.

Another mission?

I couldn’t do it yet. I knew that. I would talk to Dierdre in the morning.



(Author’s note: I apologize for the lateness of some of the previous chapters, and the length of this one specifically. I’ve been on holiday, and travel has been a reoccurring theme. We should be back on schedule with an extended chapter on Thursday. Thanks.)

Juncture 5.1

“-did the best we could given the time constraints, and hey, at least you managed to convince Julius to get out. You saved him and his entire family. That’s good, you’ve got to let yourself off the hook sometimes.”

I chewed listlessly on the piece of food that was in my mouth as I listened to Jake try to explain just how he could rationalize leaving an entire city to die.

I considered that a bad record. There was an empty, black, pulling feeling in the bottom of my stomach that refused to lessen. In school, ages ago, lifetimes ago, I had seen pictures of Pompeii. The people who had stayed were almost flash-frozen, trapped in whatever positions they had been in as the volcano erupted.

A thought popped into my head. What if Julius had died before I had intervened? Would my actions have changed anything? I would ask somebody about that as soon as I could.

As I was thinking to myself, Jake kept talking. I appreciated that he was trying to cheer me up, but his efforts weren’t bearing fruit. I swallowed the food in my mouth and stood up.

“I have to go.” I said. Jake nodded after a several-second pause, then went back to eating. I left the room, feeling slightly worse for having left him there to stew with his own thoughts.

I walked down the oppressively sterile halls, toward Major General Siegfried’s office. I didn’t know who else to talk to, and I felt most comfortable talking to him. Several turns away from the comfortable office, I ran into Hans. He took a look at me and moved forward as if to say something, then thought better of it and backed off. I didn’t acknowledge him as I walked past.

The door was unlocked, and I swung it open. The Major General wasn’t inside. I swore to myself. I was brimming over with anxiety and worry, I needed answers now. I stalked out of the room and the door slammed shut behind me.

“Hans!” I called. He turned around and looked at me, arms crossed.

“Oh, now I get acknowledged? How nice of you,” he said. I groaned. This exchange wasn’t going to be any easier than any exchange I’ve had with Hans, apparently.

“I have an important question. I was going to ask the Major General. Where is he?” I asked.

“He’s not here,” Hans replied.

“Yeah, I got that. I didn’t ask where he isn’t, I asked where he is.” I was getting annoyed. In no way was I in the mood for this. I wanted to get answers and then… I didn’t know what then, probably go to sleep. I was tired all the way down to my bones.

“He’s out. On a mission,” Hans said in a clipped, unadorned voice. “He’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Damn it. Okay, then I guess you’ll probably know.”

He rolled his eyes underneath his large glasses. “Wow, thank you for this incredible honor, Mister Antony. I get to answer your questions? Whatever did I do to deserve this?”

“Look, I don’t want to deal with this right now, okay? I just need to know whether or not changing something in the past will have repercussions. Like, drastically changing something?”

Hans’ eyes got thin. “What changes?” He asked me, lips tight.

“Let’s say I saved a family from some sort of huge natural disaster? A mother, a father, and three or four children. What effect would that have on time?”

Hans gripped his hands together in a worried fashion. “Well, first of all, have you heard of the butterfly effect?” I shook my head. “So the saying goes ‘a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world can cause a hurricane on the other side.’ In essence, it means that one small change can cause larger changes.”

“Taking this concept and applying it to time travel is worrying at best, and terrifying at worst. A small change in the past can lead to enormous differences in the future. Just think of how many people a single person interacts with over the course of their lifetime. By killing someone, or saving them, you’re potentially impacting hundreds, or even thousands of people.”

“And then those people will interact with other people in their life, and then on, ad infinitum.” Hans stopped and swallowed, then took a breath as if to continue. I stopped him before he could keep talking.

“So you’re saying that I may have just fucked up everything for everyone, everywhere. Forever. Why was I not warned about this?” I asked. I saw a smirk break out on Hans’ face.

“No, I was just explaining the butterfly effect. Do you really think that we would have sent you back if that were possible? More so, do you think that if that were true we wouldn’t have told you?”

My breath was hitched in my throat. Hans kept talking, occasionally giggling as he paused. “We send you back, and because of that, you had always been there. You always saved that man and his family. I was just pulling your leg.”

Never before then had I experienced every muscle in my body relaxing at once, but it was a wonderful feeling. The euphoria brought a shaky grin to my face.

“Thanks, Hans,” I said, “I was really worried there for a second.”

He looked at me as though he couldn’t take me seriously. “Sure, sure,” he said, “That’s understandable, if you actually didn’t know.”

“No really,” I said, “thanks.”

“O-of course,” he answered. I rushed to get back to the cafeteria to tell Jake, but when I got there he had left already. I made a promise to myself that I would explain it to him.

I still wasn’t hungry after that, so I decided to go back to my quarters. As I opened the door, I realized that I forgot to tell anyone about my TA discovery, but I rationalized it away, thinking that I would try to avoid using it if at all possible anyway, so nobody else really needed to know.



I walked into my room and saw a manila folder laid out on my bed.

Interlude 0.6

Meanwhile, in the grandest sense of the term meanwhile...

From a birds-eye view, it appeared to be a small patch of darker brown moving across an enormous expanse of tan which stretched out in all directions. From closer, it becomes apparent that the patch of darker brown is an army, slowly treading their way across a never-ending desert.

They were making slow progress across the desert. They had been marching for almost a week now; stopping during the day to rest and conserve their energy, and treading their path at night, seeing only by what little light the moon exuded.

Today, though, they walked during the day. They could see their destination, and they would arrive at night at this rate. Exactly as planned.

The troops were demoralized, though. The captain had done his utmost best to keep their spirits up, but it was difficult, if not impossible. They were weak. They had run out of food, and most were out of water.

As they marched, one of the troops – a soldier who was staggering along with the rest of the contingent in the back – collapsed. His compatriot next to him stopped and looked, an expression of hopelessness overtaking his face. He started walking again; he didn’t want to be next to fall. A gust of wind began the long process of burying the unfortunate corpse. If the soldiers passed by here again they would find no trace of him.

The commander, a young man rising through the ranks of the military, turned to look at the men under his command. He swept his thin hood off of his head and brushed the lengthening hair out of his eyes. He hadn’t cut it in a while, and it was starting to get into his eyes.

He was weary, and he could tell that his soldiers were even more tired than he was. He turned forward again – there were at least five hours until they arrived. He would give a rousing speech when the sun went down. It would be useless before then, as any emotions he could muster would dissipate as they continued their march.

Instead, he unclasped the water container he had on his belt and popped the cap open. Turning it over, he opened his mouth to receive what water would fall. A small, single drop fell out. After another few seconds, a second drop followed.

That was it then. Out of water, out of food.

The next few hours were some of the longest of his admittedly short life. Though he hadn’t the life experience of the other grizzled commanders back in his city, he had been promoted based on merit – he had accomplished every goal set in front of him. These tended to be smaller skirmishes and one-off battles, each of which he had swiftly and ruthlessly won.

Everything that he had accomplished getting to this point paled in comparison to the hellish torture of this funereal march. Every so often he surveyed his forces, noting their cracked, bleeding lips and their loose hanging armor. Fortunately, the only casualty was the one soldier earlier.

As the sun set, the march eased. No longer did the touch of metal on their body sear their skins, and their incessant sweating stopped robbing their bodies of the precious liquids they needed to survive.

Yes, this was the capital’s strongest contingent; reduced to a host of starving beggars. They were close enough now. The captain turned around clenching his fist in the air where all of his men could see it.

“Men,” he started, but the words came out dry and wheezy. He coughed, swallowed, and began again.

“Men. We all know what we came here for. We have traversed this nightmarish dryland for the noblest of reasons. We came to conquer.”

He saw that his words weren’t having as great of an impact as he had hoped. The small metal band curving around his left ear, curving into it gave a small sting as it tried to send him the optimal data on what to say. Unfortunately, it had stopped working at the same point where he could no longer be rid of it; an unfortunate coincidence to say the least.

It didn’t matter. He had long since learned the language, and long since learned to be a convincing orator.

“These people are guilty of grossest injustice against the Kingdom. They live under our protective graces, yet they refuse to bow. They refuse to pay their tax. They sin against the gods!” That got a response. He had found that referring to the gods almost always got some sort of rise out of his troops. They were either very religious, or not at all.

It didn’t even matter what he personally believed. He could speak as though he were the most fervent believer of either side of a debate, and more importantly, could convince both sides that he were on theirs.

“Though we use subterfuge, we are still working for a higher cause. We have just survived a trip through hell on earth, and we are stronger for it!”

“We will win!” He shouted.

“We will conquer!” He exclaimed.

“We will welcome fate, and welcome war, and we will be victorious!” He roused.

As his soldiers began stamping feet with what little energy they had remaining, and clapping hands, beating swords against shields, he thought;

“I will be guilty.”

“I won’t be able to undo this,” he thought.

“I’m sorry,” he thought.

--

As the soldiers were found the next morning, passed out on the outskirts of the village in disarray, they were hurriedly brought into shelter, and given food and water. They were nursed back to life by the caring citizens.

The next day, the soldiers piled all of the bodies up in the middle of the village, and lit one single pyre.

Juncture 4.7

~24 hours remaining~

My eyes flew open, and I heaved in a gasp. My lungs filled with slightly chilly morning air. I blinked. I could breathe. I could see. There was no ash.

My next realization was an obvious one; I was lying down.

It had worked! I had figured out - through unfortunately perilous trial-and-error – how my TA worked. All I had to do was die and I would get sent back to a point where I could actually do something about it. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t do anything different in school, but as I windmilled my arms and gulped the fresh air I noticed that I wasn’t held back by those limitations.

I could go back and do what I want. A small section of my brain noted that it would be prudent for me to carry around a gun at all times, in case I needed to reset something, but the rest of my brain quickly shushed that part into submission.

I got off of the cot, and got dressed quickly. I walked out and quickly found Jake.

I knew that the first two places we would look wouldn’t have any of the scrolls we were looking for, but the last one might. I found Jake chatting with Julius, no doubt asking about where we should be going. I walked behind him and tapped him on his enrobed shoulder.

“I know the next place we have to look,” I interrupted them with. Julius gave me a quizzical look, no doubt because to him I was speaking fluent gibberish, and Jake turned.

“What?” he asked succinctly.

“I’ll explain while we walk. The first two places Julius will suggest don’t have anything. Or at least, anything for us. The scrolls we’re looking for, I mean.” I answered. Wow I was having issues talking. Death sort of messes with your head, you know?

“Marc. Julius lives here. He knows more than you about Pompeii.” Jake said in response.

“We already looked through them. Or, sorry, I remember us looking through them. It’s my TA, again, I’ll explain later. So we looked through the first two places, then I came back to try and save Julius from the explosion. He didn’t go. So I reset myself. It wasn’t fun.” I paused to take a deep breath. “Now we’re back here and I know that the scrolls aren’t in the first two places. So just follow me, okay?”

Jake blinked at me with a blank look on his face. He opened his mouth, then closed it; then flapped it back and forth a couple of times.

“You… can time travel? By yourself?” he asked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yes. Kind of. Sort of, it’s hard to explain. Just come on already!” I turned, then thought of something, and turned around again. “First, ask Julius if he can pack us some lunch. It’s delicious.”

…

~17 hours remaining~

We went to the collector’s house again, only this time he was there. Fortunately, Jake managed to convince him that it was of the utmost importance that we find the scrolls. The collector, Alma, had me drag out a large chest, which she rummaged through quickly. She pulled out around twenty different scrolls and four limestone tablets, being careful to not let any of the dripping gold circles on her person catch on the thin, waxy paper.

She handed them to us, and we sat there, on the floor of the foyer of her house, looking for the symbols that would designate the document as important. I didn’t find anything on the first two I looked at, but struck pay dirt on the third.

The odd sigil that the Sybil used was on the bottom of the scroll, underneath what I saw as hundreds of super-small, super-thin Latin writing. It probably wasn’t that much, but it was a whole lot of words.

“I found one,” I said to Jake. He looked up, a look of fierce concentration perplexing the right half of his face.

“Good. I’ve found four, and gone through… six total,” he paused to count. “As soon as we finish the rest of these we can get the hell out of Pompeii.”

~15 hours remaining~

We had found nine scrolls total, and one tablet, and managed to lug them back to the inn. I ate while Jake was up to something in the room he had slept in. Julius had a late lunch prepared for us, and since Jake passed through the front room without stopping, I got to eat his plate too.

~14 hours remaining~

I was holding onto a half-eaten turkey leg, slowly chewing through the mouthful of meat I had just bitten off when Jake burst out the door. He was carrying one of the scrolls, and he brought it over to Julius, who read it, an expression of horror making itself apparent. He gave the scroll back to Jake with shaky hands, and sat down on the closest stool.

Next, Jake came over to me.

“Grab the bag of scrolls, we’re heading out.”

“What about Julius? What did you just show him?” I asked.

“The Sybil’s prediction for Vesuvius’ eruption. He should be getting everyone he’s close to and getting out as soon as possible,” he said. “People take her seriously around here.”

I dropped the rest of the turkey leg onto the plate on the counter I was sitting at and stood up. Julius looked at me, his eyes full of grief. I couldn’t say anything, so I gave him a wan, sad smile.

~1 hour remaining~

We were almost back at the office. The sky wasn’t quite as dark as it was when I died, but it was still a bloody red. I was barely able to leave everyone else in Pompeii, but there was no way that I would have been able to save all of them. I gave one last look back, then walked through the doorway.

I never went back.

Juncture 4.6

~24 hours remaining~

The first thing we did come morning was to find out where important documents were held. Jake and I were pointed in the right direction by the innkeeper, whose name I later found out was Julius. He was incredibly helpful, and even gave us small linen sacks of food – the preempt of a sack lunch.

The building that we were pointed toward was a small one. The exterior was mostly stone with some marble columns, and there were numerous graffiti carvings all over the building. The interior was much less impressive than the shabby outside. Worm-eaten wooden shelves lined the walls and filled the floor of the building, leaving small, thin traversable passages throughout.

Jake and I decided to split up in order to cover more of the building in less time. I was told what symbols to look for (it helped that they weren’t in English) and we went our ways.

~18 hours remaining~

I had finished my lunch several hours ago, and my stomach was vying for my attention via gurgling and growling. Even cold, Julius’ food was delicious.

I hadn’t found the scroll, and judging by the lack of communication between us, neither had Jake. I had gone through – by my best judgement – around one-twentieth of the building. At this rate we weren’t going to find any of the scrolls in time.

~16 hours remaining~

I talked to Jake. He hadn’t found it either, but he was covering much more ground than I had been able to. He was almost through his side of the building.

~10 hours remaining~

The scroll wasn’t in the library. We left as soon as we figured it out and ran back to the inn to find the next place to look.

~9 hours remaining~

A large temple on the top of a hill, entirely made of marble. Torches hooked upon brass sconces lined the tall, ornate walls, dying the hall with a deep, orange glow. The priest, or whatever she was, the woman wearing golden rings and white silk, showed us to a back room. I have no idea what Jake said to get us in but it worked wonders.

There were two huge oaken chests in the room, and we began looking, perhaps with less care than we had the library. We were running out of time.

~3 hours remaining~

Nothing in the chests. We had left the church and found the next building that may have contained the scrolls we were looking for. A house, purportedly of some famous collector of artifacts and religious objects. He wasn’t there, so we snuck in. I kept looking out of the nearest window. The sky was a dark crimson, and my heart was busting through my chest.

We still hadn’t found the scroll, and we didn’t have much time left. I couldn’t take it.

“Give me the translator. I’m going to tell Julius to leave.”

Jake didn’t look up from the box he was rummaging through. He only lifted one arm to his ear, unhooked the translator, and tossed it to me. I caught it and sprinted out of the room.

The atmosphere outside was heating up, and the air had a sluggish, thick quality that felt like a soup.

I ran down toward the inn. I couldn’t just let them stay here and die. I’d seen pictures of the statues that were all of the remnants of the citizens of Pompeii. I had accepted bed and food from these people. I had seen the pure, innocent curiosity of his child the night before.

I couldn’t let them die, not without trying to save them. The sandy, dusty path exploded into dust clouds as my feet impacted it, harder than usual due to the speed of my running. The armor I was wearing wore heavier as sweat began to drip down my forehead.

I made it to the inn, stumbling in through the door. Julius was behind the bar, watching me, looking very interested. As I thought of what I was going to say, the translator on my ear let out a little zap, and words started flowing out of my mouth. I couldn’t recognize them, but I knew what they meant.

“Julius, you need to get your family out of here. There’s going to be an explosion. You can’t stay.”

He said something back, and the same weird, electric sensation emerged from the translator, and I understood what he had said, without knowing the words.

“Buddy, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yeah, it’s a bit sunny outside, but nothing bad is going to happen. This happens all the time here.”

“No, there’s a volcano! Mount Vesuvius! Right there, the mountain next to the city? It’s going to erupt.” I shouted.

He looked at me with one eyebrow cocked. “Here, sit down and calm yourself. I’ll get you some wine. You look flushed.”

I sat, but didn’t drink what he poured for me. “No, I’m being serious. I can’t let you stay here. You will die. I’ve seen it. You’ll die instantly, and get turned to stone. The ashes are going to cover the whole city. It’ll be a tragedy.” I took a breath, “please leave.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Buddy, I’m not leaving based on the ramblings of a strange drifter. I can’t just leave my city. It’s where I live, you know?”

I was crestfallen. He didn’t believe me. He was going to die, along with everyone else in this godforsaken city.

Suddenly, a spark. A way I could potentially save them. It would suck, and I wasn’t even sure if it would work. I was dehydrated, hungry, and more than a little tired. But I was going to try it.

~2 minutes remaining~
I looked up at the darkening sky. As the distant sounds of explosions tore through the landscape, the sky had gone dark. Now people were getting worried. It was too late, though. It was going to happen and there was nothing more I could do here. I hoped Jake made it back to the office in case this didn’t work.

I closed my eyes.

~now~
The ashes rained down, and I laid on the ground. For one second I felt hot pinpricks on my skin, and then I felt nothing at all. After that, even that stopped. Everything stopped.