Borrowed Time- the Force Majeure Page 2

  There was a long stretch of silence. Sharon and Caelen were observing the room, the people, and the sounds. They were studying 1951.

  “What do you see?” Caelen asked.

  “I see happy people. Hopeful,” Sharon said. “There’s not much low, close talking as if they don’t want to be overheard. People are leaning back, laughing, talking with open expressions.”

  “What can you conclude about this time from the people in this room?”

  “It’s a good time. There’s no immediate threat to basic needs. These people have access to food, shelter, and clothing. They’re not in fear for their children or their livelihoods. There is no major or immediate economic or political threat hanging over them.”

  “What about the people working here?”

  Sharon paused as the waiter returned with their food. He smiled and gave them a little bow.

  “Enjoy your meals,” he said and then moved to the Walsh’s table to take their orders.

  “There’s less information to go on,” Sharon said. “I think they also have access to food, shelter, and clothing, but there’s something more insular. I don’t know whether it’s a detached professionalism or something else.”

  “You can look into that when we get back, as a follow-up assignment. It’s important to note your intuition as well as the evidence you see. Sometimes your intuitive interpretations are as important as the facts you collect about a time.”

  Sharon took a bite of a taquito covered with a thin green sauce that smelled heavenly. The shredded beef had been cooked perfectly before being wrapped in a tortilla and deep fried. The avocado sauce had a spicy bite that, when combined with the flavors of the beef and tortilla, was delicious. Soon her plate was clean.

  “You chose this event because you were hungry didn’t you,” Caelen said chuckling. Sharon didn’t answer. The voices at the table next to them lowered in volume and became strained and insistent. The argument had started.

  Sharon looked down at her empty plate and wished there was more food there to distract her. She and Caelen were not there to snoop or invade the Walsh’s privacy. Temporal Protection Corps agents were scholars and historians, not time-traveling voyeurs of people’s private lives. For the training, they didn’t need to know what the fight was about, just that her research was accurate. They politely looked away as others in the room did the same, all kindly pretending not to hear.

  Abruptly Mrs. Walsh stood up, throwing her napkin down and walking out of the restaurant. Mr. Walsh stood up more slowly, looking embarrassed. Sharon and Caelen gave him sympathetic smiles.

  “Now they'll make up,” Sharon whispered. Jonas had provided the correct currency for the time frame which Caelen now left on the table; more than enough to pay for the meal with a generous tip. They followed the Walsh’s out.

  Mrs. Walsh was standing next to a large fountain in front of the restaurant, her head bowed. Mr. Walsh stood next to her, his hands in his pockets, looking up at the magnolia tree above the fountain. It was the kind of magnolia you’d find in the south, with huge, sweetly scented flowers, and enormous leaves, shiny and dark green on top, and like brown suede on the bottom.

  Sharon and Caelen sat on the other side of the fountain with their backs to the Walsh’s. While the tinkling of the fountain made it difficult to hear, they caught snatches of the conversation.

  “If you want your mother to come live with us, that’s ok with me,” Mr. Walsh was saying.

  “You mean it?” Mrs. Walsh was harder to understand, as if her nosed was congested.

  “Yeah, I mean it,” Mr. Walsh’s voice filled with love and Sharon’s heart melted.

  “You are the best man in the world,” Mrs. Walsh said, sounding less congested and huskier. Then there was silence. When Sharon turned slightly to see what they were doing, the Walsh’s had disappeared.

  “Did they go back into the restaurant?” Caelen asked.

  “I don’t know. Should we go back inside to find out?”

  “No, we’ve done enough for this training. Let’s head back and we can finish up.”

  They returned to the alley. The boy was gone, though bits of corn silk were still lying on the cobbles outside the door. Sharon had the remote control and Caelen made one last look around to make sure no one was watching.

  “Wait,” Sharon froze. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Caelen asked looking around again.

  “I could swear there was a shimmer, you know, the ripple of a time shift.”

  “There was nothing else scheduled at the TPC today," Caelen said. “I made sure before we started the training.”

  “If there was nothing else scheduled, then a time shift could only have been by the Chestnut Covin,” Sharon said grimly. She started back out of the alley.

  “Wait a minute,” Caelen said. Sharon stopped, her arms crossed.

  “You can't be certain,” he said at his most reasonable. “It might not have been a shift.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “Ok, let’s say it was a time shift—you have no proof it was the Chestnut Covin.”

  “You said there were no other shifts scheduled. The only people who use time machines outside of the Temporal Protection Corps are members of the Chestnut Covin. No, stop,” she said as he tried to argue further. “The TPC hired me as an expert on the Chestnut Covin. I’m using my expertise. Let me do my job.”

  “Ok,” he said taking a deep breath. The easy training shift might have just become very dangerous.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The last time they left the alley they turned right to get to the restaurant. This time Sharon’s instincts led her left. At the far end of the street was a plaza dominated by a venerable olive tree and a large bandstand. The plaza was obviously used for events, such as concerts and dancing, but this evening there were only a few people walking across it or sitting on benches along the sides.

  Sharon headed for the empty bandstand. She leaned against the ornate railing, scanning the plaza and the street from the elevated position. The sound of trains was louder here. Caelen climbed the steps and stood behind her, letting her take the lead.

  “There is someone here, I can feel it,” she murmured. He didn’t respond, following her as she left the plaza and headed back down the cobbled street.

  She halted outside a bakery, turning 360 degrees and then stopped, her back to the shop window.

  “Anything?” Caelen ventured.

  Sharon’s shoulders fell, and she shook her head. “I’ve lost it.”

  She stared at the ground, afraid to look him in the eyes and see irritation, or worse, some sign she had failed the training after leading them on a wild goose chase. She wondered how fast the rumor of her failure would spread through the TPC.

  They heard a sharp sound to one side of the shop. Sharon leapt after it, Caelen behind her wondering if plunging into the shadows after an unknown noise was a good idea. He didn’t get far, though. There was a crash, like metal trash cans, and a scuffling sound, and then Sharon was dragging someone by his shirt collar back into the light of the street.

  It was Jonas.

  “What are you doing here?” Sharon demanded. She was furious and puffing. Both Jonas and Caelen took a step back.

  “I… I… was following you. I… I wanted to learn how you did on the training.” Jonas dropped his gaze.

  “You would have received a full report when we returned,” Caelen said. It was unusual for a TPC agent to time travel just to see how a trainee did in the field, and very much out of character for Jonas to break the rules.

  “Yes, I know, but it wouldn’t have been the same,” Jonas said. He lifted his head and stuck out his chest. “How she does on the 20th century field training will reflect on me, you know.” The defiance left him as quickly as it had come. “I just wanted to make sure it all went well.”

  “You scared me,” Sharon said through clenched teeth as a family walked out of the bakery carrying bags, the scent of vanil
la following them. “I thought it was someone from the Chestnut Covin.”

  Jonas paled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think of that.”

  Sharon exhaled. The smell of baked goods coming out of the now open door was strong and Sharon’s mouth was watering.

  “You’re going to make it up to us,” she said as she ushered Jonas into the bakery. “You’re buying."

  ◆◆◆

  Back at TPC headquarters Sharon was waiting for Caelen in the training room when he finished changing.

  “You’re ready for your report,” he said. She nodded.

  “You accurately identified your subject, date, time, and incident; initiated the travel protocols and programmed the time amplifier correctly; successfully blended-in with the local time frame; and your analysis based on social observation was well done,” he started.

  “And…” she prompted.

  “And then you ran us around Olvera Street in 1951 looking for a non-existent Chestnut Covin operative,” he said, trying to sound serious.

  “You can’t blame me for that,” she said, her hands on her hips. “I was correct that there was a shift, and that it was an unauthorized shift. I can’t be blamed for drawing the wrong conclusion.”

  “And you are right, I’m not blaming you,” he conceded.

  “I passed?”

  “You passed.”

  Sharon whooped and threw her arms around him.

  “You passed?” Jonas entered the room, stopping short when he saw them embracing.

  “Yes, I did,” Sharon said, breaking away from Caelen and hugging Jonas. “Thank you for all your help.”

  Jonas’ face glowed. “It was my pleasure,” he said breathlessly.

  “So, what’s next?” Sharon asked Caelen, eager for the next step now they were finally traveling in time.

  Until today’s shift to 1951, she had received a lot of what she called “book training.” She learned how the temporal amplifier worked and about temporal ethics—take nothing; leave nothing; don’t interfere with the timeline unless it was absolutely necessary; and how it was rarely, if ever, absolutely necessary.

  “Time travel is for educational purposes only,” Miranda Noon had said. “We shift to learn about our history, our world, and ourselves.”

  “What about travel to the future?” Sharon had asked.

  “Traveling forward in time is dangerous because the temporal mainframe cannot give us enough information to safely shift,” Miranda explained. “The future is always changing. Each decision we make has subtle impacts on how the future unfolds. Moreover, it’s dangerous to know too much about the future. You can imagine how future knowledge could be abused. For these reasons, shifting to the future is forbidden by the TPC.”

  Dr. Ayaan, her temporal mechanics trainer, had given her detailed explanations of how the temporal amplifier worked, though she would be lying if she said she thoroughly understood the details. Her previous practical experience was far more instructive, if more dangerous.

  “Director Veta ordered that you receive intensive training on temporal assimilation and infiltration, and 22nd century history,” Caelen answered.

  When she’d first heard of temporal assimilation and infiltration training, it sounded like fancy words for how to fit in and not be noticed when traveling to different times. She had not been wrong. Her heart sank at the thought of all the “book training” she’d already done on the subject.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re finished with this lesson,” Caelen said with a smile.

  “Ok, boss, what’s next?”

  “Now we record everything we learned,” he said pointing to the computer at the workstation.

  “Right,” Sharon said. Within 20 minutes, with promptings from Caelen and questions from Jonas to help her remember all the details, Sharon completed the record of their visit. She left out Jonas’ unauthorized visit to 1951, despite Caelen’s misgivings about submitting an incomplete report.

  “There was no harm done,” she said to Jonas’ relief.

  “Are you ready for temporal assimilation and infiltration?” Caelen asked when the report was uploaded.

  “You mean it’s ‘book training’ time,” Sharon said glumly.

  “Let’s have coffee first,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

  ◆◆◆

  Jonas gladly accepted their invitation to join them. Leaving the training room, they entered the long corridor that led to the atrium at the center of TPC headquarters.

  The corridor was bordered by wall-to-ceiling windows offering generous views of the extensive grounds surrounding the building. Sharon had not yet been outside, though when she passed the windows, she loved drinking in the lush green of the plants and trees extending as far as she could see.

  Sharon sat at her favorite table at the small cafe in the atrium. She had a view of the fountain, the skylights overhead, and the park outside. Caelen sat next to her while Jonas got their coffees. Agents and chrono-historians sat at other tables and stood in groups of twos and threes around the atrium. Sharon always enjoyed the energy of the place.

  “What do they do?” Sharon asked as two figures dressed head-to-toe in what looked like hazmat suits walked through the atrium.

  “They are probably paleontologists or paleobotanists,”Caelen answered.

  “Why are they dressed like they’re cleaning up a radiation leak?”

  “Primarily so they don’t infect a prehistoric time with modern microbes. If they’re visiting pre-Cambrian earth, there may be no or little oxygen. Then they bring their own air supplies.”

  Sharon’s “oh” of astonishment was lost as Jonas arrived with coffee. As he sat, Sharon leaned forward.

  “So, when do I get to go to the pre-Cambrian era?”

  Jonas snorted. “You don’t.”

  Sharon sat back and looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Why not?”

  “It’s a very specialized study,” Caelen answered. “There are only a few agents with the background and training necessary to travel to prehistoric earth. Think of it like visiting another planet, because in many ways that’s what it is.”

  “Like astronauts,” Sharon said in understanding. Her eyes were shining as she imagined visiting times when the earth wasn’t the earth she knew.

  “May I join you?”

  Miranda Noon stood over Sharon’s shoulder and sat as they gestured to an empty seat at the table.

  “I understand congratulations are in order,” she said smiling at Sharon. Miranda had silver hair and eyes that glittered like rainbows, beautifully contrasting against her dark skin. Not long after she started her training, Sharon learned that the prism effect in Miranda’s eyes was from a special contact lens that stored what she read, like a separate computer memory. It allowed her to scan and save materials for later review. The color of her eyes reflected how Miranda interpreted information from moment to moment.

  “When you can choose your destination, where do you think you’d like to visit?” Miranda asked after Caelen confirmed that Sharon had passed her 20th century training.

  “Elizabethan England,” Sharon answered. Miranda nodded.

  “A lot of new agents are interested in that time frame,” she said.

  “Where did you visit first?”

  Miranda took a sip of coffee.

  “My interests focus on legal history. After I advanced from chrono-historian to agent, I visited Babylon in the time of Hammurabi and observed the signing of the Magna Carta. The first iteration in 1215, not one of the later versions,” she added.

  “Where did you go, Jonas?” Sharon asked.

  Jonas looked trapped and then muttered into his coffee.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Miranda said with a frown.

  “He said ‘opening day at Disneyland in 1955,’” Caelen answered with a smile.

  “That’s brilliant!” Sharon said. Jonas looked relieved.

  “How about you, Agent Winters,” Miranda asked Caelen
.

  “I visited ancient Petra,” he said.

  “You mean that city carved into the walls of a canyon in Jordan?” Sharon asked. Caelen nodded.

  “Why there?” Jonas asked curiously.

  “It was a kind of paradise in 100 BCE,” Caelen said. His eyes appeared to be focused on a palm frond near the table, but in his mind he was seeing Petra in its glory.

  “The Petrans developed a clever system for capturing water during the rainy season. After they dominated the frankincense trade, they created a verdant paradise, full of gardens, trees, and fountains. It was quite beautiful.”

  “What happened?” Sharon asked almost in a whisper.

  “The Romans happened,” he said. “It was a matter of commerce, not conquest,” he added seeing their dismay. “The Romans preferred different trade routes. Petra as a commercial center eventually disappeared from the map.”

  They sipped their coffee in silence as they thought about how civilizations rise and fall. Miranda was the first to pull herself out of the shared reverie.

  “What’s next in your training day?” she asked Sharon.

  “Temporal assimilation and infiltration,” Caelen answered.

  “Have you already planned today’s curriculum?” Miranda continued.

  “Yes,” Caelen said. “Would you like to see it? That is, if you have time. You’re invited, too,” he said to Jonas.

  Jonas nodded enthusiastically. Miranda pulled out her computer touch screen.

  “I have a meeting with Director Veta in 15 minutes, but I think I can make the time.”

  Caelen stood, and the others followed him. Sharon followed more slowly. Book training with three instructors instead of one did not sound much better to her.

  ◆◆◆

  While Caelen accessed the temporal mainframe from a workstation, Miranda stowed her touch screen computer in a thin pouch which matched her clothing like a camouflaging backpack. Jonas was grinning, pleased to be included after his earlier faux pas. Sharon sat with her back to Caelen, waiting for him to hand her a touch screen and for the “book training” to begin.