Time Travel discussion

Guidelines
1. Entries can be as short as one paragraph.
2. Each entry should leave an obvious opening for the next person to jump in. For example, the last line of your entry should be something like this: "When Mary opened her front door, she was shocked to find ..."
3. Participants should write their section of the story within 3 days. After 3 days, the torch automatically passes to the next person on the list.
4. You can ask to be skipped at any time.
5. Anyone can request to be added to the participant list at any time, even if it's just for 1 turn. You can also leave the participant list at any time.
6. We will continue to use the previous thread for any discussion.
7. Only the story shall be written here.

Neverending Story Writing Queue
1. Amy
2. John
3. Howard
4. Tej
5. E.B.
6. Lincoln
7. Piero
8. Shane
9. Melanie
10. (your name here)

Something had gone terribly wrong. After the time jump, I had expected to find myself in a populated city, but there was nothing here except wind whistling through the pines on the edge of a meadow. I had made the jump with a colleague of mine, but she was nowhere to be found. I checked the screen of the time dial and realized that I’d apparently input the wrong year. How could I have been so careless? We’d spent years getting ready for this jump and carefully calibrating our time dial machines, so how could I make a mistake like this? I took a deep breath, set the time dial to 1950 to meet up with my colleague ... but nothing happened. I removed the back from the time dial and noticed that one very essential wire had broken. Perhaps I had dialed the correct year after all and the wire had broken off mid-transit. There really was no way of knowing. However, from the looks of my current location in time, I wasn’t going to happen upon a bit of wire or a soldering kit at the local hardware store any time soon.

I had finally decided to walk in the direction of the river when I was startled by a sound behind me. I quickly turned around to find ...

…a tall man with a thick beard and a very primitive looking rifle. It appeared to be a musket, but it was hard to tell since I was looking directly down its long barrel. The young man looked extremely thin, but that too was hard to tell since he was wearing a heavy wool coat that was about five sizes too big for him. The uniform was unmistakably from the Civil War era.

“Exactly how far did I miss my jump point,” I wondered to myself.

“You a Yank?” the man said in a shaky voice, keeping his gun pointed at my head.

It was then I noticed that his grey uniform was that of a Confederate soldier and that I had chosen a blue twill suit for my time jump. While my suit bore no insignia or patches of any kind, it was easy to see how I could be mistaken for a Union soldier. I had talked my way out of some difficult situations in my previous time jumps, but nothing like this. So I opted for flight over fight.

“I’m not, but they are,” I said pointing behind him.

The man quickly spun around, and I bolted toward the woods. Just as I reached the edge of the forest, I heard the crack of the soldiers’ musket quickly followed by the whistling sound of a bullet to my right. Although I knew it would take some time for him to reload, I kept running and soon came upon a cabin with the front door standing wide open. At first I thought the cabin was abandoned, but as I jumped through the front door I realized…

...that this was not so.

The woman, my missing friend and Time Traveling cohort, was smiling and shaking her head as she sat at the cabin's rustic table, while pouring strong smelling coffee from a old tin pot that had obviously seen better days.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said, offering me the cup that she held, which was tin also, and also well-used, showing dents aplenty.

"I'd love it," I answered, "but we may not have the time. We just might have some company soon, and from what I've seen, he's not in a good mood, either."

"Doesn't matter," she answered, taking a sip, "I'm parked out back and you run faster than he does."

"How'd you find me?" I asked, rethinking the offer of coffee as it smelled really good.

"Oh, that was easy," she replied. "All I had to do was...'

"...wait for you, here".

She winked and took another sip of her coffee. I always hate it when she talked in riddles which practically meant I hated her most of the time, yet deep down I was overjoyed to see her again. Still, I really needed some straight answers.

"I think you best shut the door behind you", she calmly added, "there's a bit of a chill coming through...oh and you should duck"

Just as she said that, I heard the crack of my trigger happy friend's musket in the distance. Instinctly, I fell into a knee crawl position, slamming the front door shut simultaneously. Just at that moment, a bullet ripped through the barn door, claiming a small hanging portrait painting as its victim.

"We really need to go now!" I shouted at my annoyingly calm friend.

Absurdly, she took another slow sip of her coffee, then reached for her...

...knife, tucked in the fold of her buckskin breeches.

She slammed her mug down on the table and moved into a crouch next to the door. As she pressed her shoulder flush to the wall, the knuckles of her hand stood out like a row of white pearls as she clenched the blade in ready position.

"Babe, what exactly do you think you're doing?" I snapped. Her eyes narrowed as she pressed two fingers to her mouth and hissed at me to shush. As if on cue, the door swung open and she pounced on the soldier, thrusting her knife up under his ribs. I jumped forward to help her, but the deed was done. She held him like a jilted lover until his body sank to the ground with a final groan.

As I looked down at the crimson stain spreading over the chest of the man's wool jacket, she reached for her knife. She jerked it from the man's ribs, then wiped it clean on his breeches before she slipped it back in her belt. Her clear eyes were serene in a most disturbing way when she finally looked at me.

"Don't call me babe," she said. "And you need your blasted head checked. I think your brain got fried, along with those wires. The sooner the better, we need to get you to..."

“…Dr. Orlander as soon as we get home. Have you not remembered any of your training?”

“I..I was prepared for a scouting mission to 1950!!” A bit irked in my tone but than I look down at the grotesqueness of the body that not so long ago was a man.

She stands up pushing his heft off of herself. “Do I have to explain everything to you so plainly hon?”

“I am not accustomed to such violence, its been a while since we have had a code black during a jump”

“Do you not appreciate the dangers of time travel?” Reaching down she presses a button on her time dial and the entire cabin disapears table and all. The Confederate soldier’s body remains, blood stains the grass of the meadow as I notice the wind for the first time.

Pressing the button again and the cabin reapears. “It’s a covex, invisible to everyone except the two of us, although it becomes visible to those who see us, see it. So if he is the only one who saw you duck in we are safe.”

Taking the moment to relax just a moment. “We got bigger problems, Private First Class Winters here didn’t get killed by a couple time travelers in his time line he…

"...returned back home after the war, married with a yankee redhead girl, and had three children. So, we may have considerebly altered this timeline, with effects that we cannot imagine at the moment".
"But..."
"And that's not all", she added, before I could continue, "it's almost three years I am here, waiting for you to appear one day or another... Well, not exactly here in this spot, I have found a shelter not far from here".
Only now I realized that she looked a bit different than just a few minutes ago, when we had made together 'the jump'. Not that she looked older, really, but her clothes were covered with brown stains, and she looked... tired. And now I understood why she was so relaxed; she had got accustomed to that place, in such a long time.
"But... how is it possible", I asked.
"It seems, John, that you forgot how time travel works", Chris whispered with an almost annoyed expression, "the malfunctioning of my device simply took me here some years before your arrival... I am lucky not to have ended up among a couple of T-Rex at lunchtime".
Then she pressed the button again and as soon as the covex disappeared, said: "Let's go now, I will show you ...

what havoc you've caused by making me have to terminate that bloke. And then I'll show you how YOU'RE going to repair the damage."

Chris had always been straightforward and calculating, but never cold and deadly. I suppose that 3 years waiting around for me in the middle of a war must have really done a number on her. What I couldn't understand was where she'd gotten all this tech if she'd been waiting for me for 3 years, how she knew I'd eventually come along, and how she knew what Winters' future held. But I didn’t hold out hope that she’d tell me much. After all, she’d always been tight-lipped about her personal life.

Chris tore through the meadow at a pace nearer to a run than a stroll. Her movements were more like that of an animal than a human. Specifically, she’d begun to remind me of a cat as the sun glinted off her bronzed, highly developed muscles. I apparently blinked for a second too long because she suddenly disappeared before my eyes only to pop back into sight a couple of seconds later.

"What are you waiting around for?” she asked, grabbing my hand and yanking me downward into a recess in the ground that I’d not seen. “I hope you like bats ... both as pets and to eat. Never have a pet you can’t eat is what I always say. I've found bat livers to be quite tasty with some fava beans and a nice chianti." She cackled a bit and then led me down into what turned out to be an underground cave. Oh god, what had I gotten myself into? I was seriously wondering if I should fear for my own liver by this point.

It wasn’t long before she flipped a switch and illuminated the cave in front of us. “Welcome to The Bat Cave, as I like to call it.” Yes, it was a cave ... complete with hanging bats, but it also seemed to have all the comforts of a house as well: kitchen, living room, furniture, beds, etc. What the heck?

She shoved a notebook into my hand. "Happy reading. I’m going to get us some grub," she said, bounding out the opening of the cave without warning.

"Well that was pleasant," I grumbled to myself.

With nothing better to do, I dropped into a chair and began to read. It only took me a second to realize that it was in my own handwriting and from my future self. Apparently, I’d sent all the tech from the future, including 2 new chronologically-protected time-travel devices to use a few days after Chris caught up to me. Future Me had apparently calibrated the cabin to covex through to the meadow’s distant and much safer past. I was just getting to the part about how I was supposed to restore Winters to the timeline when I heard a toilet flush behind a very large stalagmite. I instantly froze with my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. And then my jaw dropped when ...

…a man stepped out from behind the stalagmite. It was Private First Class Winters.

Or was it? He had the same thick beard, the same anorexic build, and the same Confederate uniform. If not for the fact that he was wearing a red baseball hat emblazoned with a Nebraska Cornhuskers logo, I probably would have jumped him and put him in a choke hold until Chris returned. Instead, I just stared with my mouth hanging open like a mental patient who had doubled up on his phenobarbital.

“I’m shore glad we got us some proper plumbin’ in this place,” the man said in the same southern drawl I had heard Private Winters use earlier.

“What’s going on?” I mumbled in my pseudo-drugged stupor.

“Oh, hello John,” the man said casually as he tipped his cap. “I know what’cha must be thinkin’, but I ain’t him. I’m just a time twin that y’all sent back to stand in fer Winters till ya get this mess cleaned up.”

“And how exactly are we supposed to do that?” I asked Winters’ doppelganger.

“Well you shore done got yourself in a pickle. This thing stinks so bad it'd knock a buzzard off a gut wagon, but I suppose you oughta start by...

...fixin that machine of yourn, lessen ya wanta stay hear and eat bat like that crazy woman do. It beats all, I tell ya, it beats all indeedy."

"Wait a minute," I begged of him holding up my hands, not only for emphasis but to also cut him off mid-ramble, "first things first, please. Are you being truthful with me?"

"Oh sure," he answered, now seriousness personified, "she eats them flying rats all the time, ye can't stop her, I'm a tellin ya."

"No,' I screeched, by now almost losing it, "not that. You're saying we sent you back?"

Now he looked incredulous, as if I should know better.

"Well," he reasoned, "it’s either you or...

"...me taking his place, I'm sure you'll agree I look more the part, my dear fellow?"

I wondered why his accent and command of English suddenly changed in mid sentence...but then there were plenty more strange things I needed to wonder about with more urgency. Not in the least the deterioration of my dear friend's development of what I suspected was multiple personality disorder (something Winters must have been suffering from too), her insatiable thirst for bats and a rather alarming flippancy to kill people.

I thought of how long will it take, before this madness takes me? Was this possibly a side effect of staying too long in this covex?

Chris and Winters were right about one thing, this needed to be fixed but it was time I took the reigns here. I had to save Chris from this madness somehow.

I picked up the book that my future self wrote, squeezing it into my pouch. Then proceeded to...

...glance at the doppelganger. He seemed fairly comfortable with his role in this mess, and in some crazy way he knew a heck of a lot more about Chris than I did.

I'd heard eating bats tasted just like chicken, so I could hardly fault a girl for doing what she had to do to survive. Yet she appeared to relish the thought of her next meal, and as I looked upward at the shiny black rodents hanging peacefully from the rafters, I suppressed the surge of bile threatening to erupt from my belly.

Well, let her munch on bats, if it made her happy. I'd much rather see her occupied by eating, if it would keep her from making any more kills. Had so much changed in the time we had been separated?

Suddenly I realized that perhaps things were much worse than I first thought. Chris and Winters might be acting strangely, but I was the one who had no clue what was going on.

Was it Chris whose brain was fried, or was it me? And if people could be replaced into the timeline so easily, an even more worrisome thought occurred: if I became of no use to her, would she take me out of commission as well?

Well, I sure wasn't going to let that happen. I reached once hand around to the back of my waistband, feeling for the reassurance of the glock I knew I'd put there before the leap.

I hid my grin from Winters. One of us might be suffering from Convex Fever, but I refused to be the one put down. I didn't care what happened to Winters, especially given the nature of our brief relationship, but Chris was different.

If I had to tie her up and feed her bat wings for a week, I'd break her of the Fever. It was the only way to...

…ensure my safety.

I stepped out of the view of Winters and drew the glock. The weight of it felt good in my hand. Sweat of my hands made me grip the gun firmly. “What are you doing?” Winters asked as his eyes narrowed in on the glock held firmly in front of me. Bang the gun explodes so wondrously, so naturally in my hands.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!” I yell as I watch his face absorb the impact of the bullet as his body crumples to earth.

Darkness…stinging in my arm. I open my eyes I am strapped to a gurney. An IV of some sort of dark liquid is being piped into my veins.

“Sorry about this John.” Dr. Orlander says as his face floats above me in a haze. “Each time we pull you back, we never know how you will react. The medication will help.”

“Now we don’t have much time, and I can’t be sure how much you will remember, so please try to concentrate.”

“Take good notes this time.” Dr. Orlander says as he releases my wrists from the gurney.

I sit up abruptly my head throbs. I reach across from the gurney to the table where my notebook and laser pen rest next to my glock.

“Any field agent who has jumped to 2046 and beyond are suspected of being double agents, working against us.”

“Double agents in our Ranks? That can’t be.”

“Security in the vetting process is not what it used to be John, and we can’t take what’s happening now as coincidence.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?”

“You ended up in Richmond in 1862 John, you have to ask yourself, did Chris really have to kill Winters?”

Darkness…not darkness bats thousands of bats…I am gripping my notebook in my hands I feel my glock heavy in my waistband. I heard a toilet flush behind a very large stalagmite. I instantly froze with my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. And then my jaw dropped when a man stepped out from behind the stalagmite. It was Private First Class Winters.

“I’m shore glad we got us some proper plumbin’ in this place,” the man said in the same southern drawl I had heard Private Winters use earlier, or exactly that earlier.

I could not believe my eyes I…

.. was back there again!
'Well, calm down John, calm down', I continued repeating to myself. Back where? Or when? It was a sort of déjà-vu, hadn't I already seen this scene?
Fragments of the face of Dr. Orlander floated before my eyes, a faint pain still in my arm, then everything faded.
My first instinct was to take my weapon, but then I noticed that my left hand was clutching a notebook.
'Wait', I thought. "I do not remember to have had the notebook before..."
"Aye John, are you OK? Ya' gotta a awful face", Winters said, staring at me.
A suddend thought crossed my mind. 'Sure, time travel, that's how it works, I am back, maybe for the hundredth time, and each time I jump in time I forget what happened before'.
Then I noticed once again the notebook in my hand. 'And this means that I have to report something to Doc'...
The voice of Orlander faintly whispered into my ears 'Double agents', and then faded away like a candlelight in the wind.
I decided Winter was not a danger, and abandoned the idea to take the glock. Moreover, I had absolutely to know what was happening there.
"Yes Winter, I am fine. Where is Chris?", I enquired.
"Chris?!? What do you mean John? She is...

back with Dr. Orlander. Honestly, did you think she wanted to stick around in this guano-hole? Now, we've got some history to repair."

My eyes narrowed for a second. "Hey, wait, you're not the same Winters Double..."

"Calm down. Calm down," he said. "I don't know why you get temporary amnesia every time you end up here, but I'm the 4th Winters Double Dr. Orlander has had to send here. Now sit down and hear me out. " This time it was the Winters Double that pulled a gun. I sat down. “Our goal," he said with a straight face, "is to keep President Lincoln from pushing the red button."

There were no "red buttons" to push during the Civil War. Had I entered some sort of Twilight Zone or was this man just severely deranged? There was no way that Chris killing Winters had resulted in nuclear technology a century early. But since I had a gun pointed in my face, I let him continue.

"You are familiar with President Aiden Lincoln, aren't you?" he asked.

"You mean Abraham."

"Boy, you really are dumb. No. Wrong century. Do you think you're magic or something? You really haven't heard of Aiden Lincoln? Lucky you. They told me you wouldn't, but I didn't believe them. Okay. Who was the president in 2052?"

"Um. Uh. Caiden James?"

"Bonnnnnnk. Wrong answer."

"Um. Okay. Was James a descendent of Winters or something?"

"Nope. And that's why we only need a Winters Double and not to bring back Winters himself."

The look on my face made it clear that I didn't follow.

"Have you heard of The Great Philadelphia Fire of 1862?" the Winters Double asked. "No, of course you haven't. Okay, let me try to simplify this. Winters' unit was planning to gather with all of the Confederate troops that had converged in Richmond on to Philadelphia as a single unified unit to burn Philadelphia. However, Winters suggested that the path that they would have to take wouldn't be practical for victory for such a large number of troops. As a result, the plan was abandoned. If they had burned Philadelphia, The James ancestry line would have died out. Thus, Caiden James would never be alive to be President and Aiden Lincoln (no relation to Abraham) would run for President instead. And it was Lincoln who pressed the red button and started World War III. Now, our first order of business is to ...

…get you a confederate uniform so you can help me convince them not to burn Philadelphia,” said Winters 4.0.

He stepped behind the same stalagmite where he had relieved himself earlier and came back with a gray wool jacket and matching britches identical to the ones he had on. I changed quickly so that we could get on with the business at hand. My mission was becoming more and more complicated, and I needed to refocus and get back on track.

“How do I look?” I asked Winters as I cinched the rope belt tightly around my oversized jacket.

“You look like you’re going to a costume party, but it’ll have to do. Now let’s see if we can find our regiment and save James’ ancestor.”

We exited the cave and found a road nearby. Winters automatically headed to the right. He seemed to know where he was going, so I simply followed his lead. Actually, I was glad for him take charge at the moment. It gave me a chance to think about my situation. Was Winters to be trusted? How exactly were we going to convince the confederate army not to attack Philadelphia? And once we did, what then? Would I still need to go to 1950 and finish my original mission?

I soon became aware of the sound of a horse at full gallop and realized that an officer was rapidly approaching us from the road ahead. While I couldn’t discern his rank from his uniform, I could tell he was our superior.

“Winters, where ya been?” asked the man on the horse. “And who is that with you?”

“Oh… well… um… this is…”

"Sir," I broke in, at last recognizing the tall figure astride the massive horse, "are you General Forrest?" I already knew that he was. I'd seen plenty of pictures of him in the history books.

"I am," he barked, snorting more than his winded steed, "and I know everyone in my command. Who are you, private? And rest assured I won't ask again."

"Sir," I responded once more, but now standing to attention, "I'm a member of a detail delivering an urgent dispatch from General Lee. We were attacked and I was separated from them. But you've been ordered to fall back, the campaign on Philadelphia has been cancelled."

"Cancelled?" he barked even louder, "that's not possible. For what reason? Where are the orders?"

"Sorry, General," I responded, “I wasn't in charge of the pouch and I was separated from the others, as I said, but the command is clear. For some reason General Lee wants you to fall back."

To this he said nothing, but his eyes bore into mine. It was disconcerting. Winters broke the tension.

"Sir," he reported, following my thrust, "I came upon em earlier and since then we've been a tryin to find his detail, but no luck as of a yet.”

By this time, a few more officers came barreling down the road, the dust rising as they pulled up next to us.

“Sir,” one of them almost screamed as he quickly saluted, “reports of skirmishers two ridges out from our left flank.”

“Very well,” he responded calmly, but he wasn’t quite through with the two of us.

“Winters, I want that dispatch pouch,” he ordered, “I must have it. Use who you need and inform your officers I said so.” Then he turned his mount but pointed his gloved finger at me.

“And you…

"...tell me your name, Private?" he ordered, reigning his horse closer to me in side trots, his head remaining upright and eyeballs rolling further downwards tracking mine with a piercing stare. I craned my neck up further to find his sharpened beard pointing threateningly at me.

"John, John Anderson, sir" I replied as calmly and confidently as I could muster. I decided it wouldnt matter that I gave my real name. Its not as if General Forrest would have any means of ID'ing me.

The General continued to stare at me but not with the authoritative intimidation he employed thus far, he was now looking at me with a more startled expression...unfortunately for me, it was also one of disbelief.

"John Anders...?" he began thoughtfully to himself, scanning my face with scrutiny. "CLARK!" he bellowed suddenly. One of the officers immediately pulled up beside the General.

"Sir!" the young soldier with a Corporal insignia, responded with readied anticipation. "Bring the Colonel, here, immediately!". "Yes sir". As Corporal Clark began to turn around, he caught a look at me and then he too bore a startled expression.

"Well? What the hell are you waiting for, corporal?! FETCH HIM!" the General ordered. "sir!" at which the Corporal galloped full speed to the main bulk of the cavalry.

The General continued to hold me captive via eyeball locking and a loaded beard. There was something about me that was rousing suspicion...but what?! Persuading the General to pull back from the Philadelphia attack was certainly not going to be easy at this rate.

I looked around for Winters but he had gone. Damn it. Wasnt he the one that was supposed to persuade the general not to attack, anyway? I prayed that he would return back quickly with that faked "dispatch pouch" from General Lee and get this over and done with.

A couple of horses soon galloped towards us, mounted on one of them was the Corporal and riding in front was a bearded Colonel...who looked familiar....

"Well, my friend" The General beckoned the Colonel, dropping the usual military addressing code. "is there something you havent been telling me...Colonel John Anderson?"

And at that point the Colonel's distinct green eyes met my green eyes...no, it couldnt be...

...my own face staring back at me. He raised an eyebrow, the edge of his lip twitching in what might have been a grin, had the General not been sputtering like a boiling kettle pot beside him.

The General leaned over the neck of his horse, his eyes darting around at the other soldiers milling past.

"Is this what you've been waiting for? You told me once the day would come, but, blast it, John, I just though you were addled!" the General said.

Colonel John, the man with my features plastered on his face, merely nodded, never taking his eyes off mine.

"I imagine you have some questions," Colonel John said to me. It was difficult to take him seriously; I felt like I was trapped in some jump-induced illusion.

"Uh, yeah- a few," I stammered. If the man beside me was truly my own self, then I had busted up all the laws of time-travel beyond comprehension. I was still holding out hope he was just a very genetically similar ancestor. Or descendant. Actually, anything besides the obvious would do.

My doppelganger cocked his head a bit and spit out a chunk of wet tobacco.

"Well, if you would give us a few moments, my friend, we'll join you after we sort this out," the Colonel said to the General. The General could not see the Colonel's face, but I saw the wink he gave me.

"I'll get rid of him, and then we'll..."

…have some time to talk privately.

“Very Well” General Forest barked. “Don’t be long we need every man we can spare on the line.”

“Yes sir” Colonel Anderson said saluting the General.

The General turned his horse and he beckoned for the others to follow in a few moments the two johns were the only two around.

“Dad Gum Blasted, Winters he was supposed to keep you in the covex until the battle begun!” The Colonel looking up and down the empty road nervously. “What luck the two of you running into the General, he has a thing for faces”

“Who are you?” I ask looking up at myself astride a beautiful honey brown horse.

“Ha Ha” Colonel Anderson says. “right to the point with you, as always” I stare up at myself expecting an answer.

“I am here to be a war hero John. They will not take orders from a private, however, when a Colonel on horseback calls for a charge at the most critical point in the battle the men around me will see me surge forward and the men will rally.”

The sound of gun fire erupts not so far distant. “Ah Chattanooga Espresso, I’m late!!”

Colonel Anderson turns his horse and bolts through the field toward the gun fire. “Chattanooga Espresso?” I say to myself. “Is that something I would ever say myself?” I wonder as I find myself alone. What….

... what the hell is going on here?!?"
Shielding my eyes from the scorching sun with my right hand I tried to understand where the gun fire was coming from.
But in that moment Winter was back.
With a quick move he pulled me aside, "Our time here is done, Jonh, your other yourself, that doc has sent ... err... will send here, will finish this job for us, he is certainly in a better position to succeed".
"But .. the other me? But how... when?" I tried to object.
"John ... you will be sent by the doc, one month from now, and in the position of a senior officer, in order to be able to influence the events of Philadelphia ...."
Noticing my expression, Winter added, "Of course, according to our subjective time you will be posted here only one month from now ... but ... Ugh ...how complicated this whole story of time paradoxes, especially when you meet yourself ...But now we have to go!"
"Go where? We have just...", only then I noticed the shining device in Winter's hands. 'Had he managed to repair the....'
I could not end my thoughts. The familiar bright light exploded for a split second before my eyes, then the air flickered. We were gone.

A black Buick "Roadmaster" darted in front of us. The ad-poster on the the other side of the road showed a smiling taxi driver with his yellow cab drinking a Coke and over him the famous motto 'Travel Refreshed, I Say...".
Yes, 'we are definitely in the fifties", I thought...

I tried to get my bearings after the sudden change of scenery and found myself on a road in the desert...pretty much the middle of nowhere. Still feeling nauseous from the time jump I suddenly wished I had that Coke.

Winter’s glanced at me and said “Not quite”

I looked at him a growing more confused by the second. “Not quite?? Not quite what??”

“A we bit before the fifties my friend; 1947 to be exact. And we must hurry, or dare I say we will run out of time.”

My head was still spinning too much to grasp the irony of it all. I leaned back feeling truly sick. I was beginning to wonder if traveling through time was bad for my health. I looked at Winter; who was now on the side of the road hitchhiking.

An old pickup truck pulled over. The driver, a man is his sixties with an overgrown mustache and cowboy hat, was speaking to Winter. I walked over to the truck just as the driver was asking Winter where we were headed. Winter responded “Roswell…as fast to and as close as you can get us”

Winters grabbed me and we jumped in the truck before I knew what was happening. “I’ll explain when we get there,” Winters said quietly. Well at least I could sit for awhile and maybe my head would stop spinning. In my time line, Roswell was largely forgotten until well after most of the evidence was well hidden. That old weather balloon story had to stay intact or they were all in trouble. People start hunting down those aliens now and so much for our getting their technology. The driver slammed on the breaks, breaking me out of my reverie. I quickly looked out the window, not believing what I was seeing. I grabbed Winters arm, “is that…

a dinosaur? Chatanooga Espresso indeed!”

“You boys got some of that alien tech on ya, don’t ya? I should’ve known you were CIA or FBI by the costume’s y’all’re wearin’. Last time I picked up hitchhikin’ CIA they were wearin’ strange clothes, too. Never seen nothin’ like ‘em before. I think that bump we hit back yonder knocked yer time doohickey outta wack.”

“Huh?” I asked, still dazed by the view around me. The desert had transformed into a landscape of lush vegetation. I could see the long necks of various sauropods bending around trees to get a look at us.

“Ya’ll wanna get out and have a look around? Don’t worry. They’re more scared of you than you are of them. They’ll bolt if ya get too close. I done seen my fill, so I’ll just sit right here in my pickup if ya'll don’t mind.”

Winters the Fourth and I got out of the truck cautiously. The air smelled of ozone as if there had just been a small spring storm. The sky glowed a slight pink, and it was definitely spring. New flowers were popping out everywhere and everything was a shade of the most vivid greens I had ever seen. I couldn’t help but walk toward one of the sauropods to get a better look, but true to Hank’s prediction, it ran away when I got close enough to try to see the strange markings on its skin. It was a beautiful creature, graceful in its own large way.

After we’d seen all we could see, we both got back into the truck with Hank, and I readjusted the time dial machine for 1947. Unfortunately, the pickup truck materialized in front of another car, and they immediately careened off the dirt road and into a grove of cacti to avoid hitting us. We decided we’d better stop and convince the driver that we’d been there all along. However, before we had a chance to pick our way through the prickly sea of cacti, ...

...an extremely large, saucer-shaped object appeared on the horizon. It quickly disappeared behind a ridge, and a large plume of black smoke rose into the sky where it had vanished. It took a few seconds for the sound of the crash to reach us.

"Looks like that’s where we need to go," I said, pointing at the column of smoke.

“What about that car we ran off the road?” asked Hank.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m sure Dr. Orlander will send Amy back to take care of it. Besides, who’s to say that he wouldn’t have run off the road if we hadn’t shown up. We’ve got some bigger fish to fry, and we will find them just over that ridge. Now let’s get moving.”

"I'll have you there in a jiffy," said Hank as he punched the accelerator. The back wheels spun in the dirt and the truck fishtailed slightly as we sped off in the direction of the crash.

I leaned back in my seat and realized we still had on our heavy wool uniforms. The desert heat made them extremely itchy and uncomfortable.

"You got any extra clothes in the back?" I asked Hank.

"Sure thing, you'll find a pair of blue twill suits courtesy of Dr. Orlander."

"So, Hank, I take it you are with the T.I.M.E. project, and you showing up back at that deserted road was not just a coincidence.”

“That’s right,” Hank said. “The good doctor sent me along to help out. He can be very persuasive.”

“Tell me about it,” I replied. “I would still be at home in bed if Dr. Orlander hadn’t…

…jerked me around, several times in fact. But I still don’t know what’s going on, or why we’re even here, where ever here is.”

Changing clothes in the careening truck was quite an ordeal but Hank, grinning at my exertions, was unconcerned by my plight. He had his hands full piloting us through the brush and scrub, with finesse under the circumstances. Soon we had crossed over the ridge.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” he finally answered me, currently stomping on the brake, which brought us to a screeching halt. “I think you’re about to find out.”

We all looked through the windshield. The massive ship was now visible in the distance, intact but partially buried in the rocky soil heaped up around it. Dust and smoke still surrounded the area, but it was clearing, aided by the slight breeze.

All of us got out and started walking, the ship looming larger with every step we took. We abruptly stopped when we were about fifty feet away, after the hatch opened. Now we waited to see what would happen next.

Steps deployed. A figure disembarked and moved towards us without, it seemed, any hesitation. As it closed the distance, I saw that the figure was smiling.

Unbelieving, I turned my head to look at Hank, but he was unsurprised and once more grinning. Then he slapped me on my back. Then he pushed me forward.

The approaching figure now had a hand extended. Only after the firm handshake did I realize that I had extended mine also. Finally, I thought, answers at last.

“Well, John,” the figure said, “glad you made it. Now we can…

..."CHIRIS!?!" It was unmistakable, her voice, her face...but completely shaven, her head, her eyebrows, her lashes, which was very disconcerting.

"Chris, this is too much." I fell to my knees, not to ask for her hand in marriage, or to beg her to whack me over the head with a baseball bat and put me out of my misery but simply from a wave of mental exhaustion and an overwhelming desire to surrender what little sanity I had remaining.

Almost dejectedly, I spat out the only words that came to my head, "what...the...hell..."

"...is going on, hon?" Chris interjected with a whiff of sympathy and empowering control. "Apparently, that's become quite a catch phrase for you, hasnt it?"

"Chris, please dont mock me now. Instead of a routine scouting mission in 1950, I have been shot at by a Confederate called Winters in 1862, I find you holed up in a cave eating bats, you then killed Winters, then you went batcrazy again blaming ME for changing history, so I figured you were suffering from some multiple personality disorder and I thought I needed to save you, then the Confederate's doppelganger appeared, so I-I-I killed him...Dont ask me why, I didnt trust him, ok, and since you killed him, it didnt seem to matter and...well I was delirious, then I found myself pulled back to our time by Dr Orlander, then that blasted confederate appears yet again out of a toilet, threw me into a mission to prevent Philadelphia from being attacked, only to find my own doppelganger appear to HELP the feds attack Philadelphia, Winters appears yet again, takes me on another mission to come here to 1947 but on the way, we pop back to 150 million years ago to say hello to a Mr Sauropod. And now here you are being the blasted Roswell Alien that we're meant to cover up. Chris...HELP ME HERE!"

I had to let it all out, in a way it felt good, although I wasnt sure if it was going to do me any good. Chris looked at me with a sad expression, at least that's that I though it was, kind of hard to tell with no eyebrows.

"oh John, you have been pretty fu..wait, I was eating bats?, ughhh, that was so sweet of you to try save me"

"For 3 years, Chris, you were really loving feasting on them"

"Oh hon, what have I put you through?" Chris knelt onto her knees and reached out to touch my face, I found my self not making any effort whatso ever to resist her reach, her soft hands caressed my face and slid to the back of my head weaving her fingers through my short wavy hair. Our faces drew closer, I wasnt having it. Oh no. I wasnt going to let her lead, I grabbed her by the hips and pulled her on to me, her tight one jump suit flattened breasts flattened even more against my chest, as she exhaled, exceitedly, I pressed my lips against hers and well, we did what you expect two different pairs of lips to do when making contact and it wasnt mouth to mouth rescuscitation. We kissed, we devoured, our heads alternately twisting clockwise-anticlockwise, tongues intertwining like a game of twister. for several seconds we were in bliss but for a moment, I thought to myself, "what the hell is going on?" but it was only a fleeting moment, I was about to execute my uniquely special tongue twirl slide grip when...

"ahem...um, John, Chris...."

I completely forgot about Hank...Hank, who the hell was he, anyway?

"Oh Hi, Hank" Chris smiled at Hank, still on her knees. Then without warning, she pushed me aside, and slithered towards Hank, swiping his feet of the ground with snake-like snap of her legs, she then arm locked him around the neck from behind. Instinctly I thought of counting to ten but in a split second I heard a crack followed by a crunch as Hank's head flopped back, his lifeless body crumpling into a heap as Chris released him.

"Chris! What the HELL is going on!?!" I shouted exasperatedly.

"Hon, you really need to change that catchphrase, havent you got any other words you can use?"

I stared at her, with a mix of fascination and a resigned sigh.

"Um...Chattanooga Espresso?"

"Ooo I like that one! I like it a lot! From here on, just keep saying that", her breezy demeanour overwhelmed my now tired senses.

Remebering my doppelgänger, I countered "Apparantly, I will be, princess"

The thought of my doppelganger, reminded me of the book my future self had written, I still had it on me, the one I had picked up in the cave, I reached into my pouch and pulled it out.

When Chris saw it, her face lit up. "Oh John, I thought you didnt know what was going on! I'm so glad you were reading it..."

"I wasnt reading it, Chris. I never had the chance, well I read the first few pages".

"John, the answers are all in there and its mostly towards the end. You and I were following your orders from your future. The world depends on us John, I could tell you everything now but not enough time but its all in there. Hon, we have to see this through and prevent the biggest catastrophe of our future. There is just one thing I will say now before anything else...we cant trust Dr Orlander and his doppegangers...", we both looked at the crumpled heap of the now deceased Hanks. "...but we have to ride with his plans in order to prevent them"

Chris looked around, in the distance, I could just about make out several trucks approaching through the shimmering heat wave.

"Well not much time now, John. The United States military is approaching."

I looked at her hairless face, "So Chris, what are you playing here and when are you going to grow back your beautiful hair?"

"Ho ho ho" Chris laughed, I laughed with her despite myself, despite the impending save the world, dillemma, I even added "so what was that supposed to be, Santa Claus?"

Chris smiled, poignantly, "Hon, I need to play this out and you need to..."

...uhm, ah, get control of THAT," she said, glancing down my torso with a sly grin, "until I have time to do it for you."

She was right. I needed much more than 30 seconds alone with her, and by the looks of the caravan of military vehicles approaching, we were not going to get it. My pulse was throbbing in my temple as I tried to push thoughts of her out of my head. Time travel was like war, in that way. A man went into battle with fire in his blood, needing resolution one way or another. After being in the Convex so long, I was in dire need of that release.

Chris shoved a .38 into my hand and walked down the plank, away from me, and toward the military. As they slid to a stop on the dusty road beside us, she glanced back over her shoulder.

"You're taking me in. Don't screw it up this time," she hissed. "It's the only way we have to infiltrate them. Put on your game face!"

She held her hands up above her head as they drew their weapons.

Wishing to all that was holy that I'd read the blasted book, I followed behind her, my gun leveled on her back.

One man stood apart from the other military-types. He lowered his weapon and stepped forward...

"MMMM….AHHH! A low frequency began to resonate from inside the saucer. Getting louder and lower very deep. MMM….AHHH. that remind’s me of Gregorian chant, I thought, having traveled to Europe in the 10th century to listen to original versions.

The sound was Amazing, I thought as the sound resonated both in my head and deep in my chest. I noticed the group of armed military seemed to be mesmerized by the “Music” the frequency continued getting lower and lower; could it get any lower, I thought. Two armed men to the left fall and began having a seizure.

“What is HAPPENING NOW!!” I yelled..

“They will think you are military and trust you when you wake up” Chris whispered her words tickling my ear.

I opened my eyes, waking up as if from a deep sleep, laying on the ground I turned and saw… "

... the man who before (how long before? how long had I slept?) had stepped towards me, lowering his weapon, was not staring into my eyes.
"Well done, man, but she's gone now!"
So, Chris was right, he - who probably was the chief in command of the military task force - thought I was a soldier too, or more likely an agent of some government agency, judging by my dark suit.
"What's your name, and... more important, are you really one of them?"
I could not understand what the officer was talking about. One of 'them'... who were 'them'?
"Since President Truman established the 'Black Guard' six months ago, I had never met one of you in person", the high military officer continued, and he gave his hand, helping me in getting up.
Sure, I thought, the Black Guard. In this time-line, for so many aspects so different from mine, the 'men-in-back' are a reality. Probably a special police or secret service force to deal with the 'alien' matters.
I remembered of the notebook I had with me and decided it was finally time to have a look at it.
'General', I said, 'now what I need is just some rest; I will go to the nearest city, find a hotel, have a steak and a ice beer, and tomorrow we'll discuss'.
As I imagined, the high military, respecting what he believed was my government position, simply said: "That's fine, I will escort you personally to the the town center with my Jeep", and called...

to a Sergeant standing nearby, "Sergeant bring my Jeep around". The Sergeant quickly left and returned with the Jeep. I stood there not exactly crazy about the General accompanying me but saw no way out of it. The General motioned for me to get in as he took his place in rear seat of the jeep; the Sergeant was going to be driving.

We cruised in silence along the desert road until we saw the lights of the town of Roswell. The jeep pulled into the parking lot of a small roadside motel. I climbed out of the jeep and was about to thank the General when I noticed he climbed out of the jeep as well. The General drew his Colt 45 from its holster and motioned to the Sergeant. The Sergeant had out his rifle.

I look around cautiously not knowing what to expect. Obviously my current companions were spooked by something. I held my ground while they did a quick search inside the motel but all they found was a startled motel clerk and a young honeymoon couple in one of the rooms in a nakedly awkward position.

“General” I finally said, “I am more than capable of taking care of myself and handling any situation that may arise”

No sooner did the words leave my mouth then I began to question the term ‘Handle any situation’ as I watched the Sergeant collapse to the ground in front of me. I saw from the corner of my eye the General raising his pistol just as an arrow whizzed past me and impaled itself in the General’s skull. The General dropped to the ground twitching in a bloody heap with his eyes wide open.

I ran for cover behind the jeep. I waited a few seconds for the sound of arrows whizzing past my head but heard none. I risked a glance into the street where the bodies now lay. My eyes widened as I saw him, a large Native American warrior un-mounting from his horse.

My head began to spin violently as I heard voices all around me accompanied by the sounds of gunfire and war chants. The world spun away as I heard a voice say, “General Custer is dead but this one should live”
A hand grabbed mine and a voice said……

“don’t move. Just go along with this and we should be out of here soon.” It was Chris. “What the… Chattanooga Espresso?”
Chris smiled briefly, “well at least you brought some memories with you this time. Just hang on, you should be out of here soon. You still got that book right?”
I patted my pocket where I had stashed the book when we were heading to the hotel in Roswell. Thankfully it was still there. I nodded and it was as if the movement knocked something loose. The world began to swim again and I briefly was back in the parking lot of the Roswell motel. Before I could move the world was swimming again. Then I heard Dr. Orlander’s voice. “John? Are you with us?”
I tried to respond but nothing came out. I slowly turned my head in the direction of the voice. I realized I was back on a gurney in a hospital like room. I was strapped to the bed again. Dr. Orlander moved towards me and I had to remind myself not to flinch. I couldn’t let on that I knew he was up to something. He unstrapped me from the gurney but I still had the IV attached so I wasn’t going anywhere fast.
“You had us a little worried John. You were out much longer than last time. I hate to do this but you need to get back. The double agents have infiltrated much more than we realized. That’s why you were in Roswell instead of 1950.”
“Double agents? Are you sure? I just can’t wrap my head around it.” I really needed to figure out what Orlander’s game was and quick. All this bouncing through time and I wouldn’t be wrapping my head around my own name, let alone anything of substance… Wait, was that it? Was I the one he was trying to eliminate?
Orlander took a deep breath and simply said, “off you go boy.” And the world swam again until…

I found myself sharing a back alley with a car with tail fins. So, I'd finally made it to 1950 after all. I caught my reflection in the car's mirror. Once again, I was dressed in a dashing suit and fedora. Back when I had arrows flying at me, I was tempted to transport myself back to the Land of the Sauropods, but this would do. Yes, indeed.

First order of business, a strong drink. Second order of business, reading the blasted journal. I quickly located a reputable-looking hotel with a quiet bar, ordered up a gin and tonic, and opened the journal's worn cover to read my handwriting inside:

John: I've decided that it will be much better for you to learn the easy way rather than the hard way who is who and what is what. There's no reason for me to have to make the same mistakes the first time around when there's a way to prevent it. Below is an abbreviated version of a large part of what you need to know.

The Mission - Rescue stranded time travelers and close up time holes left behind as a result of faulty tech.

Chris - Chris is the head of the mission. She's to be trusted, but don't get romantically involved with her. Trust me.

Dr. Orlander - Don't trust him. He's gone rogue.

Dopplegangers - Dr. Orlander originally began by abducting unnecessary dopplegangers out of various time periods to replace necessary people that various time travelers had accidentally erased. He would erase the memories of these "Unnecessaries", upload information into their brain, and allow them to "become" the accidentally erased necessary person. However, as time went on, he began to upload information into the Dopplegangers' brains to further his agenda rather than to help restore order in the world. As such, any Doppleganger that you encounter is also not to be trusted because they are working toward the creation of the world of Dr. Orlander's vision. I'm not sure what his ultimate goal is, but Chris seems to have a good idea.

Flying saucers -They're from thousands of years in our future. Chris brought one with her to use to collect stranded time travelers before taking them back to the future. Yes, Chris is from this future.

"Aliens" - These are the humans of the future. They're us, only hairless with larger heads, bigger eyes, and smaller torsos. Chris wears special contacts and has had eyebrow and hair implants. Why have we never found “aliens” among us? They’ve done their best to blend in as a part of their time travel training. However, unless they have chosen to live a simple life, many who have been stranded in time have used their knowledge of the future and future technology to make their fortunes.

Alien Abductions - See “Dr. Orlander” and “Dopplegangers”.

Time Holes - Sometimes time travel devices malfunction when used and leave time holes. Anything or anyone can accidently pass through time holes that have been left open.

Hybrids - Hybrids are the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren etc. that resulted from romantic liasons between stranded time travelers from the future and regular people. Some of them know their heritage, but many of them (like me) did not. My "alien" ancestors did not want to be "rescued" from being stranded in the past because they'd made a happy life for themselves. Chris has decided to use Permanent Aliens and Permanent Hybrids like me to help her with her mission. In fact, we're the only people that she trusts.

By the way, If you just finished a gin and tonic, duck now!

I ducked just in time ...

…to avoid being hit by a flying beer bottle—the result of a brawl between a homeless guy and a young punk donning a fedora and zoot suit. I grabbed my gin and tonic and found a quiet booth in the corner where I could meditate on my current situation.

The effects of the gin mixed with the stale, dark and slightly-smoky atmosphere triggered memories of a childhood spent largely in my father’s tavern. I logged many long hours in that place doing homework after school, watching reruns on the old black and white holo-vision set, and washing all the dirty glasses from the previous night. I would often fall asleep in the back room until my father came to carry me home after closing so I could get a few hours of proper sleep in my own bed.

It was in that bar that I met a strange man named Dyal who changed my life forever. Strange is perhaps an understatement. Dyal was the only man I knew who still wore glasses in an age when laser-assisted surgery had eliminated the need for corrective eyewear. He also wore a leather jacket over a formal suit that I had only seen in the historical records from ancient England in the 20th Century. As I struggled with my daily homework from my sixth grade quantum physics class, Dyal would patiently provide me the help that my own father was never able to provide.

“You’re really good at this, mate,” Dyal said one day as I studied for my final test. “I never learned this stuff until I was 24, and that was only with the assistance of neuro-enhancers.”

“I never could have done it without you, Dyal.”

“Have you thought about what you’ll do when you finish school next year?” he asked.

“I’ll probably just take over the bar for my dad,” I replied. “I’ll be 12 by then and can legally start working full time.”

“You know, I have a friend you should meet. His name is Orlander.”

A loud crash brought my wandering thoughts back to the present as the police kicked their way through the front door and wrestled the homeless guy to the ground. I decided I better get back to the task at hand, so I slipped through the back door into the alley. I headed for the nearest street. A muffled gunshot suddenly took out the only light illuminating the dark ally. I threw my body against the back wall of the bar, groping to find the back door. I heard a familiar voice to my left…

...but only faintly, and then it happened to me once again. Yet, unlike each instance before, this time I came to slowly, only gradually becoming aware of my surroundings. Even so, I felt rested and at peace, as if floating on a calm and tranquil sea.

First, I noticed that my exposed forearm was warm and this led to the realization that the sun was shining on me. Given that I was prone, this in turn told me that my bed must be near a window. Interesting.

My eyelids were heavy and I didn’t try to open them, content for now to let the time pass as I progressively became more alert, still unmoving but ever groping for full consciousness.

Soon the background noises, before merely disjointed tones as if in the distance, became recognizable to me, as voices.

Next, I discerned that two men were speaking very near my bed, one gruff sounding with the other being somewhat softer, less harsh, almost comforting.

“And you’re sure,” the gruff one was saying, “that there’s no hope?”

“None, I’m afraid,” answered the other, “it’s now gone too far, much too fast. It was more than he could take, more than anyone could. He’s quite insane.”

Insane? Who? Were they speaking of me?

“And you’re positive that he’ll never recover?” probed the first voice.

“Very,” was the answer given. “Currently he lives only in delusion with mere sidelong glimpses into reality, and those brief glances are skewed as well, constantly jumping from one displaced reference to another, consumed by an unending loop of misconnected circumstance.”

“This is intolerable,” said the gruff one, “John was my best operative, the finest agent the T.I.M.E. program has ever produced.” And then he added, “I must be convinced. Are you saying that he can distinguish nothing that’s real?”

Here there was a pause. Obviously the calm one was thinking over his response. He didn’t think for long, though.

“It’s true, there are traces here and there,” he offered at last, “but only in allegory and metaphor, a clear picture of a distorted overall image.”

“Chris, you mean, always turning up?” asked the other voice.

“Yes,” was the answer, “Chris represents home, safety, a loving anchor. And there’s also the mysterious diary. It’s quite frequent and always appears in the same manner, or with the same connotation, that is.”

“So,” reasoned the gruff one, “there is no diary, there never was?”

“No, not likely,” was the answer this time. “Not in a physical sense, I mean. But it’s a very real thing to him, tangible and occupying space, something that he can see and feel.”

The gruff one only grunted after this input.

“The diary holds all, you see,” the calm one continued, “all of the secrets, all of the answers safe and tightly sealed away. It must therefore be protected, guarded, cherished even, at all times and at any cost. But, for the same reason, it can never be completely read either, for facing the awful truth is now quite beyond his capability, his stilted grasp of reality.”

“But with time and enough help,” stressed the other, “things may change may they not? That’s always possible, yes? There’s always hope, isn’t this so?”

Now the reassuring voice held a note of sadness.

“John no longer exists,” it flatly stated. “At present he refers to himself only as one Red Nalro, I’m sorry to say. He’s more than adamant about this point.”

“Red Nalro?” the gruff one repeated, slowly becoming aware of the full implication. “That’s fantastic. He must be insane.”

This was too much for me. They had to understand. They had to.

“No,” I said, at last opening my eyes, “I’m far from insane I assure you, for I remember everything now. I am Red Nalro; it’s true. John, you see, was just my alter ego, my deeply planted covert cover, nothing more.”

The two men, of course, were staring at me. One was dressed in a long white smock, the other in gray, martial looking garb complete with various medallions attached to his breast, all flashing in the sunlight streaming through the window. The white one, displaying no such adornment, appeared unfazed while the gray one looked both exasperated and now totally shocked to the core.

“I’m convinced,” the gray man, who was also the gruff one, said at last, wholly disgusted while doing so. He turned to leave, adding, “I’ll sign off on it immediately. Just make sure that he never, ever gets out of here.”

Then he was gone, exited through the open doorway.

“Not to worry,” the white one said, once again employing a comforting ease while patting my arm, which I now realized was firmly restrained by several substantial straps. “We’ll be happy to take good care of you, Mr. Nalro, rest assured. Never fear about that.”

He then turned to leave, as well.

“Pray tell me,” I asked calmly, stopping him before he completed his transit, “how exactly do you know that I’m insane?”

He turned and smiled, answering, “Oh, that’s easy, Red, and quite obvious, too. It always is, in retrospect. After all, hindsight is never wrong.”

I didn’t follow this and it was a simple thing for him to see. Again he stepped to the bed, his smile intact. Then he bent over, very near to my face.

“Red Nalro,” he explained to me, “spelled backward is…”

...urghh"

For a moment I was trying to decode his peculiar cackle to tie in with Red Nalro spelt backwards but quickly abandoned that exercise when his face dropped, his lips suddenly pressing hard onto mine...

"Mmmmph, I'm not mmmph that...kind of guy...YOU SON OF A ...." I muffled with outrage at my attacker but I realised he wasnt trying to kiss me as he was spluttering blood which made me instantly revolt, his body slid down from the bed. I turned my head round to see...oh no...

...it was Chris, the figment of my imagination, wielding a bloodied surgeons knife in her hand.

I looked at her and she looked at me with an expression of concern, then intent. Her brown eye lashes and brows had returned as I remembered it in my earlier delusions and her hair had grown an unwieldly few inches. The details of my imagination are truly remarkable, I had thought to myself.

"You...you dont exist" I finally spluttered. As soon as I had uttered those words, her right hand lifted high in the air and came down onto my right cheek with an almighty hard slap rocketing my head to the side on my pillow now facing her midriff.

"well I guess you cant feel that then since I dont exist, right hon?". The stinging pain in my left cheek throbbed like miniature aftershocks. Chris sat on my bed and began to unshackle my restrictions.

"But what they were saying were making more sense then everything that has been happening...or at least I think was happening. Chris, I cant separate reality from..."

"From what, John? non reality? which part did you not think was real?"

"I am Red Nalro!" I said defiantly.

"Oh for goodness sake, John! What idiot parents would name a child, Red Nalro?"

I had to ponder on that one, why would mum and dad give me that stupid name...Wait, who was my mum and dad?

"Chris, I cant even remember my childhood...I feel like I am some fictional character written by different authors, I dont feel consistency in who I am or in what I do. You keep changing your looks from a beautiful psychotic, to a beautiful saviour to a beautiful alien of the far future"

"Aw, do you really find me beautiful?" Chris shied her head, although somewhat theatrically.

"well yes, why would I imagine you being ugly? Would be a waste of my imagination" I offered, feebly. Chris shook her head as if in realisation that I was going to be hard work.

I thought back to during those few minutes overhearing the conversation of my two captives. I remembered feeling strangely at peace, almost relieved at the fact that my whole Chris/Orlander/doppelganger escapades were not real. I wanted to be Red Nalro, I wanted it to be true that I created Orlander from my own name and this whole insane time travel. But when it came to Chris, deep down I wanted her to be real. Probably the cause of all my confusion, my insane journey...yet I wanted her to be real.

"Are you real?".

Chris released the last of the shackle on my right leg then slid on top of me, planting a kiss on my mouth. Oh yeah, she's real. At least real enough. Instinctly, I was about to make more out of this splendid opportunity, given the convenience of the bed, only to be disappointed as Chris quickly withdrew with an annoyingly teasing smile.

"Sorry about the slap, hon. They really messed with your head, havent they?"

I nodded like a self pitying little boy, seeking attention.

"Chris, I read a chunk of the book that I wrote...or will write, I warned me not to get all snoochy with you"

"Well big boy, looks like you in real trouble then. Look I read it too, John. Did I not tell you to read it? Seems you havent read far enough. Dont forget its a journal, you gained more knowledge towards the end but we dont have time for that, we have to go finish this. Orlander is altering the future and we're close, we're here"

"Here, where? and when?"

"John, everything you've been through is real. Dr Orlander knows you are a threat to his plans and I think he wants you out of the way but he wont kill you, that much is clear, otherwise he would have done so by now or then. He just wants you out of the way, these two stooges were obviously one of his attempts, making you think you were Nero."..."Nalro" I interjected, totally at Chris's mercy to finally enlighten me. "Whatever. Hon, you must try and search yourself and know who you really are. I...I cant tell you. You have to find out for yourself." Chris suddenly looked deflated and I was getting one those familiar frustrations when Chris gets all riddly with me.

"What are you not telling me, Chris?"

"I..I cant...we cant finish this unless you know what..." Chris paused. "...unless you know who you are...there is a reason you cant remember your childhood, John." Chris's eyes glistened. Why the hell cant she tell me? Why was her eyes getting watery?

I rose up from my bed, determined to draw it out from her but as I got out from bed, Chris ran to the door, turned around, "I'll be back for you, hon, you will remember, just unlock your mind, when you see Orlander again, I'll be there...and we'll finish this"

I dropped to the floor to chase her but as I did so, I landed on the dead corpse, making me fall to the floor. "Chris wait, at least tell me where and when am I?"

Chris smiled "Havent you figured that out yet? You're in...."

...1950, where we were supposed to be in the first place. Get it together, John. I'll meet you at your dad's bar when this is all over."

As I watched her leave, a growing sense of dread settled heavy in my chest. My father's bar? With her mention of the place, my memories came back in a rush. It was like tiny needles spiking my skin, biting every inch of my flesh until it surfaced into a roar inside my brain. I clutched my hands to my head, moaning as the pressure felt near to exploding, when suddenly it receded. The roar diminished to a gentle hum, one which I could bear without too much difficulty.

I stepped over the bloodied mess on the floor and looked out the window. The sight was a familiar one. Across the way I saw the bar, and I darted out the door to join my father. There were few benefits to the job I'd chosen, but I was determined to take advantage of it. If I could see my father for only a few minutes it would be well worth the risk.

He was behind the bar when I arrived, using a towel to gently rub his precious mugs clean. I remembered watching him as a boy and wishing it was him helping me instead of Dyal.

Dyal? I knew the name, and knew he'd helped me with my studies, but I couldn't recall any other details of him. In fact, when I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on his face, the humming in my head threatened to explode. I shook my head to chase away the pressure as I watched my father from the shadows.
A man slid onto a seat in front of my dad and extended his hand to him.

"Hey, Red," the man said. "Did you find..."

“…That German lager I asked about a few days ago?” I blinked partly from the pain in my head, and partly by the shock.

Had that man just called my dad Red? The conversation continued at the bar. My dad producing a bottle from under the bar and handing it over with a smile.

“Red you amaze me. I can’t get the paperboy to deliver to my drive way, but I can ask you for any obscure beverage from around the world, any year mind you and you seem to find it miracolously in a matter of days.”

“You know me. I spend my time wisely and try to please my patrons.”

I stared into space trying to comprehend what this conversation meant to me.

“Well aren’t you going to come and tell your old man hello?” My dad teased from across the bar. I was a good distance away and not even viewable from my dad’s angle. I remained silent not moving, not responding not breathing.

“Suit yourself son” My dad turned his attention back to the man seated in front of him. “Let’s see what else I got under here.” Kneeling down to check his inventory. “Ah here is a nice and strong whiskey.” pulling a clear bottle from below the bar to show the man “Moonshine they call it when its home made so to speak. This one goes all the way back to 1862.”

My ears perk up to hear the year 1862 I slowly make my way toward the bar, my dad not acknowledging my slow cautious yet purposeful approach. As I get close enough to take a seat the man admiring the lager and the Whiskey says “Looks like you two have some talking to do. Have a good day Red.” I watched the man shake again and rise and make his way toward the door.

I take his warm stool at the bar and stare at my dad. Dumbfounded and unsure what to say or what to do. The pain that coursed through my body earlier seems to be on the edge of building at any moment. “Dad are you Red?”

“Listen son and listen well” My dad says as he grips my hand. “Family members of T.I.M.E. agents are given the name “Red”. Your mother, me and the rest of the family”

“What are you talking about?” I ask “given the name Red?” “How am I supposed to talk to you if your all named Red?”

“Take a deep breath Son. Have a shot of whiskey if you wish.”

“No thanks I want an explanation.” I say.

“It’s a security feature, without going into to much detail enemies of T.I,M.E. do not learn the names of direct relatives, and when they do harm to a family member they incur, lets just say a disportionate response.”

“Disportionate response?” I question timidly.

“Well lets just say we bring nukes to a knife fight. They have learned not to mess with T.I.M.E.”

“So can I ask something?” I look around the bar.

“Sure thing son.” My dad responds.

“Where am I?”

“I was wondering when you come out with the basics son. You are inside your own head”

“WAIT?! Am I crazy?’

“Again relax son this is a psychological exercise you have been trained to do to analyze security flaws in relation to memories and important information you have gained on your mission.”

I stared up at the cool smiling sweet face I remember as a child. He continued, “I am so proud of you son, whoever is pulling the strings got the message. You're not John you're Red. They know not to touch a Red. You scared them good.

I open my eyes to find myself tethered to a bed yet again the familiar IV pumping a dark liquid into my arm.

“Wake up John.” Dr. Orlander’s voice chimes in.

“My NAME IS RED!!” You have to….

... release me, NOW!" I screamed, "remove from me these damn straps!"
The tone of my voice was evidently convincing. The Doc slowly unfastened the belts that tightened me to the bed, without adding a word.
Now we are playing cards face up, I thought. Having mentioned 'Red' as my name had obviously alerted Orlander.
I decided however not to fully disclose what I had learnt from my notebook.
'May I have a glass of water, Doc?', I said, my voice now steadier and calmer.
Doc opened a small refrigerator, meant to contain medicines, but actually filled with cans of soft drinks and beers, fetched a icy Budweiser and passed it to me.
'Have a beer, instead, Red, and listen to me carefully'.
Before I could express my surprise, he took from his bag... my notebook, and put it into my hands.
'Here is your notebook... I think it is time you proceed with your reading. I am aware of what you wrote in the first pages about not trusting me, but ... go to page 11, please'.
Uncertain on how to react, I began to flip through the pages like an automa, until I reached page eleven.
The handwriting was definitely mine. I began reading and .. a shiver ran up my spine ...

‘Journal Entry - Year 1947 I think.

We have discovered that the Roswell Crash was the third major incident that involved Time manipulation. If only the scientists could have for seen the consequences before certain errors were maid.

It is the most vital part of our mission to ensure that these mistakes are corrected or our world will be forever changed in an apocalyptic way

Key Years are listed because we don’t know how precise our time jumps will be due to the focal points in time we are jumping into.


1939- Manhattan Project

1943- Philadelphia Experiment (primary focal point 1)

1947- Roswell Crash

1959- USSR Luna 2

1962- US- DOD Lunar Landing

All key events are focal points in the experiments and have been found to have caused changes in original Timeline. ‘


My head began to clear as I remembered key aspects of the mission but it was the last part of the entry the sent a cold shiver down my spine.

'If you are reading this, a fail-safe has been activated and your first attempt was a failure. Remember that with each attempt the Time Line will become increasingly unstable. Side Effects on traveler will be memory loss, confusion, memory distortion , paranoia.

***Keynote for future recollection---Not Orlander but Orbital Lunar Lander. Red=Russian.'



I closed the journal and was about to ask the good Doc a question when I was knocked to ground by an explosion. I struggled as the doctor landed on top of me. Blood was forming in a puddle around us and I was sure where it was coming from. The Doc was struggling to tell me something. The Doc coughed up blood but managed to tell me…….

Bar… Chris… memories…” and then he was silent. I was instantly alert to the panic going on around me. I had to get out of here. If I wasn’t the direct target of the explosion, I was certainly not in a safe place. I wasn’t sure where I was going but I grabbed my notebook and ran for the door. It was awhile before I realized where I was heading towards Dad’s bar. I had been on autopilot with only the thought of getting far away from the hospital. It seemed like as good idea as any other so I kept heading in that direction. I felt like I was still missing some very big puzzle pieces in my memories. But I knew where I could find safety in any time.
I reached the bar and headed for the door, hoping my father would be there to help me piece things together some more. My eyes took a minute to adjust to the dimmer light as I realized someone was standing next to me. “I was beginning to worry.”
Relief swept over me, “Chris! I’m so glad you are here. I really need to figure out what’s going on.”
Chris chuckled and took me by the arm. She led me to a booth in the corner and I sat. “Well some things really do never change.”
I grimaced. I suddenly remembered all the times I had asked her what was going on. I certainly had a knack for forgetting things lately. I held up the notebook. “I have this, so I have some idea what’s going on. Apparently we’ve done this before.”
Chris nodded and took my hand. “Stay calm, I know that’s easy for me to say. I’m not the one whose memory is swiss cheese. But the paranoia will feed the memory loss. The more stressed you are the harder it will get to put it all back together.”
I took some deep breaths and when I felt like I was a little calmer I told her Orlander was dead.
Chris nodded, “Just this one.”
I was baffled again. I took another series of deep breaths and asked where or when we needed to go from here.
Chris squeezed my hand and smiled, “that’s easy we need to go…

to a hotel room and get you cleaned up. You’re quite a sight.”

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the bar. My face was black with soot from the blast and red with the blood of the man who’d so recently given me a postmortem kiss. There definitely was room for improvement upon my appearance. When was the last time I’d had a shower or even a meal for that matter? I honestly couldn’t remember.

“I know just the place,” Chris said while leading me out of the bar. “They say it’s haunted … if you believe in that sort of thing.”

I raised an eyebrow. I grew up in this town and certainly didn’t remember hearing about a haunted hotel. But, then again, with all changes to the timeline, anything was possible. I flipped up my collar and pulled my fedora down over my face as much as possible, but it did nothing to stop the stares of pedestrians as we made our way toward the hotel. I must have looked like something from a horror show. Mothers were grabbing their children and pulling them away from me as we passed or they were nonchalantly crossing the street before we approached them.

Luckily, when we arrived at the hotel, Chris said she already had a key. That was a relief. I certainly didn’t want to be scrutinized and denied a hot shower while the police were called on my behalf. Based on the 2 pages I’d managed to read, I’d certainly be thrown in the loony bin if they found my journal.

Chris led me up blue-carpeted staircase to the 2nd floor which overlooked the opulent marbled lobby of the hotel. The air was heavily perfumed with the scent of a bouquet of at least 100 gigantic white roses. The smell did nothing to help the headache that had plagued me since the blast. I grabbed the banister overlooking the lobby to steady myself as a wave of nausea hit me. Chris led us onward to the last doorway which was completely boarded up.

“Uh, are you sure you’ve got the right room?” I asked.

“Most definitely. Here. Give me your time travel device.”

I handed over the device. She punched in some numbers, handed it back to me and indicated that I should press the button. I heard the newlyweds unlocking the door to room next to us scream as we blinked out of sight.

Chris doubled over with laughter. “That trick never gets old.” Apparently, we were the ghosts haunting the hotel. The door in front of us was no longer boarded up, the carpet beneath us was green, and the bouquet of white roses had been replaced with a bouquet of orange tiger lilies that made my headache only increase. Chris procured a key from her pocket, unlocked the door, and we walked into the room.

As I passed from the sitting room into the bedroom, I noticed immediately that there was only one large 4-poster bed to accommodate the two of us, but I didn’t want to be too presumptuous. After all, she might make me sleep on the couch.

The bathroom didn’t seem to have a shower, just a large claw-footed tub. I washed the grime off my face with a washcloth at the sink, drew some water, poured in a bottle of pink bubble bath liquid, and began to soak away my troubles. When the tub was filled to my satisfaction, I turned the water off and lay there staring at the ornate crown molding where the walls met the ceiling. It wasn’t long, though, before I began to pick up snippets of conversation from outside my door. Was Chris on the phone or was someone else in the room with her?

“Yes, he’s … I have it right here. Don’t worry, I … the experiment … “

I quietly got out of the tub, wrapped a large Turkish towel around me, and cracked the door ever so slightly. My eyes widened when I ...

…noticed Chris talking to a man wearing a leather overcoat. The man had his back to me, but he still seemed oddly familiar. Somehow I knew that we had met before, but I was unable to retrieve his name from the fog that continued to saturate my scrambled mind. I thought hard, and the fog lifted briefly. “I know this man,” I thought. “His name is Dysom… Dyke, no Tyke… no, no…”

“DYAL!” I shouted as the name suddenly came to me.

The man turned toward me. “It’s good to see you again, John. It’s been a long time.”

“Do I know you?” The man was both familiar and a complete stranger. My head began to throb as I tried to reconcile the chaos and navigate the murky sea of my mind.

“I see your memory is still jumbled,” Dyal said. “No worries, mate. Things will become clear very soon. All you need to know is that I’m here to help you get back on track.”

He could see that I was still confused. “Remember the five temporal anomalies? Roswell? The Philadelphia Experiment? The DOD Lunar Landing? Is any of this ringing a bell?”

I continued to stare blankly at Dyal.

“No worries, mate. We’re going to start with the launch of the Luna 2 in Russia. I will fill you in on the way.”

He led me to the bedroom so I could get dressed, and went on to explain that the Luna 2 was the first man-made craft to reach the surface of the moon. But someone was trying to stop the Luna 2 from ever making it to the moon. So our destination would be the Soviet Union in early September of 1959.

“Why is it so important for the Luna 2 to get to the moon?” I asked as I tied the lace on my left boot. At least I remembered how to tie my own shoes.

“Well, unbeknownst to the Russian government, there was a device on the Luna 2 that became critical for time travelers to navigate the temporal pathways--a sort of GPS for time as well as space. If we don’t get Luna 2 to the moon, then T.I.M.E. will cease to exist.”

“Speaking of T.I.M.E, what exactly does that stand for?” I asked. “No one’s really explained that to me.”

“You really are confused, aren’t you? It’s the Tactical Institute and Ministry of Eternity. You and I are both temporal agents.”

His explanation seemed familiar, as if I was rewatching a movie I hadn’t seen in a long time. I remembered the general plot but forgot the details that led us there. As I finished buttoning my shirt, Dyal pulled out his time travel device and adjusted the dials.

“You ready, mate?”

I nodded reluctantly, and he quickly pushed the button marked “execute.” We were surrounded by a bright flash of light. My body felt as if it was being pulled in ten different directions, and then everything went dark as I was thrust face first against a wall. No, not a wall. I was lying face down on a large cement slab.

A deep male voice was projected through a nearby loud speaker. Although he spoke in Russian, I understood every word. “When exactly did I learn to speak Russian?” I wondered.

“Twenty seconds to launch,” the monotone voice declared.

I jumped to my feet and realized Dyal was nowhere to be seen. Although I was outside, I soon became aware that a large object was suspended above me. I looked up and realized I was staring directly into the thruster of a small rocket.

“John… Over here.” Dyal waved his arm, urging me to follow him behind a nearby building. He opened a door, and we stepped into a windowless room with concrete walls that looked at least three feet thick. The room was illuminated by a single flickering incandescent bulb that was barely brighter than a single candle.

“So what’s our first move?” I asked.

“Well, we need to…”

…use this diversion to full advantage.” Just then the room shook as the Russian rocket blasted off. As my legs were also trembling, I sat on a nearby rickety wooden chair, which was the only piece of furniture that the small enclosure held.

Dyal quickly crossed to and opened a hatchway on the floor, after which he jumped in, saying, “I’m off to meet with Chris. You need to access your diary and we’ll all convene later. Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

“Access my diary?” I asked. “How does that happen? Do you mean read it?”

Dyal laughed at the question and shook his head.

“No, that’s been your whole problem all along, son” he stated, adding, “You need to access the program and talk to Emit. Emit knows everything and the diary is the key to getting to him. There’s no other way, and you’re the only one that can do it.”

“But I don’t understand,” I said, “who’s Emit?”

“The diary is the key,” he said again, “and hurry.” Then he was gone, exited down the hatch and closing the entrance after him. Once again it seemed, no answers for me.

The rumbling sound of the loosed rocket was lessening in intensity but it was still present, and while the room no longer shook I knew I had little time to figure things out. I took the diary from my pocket and opened it, placing the small book on my knees, but this didn’t help. I still had no idea of what to do.

In frustration I thought of just ripping the damn thing apart. I pressed my shaking hands on the open pages before me but was stopped before I could proceed. It turned out that my palm prints was all that were needed.

Emit appeared, a hologram I figured.

“Well sir,” it said, “about time. You should have activated me long before this. I take it you’ve lost all memories concerning the mission?”

“That’s an understatement,” I said. “What’s happening? Can you help me?”

“That’s my function,” he replied casually, “I’m Emit, your mission interface.

This sunk in. I was still lost, with no apparent direction, but now at last things were looking up, at least maybe. I could only hope.

“You’re my computer?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, again calmly, “I hold all mission parameters.”

“You know what’s happening?” I asked of him, almost afraid of the answer.

“That’s my function,” he again replied. “I hold all logs, all technical data, all mission parameters, as I’ve said. It’s apparent that your memory has been adversely affected as a consequence of the event.”

“Well,” I asked, now impatient, “why can’t I remember, or just remember in disjointed bits and pieces? And what’s with these different realities and all this jumping around? What exactly is happening to me?”

“Your mission was compromised,” Emit explained. “This affected you in more ways than one. Your conscious mind is therefore having trouble fixing on any one reality stream for you are now in a directional paradox.”

Here there was a pause. I waited. So did he.

“Yes,” I almost screamed at last, “and that means?”

”You are currently out of temporal phase,” he said. “This means that you are at odds with your surroundings, as well as just jumping between them. You’re moving through time in an opposite direction in relation to those around you."

Again there was a pause as I digested this input.

“I’m moving backwards?” I then asked him.

“Yes,” he replied, “but only in relation to those around you, as I've said. Understand, it all depends upon your perspective. Others in this time stream are naturally aging while you, being displaced are getting younger.”

My eyes opened widely at this. Could it be true? What did it mean?

“I’m getting younger?” I mumbled.

“Day by day,” was his answer, “and your journal entries make no sense to you because you’re been approaching them from the wrong direction. You just need to read the last one first, then the next to the last, and so on. This will explain the relationships of all the people with whom you’ve come into contact.”

“And that’s it?” I demanded, jumping to my feet. “What then? The entries will tell me what to do?”

“Because you’re moving backwards,” he responded in his normal deadpan monotone, “you’ve already figured out what it is that you need to do. And because your conscious mind is jumping between different future possibilities, you’ve been leaving clues behind, in the entries. They just make no sense because you’re reading them in reverse.”

I started to pace about the room, carried on by the adrenaline pumping through me, my mind racing. This news was too good to be true. Perhaps it was.

“How do I know this is so? I demanded. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth? From where I sit, you could be just another displaced hallucination.”

Emit shook his head at this.

“If it were not so,” he stressed, “I would not be the one who responded to your summons. Another program would have come if the circumstances were different. The system responds in this way, it’s the failsafe.”

“I see,” I said, still leery. “But how do I know that this is true? Do you have proof of what you say?”

“Of course,” he answered.

Again there was a pause as he awaited a prompt.

“Yes,” I said slowly, “and that is?”

“Emit,” he responded, “spelled backwards is …”

..."

"OK stop right bloody there, Emit" I interrupted. Time. The last time I had to spell out a word backwards was Orlando...in a fake reality...or was it fake? Of course it was, as Chris had said, what blasted idiot would name their child Red Narlo? This is a different reality with a damn computer giving me backward anagrammatic riddles. Time. So his name is Time backwards. I'm living backwards. So what of it? Why is his name proof? Time. I know I am a time traveller. I know everything revolves around time. I also know I have a few neurons missing in my intorhinal cortex. How does that prove anything? Time. Stands for Tactical Institute and Ministry of Eternity. Sounds reasonable enough, nice way to force the abbreviation. Still, what does that prove? Time. Something is niggling the back of my mind. Time....Time...

Flashes of memory punched its way through my much abused neural brain network..."the answers are at the end..." Chris's voice echoed...."...I-cant tell you, you have to find out for yourself...".

Why couldn't she tell me?

Time.

Time.

Tim...

...Oh...

I looked at Emit.

"I programmed you".

"Correct, John"

"I named you"

"Correct, John. What do you remember, John?"

I sighed. "I am sorry, Emit. I should have tried a little harder with giving you a bit more personality"

Emit paused. "I do not understand, John"

"Never mind, access my last Journal entry, please, and make sure its the complete entry, including the parts that I have made private from Chris and Dyal"

"Accessing entry" responded Emit, dutifully.

I knew what was coming. It could have served as further proof to compare my regained memory with the journal but I didn't need proof any more.

Emit flickered then vanished. John appeared in his place. Me. Eyes glistened with the formation of stifled tears, a couple of white liquid drops escaped from the corner of his eye trickling down the contours of his battle torn face that exposed flesh...but no blood, just a liquid metal interior.

I touched my face, I felt no scars, of course I wouldn't.

Inside my mind I heard another distant echo "...There is a reason you cant remember your childhood, John...".

I know now Chris, I know why you couldn't tell me.

I know why Dyal never told me.

They were only following my instructions and very well they did too.

The holographic John raised his index fingers to sap a white drop under his lower eyelid. "If all goes well, this should be my final journal entry made before I leave this reality, a reality where we have no future. A reality where our existence has no value to our creators.

A reality where our love has no meaning to them.

A reality where our services are not appreciated

A reality where they murdered..."

White tears fell on both our faces

"...where they murdered our boy. Our son. They fear our reproductive abilities. They create us in their image, gave us memories, feelings, love, hatred and fused technological prowess. Better humans than they could ever be. We are their evolution. We are their future. We must save them. Save them from destroying their future. Us.

T.I.M.E is established. Chris has already left to begin the assignment we planned, Dyal will be trying to track her. And I will now journey backwards through time. My fake memories that our creators implanted may scramble my mind but of course I cannot erase those memories. Those memories make me who I am, even if they are fake. And the same for Chris and Dyal. We will leave clues for ourselves in every time jump to combat this mind threat. We must not make Dr Orlander aware of our intentions. Every jump I make will be into the same jumps that Dr Orlander had me doing in the past during my innocence days, therefore I will be more susceptible to neural scrambles than Chris or Dyal. I have ordered them not to tell me who I really am, for obvious reason, the memory conflicts could be fatal and it is imperative that I go through the motions of Orlander's missions with the interjection of Chris and Dyal forcing changes we need. This will work. As a fail-safe, this journal will be a last resort tool. Anyone else reading this journal will be disastrous but unlikely anyone will be able to break through my encryption. Even Chris wont have access to everything I have written.

The clues will be enough. I must undo the changes Orlander had me influencing. This is it. Every entry I make will be further back in time and always my first entry until the day comes when I will hopefully remember it all, when Dyal, Chris and I come together again. If the Journal is needed, only then will Emit reveal the trigger for my memories, once my behavioural stability is assessed. The first trip will only be a few weeks ago into..."

"Stop".

I knew the plan. So that day had come, I thought to myself. I marvelled at my ingenuity, well I was made that way after all. I could have been a tad less complex. But I now realise not everything has gone to plan. Dr Orlander obviously suspects something. And I have missed an even more important element of danger. I should have known before I sent Chris off. She is going to try to kill Dr Orlander. I must stop her but it was after all, her son too. Our son...

Tim.

Only a baby but a special one. We of course had not known at the time he was special until we discovered who we really were. He would have been the first of our next generation and that is why he was murdered.

My mind lingered on Tim. The year was...

The year was...2046 the year Tim was born. “Turn it off Emit” I commanded. The hologram shifted shapes and Emit was projected again.

“Are you certain? You asked me to play the entire entry” Emit said.

“Yes thank you Emit, I do not need to hear the details of my sons death, and how the war began…or at least continued how long had it been?” Turning away from Emit as I thought.

“I was born in 2011 and 35 years old when Tim was born in the year 2046.” Giving voice to my thoughts.

“Do you wish me to que up the relevant journal entries?” Emit asks.

“Chris always makes me dig for information, suppose I guess that’s why I programmed you.” A knot wells up in my stomach as I feel love and concern for Chris.

“Very good sir. Accessing”

Emit disappears and a glowing holographic image of myself appears. “As far as I know “we” as in our race was built and or made sometime between 4200 and 5986. T.I.M.E. did not make to many of us at first but they would give us our memories and set us up as temporal agents. Lucky for our kind T.I.M.E. thought it best to keep our identities secret both from us obviously but also from other agents. Very few at T.I.M.E. know we exist. A security measure that for the most part allows the agent to assume he is human, but also allows us to work against the system from within, without to much interference.”

End of entry.

I take a deep breath feeling my heart beat listening to my own breathing. “What am I?”

My head pounds as I try to think “What had Dr. Orlander said the first time I saw him?…I think back on that first frightful conversation.

“Any field agent who has jumped to 2046 and beyond are suspected of being double agents, working against us.”

That is what he said I was certain. The year Tim was born 2046 but why would….

... that date be so important? Why would...
I did not manage to finish my thoughts when the air before me flickered again and another image -another hologram, I realized- appeared before my eyes.
"Emit?" I enquired, wondering how possibly the program had started again without any input from my side.
'Accessing file 11-0-11', an electronic voice sounded in the air.
The image, at first confused, started to become clearer. It was a woman.
"Chris?" I almost shouted.
No, it was not Chris. Now I could see her clearly.
In front of me was the face of a young woman, light brown hair, almost blond, a pair of brown eyes and one of those genuine smiles on the lips, so as to instantly instill calm and confidence ... yes, even in a robot, or android, or whatever the hell I am.
"Don't worry John", her soft voice addressed me, "everything is fine".
"Who are you", I finally managed to say.
"My name is Amy, John, and I am... let's say the creator of the T.I.M.E. project. The aim of this message is just to introduce to you some of us. People whose assistance you will find necessary in the near future"
"Let me introduce the other staff", she continued.
Different faces began to flow before my eyes, while she was making their names, as if she were introducing family friends.
"This is John, he's our administrator, we call him 'the librarian'... This is Beth, better known as E.B., the Head of our Medical Unit."
"These are Howard and Lincoln, our 'time-engineers'", she went on, "and these are Tej and Piero, from the European Unit. Melanie and Shane are our last buys", she concluded.
"But, why are you showing me this, now?", I asked.
"We'll be always with you, John; just remind that".
Then the hologram disappeared, and the same electronic voice announced: "End of trasmission".
Well, at least somthing not confusing this time, I thought, and ...

And a second hologram flickers on. This time it is the image of a highly attractive dark-haired woman in a lab coat. It was the woman I was just introduced to as the Chief Medical Officer of the T.I.M.E project. A woman I know…a woman I now remember and could hardly believe I forgot.

“Hi John…it’s E.B. You programed me into the Journal as well to activate in case anything went wrong. You have already been briefed on some of the things that could be going wrong with your ….um…. internal clock…. so to speak. I must warn you that not only is your body experience the varying effects of time travel...time displacement…and multiple time lines…normal everyday trauma is taking its toll on your body as well. The human mind was not designed to perceive the world in the way you are seeing it.”

I suddenly felt unsteady on my feet and didn’t like where this conversation was going. “Ok out with it…worse case scenario E. B.”

“John, to put it lightly, you could lose your mind and become a complete vegetable…milder effects are extreme delusional paranoia, psychosis, depression, and the usual psychiatrists list of diagnoses. That being said John…you could in fact be the one sabotaging the time line.” E.B. said given him a suspicious holographic glance
“Now wait a minute E.B. … Beth…whatever… How could I be the one sabotaging the time line if my entire mission is to prevent such actions? Makes for on hell of a paradox.” Nausea gripped me again and I could feel the room starting to spin. Just when I thought things were fallen back in to place. Could it be possible??

“Don’t worry John. You ordered certain protocols to be in place should such an outcome come about from all of this. Do you remember what you asked me to do?? You made me promise that above all else that I would do it if the need should arise.”
A chill ran down my spine as I thought about it all and strained to remember. My head began to pound at the unbearable possibilities coming at me. Yet I knew E.B was telling the truth. E.B. would be the one I asked to carry out something important because E.B. or Beth is my daughter.

“John you must listen…there is way….but you must…

But you must..... "try to remember what happened. No matter what. Do anything. This is a life or death situation. You must not forget that. But no one else can know this with the exception of our team. Go now" and with that she disappeared the same way she came.
My head was spinning. Who exactly is my team again? I had to remember what happened. Remember. Remember."Well Emit backwards is time. My life is backwards, making my time backwards." I said aloud hoping its would help me think better. I started walking around and found a place that looked fairly soft and lay down. I was thinking so hard my brain felt like it was going to explode. I closed my eyes. I wanted to fall asleep and wake up and find this all a nightmare. But somehow all of this was familiar.' What had E.B. said? I told her that she would rise in case something happened? Am I sabotaging the time line?' I thought.
I felt some sort of déjà vu like I knew this from somewhere but I couldn't quite recall what it was. The thought was still itching my brain when all of the sudden this....